West Side Story…it gets no better…

Am still buzzing from the performance I just saw at Sadlers Wells, so thought I would write this now instead of waiting.  ’West Side Story’ is one of those things people talk about as a history maker, a work of genius, a masterpiece.  Well, they’re right.  What I saw tonight at Sadlers Wells was the finest piece of theatre I have seen, ever.  For once, every aspect of the performance had been seen to.  This production has done sold out runs in Tokyo, Beijing, and Paris.  It started a 6 week run at Sadlers Wells this week, and from what I am told, it is sold out.  I had seen WSS once, a staging by Victorian State Opera in 1994, but I may have been slightly too young to realise what I was seeing.  The 1961 film is one I know VERY well though, and the choreography in that is almost identical to that used in the original stage production, and the production I saw tonight, so that was something I was familiar with.  I have also spent hour after hour memorising the original cast recording.  So, in some ways, I know this show VERY well, but tonight was my first real chance to see it in the context of itself.  The production is immaculately designed, a series of moveable balconies swing into position, creating various locations, while the back wall is projected with B&W images of 1950s New York City.  The cast ranged from very good to phenomenal.  None of them stars, which makes sense.  It is an ensemble show, and once you put a big star in it, it would draw attention away from the whole.  The dancing dominated (Sadlers Wells is primarily a dance theatre), and when you see it happening in front of you, its understandable that it should, brilliant score or no brilliant score.  Robbins devised the most amazing way of performers to express a character’s emotions physically.  They dance ‘in character’, as if only these people would be dancing these steps. And within that, it becomes even more specific, when characters like Riff and Anita are given solos, they are dancing steps which could only be danced by Anita and Riff.  As Anita, Oneika Phillips was the favorite, as a dancer and an actress, she was mindblowing. In her final scene, the audience communally stopped breathing.  A ‘theatre magic’ moment.  It was her singing which was least interesting (mainly in her big ‘A boy like that’ moment), which leads to the ‘problem’ with this show.  It asks more of performers than they should be able to give. They have to sing VERY difficult music, dance like Balanchine etoiles, and act like RSC actors.  Invariably, one of these is going to be weaker than the other two. If, like Oneika, two out of three are phenomenal, the audience will not (and should not) worry too much about the third.  I didn’t.  Elisa Cordova as Maria believably matured through the course of the evening, but unlike Natalie Wood in the film, remained a believable teenager.  Her operatic soprano was the only voice which played slight havoc with the miking.  The use of mikes in this production was the best I have ever heard, it was very subtle, at times it was hard to tell whether the singers were miked or simply projecting well. Cordova’s soprano has such a cut to it (perfect for opera) that it occasionally sounded harsh through the mikes.  Not her fault. Plus, she is exceptionally beautiful, so a lot is forgiven.  Scott Sussman’s Tony looked slightly too old, but possesses one of the most beautiful voices ever, and acted beautifully.  Also looks gorgeous. The entire company performs with uniform dedication and passion, throwing themselves into the dance numbers with the kind of energy which makes me fear for their lives.  Between the Dance at the Gym, ‘America’, and ‘Cool’, one wonders how they can sing at ALL.  That they sang (often at the same time) wonderfully seems almost miraculous.  The score provided them plenty of opportunities, I think its the finest score ever to be written for Broadway.  When one song after another consistently comes up aces, it almost feels like too much of a good thing, but in this case, too much of a good thing is Fantastic.  If you are in London and can afford the price of a ticket, go.  If you live in London and can’t afford the price of a ticket, steal it.

