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The Elephant in the Room (Susan Elkin reviews)

Show: The Elephant in the Room

Venue: Theatre at the Tabard. 2 Bath Road, Chiswick, London W4 1LW

Credits: By Peter Hamilton. Produced by Clockschool Theatre. Directed & designed by Ken McClymont.

The Elephant in the Room

2 stars

High quality acting by a cast of eight, careful directing by Ken McClymont and a lot of humour does not save this bitty, puzzling, often incoherent play from mediocrity.

We’re in familiar nursing home/care home/retirement village territory. Think Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club or Alan Bennett’s Allelujah!. Ashley Davenport (Fraser Anthony – intelligently nuanced acting) is a young man from the upper middle classes who has inherited a fortune. Fresh from travels to India he has placed himself on a “spiritual path” and decides he wants to spend the rest of his life in a care home.

The scenes come thick and fast. First we get four residents in conversation – they are sharply drawn, talk in one liners irrespective of each other and it’s often very funny. “My first wife hid my bagpipes …” The comic timing is strong  especially from Craig Crosbie as Johnny Copthorne, the retired second hand car salesman and master of dodgy deals. Stephen Omer, as a life long depressive pessimist and retired librarian, provides an enjoyable dead pan foil. The Alan Bennett influence is very clear and these are the best bits of the play.

Then, for no apparent reason we cut to the young pair in the kitchen, both illegal immigrants and suddenly we’re in a completely different sort of play – sad back stories and desperation for British citizenship. Interesting but it just doesn’t flow or follow

And on it goes on – over-long for its subject matter and full of anomalies. Why does Miguel (Baptiste Semin – good) the cook from Brazil, conduct a full communion service with hymns? And why, when he’s full of ambition for a future in a famous hotel does he suddenly take his own life? Why is the play so relentlessly condemnatory of marriage?

Surreality and symbolism are all very well but I found the idea of going  euphemistically to the lilac room to die, failing to achieve it but coming back with helpful info from heaven an incomprehensible step too far. It doesn’t mesh with the rest of the play.

Then there are the elephants. Not the figure-of-speech sort.  These are the eating, shitting, noisy ones. Ashley is supposed, according to his great-grandfather’s will, to keep one (Indian of course) in the library of the house he’s inherited but these days it’s allowed to live in the park. Just to reinforce this McClymont gives us a lot of projection on back screens of elephant eyes, hide, feet and finally the full frontal view with trumpeting. It sits very oddly with the quasi reality of the scenes in the care home although I suppose the elephant in the room, idiomatically speaking, is impending death. Maybe the play is meant to be about mental breakdown. If so, it’s a rather unsatisfactory vehicle.

 

  • Photos: Davor Tovarlaza

First published by Sardines: https://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/review/the-elephant-in-the-room/

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The Drowning Girls

4 stars

CUE Theatre Company

Bridge House Theatre, SE20

Beth Graham, Charlie Tomlinson & Daniela Vlaskalic

This elegantly directed three-hander tells a horrifying true murder story with original, quirky resonance.

In 1912 to 1914, three women were drowned in their baths, in different parts of the country by the man they thought they’d married, George Joseph Smith, who was caught and hanged, had also conned several other women out of their life savings. The “Brides in the Baths” case was instrumental in driving forward the development of forensic science.

The Drowning Girls, imagines that the three dead women are a united trio cavorting, chatting and communing round a bath tub and, ingeniously mirrored on the back drop so that we can see them even when they’re facing away. Like sisters, they remember, tell their individual stories, act out scenes, compare their experiences and sing, hauntingly, the hymn “Nearer my god, to thee” a poignant version of which dominates the underpinning sound design. It’s a literally wet play, though. There’s water in the bath and a lot of climbing in and out. The cast must feel pretty cold and damp after 70 minutes.

It’s powerful, thoughtful material because it goes beyond the horror of what happened to these particular victims and reflects on a world in which unmarried women had little status and few options. A marriage offer – however dubious the proposer –  promised a much brighter future and there was a lot of insular, female naivety. Sadly, of course, there are still cultures in which this is the norm so this play has topical undertones and that point is subtly reinforced by the ethnic diversity of the cast.

And what a talented cast! Yiling Yang brings mournful stillness, Anamika Srivstava innocent liveliness and Qi Chen chilling resignation. There’s a lot of multi-roling as the story unfolds, done without fuss and subtly observed vocal nuance. These actors are, marginally less convincing when they’re playing men and there are one or two moments when you think “Eh? Who are we now?” but this is a very minor point.

Ranga Jayaratne is clearly an excellent director. I’d like to see more of her work very soon and I hope very much that this play, which has only a 5-day run at The Bridge House is revived more widely as soon as possible because it’s well worth seeing.

