WEST END PRODUCER'S REVIEW OF THE YEAR
Well my dears. It’s been another marvellous theatrical year – full of some thrilling centre stage erections, and some awkward down stage flops. In 2018 flossing became more than just something you did to your teeth, Theresa May shocked the dance world with her step ball changes, and Donald Trump sacked everyone who possessed more hair than him. And that’s before we even get to Brexit. But there’s no point getting to that, because I doubt we ever will. Anyhow, once more unto the breeches, dear friends, once more – let’s have a little look at this year’s theatre.
Firstly, let’s delve into the world of the 2018 musicals:
In the musical theatre world there were highs like Fun Home at the Young Vic (which was an alarmingly brilliant story tracing the coming of age of lesbian author Alison Bechdel), and lows (most notably involving some knights and a thorny flower). Heathers stormed into the west end followed by an army of Carrie Hope Fletcher fans, mildly rioting in pre-pubescent euphoria along the streets of the Haymarket. The show caused upset with some critics as they weren’t allowed in at that other place, but it didn’t matter anyway, as when they were finally granted access most were surprisingly impressed.
Tina Turner came rolling into the Aldwych Theatre, with a sensational central performance. And of course who can forget Company – where the female Bobbie led the way in this startling new version. I can’t wait until other productions follow suit and Jean Valjean becomes Jean (pronounced like the item of clothes), Sunday in the Park with George becomes an autobiographical musical about Hollyoaks actress Jorgie Porter, and Sweeney Todd becomes Susan Todd (played by SuBo).
We had Little Shop of Horrors in the perfect setting of Regent’s Park – which was a showstopper on a par with last year’s Jesus Christ Superstar. I can’t wait for their musical next year - the eagerly anticipated new production of ‘The Little Shop of Jesus Christ (a church)’.
The ENO again enticed us all with a stellar cast in Chess – with Michael proving yet again that him and his Balls are still worth the big dollars. And a transfer from Chichester Festival Theatre demanded no change from Caroline because it was worth every penny.
However, I must say the highlights for me were a couple of musicals away from London’s glittering and slightly wee-smelling west end. I adored Gus Gowland’s Pieces of String in Colchester (a gay love story in the second world war)– it simply must move further down the A12 to London. And I was so thrilled to be sent on a bus tour around Bolton in a revitalising, refreshing, and thoroughly original version of Summer Holiday – the most fun I’ve had in a bus since I was sitting in the back seat kissing and a hugging with Fred.
And onto plays. Of course, I didn’t see as many plays as musicals - more often than not plays involve too much posh talking, posing, and pouting for my liking – and they all end up being so bloody long. I always think the best thing to do is cut the middle act. It means the audience are forced to use their imagination to fill in the gaps, the actors don’t need to learn as many lines, and everyone gets the last train home. Perfect.
Anyhow – these are my some of my highlights:
I (pause) adored (pause) Pinter (pause) at (pause) the (pause) Pinter. Anything directed by Jamie Lloyd makes me rather damp, and this was no exception. A wonderful looming set and clever way of weaving together many of Pinter’s most well-known and not so well-known works. My favourite was Pinter 3 – with Tamsin Grieg, Meera Syal, Keith Allen, Lee Evans and the marvellous Tom Edden. Beautifully played. I admire all actors who can do Pinter well, particularly those who compete for the Guinness World Record for the longest Pinter pause. I recall seeing Ian Holm pausing for 2 days in the original production of The Homecoming (1965), Anthony Hopkins doing a 5 day pause in Old Times (1983), and Dean Gaffney successfully completing a 7 year pause (in his career, dear).
I was enthralled and intoxicated by The Jungle at the Young Vic. After I’d got over the initial shock of it not being a new urban version of The Jungle Book I discovered what a treat it was. Sometimes a theatre piece changes everything – this one transported the audience into the world of the Calais Jungle migrant camp. We were all there, we were all moved, and we were all stunned. Sometimes theatre can seem unimportant, whimsical even. Events like this confirm it’s necessity.
Later in the year I ball-changed my way over to the south bank, to see Othello with Mark Rylance. Now, I’ve been nagging the Collins English Dictionary to add the word ‘Rylance’ for ages. To do a ‘Rylance’ is the biggest compliment you can give an actor, closely followed by ‘Denching it’, ‘doing a Day-Lewis’, and in certain cases, ‘being a Biggins’. Marky Mark certainly didn’t disappoint, his Iago was the essence of underplayed evil, in a near-perfect production (although they could have replaced a couple of the longer speeches with ’de dum de dum de dum de dum’ – it makes much more sense that way, dear).
And finally, The Inheritance. This show is a new Angels in America – examining love between gay men in contemporary New York a generation after the AIDS epidemic.
Performed simply on an empty space (Peter Brook is thrilled) – the whole thing is painfully moving, indeed I am still thinking about it. I was so moved I even dropped my wine, and I NEVER do that (unless it’s the cheap warm white wine I’m given on press nights, I tend to drop that on purpose, dear). Epic , moving, beautiful, and essential. If you haven’t been yet, go.
Anyhow. There you go. I simply must toddle off now. I have things to do. I need to inflate my Miss Saigon blow-up doll, dress my Jean Valjean teddy, put the Dom on ice, and wait for Sondheim to pop round. He wants to play me his new musical – A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the EU. Bless.
Happy new years, dears.
WEP x