Opera at $200 per 1.7 ounces…

American prima donna Renee Fleming has branched out.  She is no longer just a singing star, TV host (was that embarrassing for everyone or what?) and subject of multiple dreary biographies.  Now she is also a fragrance.  Global ‘beauty’ leader Coty has produced a fragrance dedicated to La Fleming, called (no surprises here), ‘La Voce by Renee Fleming’.  It is not released until September, to coincide with the Metropolitan Opera’s Opening Night Gala featuring…you guessed it.  All profits go to the Metropolitan Opera, and at $200 US a pop, that’s potentially a lot, but it all seems so strange.  The point of La Fleming is, the appealing, easy on the ears, no questions asked Lovely Voice.  And all the infuriating mannerisms she insists on schlepping to the performance along with it.  So how does this sometimes amazing, sometimes infuriating performer translate into a fragrance?  Well according to Coty,  “La Voce by Renee Fleming opens with top notes of passion fruit and white truffle accord and transcends to a rich floral heart of jasmine and lily of the valley. Notes of dark chocolate mousse and ebony wood winds complete this luxurious fragrance.”   That sounds so busy.  Is it a fragrance or a three course meal at Café Des Artistes?  The cross-fetishising of these two luxury items, Perfume and Opera, is a shock even to me, and I am used to bizarre things happening in the world of Art.  This is, I feel, one of those things which will be looked back on with a ‘can you believe we actually thought of that’ attitude. And the packaging (pictured left) really does have to be seen to be believed, proof that gay men should be supervised by at least one straight man when devising anything. Also, in the ‘irony’ section of this rant, and I must say, on a rather vulgar note, has anyone actually smelled an opera singer at the end of a show? Its not fun. Make up melts under the savage lights of a theatre and blends with sweat to form a unique and utterly unforgettable fragrance all its own; Canal no. 5.   Am determined in this post not to go on and on and on about the evils of the ‘Beauty’ industry, the sole purpose of which seems to be the mass lowering of self esteem by way of millions upon millions of dollars worth of advertising featuring genetic freaks who make up .001 of the world’s population, convincing the rest of us to spend what money we have on the purchase and consumption of one product or another which we tell ourselves will one day make us look like the people in the billboard, and then a rich and beautiful person will give us money and sex.  That this evil and destructive ideology is now extending to the world of Opera, where actual talent rules (supermodels have no talent, despite what anyone tells you, they walk up and down for a living, they should not to be rewarded for something they had no part in creating, they are to be reviled, loathed, spat upon, and in my opinion should be hunted for sport) is disturbing to say the least.  Anyway, like I said, I do not want to go on about the Fashion/Beauty industry, so I won’t.  Getting back to La Voce,  I am also a little disappointed by the name given this sensory hybrid.  ’La Voce by Renee Fleming’.  So predictable.  I personally would have gone with something a little more imaginative, possibly stemming from the world inhabited by La Fleming.  Perhaps even stealing from the titles of various operas…hmmm…Alternate Titles could include:                                  

Boulevard Solitude – which Fleming never sang, possibly as there is no possible spot for applause.  Great title for a perfume though. 

The Fiery Angel – which Fleming never sang, possibly as doing so is considered vocal suicide. 

Saint François d’Anisse – originally Saint François d’Assise - too specific?

Street Scent – originally Street Scene – wrong message?

Smelly – originally Semele – too blatant?

The Tender Loin – originally The Tender Land – good joke, keep for later

Das Parfum der Heliane – originally Das Wunder der Heliane…snore…

Lady Macbeth of Musk – originally Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk…I like that one

a stephen king weekend…

This past weekend I spent eight hours watching the 1994 television adaptation of Stephen King’ epic ‘The Stand’. The 1000+ page novel is one I have not read.  What I have read of King’s I have loved.  He is not only a brilliant writer, but an authority on the history and nature of his genre.  ’Carrie’ is his first published book, and it is remarkable.  It spawned a film which made history as one of the first VERY good horror films made in the US.  Horror films almost never attract good casts and writers, being relegated to the ‘trash’ side of things. But in Japan, Korea and increasingly Europe as well, this genre utilizes the BEST people in the business.  The US, largely, does not.  ’The Stand’ needs its 8 hours.  This novel could not be done in a 2 or even a 3 hour film without losing valuable information.  The cast lies somewhere between A and B list.  The thing about using less than stellar casts is that they tend to look a little more like real people than say…Julia Roberts who looks like, Julia Roberts.  This is a story about normal people taking part in the deciding battle between Good and Evil.  Quick synopsis (no spoilers I promise) is easy: The world is largely destroyed by a lethal (man made) virus.  In the US (the rest of the world is not mentioned) a few thousand people survive.  

