Review – The Amen Corner, National Theatre

No sign of Simon Cowell around but anyway it wasn’t the eggs broken on stage at the National Theatre that stole the show. These eggs (Three. Phil counted), unlike those in Children of the Sun, were at least cracked into a bowl and whisked.

Nor was it the convincingly realised period carton from which the eggs were produced that most impressed, although the attention to detail was most agreeable (along with the C & H sugar packet in the kitchen cupboard – check it out if you’re sitting near the front), but it was a almost a photo-finish.

Review – Sweet Bird of Youth, Old Vic

The Whingers have always celebrated the virtues of good theatrical wiggery, so we are disposed to discuss one particular wig before moving on. Do not be fooled by the production’s posters (right). The tin is very misleading.

Sweet Bird of Youth introduces us to Alexandra Del Lago (Kim Cattrall), a heavy-drinking, pill-popping faded Hollywood legend and self-professed “monster” (who’s just fled the calamitous premiere of her comeback movie), groaning face down in a hotel bed. She wakes up with a panic attack and screams for oxygen. Small wonder; it appears something rather frightful has crawled onto her head during the night. Now Phil’s has a mind of its own too first thing in the morning (his hair that is) and of course Del Lago’s hair’s meant to be a mess, yet there was something about it that wasn’t quite right. Or, as one of the Whingers’ entourage noted sagely, “it looks a bit nylony”. Perhaps that was the point.

Review – Strange Interlude, National Theatre

What are the chances?

You wait an eternity for an infidelity tragi-comedy in which the audience are party to the characters’ innermost thoughts and then you are afforded two in a row.

Just days after visiting Passion Play, where actors play the two main characters’ alter egos, comes Eugene O’Neill‘s 1928 Pulitzer Prize-winner Strange Interlude in which every character makes asides to the audience revealing what they’re really thinking. It’s the Shakespearean device by way of TV’s Peep Show.

Andrew had chickened out of this one on the grounds of life being too short but Phil gamely picked up the cudgel or something and as he occasionally has thoughts in his heads too, has been inspired to go with the zeitgeist and opening up the peculiar workings of his own psyche.

Review – Passion Play, Duke of York’s Theatre

A Saturday matinee.

Both upper levels of the Duke of York’s appeared to be closed, the theatre barely a third full. No wonder some of the cast couldn’t resist sneaking furtive glances into the auditorium (not furtive enough – we caught you!). The pain and angst apparent on the actors’ faces in Peter Nichols’ 1981 adultery tragi-comedy Passion Play probably didn’t require quite as much acting at this performance.

Music teacher Eleanor (Zoë Wanamaker) has been married to James (Owen Teale) for 25 years – apparently monogamously – but their much younger friend Kate (Annabel Scholey), borrowing the Catherine Zeta Jones’ look from Chicago (which would be the Louise Brooks’ look if you’re of a Whingers’ age), has a history of making herself readily available to pleasure older men. Can James resist her minxy advances? What are the chances?

Review – Bullet Catch, National Theatre

Risk-averse? Us? No, no no. As recently as a few years ago the Whingers went white water rafting (well, brown water rafting, really) and only weeks ago went on Stealth at Thorpe Park (although Andrew did have to exercise a little last minute cajoling to get Phil on board). Obviously they survived to tell the tale, though had Phil not plumped for quad-biking in the dunes over Andrew’s suggestion of skydiving in Namibia it may well have been an entirely different story. Perhaps the Whingers have Phil’s fumbling in the recesses of cautiousness to thank for their longevity.

Generally though the Whingers’ risk-taking is limited to parting with money for untried, untested shows or, ipso facto, anything at the now defunct Cottesloe Theatre. But since its temporary replacement, The Shed, was offering “a unique theatrical experience featuring mind reading, levitation and, if you’re brave enough to stay for it, the most notorious finale in show business.” they just had to be there.

