Birmingham Royal Ballet

DANCE REVIEW: BIRMINGHAM ROYAL BALLET at York Theatre Royal.



Birmingham Royal Ballet is currently touring in the south and north of the country, splitting itself in two, to bring the nation "Bite-sized Ballet". Widely diverse, the performance included the Clog Dance from "La Fille Mal gardée", the Grand pas de deux from "Sleeping Beauty" and Act II of "Coppelia", as well as Balanchine's "Slaughter on Tenth Avenue" and Macmillan's pas de deux from his "Concerto".

Despite not being a huge fan of popular humourous performance, I found the Clog Dance amusing with its mimickry and entertaining costumes. Visions of dainty ballerinas clumping about in wooden shoes made a refreshing contrast from the more staid action of "Coppelia" which came before it. The set and toy soldier costumes of this opening piece did please the eye, but I soon became irritated by the overdramatic gestures, girlish silliness of the early dancing, and the overuse of the stiff puppet movements.

What really took my breath away was the captivating pas de deux from Kenneth Macmillan's "Concerto". Costumed in orange, with the setting sun backdrop, the pair excelled in their performance of this technically difficult piece. So many clever lifts and supports allowed the dancers to really engage with each other, producing a kind of mirroring effect at some points, and a kind of organic melding of ballerina and partner at others. I was particularly impressed with the final iconic image, that of the ballerina carefully balanced across her partner's knee, a moment which seemed to conclude and express the message of the piece so well, that of dependence and relationship.

The main focus of the show was on the final piece, a performance of George Balanchine's "Slaughter on Tenth Avenue", a clever story, adapted from a musical, in which an assassin sits in the audience determined to kill the dancer when he stops dancing and commits suicide in the show. This piece was well-executed, with the dance of the policemen standing out as particularly incongruous and striking. Where else do you get dancing policemen? Very amusing.

The remaining pieces from "Sleeping Beauty" were also well-executed with the exception of a few wobbles, but sadly their partnering with such a diverse and interesting range of pieces made them seem a little staid. Though it was nice to see some more traditional pieces performed, pieces which I personally find more enjoyable than the less serious dances, their beauty was rather lost in the mosaic of clashing styles and juxtaposition of popular amusement and classical performance. It all came across as rather disjointed, with no clear flow between the pieces.

Given the rarity of ballet performances in this area, though, Birmingham Royal Ballet only deserve praise for their tour. Clearly this show was intended to showcase a broad selection of what they do, and so this must temper any criticism of the lack of continuity. Anyone who brings dance to a wider audience is doing good work, and if this work also allows me to see wonderful pieces like Macmillan's pas de deux from his "Concerto", then I can hardly complain.

A beautiful week for Utrecht

TRAVEL REVIEW: UTRECHT


It is not every day that you get to fall in love. Happily Utrecht is one of those beautiful European cities whose charms are difficult to resist. It is suitably distant from the dubious seediness of Amsterdam to be romantic, despite its location less than half an hour by train from the capital. Marred only by its guttural name, a little harsh for English ears, this delightful city shines particularly in spring when blossom falls lazily into the winding canals and tulips bloom from every garden.
Rather stereotypically, the most noticeable feature of any Dutch city is its bicycles. Strolling down the city streets you see the bikes locked to any and every available fixed post or railing, every bridge festooned with wheels. The Dutch passion for cycling is rampant, and Utrecht train station has implemented numerous storage options, including a huge underground bike park cavern where, in one of the more bizarre episodes of my trip, I discussed the philosophy of Plato and Aristotle with the friendly assistant.

The people, of course, are one of the most charming assets Utrecht possesses. Somewhere between sprawling Amsterdam and compact Oxford in size, the city was aptly described by the bike park assistant as a “big village”. Utrecht’s residents do have a kind of village mentality, a friendly curiosity towards visitors, marred only slightly by the characteristic Dutch directness which may unsettle the sensitive English. People are happy to help the lost and confused, and all speak English so well and so willingly, it is easy to find yourself feeling at home.

