Category: Arts & Theatre

Nine to Five

Nine to FiveDespite a head cold that had me supping on the gin and Lemsip, Liam managed to get me to Dolly Parton’s  ‘9 to 5’ at the Theatre Royal, Norwich. Adapted from the 1980 movie comedy starring Dolly, Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda, ‘9 to 5’ is a high-energy musical farce about three overworked and overlooked female office workers exacting delicious revenge on their lazy, lecherous, sexist, misogynistic boss. We had terrific seats for a terrific show with some terrific tunes and terrific lines (“You’re just a typewriter with tits.”). Amy Lennox* was uncanny in the Dolly role. If you closed your eyes, you’d think it was the chesty chanteuse on stage. Natalie Casey as Jane Fonda was superb with sharp comic timing and a tremendous voice. Slightly more disappointing was Jackie Clune in the Lily Tomlin part; a few more dance lessons might help. Veteran trouper, Bonnie Langford, almost stole the show in her supporting role as the boss’s fawning assistant.  Bonnie can throw her legs higher and wider than anyone I’ve ever seen on stage, screen or porn flick. The gorgeous Dolly has quite a following among the gay fraternity and the audience was liberally sprinkled with fairy dust, including the man next to me whose shocking hair don’t would have him run out of Soho. Dolly herself appeared as narrator on a large clock-faced screen above the stage. Saying “thank you” to Norwich was a nice touch and Dolly brought the house down when she launched into the familiar ‘9 to 5’ theme at the end.

*We saw the talented Amy Lennox in ‘Soho Cinders’ last summer and she was superb in that too.

Young at Heart

Young at Heart

To celebrate John Hurt’s appointment as the first Chancellor of the newly elevated Norwich University of the Arts, we sank a bottle at the nearby Playhouse Theatre Bar (like we need an excuse). The bar is the boozer of choice for the trendy young things loading up their student debts in wild abandon. Sitting like a couple of old codgers in the corner, we love to imbibe the ambience that overflows with youthful exuberance and optimism. It’s a welcome antidote to the cynicism of older age. The banter and gossip can be delicious and we are dedicated eavesdroppers.

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    Speech marks

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An Intimate Evening with Ruthie Henshall

ruthie-goldRuthie Henshall, star of the West End, Broadway and Celebrity Family Fortunes, was in town performing her one woman gig at the Norwich Playhouse. Liam was first in the queue for tickets. Olivier award-winning Ruthie went down like mulled wine on a chilly night and belted out the old show tunes to an appreciative audience of old queens and old codgers. Ruthie’s tender rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” from “Les Mis” (Ruthie played the role of tragic Fantine on stage in 1992) made for an interesting comparison with Anne Hathaway’s epic interpretation in the film version of the Glums currently doing the rounds. Ruthie didn’t disappoint.

The likeable Ms Henshaw punctuated the show with intimate tales and titbits from her chequered past. The slightly nervous repartee contrasted with a confident despatch of her back catalogue and the overall effect was rather endearing. I left the auditorium thinking that this was a girl I could have a drink with. Liam left the auditorium in love with yet another chanteuse.

I have my own romantic association with “I Dream a Dream.” Many moons ago in a gay bar on the Fulham Road, it was sung to me by a fat drag queen called ‘Dockyard Doris.’ Dearly departed Doris had a huge voice and carried off the key change with music hall assurance. The song was requested by a gas fitter (I was cleaning out his pipes at the time). He thought I was the one. I had other ideas. 

Matilda

Matilda

Matilda2We ventured down to the Smoke during the big freeze for a night at the theatre. Surprisingly, our train ride both to and from London was untroubled by the threat of snow drifts wafting across the frozen flatlands. Our West End treat was Matilda, the RSC musical adapted from Roald Dahl’s dark parable of good and evil. The gong-drenched pantomime was a slick, visually stunning, superbly staged, brilliantly choreographed, foot-tapping extravaganza that left a warm glow like a vintage brandy on a chilly night. The performance was only slightly marred by the quartet of ladies sitting immediately behind us who provided a running commentary while rustling their way through a hundredweight of Maltesers. Every appearance of a cute child on stage was greeted with an “aah” and, since much of the cast is made up of cute kiddies, there were a lot of aahs to sit through. A word of caution, the deafening crescendo of pre-pubescent sopranos singing in perfect harmony might crack your glasses and make your ears bleed.

Matilda1

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Life is a Cabaret Old Chum

Norwich, City of Literature

Saraswati ParkNorwich is the heart of arty-farty judging by the colourful assortment of scholarly fashionistas mingling around the College of Art. Norwich is also a treasure trove of wordy worthiness that rather puts my own inconsequential ramblings in the shade. The rich and centuries-old tradition of proper writing was recognised this year when UNESCO awarded Norwich City of Literature status. My inadequacies were further confirmed when I discovered that our downstairs neighbour is a serious novelist of award-winning, global stature. Her name is Anjali Joseph and, as we chatted about the darkened skies and wheelie bins, she modestly revealed that she’d written a book or two. I did a bit of Googling. It didn’t take long. Anjali is all over the wonderweb. A book or two? Crikey, this pretty young thing has written two internationally acclaimed novels published by HarperCollins, is working on her PhD in Creative Writing during her coffee breaks and is stalked by the national press. I might as well just slash my wrists and be done with it.

