The Irish Giant **

The Irish Giant tackles the age-old rivalry between science and religion, focusing upon the question of whether or not man has a soul: a mighty problem for this little cast. This is explored through the devised story of an eight foot tall man, stalked by a body-snatcher (a capable Alex Murdoch) waiting for the giant’s looming death on the behalf of Doctor Hunter (played with personality by Brian Logan), who’s determined to dissect his anomalous form. In contrast, the Irish Giant of course is determined his body remains in one piece so that his soul can ascend to heaven. Sitting in the cold, darkened vault of the Southwark Playhouse as students, not an audience, this beginning promises enlightenment – but we’re left grappling in the dark throughout.

I wanted so much to like The Irish Giant. The company members of Cartoon De Salvo are undeniably charismatic, and there is something so honest about this production. But stripping back the show is a dangerous move, exposing holes in the delivery. Early entrances and the setting of props in your peripheral vision, the occasionally forced acting: all the little constraints upon staging and the limited cast add up to make this 15-year-old company seem more amateurish than they are.

The staging reflects that this devised piece is stylistically Brechtian, which is most obvious in Cartoon De Salvo’s use of music. Daniel Marcus Clark’s folky compositions are catchy and performed well by the company (a miniature piano beside a giant is a visual stroke of genius), but as a theatrical device has little purpose other than filling the gaps in the story. The music is a mere accompaniment to Rebecca Hurst’s witty animations which illustrate the said gaps, and occasionally have more to say than the actors themselves. The animation captures the tone of The Irish Giant, which looks lightly at the issues it addresses. Herein lies the problem with Brecht’s influence; Brecht reminded the audience they were watching a play so that they could look beneath the surface. I struggled to find anything lingering there but the reiteration of a point made by countless books and plays, dating back to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and beyond.

Cartoon De Salvo’s mission to “mess with the live theatre experience” is outdated in this respect, but carried by Jean Chan’s design which highlights the uniquely surrealist direction of the company. In particular, the eclectic assortment of bits and bobs stored in jars, which include the drunken giant’s (a melodramatic performance from Neil Haigh) drinking friends (played by a jar of pickled eggs with smiley faces drawn on them). The simplistically rustic set works with Paul Murray’s illusions so that the giant’s height is achieved through the humble magic of silhouettes against a backdrop. Smaller illusions come sporadically – a floating note, the puppetry hand of death appearing on Hunter’s shoulder – as if they’re party tricks. The comedic elements of this play contradict the tone of its controversial subject matter. Therefore the several scenes structured towards a sense of bathos, make the eventual push for pathos hard work for an audience.

At the end of The Irish Giant, the actors ironically ask “Any questions?” Of course there are, because the play answers none. Cartoon De Salvo prefers the flexibility and humour of abstract images played to an atmospheric soundtrack. This lack of a general direction from Alex Murdoch, leads The Irish Giant to sadly suffer. Laughing at mortality and the futility of spiritual enquiries isn’t enough to achieve an effect like that of produced by the theatre of the absurd. The Irish Giant can only scrabble beneath the skin-deep production for the organs needed to breathe life into its more shapely form.

The Messiah ****

Deep down in a World War II bunker in Dalston, I sit down at the last supper and become a part of the greatest story ever told. Steven Berkoff’s The Messiah is an interpretation of the last days of Jesus (Graham Dickson) that focuses not upon his divinity, but his humanity.

This debut production from Zebedee Productions transports you past the legends, miracles and controversy of religion. Instead, it keenly feels the story which has inspired faith in millions through the exquisitely human portrayal of its famous figures. David Fairs’s Judas is no longer the villain, but a victim of circumstance, played with the steely isolation of an outsider amongst Jesus’s followers. But – pun intended – a star is born with Graham Dickson who finds so many shades to the son of God, and continues to glow with divine charisma in his every wonky, knowing smile. Suitably, Jesus has competition from Zoe Wellman’s Satan, whose husky voice and playful phrasing are very typical of Satanic characters, and undoubtedly oozes temptation.