And when Rob Drummond asked for volunteers for his entertainment both waved their hands eagerly – like swots at the back of the class wishing to impress Sir – hoping it might be one of their fingers on the trigger in “a stunt so dangerous Houdini refused to attempt it, the Bullet Catch has claimed the lives of at least 12 people since its conception in 1613.” Oh yes, we both reached for The gun, the gun, the gun, the gun.

Review – London Wall, St James Theatre

You can rely on the teensy Finborough Theatre (from whence this transferred) to find obscure works worth reviving. London Wall has been described as long-forgotten. Not by us. We’d have have had to have some memory of it in the first place to have forgotten it now.

We also knew little about its playwright. We didn’t know John Van Druten directed the original production of The King and I. All we knew him for was his 1951 play based on the Christopher Isherwood stories that formed the basis for the musical Cabaret. That was called I am a Camera; it’s small wonder they named a Broadway theatre after the critic Walter Kerr who famously came up with the succinctly brilliant review for it, “Me no Leica”.

Review – The Hothouse, Trafalgar Studios / This House, National Theatre

We are of course far too indolent to check, but this is possibly our first conjoined review.

It’s a time thing really. We’re all behind, but in our defence there are parallels between these plays: both are “house”-titled, have on-stage, set-specific audience seating and are boisterously over-the-top comedic satires set in institutions run by dangerously potty people.

The Hothouse features John Simm, Simon Russell Beale, Indira Varma, John Heffernan, Clive Rowe and Christopher Timothy and the aforementioned chance to be up there with them. You’d be forgiven for assuming Andrew would have been there wouldn’t you?

Review – Desperately Seeking The Exit, Leicester Square Theatre

We have observed before how carefully one must choose the title of one’s show lest critics, sub-editors or even pesky bloggers get their hands on it and turn it on its head and here is Peter Michael Marino doing it to himself, sort of, with a bit of help from Charlie Spencer.

Having eventually recovered from a year long bout of depression and a severe case of haemorrhoids the writer of the 2007 West End flop musical Desperately Seeking Susan has nicked a quote from Charles Spencer’s review and used it for his one man piece Desperately Seeking the Exit (director John Clancy) which explains what went wrong.

The Whingers never saw DSS and we’re not even sure why. We’re both very partial to The Blondie, whose songs were purloined to musicalise the plot from the 1985 film (memorable because (a) it featured Madonna and (b) she wasn’t terrible in it).

How bad could the musical version have been? As bad as Paradise Found? Viva Forever! (which has just announced it is not quite forever)? Or the so-bad-it-was-(almost)-good Too Close to the Sun? Surely not.

Review – The Weir, Donmar Warehouse

Another week, another theatrical first.* Well, a first for us. Though sadly what led to this first is becoming a norm.

Barely two weeks after leaving Children of the Sun with a fire alarm – triggered by a stage effect – ringing in our ears, still more ringing dominates the punters’ leaving-the-theatre discussions.

The Donmar didn’t have a pre-show announcement to switch off mobiles (not that some people take any notice). And, of course, one went off. Someone had to take action. That someone was Brian Cox (the actor, not the particle physicist with the 90s rock band hair).

Review – Othello National Theatre

We are not in the habit of issuing public service announcements but…

Check your tickets. Emily Mackay-ishly thinking to intimidate us by the use of quarter-hours, evening performances of Othello start at 7.15pm. Arrive on time so you won’t have to be guided to your seat in crepuscular gloom at the first suitable break in the proceedings. Goodness knows what it’ll be like at the upcoming Strange Interlude which starts at the even more intimidating 6.30pm. Just how long is it going to be? Anyone need a pair of tickets?

Anyhoo, as we departed the theatre (again the quarter, but this the one before 11pm) thoughts turned to the question of Adrian Lester‘s age and “Are Othellos – like policeman – getting younger?”

Review – Untold Stories, Duchess Theatre

There were uncomfortable shards of recognition at Alan Bennett‘s autobiographical Untold Stories.