 

First published by Sardines: https://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/review/the-drowning-girls/

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This talk was prepared for Bromley U3A Theatre Group and shared with them at Bromley Little Theatre on 09 November 2023

What exactly do we mean by musical theatre? It is really a separate genre from other forms of theatre or have the boundaries now become so blurred that the distinctions are meaningless?

When most of us here were growing up, musical theatre meant Rogers and Hammerstein (or Rogers and Hart) or George Gershwin and we all knew were we were. In general it was relatively plausible, often hard hitting stories, Carousel 1945, for instance, deals with domestic violence in a tight New England community and The Sound of Music 1959 is about, among other things, resisting the Nazis in Austria while South Pacific 1949 explores race relations. We love and remember them for the glorious songs and tunes which have made them perennially popular but they’re none of them exactly light entertainment when you think about the subject matter.

At the same time of course, London theatre audiences were rejoicing in the much lighter but equally tuneful work of Sandy Wilson’s The Boyfriend (1953) and Julian Slade’s Salad Days (1954). I was too young to see either then but I remember my parents seeing and loving Salad Days. My dad then bought a ten-inch LP of the music to play on his newly acquired, beloved radiogram (remember those?). Our house resounded with it for weeks with the result that, young as I was, I soon knew all the songs.

All these shows consist of dialogue interspersed with songs to reinforce the mood, emotion, joke or simply to create a bit of all singing/all dancing theatrical spectacle. So is that what we mean my musical theatre? Well, it might have been then, but I don’t think it is now.

I think that musical theatre has actually become a huge all-encompassing term. Jesus Christ Superstar (1972), for example, was originally described as a Rock Opera. And it certainly includes opera conventions – it’s “sung though” for example. There is no spoken dialogue. At its best (and in that fabulous original production which I think I saw 3 times) it needs a big orchestra with most of the instruments you find in a symphony orchestra along side those extraordinary electric guitars. So is it an opera or is it musical theatre?

Remember too that “grand” opera isn’t necessarily sung-through. The Magic Flute has a lot of spoken dialogue – originally in German, not Italian. So are the operas of Offenbach and Gilbert and Sullivan – please don’t let’s patronisingly call them “operettas”. So, the distinctions are pretty blurred.

Stephen Sondheim who died two years ago in 2021 changed the direction of musical theatre, of course.

His work relies on harmony, nuance, repetition and words rather than melody and, as we all know it can be immensely powerful. Think of Judi Dench singing Send in the Clowns from A Little Light Music. Or hilarious – think of Angela Lansbury (or one of the many who’ve done it since) singing The Worst Pies in London from Sweeney Todd.

In general, most of the new musicals I see these days are in this style – a lot more Sondheim than Rogers and Hammerstein. You might come out moved and impressed but you won’t be humming.

I would argue that musical theatre is any kind of theatre which uses some music for any purpose. Opera, therefore, becomes a subdivision of it along with, for instance, pantomime, “straight” plays which feature a few songs and much more. And just to complicate things still more we have musicals like Miss Saigon (1989) which is based on Puccini’s Madame Butterfly (1904) and no one would argue that Madame Butterfly isn’t an opera.

Of course there are different sorts of musical theatre. In recent years we’ve got very used to the “juke box musical” in which songs are picked – often they’re by a particular group or band – and then a story contrived around it. Mama Mia, is of course, one of the most successful examples of that. The story about Donna’s three ex-lovers actually works quite convincingly as the ABBA songs keep on coming. The juke box thing can work. Our House, which features Madness songs is quite a good show too.

On the other hand, the results can be pretty dire. I recently had the good fortune (or something) to see Twiggy: the Musical at Menier Chocolate Factory.  Now I have a lot of respect for Twiggy who clawed herself out of a “working class” background to become a world-famous model, then actor and generally good guy. As a character in this show commented “And she even saved Marks and Spencer”. Yes it’s a rags to riches story but that’s not enough to make a good musical especially if you try to bulk it out with things like Bernard Cribbin’s “Right Said Fred” – well done but almost unbelievably incongruous like most of the songs which were clumsily bolted in. I was sitting next to a youngish barrister and his wife. When he realised what I was doing (the notebook and pen is a giveaway) he asked me what I thought of the show. It’s a “so what?” show I told him. Yes, it’s an inconsequential story and I had to give it just 2 stars.

I saw a similar one at Stratford East a few years ago about Dusty Springfield. Yes, there’s more to her life than to Twiggy’s – more ups and downs – but it failed for me because although we got a lot of her songs the actress playing her didn’t sing them as well as Dusty Springfield did.

