Andrew is on sabbatical but Phil is soldiering on to help you decide between the Merlot and the Marlowe and generally putting London's West End theatre to rights
In which we get to see Meghan Markle’s father’s Willy.
Before we get into trouble we should elucidate. This is Arthur Millers’ 1949 Death of a Salesman with Wendell Pierce giving us his Willy Loman. It was he who played Robert Zane, father of the character played by the then Ms Markle in Suits. Has anyone actually seen Suits? Does anyone know anyone who has actually seen it?* Read the rest of this entry »
What to add to our pontifications on Tony Kushner‘s Angels in America Part 1 that we haven’t already mentioned?
That there was a long line to collect tickets as they wouldn’t issue Part 2 tickets when we collected our Part 1 ones (are they doing a Hamilton thing?). That we queued to get into the auditorium as they didn’t open the doors until 7pm for our 7pm performance. That (apart from two intervals) we were in our cheap 4th row cramped budget airline seats for much of the 4 and three-quarter hours. That’s the flying time to Greenland. Read the rest of this entry »
Over 7 hours, 2 nights and at least 3 intervals (we do not yet know how many Part 2 holds). How terribly indulgent. It’s almost as long as its title. Phil saw the original production of Angels in America at the National back in 1992, yet, still he came back for more.
25 years ago Henry Goodman played closeted Roy Cohn, Trump and McCarthyite attorney, Nixon advisor, Rosenberg prosecutor, and all round shyster-meister. Here the casting coup is Nathan Lane. Mildly ironic that Lane should be taking the Goodman role since Goodman infamously (and briefly) took over from Lane when he left the Broadway run of The Producers. Read the rest of this entry »
” I don’t fly, I float” says Althea, The Light Princess of Tori Amos‘ new musical.
And indeed she does. Constantly.
You can’t say that Rosalie Craig‘s princess is barely off the stage as she’s barely on it. Wafting about all over the place, upright, horizontally, upside down and all points inbetween. And singing in those positions too. Impressive. She’s trussed and extremely trusting. Craig’s tightly harnessed up up to achieve these effects and must also have huge faith in those who ‘operate’ her. One also hopes there’s a good physio waiting backstage. The flying floating is brilliantly done, in all sorts of imaginative ways, but since it has been so cloaked in secrecy it would be churlish to reveal more.
And Rae Smith’s design, a happy clash of Moominland and silhouette illustrations is sumptuously pretty too. All stops have been pulled out here. Read the rest of this entry »
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.
You wouldn’t, of course. But in the unlikely chance you should ever pause to wonder how Phil behaves in a train toilet* then hasten yourself along to see the The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.
This is not intended to put you off booking a ticket for Simon Stephens‘ adaptation of Mark Haddon‘s novel about Christopher (Luke Treadaway) a 15-year-old mathematics wiz occupying a position somewhere on the autism/aspergers spectrum.
Christopher discovers his neighbour’s dog dead (Ken Dodd’s dog died. Did he? No, Doddy), impaled by a garden fork. Initially under suspicion himself, his enthusiasm for Sherlock Holmes inspires him to embark on his own investigation but he uncovers more than he bargains for.
Andrew had read the book and liked it very much. Phil had heard of it. But it really shouldn’t have worked for the Whingers. TCIOTDITNT is presented with the unfortunate double handicap of: 1. in-the-round staging and 2. at the Cottesloe, eek. Yet, and it sticks in our throats to say, it’s seems the ideal location and the one occasion where a perch in one of the theatre’s upper levels affords a terrific overview of the frequently stunning visuals. The graph-paper stage by the prolific Bunny Christie (need we say more?), lighting by Paule Constable and video design by Finn Ross all but threaten to steal the show. Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Santa,
Season’s Greetings to you.
We know it’s a long time since either of us popped our Christmas wish lists up the chimney – in Phil’s case so long that he barely remembers how difficult it often was, what with all the young urchins and their brushes obstructing his flue.
But if it’s not too late, please could you add these to our standard wish-list of satsumas, nuts, a complete DVD collection of Miss Marple for Andrew and a year’s supply of Cillit Bang for Phil: Read the rest of this entry »
“I was wondering today,” said Andrew as the Whingers sat disconsolately at one of the two draughty tables which sit forlornly outside the soulless entrance to the Cottesloe foyer, “why we go to the theatre.”
A pause. Another sip of wine. Another pause.
“Simon Shepherd was on Loose Women today,” replied Phil brightly.
Andrew mused on the idea that theatre could serve the function of a mirror or perhaps a prism through which one might see aspects of one’s own life afresh.
For example, had Phil and he – like Mr and Mrs Affleck – inadvertently created a crippled child in the form of the so-called “West End Whingers”; a child for which neither much cares, much less loves and for whose death each sub-consciously wishes. But that child that is nonetheless theirs; it demands to be fed; it determines the pattern of their lives; it confronts them daily with guilt at their own revulsion with themselves.
The Cottesloe knell rang, calling the Whingers back to Act 2.
“Do you think that’s how it is?” asked Andrew.
“Apparently Lorna Luft has replaced Stefanie Powers in Pack of Lies,” said Phil, excitedly.
A West End Whinger 