I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Drama and performance can really help young minds build important life skills. But make no mistake, it takes guts and gumption to strut your stuff on stage in front of a bunch of strangers.
Hobart High School have a proud history of giving us the old razzle dazzle with a feast of young talent. This year’s offering – Shrek, the Musical, a fantastic tale of love conquering all from a kingdom far, far away – was up there with the best of ’em. How apt it was that we saw it on Valentine’s Day.
We knew some of the young cast. Jas and Benny were splendid. And a very special mention must go to Rory in the title role. He strutted his stuff with huge confidence, enthusiasm and the most convincing Scottish accent this side of Dundee. Well done, Rory.
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.
We’re big fans of Sir Ian McKellen, star of stage, screen and gay bars – or ‘Sirena’ as he’s affectionately known by the brethren. Sirena is at his devilish best when working to a witty and waspish script. And he clearly revelled in the role of Jimmy Erskine in The Critic, our latest movie jolly.
Jimmy, a fearsome and feared 1930s theatre critic, writes for a right-wing ‘family’ national newspaper. Despite the rag’s political leanings, Jimmy’s predilection for ‘the love that dares not speak its name’ is barely concealed. After all, a theatrical gay is hardly front-page news (even back then). But when it gets him into hot water with the boys in blue, the scandal also gets him the sack.
Staring at an impoverished future preaching to an empty house, Jimmy hatches a dark plot to get his job back. He persuades an up-and-coming young actress – played by the marvellous Gemma Arterton – to seduce the newspaper owner. Jimmy has blackmail on his mind. What’s in it for her? Glowing reviews, of course. She craves Jimmy’s affirmation. These days, everyone’s a critic. But before we all got in on the act, a bad newspaper review could make or break a budding star.
McKellen is deliciously wicked as Jimmy and gets all the best catty put-downs. And he’s ably supported by a first-class cast. How does it all end? Well, let’s just say the critic and the critiqued do not make great bedfellows. Here’s the trailer…
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.
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 theBeast 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?
Our immediate neighbours at the Duke of York’s Theatre in old London Town were a trio of antique thesps with silver hair, floaty chiffon and silk scarves – very Sunset Boulevard – who were getting so over-excited by Backstairs Billy I thought we might have to ask if there was a doctor in the house. Liam got chatting to the classy lady in the pew next to him. She was an actress – retired, not resting, she told him.
“Theatre? TV? Films?” he asked.
“Ads, darling,” she said.
It turns out she was the face of Cadbury’s drinking chocolate back in the day.
As we dropped into our seats on the top deck of the early morning workers’ express to Norwich, Liam said, “Okay Jack, roll up for a magical mystery tour.” I had no clue what was to come but went along for the ride anyway. Three hours later we were meandering through London’s theatreland, eventually joining the queue outside the Duke of York’s Theatre in St. Martin’s Lane.
Sneaky Liam had secretly booked tickets for a West End play I’d mentioned in a throwaway comment months earlier. The show, Backstairs Billy, is a comedy about the close relationship between Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother and her faithful retainer of 50 years, William ‘Billy’ Tallon.
Set long after the dowager queen had been put out to pasture, the razer-sharp script cascades from belly-laugh slapstick farce to moments of real tenderness. The sparkling Penelope Wilton (The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, Downton Abbey) and hunky Luke Evans (Beauty and the Beast) play mistress and servant. And they do it with great aplomb.
Billy cut a controversial figure in royal circles. The Queen Mother wasn’t the only queen he serviced. An infamous chaser of young men, Billy often sailed close to the wind at a time when it wasn’t quite cricket. The play waltzes around one such indiscretion when he was caught in flagrante delicto with a casual pickup in the garden room of Clarence House and almost got the boot. But the Queen Mother’s loyalty knew no bounds – apparently she loved her gays, as evidenced by the famous quote,
“Perhaps, when you two queens are quite finished, you could get this old queen her drink.”