The other notable form of transport in Utrecht is more ornamental. Utrecht is a city, like many in the Netherlands, of water. Two canals, the Oudegracht and the Nieuwegracht, run through the city centre, and the old town is enclosed by the Singel, a waterway running like a belt round the outside. I had a particularly bizarre moment when basking by the Oudegracht, beside a charming open-air café, I was suddenly transported to Venice with a gondolier emerging from beneath an old bridge into perfect sunlight. The canals are well populated by all manner of waterborne transport, from narrow boats to canoes for hire. Uniquely Utrecht has pathways which run along the wharves, actually level with the water and the wharf storage areas where boats would have been unloaded, and goods taken straight up into the houses above. These charming little caves in the canal-side have been turned into various open air cafes, restaurants and shops, while the unused parts are filled with deckchairs and picnickers in the sunshine.

A key feature of Dutch culture is this focus on commerce. The Dutch love to sell and buy, and Utrecht has a huge number of shops and cafes, far out of proportion, from an English point of view, for its population size. But strangely, this capitalistic characteristic does not detract from Utrecht’s appeal. The capitalism of the Netherlands is a kind of benevolent one. The Dutch love to buy beautiful things, particularly for their homes, much more than the English. The city is populated with so many lovely shops selling gorgeous clothes, pottery, shoes, and so on, and for shopping this city cannot be faulted. The flower market is a good illustration of the peculiar Dutch attitude to business. The square behind Janskerk fills with flower and plant sellers on Saturday mornings, and the shoppers are quick to follow. There is an air of joy in the air, everyone convinced they have bought the best, most beautiful bunch. Buying is a way of getting beautiful things, with making money an added, but crucial benefit.

Utrecht is very well stocked with commercial facilities in comparison with many British cities. Charming cafes and restaurants are everywhere; some of the most notable are the lovely open air cafés on the Oudegracht, the delightful railway-side café a little further from the centre, and my particular favourite, Zizo’s, a worthy enterprise which employs disabled people as well as doing the best hot chocolate I have tasted in a country well known for “chocomelk”. The café also boasts a gift shop selling art by people with disabilities as well as handmade pottery and gifts. Definitely worth a visit.

Culturally Utrecht made me smile. I have been labelled a culture vulture before, and I can certainly say I would never run out of activities in this city. Museums range from the random Contemporary Aboriginal Art (the only one in Europe?) to the Religious Art Museum (probably of niche interest, although I found the Macedonian Icon exhibition fascinating) and the obscure mechanical musical instrument Museum Speeklok. This is also the home of Dick Bruna and the international children’s celebrity that is Miffy, so the city has its own museum for this too, and a statue of the creature by the canal.

Utrecht is very much seen as a cultural capital for the Netherlands, and boasts many fine theatres, cinemas, and music venues, as well as a packed arts festival program. I attended a wonderful concert in a converted church, some sublime Schumann, Mendelsohn and Brahms, and was told the city welcomes many internationally acclaimed musicians and that there is something to go to, concerts, plays, artsy events, every night. One which stood out for me is “Utrecht Dances”, one of the monthly Cultural Sunday special days of free workshops, music, theatre and dance in the city. All this cultural richness is soon to be enhanced with the exciting plans for 2013, the 300th anniversary of the Peace Treaty of Utrecht. This year will see many celebrations, including art and culture at fortresses, castles and the deserted air base of Soesterberg, as well as kicking off preparations for Utrecht’s bid to become 2018 Cultural Capital.

Architecturally Utrecht delights the eye, and for those with an artistic bent there is so much to appreciate. Climbing the 460-odd steps of the Dom Tower, constructed in 1382, is essential, laying out the beautiful houses and winding canals at your feet. And what a city it is to survey from the air! So many wonderful old houses line the canals, with modernity fringing the city in the form of distant high rises. The process of city planning has done very well to keep the historical beauty of Utrecht. Every street in the centre, the old town, is packed with lovely old houses, many of which now contain cafes, cinemas, theatres and shops of all flavours, in a well-balanced blend of the modern and the historic.

However, the wonderful architecture of the city is not confined to the old. Utrecht is well known for several modern buildings. This includes the famed Rietveld Schroder house, highlighting the “De Stijl” movement with its focus on red, blue, yellow, black and white colours and exploration of the relation between interior and exterior (such as the disappearing corner window), as well as the architecture at the Uithof university campus. I particularly liked a new building, completed in 2008, called Smarties which is student accommodation, a usage which fits well with the brightly coloured mosaic façade.