In dreams, they are drawn to two places and people: Mother Abigail Freemantle, a 106 year old black woman in Nebraska played by the phenomenal Ruby Dee, and Randall Flag, the embodiment of evil in Las Vegas. Those drawn to Mother Abigail travel to Boulder Colorado to establish a new community, while the Others do likewise in Vegas. Eventually, it becomes clear that Flagg is an agent of darkness, and that the ending hinges on the destruction of one of the groups. Opening scenes depicting the death of 99.9 percent of the world’s population are well done.  Molly RIngwald (what happened to her?! Where IS she?!) is effective as the good girl trying to do good.  Ed Harris is reliable as ever, the much underused Gary Sinise as appealing as ever.  The scene stealers are Laura san Giocomo and Rob Lowe, who plays a deaf-mute.  One gets the feeling he should have had a larger role, but this was only a few years after that unfortunate sex-tape, so any work he could get at the time was probably badly needed. With regards to Laura San Giocomo, I have always thought she was an astonishing actor, and am puzzled by her apparent disappearance.  After ‘Just Shoot Me’ went off the air, what happened?!  In any case, she is a phenomenal presence in ‘The Stand’ as the would be Bride of Darkness.  What I took away with me after seeing this, more than anything,  was a sense of how BEAUTIFUL that part of America is. Southpark aside, I don’t know of any other story set in Colorado.  King is very smart to place The Good in a place as beautiful and unspoiled as Boulder, and The Wicked in the tacky Hell that is Vegas.  Overall, the look of The Stand is not big-budget.  Some of the shots are obviously sound stages, but given the Apocalyptic mood pervading, this doesn’t seem to distract.  One realises that if the story is good, and the characters worth caring about, the audience will go along for the ride.  

AFTER finishing The Stand, I almost immediately went and grabbed The Shining, and began on that. Straight away, one knows this is a different kind of entertainment. The Stand was scripted by King, adapting his own novel.  Much of the content is retained, plot is almost religiously followed. The overwhelming mood surrounding The Stand is one of genuine, almost base feeling and emotion.  Heartstrings are pulled and released shamelessly.  The Shining is a far more conceptual/intellectual piece of work.  Kubrick wrote the screenplay himself, and has taken what he wanted from King’s novel (seemingly very little), changed what he wanted (lots, personalities are transplanted, a polo mallet becomes an axe…) and eschewed what he feels superfluous (most of the book).  King is known to dislike the film intensely, and I don’t blame him.  His book is about many things, and the film is about one.  He had the option of writing the screenplay himself, but declined, having heard horror stories (insert irony here) about what Kubrick could be like to work with.  He must have been kicking himself when he saw what Kubrick left of his novel.  

Nonetheless, the film is absolutely astonishing, and genuinely terrifying.  Jack Nicholson and Shelley Duvall were Kubrick’s first and only choices for their roles. While it does work onscreen, one wonders how.  The point of the novel is they are two relatively normal people who are transformed by a place.  As Torrance, Nicholson is an unusual choice because, well, from the outset he already seems pretty whacky. Duvall is pretty much a nervous wreck from her first moments onscreen. One thinks, how can this work? Where can they go from here?  Well, it does work, because Kubrick manages to send them both even more over the edge than they already are, the end results of which are quite astonishing.  Duvall regularly ran from the set in tears.  She eventually ‘ran out’ of tears due to repeated takes, and had to drink water all day to remain hydrated.   Scatman Crothers (70 at the time of filming) dropped to the ground sobbing after 40 takes, begging Kubrick to tell him what he was doing wrong.  Kubrick, surprise surprise, simply told him to try it again.  An interesting factoid re casting, when it looked like Nicholson might not be able to take part, Kubrick considered two others for the role; Robert de Niro, and Robin Williams.  He vitoed the former as being ‘not psychotic’ enough for the role, and the latter as being ‘too psychotic’.   Does anyone else think Kubrick might have been a bit nuts himself?  Anyway, If you haven’t seen this film, see it. If you have, then see it again.  Kubrick may well have been an unstable wingnut, but he was a genius as well. Interesting note…this film premiered on the day I was born, in the year I was born. I hope thats where the coincidences end…