The most impressive skill however, is the vocal prowess of the whole cast, particularly Fairs and Dickson. Either as individuals or moving and breathing as a unit, every actor finds and develops a rhythm in Berkoff’s script, tackling The Messiah with relentless energy. This carries the audience from scene to scene so the momentum crescendos towards Jesus’ crucifixion, an agonising performance to watch from Dickson. The impetus the casts put into every word reflects their power to carry through two thousand years and into this play.

Of course, Berkoff being Berkoff, the poetry of these grand scenes is offset by the vulgarity of contemporary language. Berkoff manages to bring the Bible into the twenty-first century by investing it with a sense of reality; betrayal and self-doubt are inherently human characteristics, not romantic ones, with which the audience can identifiy. Jesus, in a very mortal manner, holds a seed of doubt that he’s the son of God. More significantly, our ability to laugh with the dramatic irony of retrospect, ignites a story so well known that it’s arguably become lacklustre and therefore less inspirational.

Zebedee bravely produces The Messiah in the form of a promenade performance, yet never wholly embraces the spirit of this style of theatre. The movement of a large audience through small spaces is organised admirably, but this is exactly what detracts from the audience’s freedom to discover the environment and story by themselves, the primary attraction of promenade performance. Rather, the shifting of scenes to different spaces within the bunker appears to be practical solution to make swift scene changes.

Yet the bunker is a gift of a space, similar to, but more intimate than, the Old Vic Tunnels and should house more theatrical productions like this. The echo of every speech bounces off the walls and strikes as if it were personally directed at you. Dahlia Gellert’s set design uses simple elements: wood, stone, and candles, which is enough to make this cavernous space shiver with the warm yet ominous atmosphere of a church.

Andrew London’s direction is impeccable, but the bunker amplifies that twofold. His production cannot be called unsophisticated because there are no flashy lighting effects or lavish costumes; the cast’s skill speaks for itself in this space, and promises good things to come from Zebedee.

Jekyll and Hyde *****

Photo Credit: Katherine James

Jekyll and Hyde is a favourite musical for a lot of people, including myself, so it’s a brave move to take something so firmly set in the Victorian era and bring it into the twenty-first century. Half of the time, an update hits several walls, so it’s a testament to this production that not only is Wildhorn and Bricusse’s musical popular enough to warrant an update, but that Director Luke Fredericks successfully achieves it.

The musical isn’t wholly true to the novel (if you’re unaware of the storyline, a Doctor experiments upon himself to invent a drug to control the evil side of human nature, but finds himself unleashing it instead). A subplot is invented between Jekyll/Hyde and a prostitute, Lucy (played brilliantly by Madalena Alberto if you ignore the indeterminate accent). The heartfelt stories of Lucy and her love rival, Emma Carew (sung beautifully by Joanna Strand), were responsible for a few tears being shed. Updating these characters has made them seem more three-dimensional, and lends a particular grittiness to the roles.

The intimacy of their stories contrasts with the ferocity with which Tim Rogers plays Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde. Rogers’s dichotomy of character is expertly played; his Hyde in particular is darkly enigmatic and well physicalised. Jekyll and Hyde is a difficult show to direct, belief in the story depends a lot upon how the transformation of Jekyll/Hyde is portrayed, and Fredericks’s simple choices combined with Rogers’s acting were a thousand times more effective than other productions I’ve seen, which have rested on spectacle and costume. Catherine Webb’s use of torchlight and washes, and the fuzzy production of Ben Walden’s video projections, combined to create the menacing atmosphere of the gothic novel.

Updating it is surprisingly easy: Jekyll’s proposal is made to an NHS medical body and his diary is written on a Mac. The slightly stoned portrayal of Lucy also brings a true sadness to the role. The multiplicity of personas in the chorus is more relatable than the very thin divide of simply rich and poor. The staging is fast-paced, and the chorus especially precise. At times however, I think it tries too hard to be busy where there is enough intensity emanating from the excellent soloists, and the scene should focus upon them.

What makes this production of Jekyll and Hyde so hard-hitting is the use of space in the little Union Theatre. Although there were a few foibles with the set which sadly keep it from perfection, it is otherwise innovatively used: the breaking of the fourth wall and being so close you can really see into Rogers’s tormented eyes brings vivacity and reality to this production. This is complemented wonderfully by Dean Austin’s full sounding arrangement of the score, and Stewart Charlesworth’s hardy, grim set.