And what about the relationship between musical theatre and film? Back in the day, the stage show came first and if it was successful a film might be made. West Side Story, for instance landed in Washington, Philadelphia and on Broadway in 1957 – reaching London the following year. The film that we all know, and love was released in 1961 – followed 60 years later by a new Spielberg version on 1921. But it began life on stage.

Or take The Sound of Music which opened on Broadway in 1959 and arrived in London in 1961. The film – which holds records for being the most watched film of all time – came four years later in 1965. Again it began life with its feet firmly on the stage.

Or course there have been other stage to screen examples since but the trend now seems to be firmly the other way round possibly because of the failures. Cats, for instance, which dates from 1981, is a wonderfully powerful show with a score to die for but the 2019 film flopped dismally.

I often review productions of –  to cite just a handful of examples Shrek, Little Shop of Horrors, 9 to 5, Priscilla Queen of the Desert and The Producers – all based on films. And I think it’s because the people who invest money in these projects think, probably rightly, that if film has been successful people will recognise the name and are therefore more likely to buy tickets for a new show if it sounds familiar.

But we regular theatre goers know that it doesn’t always work. I thought the 2005 Kinky Boots film starring Chiwetel Ejiofor was excellent. Moving, thoughtful, quirky, very human and what an actor!  But why, if it transfers to stage, does it have to be a musical? Don’t we value “straight” plays any more? I’ve seen Kinky Boots: the musical several times and I honestly don’t think the music adds anything.  I feel the same about Calendar Girls and Tim Firth’s musical. It was a fine film – and of course, a wonderful true story. It doesn’t need music to enhance it. Such music is usually pretty unmemorable anyway. If you’ve seen Kinky Boots or Calendar Girls I defy you to sing me a single number from either. But I bet you could sing me lots of things from Jesus Christ Superstar, South Pacific, HMS Pinafore or Mary Poppins.

Another whole tranche of musical theatre shows are based on books without having to be films first and they are, of course, some of the most successful musicals ever.

Take Oliver! the 1960 musical which is VERY loosely based on Charles Dickens’ s 1937 novel. Yes, it’s a very good show and I bet everyone of us in this room could sing every number, but I was an English teacher long before I became a journalist and theatre critic and I have to point out that the musical uses only half the novel and completely sanitises the character of Fagin – it used to make an interesting discussion point with my students. We’d read the novel, watch the 1966 film of the musical, and discuss the differences. Dickens repeatedly calls Fagin “the merry old gentleman” because we are seeing him through Oliver’s very naïve eyes. In fact, Fagin is a ruthless villain who will stop at nothing, absolutely nothing, for his own advantage. And the 21st century reader – given that the slimy old man is cooped up with all those boys, will probably detect a whiff of paedophilia too. At the end he goes to the gallows and good riddance. I honestly think that Lionel Bart and co misread the novel, didn’t understand the Dickensian irony and mistook Fagin for “a merry old gentleman”. Witness the way he dances away singing, scot-free at the end of the musical. Brilliantly clever though to build his famous song “I’m reviewing the situation” around accelerating Jewish klezmer rhythms. It’s the sort of thing good musical theatre can do magnificently.

I digress – although Les Miserables (1980), let it be noted, is similarly very selective with Victor Hugo’s 1862 novel. There are, of course, some book musicals which stick fairly closely to the source material, present some quite tuneful music, and draw audiences consistently. Why else has Matilda the Musical proved so enduringly successful? Like Les Miserables, it was originally an RSC show. It opened in Stratford in 2010 as their Christmas or family show for that year. I remember Charles Spencer, then Daily Telegraph lead theatre critic writing at the time. “I think the RSC might have a hit on its hands” How right he was. It transferred to the Cambridge Theatre in London and has been running there ever since. Roald Dahl still cuts the mustard especially with Tim Minchin’s music.

Actor musicianship has caught on in a big way in recent years. It’s usually people who can play one or more instruments quite well but who don’t have what it takes to be a full time musician or aren’t quite at virtuoso standard. Instead, they go into acting and the music is a big additional selling point when they go for jobs – you could almost say “a second string to the bow” (sorry – I couldn’t resist that.)