Plonk and Gossip

Jenny EclairWe played hosts at the weekend. Well, I say hosts. Apart from a short stroll to the Playhouse Theatre to enjoy the lavatorial humour of Jenny Eclair, the only hosting we did was to pop the celebratory corks. Our house guests, my old mucky mucker, Ian, and his young Celtic tiger, Matt, were grabbing a few days away from the Smoke and the Christmas scrum. Matt’s generosity at the bar meant that I can’t remember much of Ms Eclair’s high-velocity act though I can confirm it was deliciously funny, full-on, filthy and packed with an abundance of menopausal references to female plumbing. An arctic snap swept across the flatlands and the big skies dribbled with sleet so we decided to cancel the city tour. Instead, we settled down to a warm summit of plonk and gossip with a boozy interval of Strictly Come Dancing on Auntie. Our guests steadfastly refused to let us put our hands in our pockets which was naughty and typically stubborn but gratefully received by these poor old provincial poofs. We sent them packing with a couple of Tesco’s bags (to transport their livers in).

Blood Brothers, the Farewell Tour

The flatlands of Norfolk were draped in thick wet fog when Liam dragged me out to see ‘Blood Brothers’ at the Theatre Royal. The show is on its farewell tour after a 24 year run in the West End. The damp opaque night was a fitting overture to the brother’s grim tale of twins separated at birth. Loosely based on an Alexandre Dumas novella, Willy Russell’s gritty kitchen sink drama is acted out on the mean streets of Sixties, Seventies and Eighties Liverpool. Apart from “Tell Me It’s Not True,” there are very few memorable melodies in the show; Blood Brothers is more of a play with music than a musical play. The annoying pop-star placement trend continues to afflict the UK stage. Niki Evans, an ex-X Factor contestant, was cast as the hapless mother and ex-Wet Wet Wet pretty boy front man, Marti Pellow was the narrator. In fact, Ms Evans was indisposed for our night at the theatre and Tracey Spencer (who usually plays a supporting role) slipped into her shoes. Like Cinderella, it was a perfect fit. Ms Spencer has one of those rare seductive voices with a goose bump touch. It was she and Sean Jones (who played the doomed twin, Mickey) who stole the show. Interestingly, the two actors are married in real life. Less interesting was Marti Pellow’s performance. He delivered his lines with misplaced melodrama (think Shakespeare with a laboured Scouse accent) and he was very pedestrian (literally and metaphorically). Despite this, the show got an enthusiastic standing ovation. My verdict? I was on my feet too.

Cue the video. This is Barbara Dixon who played the original mother way back in 1983.

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Julian’s Vacant Position

East Anglian Writers

I’ve just been accepted into the august fold of East Anglian Writers so I guess that makes me a proper author. Cor blimey!

Julian’s Vacant Position

I’ve always had a soft spot for Julian Clary. Britain has a glorious tradition of camp comedians tripping out bawdy innuendos with mincing aplomb – Larry Grayson, John Inman and Frankie Howerd to name but three – but Julian was the first to place his sexuality at the very heart of his act. Sexual ambiguity and suggestive salvos from the back of the closet are not Julian’s style. He slaps it on with a shovel, love it or hate it. The verdict from the predominately straight, middle class, middle aged audience at Norwich’s Theatre Royal was unanimous. They loved it. I’m glad to report that Blighty’s continued pre-occupation with the lewd, the rude and the crude is alive and giggling. We loved it too. Julian provided an unexpected bonus, a marriage proposal live on stage from audience member Samantha to her partner Bonny. A ‘yes’ from Bonny was rewarded with a lively ovation all round. Julian ended his glittering passage with a nod to his more thoughtful side by speak-singing “It’s not yet cool to be queer,” a moving political broadcast for those poor souls living in less tolerant parts of our rainbow world. Julian’s show does exactly what it says on the glittery tin. He may be a one-joke comic but, blimey, what a joke.

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Life is a Cabaret, Old Chum

Liam has made friends with the Theatre Royal which means he’ll be dragging me along to every passing production doing the provincial rounds. As a taste of things to come, we popped along to catch the latest re-working of a treasured old favourite. Deliciously dark and tragically ironic, Cabaret is poignantly set within the doomed metrosexual decadence of Weimar Berlin before the monstrous social cleansing of Nazi Germany. These days, it takes big money to put on big shows and the best way to get bums on seats is to roll out the big names. This time round, the Kit Kat Club starred Pop Idol winner and grannies’ favourite, Will Young, as the Emcee and ex-Eastender, ex-Bionic Woman, Michelle Ryan as Sally Bowles. Putting pop names in the frame isn’t always a recipe for success. Young Will was a tasty revelation. He stepped along with camp Teutonic aplomb and wowed the audience with voice and perfectly paced pathos. Michelle Ryan, on the other hand, was barely serviceable as Sally. Her voice simply isn’t strong or distinct enough to carry off the big numbers and her Julie Andrew’s impersonation had to be propped up by a more talented chorus line. In between the big budget numbers, the dislocated scenes with the run-of-the-mill supporting cast were pedestrian and the deliberate pregnant pauses gave the impression that lines had been fluffed or forgotten. Of course, I’m a small gun critic so what do I know? But I suspect that when the show hits the West End, the big guns may well turn on at least one of the the big names.

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