Charlesworth, Austin and Fredericks’s company Morphic Graffiti turns a traditional musical which has always had the potential to be something more, into just that. It’s slick and sinister: a deliciously wicked piece of theatre.

Jekyll and Hyde is playing at the Union Theatre until 16 June.

Babel **

Photo Credit: Steve Tanner

Babel is like a seed which despite sunshine and water, just didn’t grow (maybe it was over-watered, there was enough rain to turn Caledonian Park to mud). Babel is a site-specific, promenade play from the mighty collaborative forces of: Wildworks, BAC, and Lyric Hammersmith to name a few. It is a brilliant idea, but sadly poorly executed.

A show which promises ‘an immersive theatrical experience of truly epic proportions has a lot to live up to, so forgive me for expecting fireworks. As you enter a surreally transformed Calendonian Park; where one woman does her ironing in a tree, or another practises her samurai sword skills, you’re hopeful. And then, white sentinels begin to welcome you and chant ‘we’ll wake them soon’ with wide eyes and creepy voices; it feels slightly forced, but you’re still willing to embrace this otherworld. And then, you reach the open field centred around the tower, and as you chew upon your cupcake homage to Gandhi, that delightful taste is made a little sour as you realise; the artistic vignettes in the forest were meaningless. Babel urges you to slow down, and really look at the world; I did, and yes, although there was an obvious display of a diverse London, a lot of imagination and little thought went into it. 

The story of Babel is derived from the biblical account of a tower being built following the Great Flood, where man gathered and spoke one language. The show obviously supports the idea of nations gathering together in London for the 2012 Olympics. What’s lacking is a sort of glue to hold the the forest vignettes and tent activities/performances together. At the point a story line finally emerges (a weak and strenuous marriage of Orwell’s ‘1984’ themes and the plight of Judaism being without a nation), and the crowd should gather in defiance, there is no spirit of unity. There was always the risk with a piece like Babel that English manners would prevail and the audience would be unwilling to participate. So  Babel massively required the pace and attack of a stronger, inspiring story line (if not a couple of fireworks) to achieve this. On one hand, the personable story of one family carries Babel; and on the other hand, the forced speeches feel solitary and beyond believable. It is simply too cautious.

Concerning the promenade experience of Babel, the biggest problem with a production of this scale was definitely the waiting. I was always waiting for a turn at something, for something spectacular to happen, or just anything at all. With an audience and cast of that size, Babel on a practical level required larger spaces to operate within, as opposed to several small stages and tents.

I have always wanted to see a promenade performance on this scale, and sadly, Babel is an example of why it hasn’t been done before. A saving grace however, is the production’s use of music to signify a universal language between people from every background and the sense of celebration this induces at the ending. It may not have been spectacular, and long-awaited, but did remind us of the spirit which Babel aims to celebrate.

Pass The Spoon ****

A show like Pass The Spoon could only be born from the mind of artist, David Shrigley, and his unique, infantile style transfers surprisingly well into this ‘sort-of-opera’. It would be more accurate to call this sort-of-everything; there are elements of pantomime, melodrama, and features pastiches of hymns and musical theatre in the score as much as opera. This is Shrigley’s first hand at writing something of this length, but considering that the humour in his work is often verbal, this wasn’t going to be a challenge.

Photo taken from: whatsonstage.com

The beyond bizarre story follows a cookery show hosted by the always cheery June Spoon (Pauline Knowles) and the always camp Phillip Fork (Stewart Cairns). They are cooking dinner for Mr Granules tonight (a nightmarish, gigantic puppet manned by Tobias Wilson) who is rumoured to have eaten babies. Inevitably, when things go wrong, Mr Granules can’t help but feel peckish.