Known colloquially in the theatre world as “actor-musos” these people are very employable. I’ve seen whole musicals in which all the music is played on stage by the cast who become a band when they need to and provide sound effects on their instruments. Equally it can be a more or less “straight” play like The Beekeeper of Aleppo which I saw at Nottingham Playhouse earlier this year with some occasional music.  Many children’s shows are done with a cast of actor musos – I have fond memories of Hetty Feather, for example which is based on a Jaqueline Wilson novel. And what multitasking skill actor-musicianship takes. Not only do you have to play a character convincingly, but you also have to manage your cello or trumpet, having not just learned your lines but also the music because music stands don’t fit the action. Typically, these talented people play several instruments and will even learn them especially if a job requires it. I once saw at Theatre Royal Margate, a young actor competently playing the accordion on stage in a Christmas show. I knew she was a pianist and clarinettist. When I interviewed her later, I asked her if she’d played the accordion before. “No” she said “But the director wanted it so I just asked him to give me a couple of evenings to sort it out”

Given the popularity of musical theatre in all its forms, it is not surprising that nearly all the major drama schools are offering degree courses in it – from Royal Conservatoire of Scotland and Liverpool Institute of Performing Arts to RADA.  There’s even one at Royal Academy of Music.  There are musical theatre degrees offered at places such at Trinity Laban in Greenwich and Bird College in Sidcup too. The last decade or so, moreover, has seen the emergence of actor musicianship degrees as well – Guildford School of Acting, Mountview in Peckham and Rose Bruford College, just down the road from here in Sidcup, for example.

Last month a show starring Brian Cox opened at Theatre Royal Bath. It is called Score and it’s about JS Bach. I haven’t seen it but would very much like too so I’m hoping it will transfer – the reviews were encouraging. Given the subject matter it contains a lot of music as another play about Bach – Bach and Sons by Nina Raine with Simon Russell Beale did at the Bridge Theatre a couple of years ago. These are plays about music as is Amadeus (did anyone else see the original cast led by Paul Scofield back in 1979?) and Claire van Kampen’s fine play Farinelli and the King with Mark Rylance in 2015. Plays about music and musicians are at the opposite end of the spectrum from Aida or Guys and Dolls but I still regard it as a form of musical theatre.

So of course, is pantomime – that peculiarly British art form which used to be a new year, January tradition and is now firmly associated with the run up to Christmas. People tell a story with dialogue and punctuate it with song and dance most of which has very little to do with anything but if you’re a panto fan that’s all part of the fun, I have to come clean and admit that it’s not my favourite thing. And I’ve reviewed literally hundreds of them over the years. As a child – I’ve always been a words/story sort of person – I used to wish they’d stop being silly and get on with the story. I was happier then – and in all honesty I still am – if they took me to see a different sort of Christmas show with a proper story. But of course, even if it was The Wind in the Willows or a non-panto account of Peter Pan – there was always music which added a lot of value.

Last year, for example, I saw two musical theatre versions of A Christmas Carol. One was performed in a church in Brighton by the brass players of Brighton Philharmonic and beautifully narrated by Roger Allam. The other was performed by a company called Antic Disposition in Middle Temple Hall. In both cases we got carols and seasonal music woven into the action – and everyone had fun at Mr Fezziwig’s party. And I would suggest that both shows were definitely musical theatre – just a different form of it from Evita or Crazy for You.

 In conclusion then, I think Musical Theatre is a very broad church. Drama and music have been connected probably for as long as people have been performing to each other. Often, but not – as I have tried to show – always words and music enhance each other to create something which is bigger and better than both.  But we do well to remember that there are many forms of musical theatre and you can’t always force them into watertight categories. Rember this, maybe, the next time someone says to you sniffily: “I don’t like musicals”. Ask them what exactly it is they don’t like!

Photo credit: English National Opera production of Iolanthe.

 

 

 

 

Show: Hot Orange

Society: London (professional shows)

Venue: Half Moon Young People’s Theatre. 43 White Horse Road, London E1 0ND

Hot Orange

4 stars

Susan Elkin | 14 Nov 2023 11:09am

Directed by Chris Elwell.

Explorative, immersive theatre for adolescent audiences, set in their own local environment, is a central plank of Half Moon’s work. And the plays get ever more interesting and challenging.

Hot Orange, a 60 minute one-act play, explores a possible same- sex relationship which grows out of childhood friendship and is potentially unacceptable to the communities these characters live in, partly because of racial and cultural differences.

The story emerges in very convincing flashbacks which include poetic monologues delivered straight to the audience so they’re effectively soliloquies. The two actors move amongst and around the audience who are seated on boxes which are part of the set, or on the floor. The props are minimal (design by Sorcha Corcoran) but are handed, without fuss to  audience members to hold when they’re not in use. The two school parties, all girls, that I saw the show with took this totally in their stride as they did being gently moved from their seats when one of the performers needed the box to stand on. The directing is impressively seamless.