Phil discovered that the contents of his kitchen cupboard are not dissimilar to those of Bennett’s parents: the long-forgotten ground white pepper, the glacé cherries (though not sitting in an egg cup), the container of cocktail sticks, and the stubborn dried up dribbles of food that need chipping at to remove, all lurking with other long-past-their-sell-by-date items way back behind more pressingly urgent comestibles.

And Phil’s mother is from Yorkshire too. Not that he’s suggesting his mother’s kitchen cupboards are anything other than immaculate. At last, here’s a show that gives you something to take away with you; that it’s time to consider a spring clean.*

The parallels in Cocktail Sticks, the second of this double bill of recollections, were sometimes a little too close to home and not just in the kitchen department.

Review – Children of the Sun, National Theatre

Thrilling!

Now here’s a first and a SPOILER ALERT but as this was a first preview we cannnot guarantee it will happen again.* Pity.

Maxim Gorky’s Children of the Sun** may have begun with a whimper but it certainly ended with a bang: a stage explosion so intense it probably finished off a few senior members of the audience (obviously we survived to tell the tale). The heat could be felt several rows back in the stalls. The shock was so great, Phil let out an involuntary “Jesus!” and possibly a little wee. But even more excitingly – such was its impact – it set off the Lyttleton’s fire alarm.

Theatre doesn’t get much better than this.

This is what the audience left the theatre talking about. What more does one need to say? It’s tempting to stop here.

Review – The Low Road, Royal Court

The Whingers have been on something a journey with Bruce Norris plays at the Royal Court.

The Pain and the Itch and The Low Road top and tail Dominic Cooke‘s tenure at the Court. The former saw a rare Whingers’ schism, the latter an even bigger one as Andrew turned down the opportunity to attend.

The ‘taste the difference’ jam sandwiched between those aforesaid works was Norris’ hilarious Clybourne Park which saw us unanimous in fulsome admiration; Andrew was so enthralled he returned for a second viewing. High praise indeed.

Despite Phil dangling two of Andrew’s 5-a-day; the twin carrots of Norris’ 100% hit rate with Andrew and the WEW-endorsed Simon Paisley Day‘s inclusion in the cast he was having none of it. If only Phil had kept quiet schtum about the original advertised running time of 3 hours 20 minutes (now clipped to a mere 3 hours).

So, this piece is Norris’ ’fable of free market economics and cut-throat capitalism’ performed as a swashbuckling pageant, mainly in 18th century New England, by way of prostitution, slavery, highway robberies and bees.

Review – Trelawny of the Wells, Donmar

Bit late in the day with this one and frankly we weren’t going to bother writing it up as it closes on Saturday. But we’ll forget that we saw it otherwise. That’s not to say it’s forgettable. It’s just us.

Andrew was a Trelawny of the Wells virgin. Phil saw the starry Helena Bonham Carter version at the then Comedy Theatre 20-odd years ago; rather unfortunately the National also staged it around the same time. Oops. Phil remembered that it featured Michael Hordern, Jason Connery and Margaret Courtenay but had completely forgotten that cosmonaut-in-waiting Sarah Brightman also starred. How could he forget that? It seemed necessary to record our visit, if only for ourselves. You should feel no obligation to read any further.

Review – Once, Phoenix Theatre

“It’s got an on-stage bar where you can buy your drinks during the interval!” *

Phil knew how to persuade Andrew to take in Once. That’s all it took.

In fact, it won last year’s Tony Award for Best Musical, and that it was based on an micro-budget indie film (winning an Oscar for best song, “Falling Slowly”) that we hadn’t seen and that it was a bit Oirish. But that was about it.

Even such scant knowledge seems to put one way ahead of the man on the 88. Mention Once to most people and they say, “What’s that?” It has slipped under the radar and really not helped by opening mere weeks after the previous year’s Best Musical Tony-Winning behemoth, Book of Mormon. But then that has a budget to pebbledash its publicity so generously you couldn’t possible not know about it.

But this show has another card up its sleeve. It’s at the Phoenix Theatre. We can’t remember when we were last there (Phil thinks it was probably Into the Woods in 1990) as it has been clogged up largely with that theatrical canker, Blood Brothers for 21 years.