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Hello there! You may have noticed that there's a couple of non-theatre reviews on the blog now - shock horror! I've been reviewing a wider range of things, just to develop my confidence as general culture vulture reviewer; and to get a place as an editor on Le Nurb (Brunel University's paper). I hope this is all still to everyone's interest! Everything is interesting stuff to see out and about in London, I've either been very generous lately or the culture scene in London is booming; I've given out more four and five star reviews in a month than I usually do in a year!

And just because I'm very excited, I'm posting the Sweeney Todd trailer again because in a week I'll be sitting in the audience! Also to come: an interview with Peter Polycarpou who plays the Beadle in Sweeney Todd, and a review of Cleanskin, the film he stars in with Sean Bean.

Swing your razor high! Sweeney...

Rock of Ages ****

I not so secretly want to be a rock star. So, however outwardly superficial Rock of Ages might appear to the critic, the celebration of sex, drugs, and rock and roll makes for a definite feel good musical. I complain about jukebox musicals breeding like rampant bunnies, and am not one for, well, a happy musical. They usually feel like nothing musicals; a cliché with tapping arms and legs, and boring songs. But Rock of Ages uses this to poke fun at the musical theatre genre, wherein lie these four stars. In particular, the moment when Lonny takes out a programme and informs Drew (Oliver Tompsett) that he's in a musical, “You used to be in Mamma Mia?! [sings] Look at you now...”

Photo: Tristam Kenton

Drew and Sherry are two young wannabes hoping to make it in New York, who happen to fall in love, but are torn apart by an inevitable misunderstanding. Simple enough, Rock of Ages isn’t about substance but dreaming. And obviously not every theatregoer wants something intellectually stimulating every time they go out, where’s the fun in that? So I can’t bring myself to throw stones at writer Chris D’Arienzo for keeping it simple; at this expense, the show is actually laugh a minute which is a tremendous feat in itself. I haven’t laughed this much at the theatre since...well, I haven’t ever.

There is an unstoppable energy in this flawless ensemble, necessary for the driven sound of this show. Rock of Ages is set against 80’s rock anthems; We Built This City, The Final Countdown, and Don’t Stop Believing, amongst them. Musical theatre is difficult territory for rock music (you could argue it has stolen We Will Rock You’s formula of awful story plus immense music) but Rock of Ages creates the atmosphere of a Sunset Strip gig. Tompsett is an established leading man, and his vocal dexterity is astounding, possessing the metallic edge to elevate him from stage star to rock star. Simon Lipkin as Lonny jostles with Tompsett for star of the show; he is hilarious. He has a t-shirt that says ‘Hooray for Boobies’, prances and gyrates and rubs his nipples, makes a point by eating inanimate objects…I’ve seen Rock of Ages twice and he makes the whole cast (and himself) corpse left, right and centre he’s so funny.

There are a couple of actual ‘stars’ in the cast in the shape of Justin Lee Collins and Shane Ward. Collins has a gay plotline with Lonny as owners of the infamous Bourbon Room – never has a fog machine been so moving. Both hold their own well within their cast, and aren’t at all disappointing as you might expect, after seeing other so-called celebrities that have ventured to tread the boards. A mention must also go to Regina (Jodie Jacobs) – “Oh, I get it! Regina rhymes with pussy!” – and Franz (Sandy Moffat) – “I’m not gay! I’m German!” Beneath the hippy socks worn with sandals and lycra bodysuits, is a heartfelt example of sticking it to the man. A refrain of Kelly Devine’s choreography, which makes you want to leap out of your seat and join in.

It’s just occurred to me, this has transferred to London at a very appropriate time considering our riotous attitude towards the current government. But seriousness aside, if the music and laughs don’t tickle your fancy enough, the cast don’t wear very much.

Farewell to Priscilla the Musical



Richard Grieve, Don Gallagher, Oliver Thornton, in Priscilla. Photo Credit: The Guardian



I’ll admit immediately: it’s the end of its run, and I hadn’t seen Priscilla before due to my snobbery towards the ‘jukebox’ musical. However, Priscilla reminded me why London - poor, troubled London, is embracing the jukebox musical this year: the pure joy of it all! I felt practically old, it having been so long since I’d heard an audience stand up and dance and sing along. The smiles in this show are infectious, but (for me at least) the ballads therefore felt forced, necessary to the plot forumla; illustrating those moments in life where one might ‘feel a song coming on’. Yet I do wish that I had a personal orchestra and could spontaneously burst into song, so don’t blame the characters for it.