Before this though, they must make the dinner. This involves: interviewing the candidates for the vegetable soup – adorable puppets designed by Shrigley, straight out of a children’s book. They must appeal to an ecclesiastic butcher (sung stunningly by Peter Van Hulle), for him to grant them mercy in the form of homosexual pork chops. And seek assistance from a manic depressive, alcoholic egg (Gavin Mitchell), and a Latino banana (Martin McCormack) in his pre-banana custard (‘yellow bastard’) form. These two actors are outstanding, not just because playing foodstuffs does stand out, but because they’re played physically and vocally as you’d imagine a common-sense banana and depressed egg would act. Strange as that is, the comedy is spot on.

David Fennessy’s music is genuinely innovative and original, going so far as to include bubble wrap and kitchen knives within the composition. When it isn’t mocking conventional genres; take the repetition of opera lyrics (‘SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! SOUP! WHAT KIND OF BLOODY SOUP?’), Fennessy’s score is disturbingly eerie, playing against Shrigley’s script and reflecting a darker undertones of Pass The Spoon. It makes sharp commentary upon human appetite in its twisted way, and at the same time Shrigley’s satirical but self-conscious tone makes opera accessible. There is no snootiness about opera when the audience must clap and chant with the performers, rather than waiting until the end of the movement. Altogether, director Nicholas Bone has brought together an opera for the 21^st century. But beyond all this is an achievement for Shrigley; like a page of his nonsensical doodlings brought to life, only he could make a not-just-an-opera that features a singing and dancing Shit, successful. Pure silliness, Pass The Spoon is hilarious.

Unfortunately, Pass The Spoon was only revived for two days at the Southbank’s Queen Elizabeth Hall, but to find out when it will (undoubtedly) show again, see Magnetic North’s website: www.magneticnorth.org.uk

Babel: Exclusive Reader Offer

Courtesy of AKA, I can offer readers of West End Epilogue an exclusive discount rate for Babel on Sunday 13th May: £25 down to £10. Call 020 7223 2223 or visit BABELLONDON.com promo code: Blogger.

Photo credit: Steve Tanner

The roots of BABEL go far back, beyond memory, to one of our first stories – ‘in the beginning the people was one’. These people felt compelled to gather, to create something extraordinary together, and so they built a city and the Tower. Over time both were abandoned, the people fled to the far corners of the earth and the first tribes were formed.

In 2012 the people are gathering again. The lost Tower has been rediscovered and its voice heard for the first time in living memory.

The Tower is calling out to people from all over London, from across the country and around the world. The people feel compelled to come here, to this last lost iconic site and the Tower that stands in its midst. Once again, the people is one. Our languages, our backgrounds, our cultures are different, but together we have been drawn to this place. Today is the day.

BABEL is a fable about the things that matter. The things that bind us together and keep us apart. It’s about the incredible things we can do together, the power of memory and our common humanity.
From 8th May BABEL is reborn as a story for 2012 in one of the last lost iconic sites in London, Caledonian Park in Islington. In a forgotten place, rich in histories, the people are gathering.
Babel is predicted to be the theatrical event of 2012. A spectacular outdoor show created for a major London setting, BABEL is staged through a unique partnership between WildWorks and Battersea Arts Centre and will feature a cast of up to 300. 

Brimstone and Treacle ****

Photo credit: Faye Thomas

Brimstone and Treacle is arguably not so controversial now, as when it was originally written for TV in 1976 (but still wasn’t screened until ten years later as the Director of Programmes thought it was ‘nauseating’). The rape of a vulnerable girl and unabashed racism are shocking; but above all it is the questionable moral compass that disturbs in Brimstone and Treacle.

The characters are simple, flawed human beings, but Potter forces a distance between the audience and play so one can’t help but sit up – not back – and question the origin of the inexplicable chaos existing in our world. The play follows the Bates, whose marriage has been pushed to the edge by their daughter, Pattie, being left mute and incapacitated from a hit-and-run accident. Things take a turn for the strange when man called Martin arrives returning Mr Bates’ lost wallet and proclaims (poetically and dramatically) that he once loved Pattie, and would like to help care for her.

The unbearable silence which opens Brimstone and Treacle makes your skin prickle, but this tension comes and goes temperamentally. Martin (played slyly by soft spoken Rupert Friend) speaks with his eyes, shooting glances at the audience so that we know something’s wrong. This dramatic irony stimulates fear, but also reminds the audience that every word Martin says is a lie. The consequently humourous reaction to his treacle-sweet façade detracts from the impact the play could have – however magical Potter’s language, and intimate the Arcola may be.