Whether or not she actually said this we shall never know, but the line got the biggest laugh in the show.
Billy died in 2007 and, despite his notoriety, his funeral was held in the Queen’s Chapel at St. James’s Palace, and it was attended by more than 200 mourners, including lords, ladies and luvvies of stage and screen. Not too shabby for a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.
We see a lot of am-dram these days – across town and county, in huts and halls, theatres big and small, all delivered by companies of dedicated luvvies giving it their all. We love the old razzle dazzle. It keeps us out of the pub, though not necessarily sober as there’s always a bar attached. Unsurprisingly, the gigs are a mixed bag – some good, some not so good. And sometimes they’re really, really good. We never know what to expect. It’s all part of the drama.
Right up there on the really, really good scale was the recent production of The Wizard of Oz at the Beccles Public Hall and Theatre, a charming little venue just across the county line in Suffolk. From the first scene to the last, the show was pure magic, slick and professional, with some cracking acts.
A special mention must go to Alice Peck, the daughter of our local tavern keeper, in her debut lead role as Dorothy. Well done, young Alice. It was a tornado of a performance. You’ll go far.
And who could forget Alice’s mother, Karen, reprising her role as the Wicked Witch of the West from her 2022 performance? She swapped her usual soft Dundonian tones for full-on, in-yer-face Glaswegian. Full of menace and mayhem, we were half-expecting a Glasgow kiss from a seriously pissed-off cackling witch. We definitely weren’t in Kansas.
After an unseasonably warm few weeks fired by a hot Saharan blast, autumn is finally upon us and thoughts meander back to summer frolics and the bucket-and-spade family entertainment that took me right back to more innocent times in short trousers. Some people may remember Seaside Special on the box during the seventies and eighties. I know I do. It was a Saturday night fixture in our house.
Our first 2023 seaside special was the award-winning Cromer Pier Show at the Pavilion Theatre. For my sins, I was expecting something fun but just a little bit naff. How wrong was I? What we got was a spectacular and lavish vaudeville-on-sea variety show with crackin’ tunes, crackin’ vocals, belly laughs and juggling genius, all wrapped up in sequins and feathers.
If that wasn’t enough to set the pulse racing, nothing could prepare us for the Hippodrome in Great Yarmouth, Britain’s last remaining circus building. Seemingly untouched by the modern world, the theatre reeks of old-style, time-worn charm – the toilets alone are a riot of Victorian bling. But there was nothing faded about the show. Featuring top-notch acts from around the world, it was full-on, edge-of-the-seat stuff. And it doesn’t get any more full-throttle than four leather-clad bikers playing ‘catch me’ around a metal cage. For the grand finale, the stage fell away to reveal a swimming pool and the show was brought to a splashing close by a shoal of fancy ladies doing a Busby Berkeley number surrounded by fit blokes in tight wet shirts. It felt like I was on drugs.
For more exciting images, check out the Hippodrome’s own website. Many thanks to our fellow village people who invited us along for the rides. You know who you are.
The last time I was at a school play, I was in a school play. That was 1976 and it was Midsummer Night’s Dream. No, I wasn’t typecast as one of the fairies. Shame on you for thinking it. In fact, I was ‘Snug, a Joiner’, who was also ‘Lion’ in the Bard’s play within a play. I was terrible. My lion’s roar was particularly lame. Roll on nearly half a century and school plays have come a long way. Back in my day, there was no technical wizardry with lights, mikes and music, just a few spotty teens mooching and mumbling.
And judging by the recent production of Matilda, the Musical, at Hobart High, our local secondary school, the quality of the performances has come a long way too. There was some real talent on that stage and the complicated ensemble song and dance routines were a pleasure to watch – harmonious and pretty much step perfect. The enthusiasm was infectious, warming up the audience on a cold midwinter’s evening. And the fact we knew some gifted kids in the cast made it even better. Mothers cried with joy.
Perking the Pansies 