The ensemble were terrific (as I should expect by now), bursting with energy. Like in Crazy For You, this is a dance heavy musical, and it therefore is worth mentioning Kanako Nakano who’s sharpness and smiles always stood out. The production and costumes too were even more impressive than expected, by the end I felt blinded by all the glitter balls and sequins (not that this was a bad thing). It is a tremendous example of the spectacle we’ve come to expect as an audience. Dancing paintbrushes, levitating divas, gigantic heels and so much more: Priscilla literally sparkles.

Camp-ness runs through the veins of this musical. It not only dazzles, it waves its perfectly formed arse in the face of homophobia. This is a life-affirming story of three men who have already embraced the song ‘I am what I am’, and instead are pursuing much more personal goals; and yet the bluntness of the sexual humour occasionally just felt too crude, surrendering to stereotyping. Still, the three leads (Don Gallagher, Oliver Thornton, Richard Grieve) work seamlessly together; that powerful embodiment of triple threat. This all singing, all dancing show pulls it off because at the centre of it all, the lead stories act with heart; something such a vibrant musical could easily have fallen into the trap of foregoing for pure spectacle. But Priscilla has everything. The perfect show for the Christmas season.

P.S. When is the Palace Theatre going to undergo a renovation so that at the very least, fifty percent of the audience can see from their overpriced seats?

Crazy For You ****

It’s definitely been a while since something like this has been done: a pure – no frills – classic. Crazy For You is so familiar, yet more refreshing than most shows on at the moment in this respect that there’s been no nasty tampering. It’s as if I’ve stepped back into good old Gershwin’s day – and I wasn’t even there. You forget that timeless tunes like ‘Embraceable You’ and ‘I Got Rhythm’ all stepped out of the same man’s head, and can’t help but bow to him.

Crazy For You is packed with showgirls and smiles, you’d have felt short-changed were you to leave without a flash of jazz hands and they were most certainly shaking the show into life in the first five minutes. It’s so rare to see a dance break, to the poetic lengths of those seen in the MGM musicals, and yet Stephen Mear’s choreography is constantly vibrant; it reminds you of the escapist essence of musicals and their innocent ability to simply make you smile at those moments in life that make you break into song and dance. Although the simplicity of the production means the technical features are more decorative than anything, the filmic contrast of Peter McKintosh’s set brilliantly outlines that division between musical and reality, conjuring an earthly background for big dreams.

In the midst of the glamorous ensemble, an almost immaculately compelling unit and full of character as individuals, something sits slightly off with our ‘Fred Astaire’ and ‘Ginger Rogers’. Like a pair meant to be, Sean Palmer (Bobby Childs) might benefit from Claire Foster’s (Polly Baker) sharpness, and vice versa, Claire from her partner’s broad voice. In a show of squeaky showgirls, Claire’s southern accent is too coarse, her transition from delicate head into money notes left wanting. Despite this, these are the subtlest issues in an all-round triple threat cast, which is undeniably a momentous skill. Palmer has been blessed with the cloned genes of John Barrowman and communicates the starry eyes enamour for Broadway with the charm of a tap-dancing Cheshire cat. It should be mentioned that to stand out in a chorus this clean and frankly exhausting is something special; and Richard Jones (at least I believe this is his name, I struggled to match the face to a headshot) is most certainly that. A cheeky face in the sea of legs and teeth, that sold the innumerable dance sequences with that little bit more sparkle.


Speaking of bad jokes, yes I was just ‘crazy’ for the show. It’s full of tasteful smiles and slapstick of a bygone age; almost like recovering a little gem of a family heirloom left in the attic. ‘What Causes That?’, the duet between Palmer and David Burt (Bela Zangler) is a drunken homage to the comedy of manners device of mistaken identity. Bobby Child’s has dressed up as the music hall producer Bela Zangler in order to convince Polly that he’s not bent on repossessing her theatre but saving it. So of course when the Bela turns up (both ‘Bela’s’ drunk at this time) and meets himself, laughter ensues: “I am beside myself” - as they say to one another - with laughter.


If you’re not a Gershwin fan, or prefer les musicales miserable, you should at least go for the showgirls. You’ll have stars in your eyes.