Singin’ in the Rain – Making a Splash

Neither I nor him indoors are that keen on classic Hollywood-style musicals. We tend to go for something a bit more contemporary. But when we saw the all-round talent that is Alex Green taking centre-stage as the poster boy for Singin’ in the Rain, one of MGM’s most iconic musicals, we thought, why not?

The Norfolk and Norwich Operatic Society chose the musical for their centenary production, and the run at Norwich’s Theatre Royal was more or less sold out. As is our habit, we chose a matinee and joined our fellow grey tops on their day out. I’ve never seen the entire film, just the more famous dance highlights, so I wasn’t familiar with the story. What I did know is that famous Hollywood hoofer Gene Kelly was horribly mean to his co-star, the late, great Debbie Reynolds, who was only 19 at the time and new to the dancing lark. Kelly bullied her until her feet bled. It’s the stuff of Hollywood legend.

Getting the gist of the story wasn’t helped by the punter sitting in front of me, with the biggest head since King Kong fell for Fay Wray. I missed most of the action stage left. So much so that Liam and I swapped seats for Act Two – him being taller. A stiff drink got me through it.

What I did see was terrific. Alex Green was joined by an equally gifted cast who really gave us the old razzle dazzle in spectacular style. The famous Singin’ in the Rain sequence was particularly impressive, with Alex Green in the Gene Kelly role splashing across the front of the stage as water showered from above. He got soaked. The front few rows got a bit wet too – I’m guessing the punters were pre-warned.

We also loved the reprise featuring a funkier version – both in song and dance – of the Singin’ in the Rain number by the full ensemble. A great modern touch.

Image courtesy of the NNOS Facebook page

And I’m pleased to write that, in the end, King Kong didn’t spoil the show.

Top of the Pansy Pops 2024

The 2024 top of the crop had a distinctly thespian theme – gays and the arts. Could it be any more of a cliché? Or maybe it just reflects a need for a distraction in worrying times. Who knows? Also thrown into the mix were celebrating the life of a dearly departed, a fond memory from our lotus-eating days in Turkey, and a few Greek postcards from gorgeous old Corfu Town. Oh, and then there was the little piece about my money-making side hustle as an Only Fans porn star. If only.

For some inexplicable reason, a 2020 post about a game old bird fit for the pot waddling around our modest small holding took off. Why? It’s a mystery.

Also, numbers-wise, Perking the Pansies enjoyed the best year since 2016, so there’s still life in the old blog yet. I thank you.

Happy New Year. Let’s hope for a lot more peace for 2025.

How Did Henry Get His Hampton Court?

What’s a couple of loose-end gay boys to do on a hot and cloudless summer’s day in old London Town? Pub or palace? We tossed a coin. Tails for the pub, heads for the palace. Her Maj won, so off we went to visit the glorious Hampton Court Palace, which graces a pretty stretch of…

Pride, the Musical

In my ever-so-humble opinion the 2014 comedy-drama, Pride, is one of the best British films ever made. It’s based on the (almost unbelievably) true story of a small group of London activists calling themselves ‘Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners’ who, in the darkening AIDS days of 1984, raised thousands to help the families of…

What a Spectacle

Ok, I admit it. I’m a bit of a hoarder. Liam’s always nagging me to weed out the tat. I usually resist. “Useless today, useful tomorrow,” I say. And we have a loft, the perfect hideaway to hide away the junk from Liam’s critical gaze and oh-so well-rehearsed shrugs. The loft is my exclusive domain,…

Pantos and Parties

Storm Darragh barrelling across angry skies couldn’t keep us from our annual panto and party pre-Christmas pilgrimage to The Smoke. The London Palladium pantomime this year is Robin Hood, starring the outrageous queen of high and low camp, Julian Clary, and his usual cast of merrie men and women. The vocal act is Jane McDonald – every pensioner’s favourite cruise-line crooner – as Maid Marion. And the likely lass from Yorkshire can really belt out a tune. Lavish, filthy and with a plot as flimsy as a Christmas twig, the show is a belly-laugh sacrament that’s become a firm festive fixture for these two village people.

The gusty winds and horizontal rain drove us into various watering holes to dry off and warm up. Everywhere was rammed. But even these two old merry men don’t drink before midday, so we spent one morning wandering around the splendid Museum of Science, one of the holy trinity of world-class museums along Exhibition Road in South Kensington – the V&A and the Natural History Museum being the other two must-sees. Like the pubs, the various galleries were rammed, not with dripping trippers but with wide-eyed kiddies in backpacks and waterproofs. It’s a fascinating place to spend a few hours, whatever the weather.

We also had the good fortune to catch up with family for much-missed hot gossip and to meet the latest editions to the clan – twin girls. And gorgeous they are too! It made these two old festive fairies very proud great uncles.