Still, Friend’s Martin is a wonderful enigma; a devil with the assumed appearance of an angel. Mr Bates speculates that their stranger could be the ‘devil himself’ which appears to be spot on. He is the symbol at the centre of Dennis Potter’s exploration of good and evil, and the reality that the world is not necessarily as logical as faith or political structures would imply it is. Bad actions bring about good consequences and vice versa, proposing the Machiavellian question: does the end justify the means?  Martin asks, if Mr Bates wants all the ‘blacks’ to leave England, but they won’t, then is a concentration camp justified? This controversial notion reaches its height in the scene where by raping Pattie, Martin miraculously heals her; disturbing the audience’s pre-conceived mores and rendering Brimstone and Treacle to be a truly haunting play 

Mr and Mrs Bates are also the antithesis of one another; Mrs Bates is religious, open and eager to trust Martin, and Mr Bates, most definitely not. Both Ian Redford and Tessa Peake-Jones inhabit their characters with a necessary sense of truth, complimented by Alex Eales authentic and reserved set. The Bates trust Martin because they equivocate goodness to his outward appearance; a conservative in Thatcher’s Britain, a gentleman – even a ‘saviour’ to Mrs Bates as he relieves her of her burdens. This couple prize ‘the England I used to know’, an ideal which can no longer exist for them, and so has shattered in parallel with their daughter’s quality of life. Matti Houghton is transformed as Pattie Bates; not once in the 90 minutes does her physical intensity waver, or tormented eyes lose their vivacity. Punk rock music punctuates Matti’s wild movements in the explosive segments between scenes, where Pattie relives the car crash, and her internal anguish can only find a physical outlet. It is both a subtle and startling performance.

Director, Amelia Sears takes no prisoners in this challenging play. Brimstone and treacle was a Victorian concoction believed to do you good; and although Sears production might leave a sour taste in your mouth, it will definitely enlighten you.

Brimstone and Treacle is playing at the Arcola until 2 June. For tickets and more information, go to the Arcola website. http://www.arcolatheatre.com/production/arcola/brimstone-and-treacle

Late Night Gimp Fight ****

It’s no surprise that a group called Late Night Gimp Fight know how to get its audience going. Considering their risqué subject matter it’s pretty essential that they have a willing audience, but what’s impressive is that they maintain this laugh a minute atmosphere from beginning to end. In the first few notes of their rendition of Born This Way, hysterics erupt in the auditorium as if they were Lady Gaga’s support act. We can’t help but embrace them with the same shameless joy with which they celebrate that they were born this way: a group with hilariously deviant humour – also blessed with impressive falsetto range and graceful pas de bourrées.

Late Night Gimp Fight is a sketch group which lives up to its promise of ‘an hour of comedy like no other’. A Quintet with the character and charm of a boy band (Head Gimp, Actor Gimp etc.) – except they can sing, dance and write their own material – LNGF is very much comedy for this generation. As a segway between sketches, Late Night Gimp Fight insert their ensemble’s name or gimp character playfully into a series of familiar music videos/film excerpts ( e.g. 50 Cent’s P.I.M.P becomes G.I.M.P) – the silly sort of clips you’d watch on YouTube. The crude subject matter of their comedy is the kind you laughed about in the playground, and could be easily cringe-worthy were LNGF not so intelligent and sympathetic in their delivery. I was near tears during an ode to a Henry Hoover that had recently lost its dad, and it takes skill to get an audience clapping along to a bestiality rap.  

Their musical interludes are the highlight; the ensemble reinvents familiar tunes by drawing upon recognisable aspects of them. Strangely loveable toilet seat puppets don’t drop a note as their version of ‘Stand By Me’ plays upon the ‘bum bum bum’ of the bass line. LNGF’s clever choreography is courtesy of Steven Webb, and the interpretive dance performed with surprising balletic skill from Matt Ralph (Jock Gimp).  These sketches prove LNGF to be a multi-talented force, showcasing them at their strongest: as a unit.

