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
A jobbing actress who finds global fame and VIP status by marrying a person who holds a position of national significance?
A woman who has special interests in charitable deeds and spouting political thoughts but becomes something of a fashion icon in the process and also the target of accusations of hypocrisy?
If the opportunity had been around there’s no doubt Eva Perón would have opened an Instagram account. Read the rest of this entry »
Well yes. Time to fess up. This was our fifth visit to this Regent’s Park production of JesusChrist Superstar. Though only (only?) the third time we actually got to see the show. Our first visit was cancelled due to a power failure and another cancelled due to inclemency. Read the rest of this entry »
Some things you may not know about Jesus Christ Superstar:
It was the first show Phil saw in the West End. He came up from Wiltshire with friends to see the original London cast at the Palace Theatre. A theatre he is now unlikely to ever see the interior of again.
He recorded the original JCS album on his reel-to-reel tape recorder. A microphone placed between the speakers of his friend’s stereo. A household forced into silence for an hour and a half.
He typed out the entire lyrics using his sister’s Brother typewriter, bound the sheets with Sellotape and created a cover reproducing the album artwork using felt tip pens. Quite an achievement for a 25 year-old.
He went to see this revival at Regent’s Park on the night the show was cancelled. Read the rest of this entry »
Ok, so we did emerge talking about the Cave of Wonders, the Genie and the how-did-they-do-that flying carpet. Of course we did. How could we not? At least it made a welcome change from banging on about Brexit.
It was almost enough to convince us we’d been entertained in the two and a half hours of razzle-dazzle spectacle that nearly beat us into submission, choking in a cloud of glitter yet wanting to dig out the harem pants and turbans from the backs of our wardrobes and spend the rest of our lives sewing on sequins. Read the rest of this entry »
Two love affairs, a spolier alert, extreme violence, several uses of the ‘F’ word, a body count higher than in Hamlet, drag queens, pugilism, racism, homophobia, prostitution, references to a hysterectomy and gonorrhea, a prison chain gang, the attack on Pearl Harbour, a gay kiss, a bare bottie and a soldier taking a leak on stage. Phew.
This isn’t your bog standard (unless you count the urination) musical fare and there’s an awful lot to fit in, let alone adding songs to increase the burden. If the critics don’t like From Here to Eternity the title may lend itself a little to easily to some chucklesome headlines.
Yet, there was something promising about the opening music, played on a lone ukulele as the front cloth dissolved to crashing waves that here, even at the Shaftesbury Theatre – a venue notorious for flop shows – there might just be a new musical with something special.
Of course there was still a long way to go. 2 hours 45 minutes to be precise. Plenty of time for things to go horribly wrong. Read the rest of this entry »
Featuring TV’s Danielle Hope as Dorothy and Bill Kenwright as the Harbinger of Doom.
We were astonished to read that co-producer Mister Bill Kenwright had been treading the Palladium boards as warm-up man for Andrew Lloyd Webber‘s new production of The Wizard of Oz. Frankly, it seemed unlikely.
But it is true.
It was true on Tuesday evening, anyway. There he was, reminiscing about Sunday Night at the London Palladium, talking up the quality of the orchestra, the beauty of the sets and the “zillions” (which must mean TWOO has now outstripped Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark as the most expensive musical of all time) spent on the double stage revolve.
Stopping just short of slapping a thigh he encouraged the crowd to sing along, clap, cheer, scream and boo the wicked witch before casually dropping in the fact that Michael Crawford wouldn’t actually be giving his wonderful Wizard or his Professor Marvel. Or his Emerald City doorman, come to that. It’s times like this make you wish for the simple white slip poking out of your programme.
The cause? Not mere laryngitis but “blood on his nodules”, apparently – a medical detail that perhaps unsurprisingly failed to whip the crowd much further into the desired state of frenzy but which did cause the Whingers to kick themselves for not packing the WEW Patent Rectal Thermometer.
An economically monickered understudy called “Zeph” (usually “Munchkin Mayor/Ensemble”) would be stepping into Mister Crawford’s beret. Read the rest of this entry »
A West End Whinger 