Tandeki (Tatenda Naomi Matsvai, who also co-wrote the piece) and Amina (Yasmin Twomey) first meet in Peckham when they’re eight although the piece opens with an awkward account of an encounter ten years later when they haven’t seen each other for a long time.  They play imaginative games and eventually discover basketball together: the ball is the titular hot orange with parallel reference to the sun because the action takes place over a series of summers. They make heart-felt promises to each other, as children do, but eventually it goes wrong, partly but not entirely because Tandeki’s family move away. There are issues which relate to Amina being a Muslim and Tatenda’s growing up in an evangelical Christian household which includes three weeks’ “church camp” in the summer although, tellingly, these are not differences which bother the central pair themselves much.

Matsvai, whose voice work and movement are richly compelling is a charismatic actor to watch who conveys exactly the right level of innocent childishness and then, later, the near-adult hurt and angst. Twomey makes Yasmin, a gentler, less pushy character but she conveys a real sense of warmth, vulnerability and eventually strength. Both performances are skilfully nuanced and these actors work adeptly together.

The action is subtly underpinned by Johnny Tomlinson’s sound design which provides a lot of mood and atmosphere without ever being overbearing.

I overheard one of the accompanying teachers tell a theatre staff member at the end, after the ten minute Q/A with the performers, that his students would have a lot to discuss when then they got back to school and that he would share it with the theatre. Yes, this play is going to engender some rewarding debate and, no doubt, some fascinating writing. So Half Moon has achieved what the play sets out to do – again. Well done, all.

 

  • Photos by Stephen Russell

First published by Sardines: https://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/review/hot-orange/

Beethoven Mass in D Major – Missa Solemnis Op 123

 St John’s Church Hastings     Saturday 11th November 2023

Hastings Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra

Conductor:  Marco d Silva

Soloists:

                Helen May                                           Soprano

                Marta Fontanals-Simmons          Contralto

                Leonel Pinheiro                                Tenor

                 Edwin Kaye                                        Bass

 

The Missa Solemnis is a monumental work. It was composed slowly durin Beethoven’s final decade, and has inevitably been compared to the ground-breaking 9th Symphony or late quartets. Vincent D’Indy wrote that “We stand in the presence of one of the greatest masterworks in the realm of music”.  One critic has suggested  that it is ‘a work so intense, heartfelt and original that it nearly defies categorization’ while another felt that ‘to those for whom Beethoven’s music is an important reason for living, the Missa Solemnis belongs at the centre of their experience – a work to respect, certainly, but still more to love.’ 

Once described as ‘ the greatest work never heard’, the Mass is not performed that often, particularly by non-professional musicians who are perhaps discouraged by the apparent need for vast forces and the relentless musical demands. More credit then to Marcio da Silva  and the Hastings Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra for rising so brilliantly to the challenge and producing a superb performance. A choir of around 60 and an orchestra of 34 provided an insight into the subtleties and details of the work often concealed by more gargantuan performances, which can be dominated by rhythmic inflexibility and ‘can belto’ singing throughout.

The four soloists sang with great poise and immaculate tuning; in a work where there are few opportunities for individual vocal bravura, they demonstrated precise and sensitive ensemble singing, especially in softer, more serene moments, with a particularly fine performances by soprano Helen May and tenor Leonel Pinheiro, well supported by Marta Fontanals-Simmons and Edwin Kaye, both of whom adopted a more gentle approach to their parts. The balance between soloists, choir and orchestra was also masterful and says much for the conductor’s control of his forces, with the solo voices often floating out from the mass of orchestral and vocal sound.

The richness of the orchestral playing was evident from the very start of the Kyrie, supporting both lyrical and dramatic, at times even forceful singing from both soloists and choir: throughout the performance, high entries and top B-flats were executed in an effortless way by the choir, without any signs of strain and showing a real purity of tone. Mario da Silva likes fast tempi, and the opening of the Gloria was thrilling; I liked his ability to reflect the almost Brahmsian rhythmic ambivalence in a work which can too easily be dominated by a strict adherence to time signatures (particularly the repeated use of 3/4). The orchestra and choir also managed difficult runs with real expertise, while the fugue at the end of the Gloria was dramatic in its treatment of the musical themes. Occasionally, the orchestra, small as it was, was a little overwhelming (possibly a result of the generous acoustic of St John’s Church) and I did feel that there was some lack of tonal variety – but this may well be inherent in the writing. That said, the string and brass playing was beautifully controlled, while the woodwind interjections and ensemble sections added to the overall colour. The Credo provided more variety in textures, with some sublimely lyrical singing by the soloists and the rapid modulations in certain parts were handled in a relaxed way. Fast passages for choir and orchestra showed remarkable discipline and control, while the timpani part throughout the work added to the drama and climaxes.