However I will say the production overall – all in blacks, exaggerated acting – was sometimes reminiscent of a GCSE drama performance. Their one-liners are strong enough to carry the laughs without hamming up the performance. It’s pure genius to watch a man kill his friends, to then discover it was all for a scout badge – so it felt detrimental to the virtuosity of their sketches that there was absolutely no suspension of disbelief to lead the audience into twists like this. LNGF aren’t so funny when they’re trying to be funny. However, the organisation of the show between sketch and video, from costume to costume, was well balanced and impossibly slick.

Dare I say it; LNGF is comedy with a point. Under the eye of the Soho Theatre’s Artistic Director, Steve Marmion, LNGF’s brilliance is reined into a show which still has the atmosphere worthy of an arena tour. They manage to say obscene, difficult things without offending, but to an audience that wants more. LNGF know what they’re doing and do it extremely well: we laugh when they want us to, clap when they want us to – we become putty in their dangerous hands which is just how they like it.

Late Night Gimp Fight is playing at the Soho Theatre until 5 May. For tickets and more information, go to the Soho Theatre website.

Sunday Cabaret at Cafe Koha

Maya Levy. Photo Credit: Vishi Vishvanath

Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha is a delightful evening out. Hidden between the Wyndam and Noel Coward theatre, it’s a cosy, downstairs space with a friendly crowd – although this leads to visibility issues regarding the cabaret acts. Without a stage, you need to sit where you can and hope for the best. Unfortunately, it’s a much more suitable space for during dinner entertainment than a cabaret show, and these are acts which demand your attention.

This month’s guest was comedy-singer Maya Levy. With an act including a singalong, a rap, and ‘The Unexpected Re-encounter of Pochahontas and John Smith’; Levy is an extremely likeable, crowd friendly act for anybody and everybody. Perhaps, in particular for the social group I will refer to (at my own risk) as singletons; Levy does stray into that familiar zone of female stand ups. The content of her musical puns is in touch with everyday life, which is what makes it funny; however this also makes it feel occasionally repetitive. Her songs never seem to get off their feet and develop; they feel like neglected playdough sculptures a child began to play with but became bored with after a little while. As a result, with their ‘piddly diddly’ accompaniments, Levy’s songs seek the childish silliness we love about singer-comedians like Tim Minchin, but lack the genius of his lyrics. Her act could afford to boast Levy’s advantageous musical training, over its currently simple structure which only lays bare the space for improvement.

Ismena Collective. Photo Credit: Karla Gowlett

Where Levy’s material lent itself to the social atmosphere of Café Koha, their hosts, Ismena Collective, is more the standard of cabaret we expect from a venue in the heart of the West End. Their song choices span the comedic vernacular of Goldrich and Heisler, to soulful renditions of Weill. Perhaps eclectic choices, they are linked by tales of treading the boards, and the programme is well-balanced. These lesser known tunes are instant audience favourites without reverting to done to death musicals. Ismena’s prima donna, Sara Cluderay, didn’t bat an eyelid at what should have been major spatial issues for a predominantly musical theatre trio. With the deft flicking of a feather boa round her shoulder, she made what there was of a stage, her own; finding a lyrical charm in every character.

Equally, Mayda Narvey’s cello, and Katherine Woolley’s piano accompaniments are arranged sophisticatedly, and compliment the intimacy of the venue. Brashy belts and brass would be welcome interpretations of some of these numbers – especially Weill’s perhaps – but Ismena Collective has a style all their own.  They showcase the bright clarity of Cluderay’s voice before any bells and whistles. Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha provides a pleasant alternative to sitting in and watching The Voice on the television, when there’s some excellent voices to be heard at your local café.

The next Sunday Cabaret at Café Koha will be July 1. Join the mailing list to find out when tickets for next month go on sale, at www.ismenacollective.com

The Ismena Collective’s next performance will be Love and Lust Cabaret at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, May 23. Tickets available at www.rvt.org.uk

Maya Levy’s next performance will be at the Open Arts Café, May 24. Tickets available at www.openartscafe.com