The Devil Wears Prada

Picture it. October, London, Liam’s birthday and the much-anticipated new Elton John stage musical, The Devil Wears Prada, based on the acclaimed 2006 film. So imagine our disappointment to discover, quite by chance, that the performance we were due to see had been cancelled – no notice, no explanation. We contacted the Dominion Theatre Box Office to establish what was what. They said they’d emailed. Well, sweet Fanny Adams received this end – zero, zilch, zip, nada, nothing, nowt. Lost in cyberspace or so it seems. Or was it? A first-world problem, I know, but annoying nonetheless. We could have arrived at the theatre to find it ‘dark’, as they say in the trade. Many happy returns.

Anyway, once prompted, the theatre refunded the cost of our tickets and we booked to see Moulin Rouge instead. Because we can-can!

A Family Affair

This week has been a double bill of showbiz fun featuring our local innkeeper’s talented family. First to mince across the boards was the master of the house himself, Simon Peck. Simon played Roger De Bris in The Producers, Mel Brooks’ notorious black comedy. The story centres around a dodgy theatre producer and his accountant who together hatch a get-rich-quick scheme to swindle investors – by staging a gay romp about Hitler that’s designed to fail. De Bris, an uber-camp, cross-dressing director whose shows rarely get past the first reading, is hired to make doubly sure the musical flops.

If offence is easily taken, then Springtime for Hitler, the musical within a musical, is superficially offensive on every level. But it’s outstanding, a satirical piss-take at its most piercing. And Simon Peck was brilliant in it as the OTT limp-wristed luvvie – as camp as a row of tents – a role he was simply born to play.

Down the years, The Producers has achieved cult status and expectations were high, but we needn’t have worried. The entire top-notch cast at The Pavilion Theatre Gorleston put in a stonking performance. These two old gay luvvies loved it.

Talking of cross-dressing, next up was a stage version of the 1998 film romcom Shakespeare in Love from The Echo Youth Theatre at The Garage in Norwich. Echo Youth always put on a good show. And for this production, gender roles were mostly reversed. Whether this was due to a shortage of boys in the company or as a statement about the ban on female actors in Shakespeare’s day (a key theme in the plot), it worked extremely well.

Young starlet in the making, Alice Peck, played one of the leads as playwright Christopher Marlowe, a contemporary of the Bard. In the show (as in real life), Marlowe comes to a sticky end in a pub brawl. Ms Peck gave a glowing performance, lighting up the stage. And she died well too. In a good way, of course. Alice’s brother, Rory, whose principal role was playing clarinet in the chorus, had a hand in her undoing. Did he volunteer? We can’t say.

A special mention must go to the young chap playing Elizabeth I. Let’s face it, Judi Dench is a tough act to follow and he did a great job. Oscars all round, we thought.

Postcards from Paxos – Second Delivery

Some Like It Hot

We knew Paxos would be hot, but we didn’t know quite how sizzling. The mercury rises with each day that passes – 38 degrees and counting. Afternoons are either spent cooling off in the pool or quenching our thirst in breezy harbourside cafés watching the ebb and flow of the yachties from the fancy boats. Some struggle in and out of the small dinghies that ferry them back and forth. Yes, we do laugh – discretely.

All the Nice Boys Love a Sailor

We made an excursion – to nearby Loggos – for a spot of lunch. The bus was blissfully air-conditioned, with fares collected by a formidable Greek grandma – not a woman to trifle with. Smaller than Lakka, Loggos is every bit as cute. The swarthy fisherman we spotted gutting his catch was pretty cute too.

Sundowners

Sunsets in Lakka are glorious and best watched while sipping a stiff cocktail strong enough to put hairs on the chest. Talking of chests, our cocktail waitress has a novel way of keeping her cool – stuffing a hand-held fan down her cleavage. Village food is more hearty than haute cuisine, and the very quaffable house white is probably poured from a bucket out back. But hey, who cares? Tastes good to me.

Star Struck

Lakka isn’t quite St Tropez, so imagine our surprise when we spotted Tim Rice, he who wrote the lyrics for global musical megahits like Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita, among other smashes. We guessed he’d dropped anchor and jumped ship for dinner. Liam also spotted Frances de la Tour, the wonderful character actress who once flashed her tits at me in a West End play back in the seventies. All for her art, of course.

Thank you to chatty man Kostas for a memorable time and also to our wonderful Albanian chambermaid, Manuela, who has an economics degree and is fluent in three languages. Manuella works two jobs to keep food on the table for her family.

We shall return.

Les Misérables – Not Glum At All

Affectionately known as ‘The Glums’, the spectacular musical ‘Les Misérables’ has been a London fixture for nearly forty years. I’ve seen the West End production twice. I also bought the soundtrack and saw the star-studded and much-praised 2012 film adaptation. So it’s fair to say I’m pretty familiar with the tale and the tunes.