The adagio section for the soloists at the start of the Sanctus had a relaxed intensity about it, while the choir tackled the speedy allegro with excellent articulation in the semi-quaver runs, with real drama in the final Osanna. There was a little uncertainty with the chromatic harmonies of the orchestral Preludium, but this was more than compensated for by the exquisite violin solo in the Benedictus, one of the high points of the performance, balanced by the calm and unforced solo bass of Edwin Kaye. The choir and soloists responded well to the variety of pace and the harmonic complexities of the Agnus Dei, leading to some thrilling climaxes and the surprisingly calm, almost abrupt ending – and there were few signs that they choir had tired at all, relentlessly demanding as the work is.

A large audience almost filling the Church was able to appreciate a fine realisation of this demanding but somewhat puzzling work. All those involved showed the utmost musicality and Marcio de Silva and his choir and orchestra are to be congratulated on such an impressive performance which highlighted not only the grandeur of the work, but its overall form, structure and detail.

Of course I was going to grab Judi Dench’s new book about Shakespeare. How could I not? I bought it on the day it was published last month.

The Man Who Pays the Rent is a series of conversations  between our greatest theatrical grande dame, who is anything but prima-donna-ish, and Brendan O’Hea, an actor, theatre director and Associate Artist at Shakespeare’s Globe. The illustrations – who knew she could draw and paint? –  are by Dench herself.

They discuss twenty plays that Dench has performed in, not always agreeing with each other. And she comes at each discussion from a whole range of angles. In some cases she has, at different points in her career, played several roles in the same play and, of course, everything she says is informed by 88 years of life experience.

Oh, how I wish I could have shared her insights with my A level students when they were studying some of these plays. They would have loved her chuckling, perceptive earthiness.  For example, we would all have laughed, and then agreed with her, that Angelo in Measure for Measure would have been “up all night wanking, probably” at the prospect of Isabella coming back with a “yes”, the next day. With a grin which leaps off the page she tells O’Hea not to put that in the book. “Say ‘having dirty thoughts and interfering with himself’ “ she says. Yes, I hope some of my former students are reading this.

She knows what each character is thinking and quotes text continually to support her points in a gloriously unstuffy way. She loves the plays (except for The Merchant of Venice of which more in a minute) and the language which she argues should never be “translated” or updated because everything you need is there on the page written by the amazing Mr Shakespeare.

Inevitably we get a lot of memories about fellow actors, directors, mishaps and anecdotes.  Working with Franco Zeffirelli on Romeo and Juliet was, for example, a roller coaster. And she is funny about John Woodvine as Cornwall, hurling a “bloodied” lychee which stood for Gloucester’s gouged-out eye in the RSC production of King Lear in which she played Regan. How safe did she feel being thrown around by Daniel Day-Lewis in the closet scene when she was Gertude to his Hamlet? “Oh God, yes, I always felt safe with him. The fight was all choreographed. Violence on stage can’t be real, otherwise you’re going to get through a lot of Desdemonas.” She’s very good on Gertrude too observing that she’s “a bling person” who has probably always had the hots for Claudius. It can’t all have developed in a few weeks and, half jokingly, she suggests that old Hamlet was probably boring. “Perhaps he had gout. Or maybe he couldn’t, you know – get it up.”

She says of King Lear that you can see it from everyone’s point of view. “Regan tries to reason with her father. Yes, of course he must come and stay but she doesn’t want him bringing the whole court with him, making all those demands. And besides she’s ‘out of that provision, which means she hasn’t had a chance to pop to Tesco’s”. I really like the way she casually, wittily, uses anachronism to stress relevance –  yet another reason why every A Level English teacher should be directing students to this book.

So what does she have against “The Merchant of fucking Venice” which she variously describes as a “vile” “ horrible” “loathsome” and “insufferable” play? She was Portia in an RSC production directed by Terry Hands in which her late husband Michael “Mikey Williams played Bassanio. “All the characters behave so badly. Nobody really redeems themselves …. “  She says. “I’d  spend the day thinking: God I’ve got to do that bloody awful show again tonight” instead of skipping to work as she usually did.

Dame Judi is immensely good company but she dosen’t suffer fools. Several times O’Hea says something provocative or something she disagrees with and she comes back at him very assertively. She knows these works like almost no other and yet she remains humble and wanting to learn. She brings a child-like “naughtiness” to the discussion but is very serious about the beauty of Shakespeare’s poetry and how it can, and should, be spoken. Viola’s “Make me a willow cabin at your gate” speech from Twelfth Night, for instance is ravishing, she asserts.