a floperetta, a farce, Noel Coward & Didion

Long time no post huh?  A lot has happened in the last couple of weeks.  My photo has been taken off my profile.  This post could be described as a conflict of interests were it to be known who was writing it.  It appears that as of September my job will be one directly linked to the opera world.  Therefore, better left anonymous methinks.  Anyway.  FINALLY saw a staged production of Candide, this one at English National Opera (my favorite company), directed by the brilliant Robert Carsen.  With me was The Actress, neither of had seen the piece before.  We were not thrilled.  While Carsen is a brilliant opera director, his musical comedy/operetta skills are not great.  This is pretty much the hardest piece to stage EVER.  From the outset, it has been a nightmare. Voltaire’s satiric novella inspired Bernstein to write some of his wittiest, most wonderful music, brilliant pastiche.  Our eponymous Westphalian hero meeting with one disaster after another, maintaining a perfectly stupid (and foolishly taught) sense of optimism throughout.  The Lyrics (by Bernstein, Sondheim, Dorothy Parker, Lillain Hellman) are brilliant, a perfect match for the music.  BUT, the Book (dialogue) which Hellman write was problematic.  Cumbersome, preachy (surprise surprise), and reeking of Hellman’s own ideology.  Since then, practically every time this piece is staged, a new Book is assembled, pieces rearranged, left out, added, edited…with mixed results. The best ever stage version was done by Hal Prince, in an environmental staging, with the dialogue kept to a MINIMUM, and the action treated as a madcap farce, with no messages of ideology and politics being forced down the audience’s collective throat.   Would that it were so at ENO… Carsen has decided to ’say something’ with this production.  Theatre Rule: The more one tries to ’say something’, the less one will manage to get across.  He sets the piece firmly in the US (West Failure, geddit)  , circa 1960 something. The piece becomes about the US, politics and money.  Cunegonde becomes a good time girl, determined to become a star.  Her big number ‘Glitter and be Gay’ becomes an homage to ‘Diamonds are a girls best friend’. The magnificent Auto de Fe scene becomes the McCarthy trials.  Note to Mr Carsen : while this was what Bernstein/Hellman were writing about, its far more potent when NOT stated obviously.  Although I did enjoy the Ku Klux Klan kick line.   My main issue with the pice was the lack of common sense.  At the end of act I, the characters all head off to The New World. But in Carsen’s production they are already in The New World.  I thought to myself, ‘Oh, they are off to the Middle East, great, I’m interested now’.  But no. As the curtain went up on Act II, there they are at Ellis Island. And all I wanted to do was scream “BUT THEY WERE ALREADY IN AMERICA WHY ARE THEY ‘ARRIVING’ THERE NOW?!?!?!?!”.  I was SO disappointed.  I expected this piece to be such fun, and here was a production determined to take itself SO seriously. Thank GOD the singers were good.  Tobey Spence was off sick (a major blow, he was one of the bigDraw Cards), but his replacement proved just as good. If only I could remember his name…Marnie Breckinridge was a magificent Cunegonde, high E flats an all. Alex Jennings was BRILLIANT as Pangloss/Voltaire/Martin, coping admirably with fussy direction. At one point he ran out of dialogue before finishing a sequence of stage business.  He improvised, hurriedly throwing the remaining props into the wings with a sideways “I’ll be with you all in a minute”, to the audience.  They responded with a tumult of applause, possibly in support of a brilliant actor coping with such an insane directorial request.  Beverly Klein stole the show as the Old Lady, a non-singer, who sang the role (including the material usually eschewed by non-singers), at the original mezzo-soprano pitch.  And in a size 17 Vegas showgirls outfit, she was a wonderful sight.  Proof that when you play is straight, its often a lot funnier.  Overall, the production was a wonderful chance; wasted.  This is not an opera, and it was treated as such.  Opera and Musical Theatre, very different. Has someone told this to Mr Carsen I wonder. 