I must confess I was a little nervous as we took our seats to see Echo Youth Theatre’s version of this epic story of love, loss, injustice, rebellion and redemption. The big songs need big voices and a rousing chorus line to stir the soul. I shouldn’t have worried. As a brilliant training ground for young talent, Echo Youth always deliver. I’ve seen most of their recent shows and they’ve all hit the target with top note performances and top-notch production. Without a doubt, this show was their finest – classic and classy, energetic and emotional. And despite the high body count – most of ’em die in the end – we were left feeling elated and all tingly.

The spontaneous standing ovation at the end was richly deserved. Not glum at all.


All images courtesy of the Echo Youth Theatre.

Opening Night

We love a wacky musical and they don’t come much wackier than Opening Night, a brand new West End show from the pen of singer-songwriter Rufus Wainwright. Based on a 1977 film of the same name, the musical stars Sheridan Smith as an ageing has-been who’s lost her mojo and hit the bottle. It’s a familiar, well-trodden Judy and Norma theme. Despite a dedicated fanbase, Rufus Wainwright has been little troubled by commercial success. And I can see why. The score is dissonant, dense and tuneless – a torch song tale without the torch songs.

The production itself is a pretentious mess – shouty, angry and hard to follow, with bizarre staging involving TVs dotted about the auditorium and a large screen above the stage which, from where we were sitting, was largely obscured. We weren’t sure when and where to look – stage or screen – so by the second half we didn’t bother to look at all. The cast made the best of a bad lot and, come curtain call, the audience applauded politely, mostly out of pity, I thought.

Afterwards, as we piled onto the street in need of a stiff drink, Liam said, ‘Well, that was a pile of old shit’. The woman in front of us turned round and said, ‘I’m so glad you said that. It really was shit.’

We drowned our sorrows in Soho.

Beauty and the Beast

Drama and performance can really help young minds build important life skills like confidence, comradeship, communication, cooperation and commitment – and loads of other vital ‘c’s too. But it takes guts and gumption to strut your stuff on the stage in front of a bunch of strangers. Back in my old school days, our annual theatrical offering usually consisted of a few spotty boys in need of deodorant mumbling a few lines from the Bard they didn’t really understand. Thankfully, things have come a long way since then.

Unlike the could-do-better days of my youth, this year’s Hobart High School’s production of Beauty and the Beast attained A+ in the talent and fun department. So much so, the show received an emotional standing ovation at the end, which I’m sure will linger long after the lights and makeup have faded. We know several members of the young cast – Benny, Eva, Jas and Rory. They were all amazing. And as for our very own budding starlet, Alice, in her directorial debut, is there anything this brilliant young lady can’t do?

Betty Blue Eyes Brings Home the Bacon

For rural shires on the eastern edge of this green and pleasant land, East Anglia is rather blessed when it comes to live theatre. It seems everyone’s at it, from the have-a-go luvvies in drafty old village halls to well-seasoned thesps treading the boards at the rather magnificent Theatre Royal, Norwich. Unsurprisingly, it’s a mixed bag of riches – some good, some less so but all worth a few shillings. Always worth a punt are the song and dance showstoppers from the Norwich and Norfolk Operatic Society. And their latest, Betty Blue Eyes, was no exception.

Adapted from the 1984 film A Private Function, from the genius pen of Alan Bennett, Betty Blue Eyes is set in a small Yorkshire town just after the War, with food rationing still on the menu, resulting in unpalatable Soviet-style food queues and meagre plates. But to celebrate the 1947 royal wedding of Princess Elizabeth to Prince Phillip, the local bigwigs decide to throw a banquet fit for a queen with a main course of illegally reared, unlicensed pork. They call the pig ‘Betty’ in honour of the soon-to-be-wed princess. Of course, the feast is strictly for the top drawer with their overbearing sense of entitlement. The hoi polloi have to make do with Spam.

Quirky, eccentric, heart-warming and thoroughly British, the show was a funny, foot-tapping tale of small town, small minds and smug middle-class snobbery; the kind of ‘one rule for us, another rule for them’ mentality exposed by the recent Partygate scandal.

The cast was excellent, particularly those from our own small community hereabouts – you know who you are. For me, the stand out performances came from Will Mugford, the hen-pecked anti-hero Gilbert who saves the day, Joseph Betts as Henry, who develops a rather unconventional relationship with Betty (or perhaps not so unconventional given we’re in Norfolk) and Alex Green, the light-footed, campish Food Inspector in Gestapo leathers trying to catch out the rule-breakers.

No actual pigs were harmed in the performance.

Here they are in rehearsals…

Footnote:


According to Wikipedia , during the filming of A Private Function, Maggie Smith was hemmed in by an angry pig and had to vault over the back of it to escape. Dame Maggie then went on to win a Best Actress BAFTA for her trouble. She’s a real trouper.