Students, academics and critics know these plays from the outside in. You can, and I am in many cases, be very familiar with a play and have thought about its nuances and meaning a lot. But you remain on the outside.  There’s no substitute for knowing and understanding dramatic texts from the inside out. That’s what makes this entertaining, thoughtful and informative book such a useful addition to the several shelves in my office devoted to  books about Shakespeare.

And I shall long treasure her quirky and unexpected epilogue which made me shed a tear of two.

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Dance of the Dwarfs by Geoffrey Household

 

MATHILDE MILWIDSKY, VIOLIN AND HUW WATKINS, PIANO
at the LEVINSKY HALL, PLYMOUTH UNIVERSITY, Saturday 11 th November 2023

Part of the Musica Viva series, which brings classical music to the Arts Institute for the benefit of
students and the wider community, this delightful concert was well-attended and received, as it
deserved to be. As always with these concerts the programme started with an introduction by both
musicians, telling us a little bit about the works they were to perform. Some of these helpful nuggets
of information I shall mention when writing about each piece. The programme was wide-ranging,
using works from Classical early Beethoven, Romantic Cesar Franck to twentieth century Vaughan-
Williams, Eugene Ysaye and Anton Webern. The contrasts of style and form were a wonderful
showpiece for the range and ability of both performers.


They started with the gorgeously emotional The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan-Williams.
Milwidsky told us she had chosen it for the programme because the 11 th November was Armistice
Day and the piece, in the version they were performing it, had been composed at the beginning of
the First World War. After this war Vaughan-Williams reworked it for solo violin and in 1920 the first
orchestral version was delivered. The composer was inspired by George Meredith’s poem of the
same title, where the lark is described as producing ‘the silver chain of sound/ Of many links without
a break/ In chirrup, whistle, slur and slake.’ Later in the poem he describes how the song of the lark
descends into the valley below: ‘ and he the wine which overflows/ To lift us with him as he goes.’ That
extraordinary little bird, so high in the sky as to be almost invisible, pours down his song which, to
human ears, takes us up into the heavens.

This is indeed what happened as we heard the exquisite rendering of the violin, sometimes
carrying us upwards to ‘far and wee’ heights, sometimes plunging downwards, but always tender
and expressive, the piano echoing and colouring the music. The middle section broadens out with
chords that describe the pastoral scene before we return to the bird, his courage and determination,
the violin almost defiant as the lark disappears once more to impossible heights in an echo of the
beginning.

There is always an edge of sadness to this piece and it was indeed a fitting reminder of that
most terrible and wasteful of twentieth century wars in this new century, where it seems pointless
and collateral death still abounds.

Next were four very short pieces for violin and piano by Webern, a pupil of Schoenberg.
Pianist Huw Watkins said one thing about these pieces that resonated with me. He said that the
characteristic of all four was that it ‘made you listen.’ And it did. The first piece contained single
notes sometimes bowed, sometimes plucked. The silences between gave each sound importance.
The stormy second piece employed a variety of colouration from the violin with the piano supplying
a tense undercurrent. In the third, single shorter notes on the piano were played against longer
violin strokes. The single notes were like raindrops that made the listener wait for the next sound
from either instrument. And the last piece contrasted loud with soft, including scrapes and falling
runs. This composer and his work were thought-provoking and challenged one think of music in a
different way.

The last part of the first half was on the more familiar ground of Beethoven’s Sonata for
violin and piano in A minor, Opus 23. Here is Beethoven, young but already pushing away at those
boundaries set by earlier composers.

The first movement Presto plays with echoes between the instruments, questions posed
and answers given, threaded through with beautiful melodies which emerge and then build to a
crescendo but which end on a quiet note. In the second Andante Scherzoso piu allegretto the piano
leads and the violin picks up the tune; it has the pleasing effect of the fitting together of two
brackets. Here the two instruments are in true duet, weaving in and out of each other, often with
skipping rhythms and contrasts between strong and light colouring. In the third movement Allegro
Molto the duet is maintained. It is a strong, fast movement, full of echoing returns between the
two, contrasts in tempo and colouration between legato and staccato until, with frantic bowing cut
across by strongly broad chords the piece races to its emphatic finale.

After the interval we were treated to the third movement of Eugene Ysaye’s Sonata for solo
violin in D minor, Opus 27, labelled Ballade. Ysaye, we were told in the introduction, was the greatest
violinist of his day. In his compositions he is often inspired by Bach’s polyphonic writing, though he
takes it to greater extremes.

The opening was soft, full of lingering long notes which Milwidsky dwelled on  with obvious
enjoyment. Being a solo piece it allowed a lingering in the listener too, who experienced the quality
of each note, each fantastical run and playful phrase, often repeated. It is clearly a very difficult
piece but Milwidsky never let us realise this. Particularly enjoyable were the little scampers, followed
by longer deeper notes, the variations in tempo giving the idea that here was a soloist set free to
explore and enjoy the wonder and range of her instrument.