A few days later I was lucky to see one of the London previews of ‘The Female of the Species’, one of Joanna Murray Smith’s latest plays.  It is incredibly funny, and makes no attempt to send messages or be in any way ‘important’ (make note, Mr Carsen).  the 90 minute, one act piece is loosely based on the time Germaine Greer was held hostage for a short period by a deranged fan. Eileen Atkins plays Margot Mason, a sixty something, languidly vile author, legendary for her femenist tomes.  It’s not exactly a Greer impression, but one can understand her fury, published in most of the London papers, at having her life turned into successful theatre.  Thus far she has sent back the script which was sent her, and not showed up at the Press Night to which she was invited. I loved every second of the play, the three women in the cast reveling in it; Atkins, Anna Maxwell Martin managing the role of Molly, the deranged fan, and Sophie Thompson as Mason’s married with kids daughter, driven insane by the noise and need of her children.  Thus far reviews have been generally good, to very good.  The UK critics do harp on about Murray-Smith writing a ‘less than worthy’ play.  This is the standard response to someone writing something funny and entertaining, particularly is they are not English.  Critics are, I am fast discovering, the lowest form of life in this country. One expects this play to do well, provided the casting remains good. Atkins and the other members of the cast will inevitably leave, and who they bring in to replace them will determine whether people come back to see it a second and third time.  I know I would pay to see another actress get her teeth into any of these three roles.

Next on the cultural agenda was ‘Sail Away’, put on by Lost Musicals, a company dedicated to the semi-staged revival of US Musicals which have been neglected since their premiere’s.  I took The Artist, and we both had a lovely time. Noel Coward wrote the slightly old fashioned piece for Broadway (where it ran for 167 performances, overshadowed by the by phenomenal ‘How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying’.  It then transferred to the West End where it ran 252 performances.  Both times it starred Elaine Stritch, and was directed by Coward.  It is easy to see why the piece did not do better.  It feels straight out of the 30s.  The Songs are charming, the dialogue witty (at times), but there is no real development of character and both A and B plot are deeply predictable.  The company is a delight. There is no set.  The cast sits at the back of the stage on chairs, in evening dress.  The musical director plays from a piano, the only instrument present.  The cast performs with script/score in hand, but with stage movement, and real energy.  Some of the musical numbers have choreography, all beautifully done.  The audience had a wonderful time, this is clearly a very popular company.  They perform their seasons on six consecutive sundays, with each performance generally sold out.  The Artist and I enjoyed it immensely, accepting its flaws as typical of its period, and its author’s penchants.  That we are able to see this show again, even in a pared down version, is a treat indeed.  

NEXT…’The Year of Magical Thinking’ at the National Theatre, with The Actress, fast becoming my London Theatre buddy.  My first experience of Vanessa Redgrave onstage, and I was not disappointed.  I had read Joan Didion’s memoir prior to seeing the play, as well as having read the play text. This was my first experience of Didion’s writing, and I found it appealing.  A sense of cool detachment might seem a strange way to write about the death of one’s husband and only child, but somehow it is far more effective (and moving) than a series of hysterical screams of grief.  While the play is heartbreaking (as is the memoir), at no point in the theatre did I cry, but for hours afterwards was aware of so much more than I had been before taking my seat.  Am re-reading the memoir this week.  She wrote the book about the death of her husband and the up and down (mainly down) health of their only child Quintana in the year following. As the book went into publication,  Quintana died.  The play (unlike the memoir) is about both their deaths.   Didion (with the help of brilliant director David Hare, both pictured right) has distilled the full length memoir into a 90 minute monologue (and added details about Quintana not written about) which is never for one second dull or self-indulgent, and always marvelously performed by Redgrave.  She is, in essence, playing Didion, and managed the accent well, along with Didion’s somewhat calculated delivery.  Packed House, well received.  An evening to treasure.  Have booked to see it again later in the year, after a second reading of the memoir.  Have also ordered two of Didion’s books and will start on them directly I have finished re-reading Year of Magical Thinking.  A fan is born…