Finally came Cesar Franck’s Sonata in A major for Violin and Piano in four movements, where
we experienced the whole full-blown delight of romanticism at its best. It opened with strongly
bowed rich melodies, as always Milwidsky getting the most out of the length and quality of the
notes. She is a very watchable performer, her face, eyebrows and whole body showing her
involvement with her instrument while always, in every piece of the evening, judging with a firm
accuracy the depth of each note. The piano gave a rich battery of sound so that the whole
movement created an intricate tapestry of sound. The second movement began with a restless
piano which dipped to allow the voice of an equally restless violin. The partnership between the two
was on show here as the tempo slowed then speeded up to a frenzied close. The third movement
again began with a strong piano theme which then swapped back and forth with the violin. Both
came together in a triumphant emphatic melody, dipping into tender moments. The end of this
movement was really beautiful, making the most of the range of both instruments and both
musicians’ ability to explore the emotional content to its full. The final movement had a more
positive feel to it. It was full of lovely tunes from both instruments. The piano rippled along with the
broader notes of the violin rising above. Then both dived into a lower but equally tuneful register. It
was noticeable how big a sound the two instruments could make as they weaved towards the
conclusion – an almost jaunty, strongly marked ending.

What a wonderful evening from two very talented musicians. Huw Watkins is already a well-
known composer and soloist who was recently awarded an MBE in the 2021 birthday honours for his
services to music. Mathilde Milwidsky has been dubbed a rising star by Classic FM. She has already
won many prizes and worked with a wide range of composers and as a soloist in many concert halls.
The talents of both musicians were evident throughout the evening. Their sensitivity to each other
as well as to the demands of the wide range of musical styles was clear. Thank you for a wonderful
evening, which was rounded off with a tender work by Debussy as a fitting encore.

 

I’m not really a dog person. Cats are more my thing. I like dogs, though. In the last year or two I have acquired two as close canine family members and I always engage with friendly dogs I see on trains or in the park. I just have no wish to take full responsibility for one.

Veteran crime writer Peter James, unlike me, is clearly every inch a dog man and his new Roy Grace title spells out the horror of dog crime –  now apparently, even more rampant than drug crime first, because  there’s a lot of money in it and second, because the pandemic has triggered a huge thirst for dog ownership which in some cases is shortlived.

I’m a sucker for crime fiction. It’s my go-to for light reading, Peter James is always a curl-up-on-the-sofa treat. And I suppose the gripping, overarching narrative from novel to novel, now de rigeur in all crime series, is the reading woman’s answer to TV soaps. And in this case I also enjoy the Brigton setting because it’s a city I know pretty well.

As always there are several story lines in Stop Them Dead which eventually come together. A genuine, decent farmer who has bred a litter of puppies is killed in his yard when he tries to stop a gang of thieves stealing his dogs. A (usually) sensible family deny common sense and advice and buy a puppy for cash in a lay-by after which their beloved, only child becomes seriously ill. Meanwhile Grace and his wife Cleo want a second dog … and there is a spate of dog thefts (to order) in the streets and parks of Brighton. This is Peter James so, of course, it’s a perfectly plotted page turner and will eventually attract millions of viewers when it’s televised for ITV with John Simm as Grace.

I like this novel particularly because James evidently wants to spread information about the cruel, dark ruthless world which forms the background. Yes, in real life as well as in fiction, there are still gullible people who find “breeders” online and buy dogs from them in motorway service stations for cash only to find that all the paperwork is fake and that, often, that the dog is weak or, at worst, seriously ill. At a time when a proper pedigree dog from a registered breeder costs thousands it’s not surprising that a half price bargain seems attractive to some. But some of the puppies are imported from abroad, or bred in terrible conditions in Britain and they’re almost always too young to be taken from their mothers. Caveat emptor or buyer beware. The only way to stop this dreadful trade is to boycott and report it.

You’ll be pleased to know, by the way, that my granddog (pictured) was born and rescued  in Cyprus before finding a new home in Britain via a reputatable charity.  My nephew-dog meanwhile came from a registered breeder and my sister saw the whole litter with their mother, more than once.

Kayla

But, another relation who has kept dogs all her life bought, in order to rescue, a three year old “Covid dog”,  who had never been chipped, vaccinated or checked by a vet after producing eleven puppies. That particular dog has now landed on all four paws but they aren’t all so lucky. These horrors really do go on. Read Peter James’s gripping novel and pass on the information.

Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: The Man Who Pays the Rent by Judi Dench