The university backs onto a most beautiful nature reserve. I went to explore the university on a hot afternoon, by bike, of course, and after appreciating the impressive buildings I was pleasantly surprised to see a huge expanse of green, rolling fields, cows and woods spreading out from the boundaries of the campus. This is Fort Rhijnnauwen nature reserve, a huge expanse of woods and waterways surrounding a 19th century fort. A little out of town but a lovely place to cycle, walk, drink tea in the various cafes, or just lie between the reeds on the peaceful banks, and incredibly popular with the outdoor-loving Dutch. The Vecht river north of the city, which runs between Utrecht and Amsterdam, is also meant to be beautiful, lined with magnificent country estates, although sadly this will have to wait for my return visit.

Something which I have touched on, but will finish on as a stereotypical, but fundamental Dutch characteristic, is the national love of the outdoors. The Dutch are fanatic cyclers, and their flat country is perfectly suited to all the national cycle networks which criss-cross it, but they also love simply being outside. They treat their open spaces like “beach parks” more than we do in this country. The fantastic weather of my visit saw the banks of the Singel and all the parks covered with sunbathers and picnickers, students pretending to be working, and many decidedly not working. This is the real charm of Utrecht. It is a beautiful city, historically, culturally, even commerciality, with so many opportunities to purchase lovely things, and its people make it a really lovely place to visit. If you visit one place in the Netherlands, I’d strongly advise you to make it this often overlooked city.

Yerma

PLAY REVIEW: YERMA at West Yorkshire Playhouse

Lorca described Yerma (1934) as "a tragic poem". Reflecting on issues of childlessness, the repression of women, and the nature of marriage, this new adaption by Irish writer Ursula Rani Sama sees his powerful play transplanted to Ireland. This is a setting which makes a lot of sense given the similarities between the two nations; a rigid Catholicism, a judgemental society with strict expectations of women, and a superstitious rural tradition of rituals and fertility rites.

Fascinating though these national parallels are, I did not find myself fully convinced by the Irish setting. The accents were of varying quality but acceptable. What jarred more for me was the nagging knowledge that Lorca is making comments on the restrictive society of his native Spain. Of course there are obvious affinities between the two countries, but I often found myself perplexed, not quite sure, for example, how to replace my imagination's expectations of arid, Spanish landscapes with a green, rain-soaked Ireland. Having recently seen Brian Friel’s Dancing at Lughnasa, with all its Irish pecularities, could go some way towards explaining my confusion, but the transition certainly diluted Lorca's characteristic emotional intensity.

This aside, Sama’s adaption does succeed in bringing out much of the lyricism and poetry of Lorca, an element that is difficult to transfer from the original. Particularly interesting was the enriching use of movement, compelling us to watch Yerma’s desparation wildly cavorting across the stage. Kate Stanley Brennan excelled as the lead, bringing a real intensity to the stage. The gaggle of women were also enjoyably convincing with their silly gossip, singing and washing foolery, and it was clear the school kids in the audience warmed to their saucy language. Director Roisin Brinn’s portrayal of the two sisters was starkly memorable, although somewhat spoilt by the laughter of the students. Sinisterly concealed entirely in long black capes and black beaked hats, they brought a clear contrast to the light, airy feel of the summery dresses of the rest of the cast, and the warm, bright lighting.

The set was particularly inspired; a simple tiered wooden decking which unexpectedly slid to reveal three pools of water for the washing scene. A huge tilting moon hung above the stage, reflecting the light from the pools, and lending an absurd, but magical quality to the performance. In domestic scenes Yerma’s house consisted of no more than a glowing line marking the boundaries on the ground, a powerful statement on the lack of privacy, the transparency imposed by rural Spanish culture. Equally powerful was the metaphorical image conjured in the second half of two chairs, one draped with Yerma’s scarf and the other with Juan’s jacket, separated by the lonely stretch of a huge table in an eloquent physical description of the growing distance between the couple.

Yerma is a fine adaption of Lorca’s original, conveying much of the original poetical intensity. I found the use of movement and visual imagery particularly enriching, although the Irish setting did not entirely convince. Roisin Brinn and Ursula Rani Sama have succeeded in creating a powerful revival of a timeless piece; childlessness is as relevant to us with our IVF and surrogate wombs as it was to our grandmothers with their old wives tales and superstitions. Lorca's play has a timeless quality, something which allows revivals like Sama's to speak to us with such power as the original did to the audience of their day.

Theatre Uncut: The players doth protest

Fingers jammed in ears, pillow firmly clamped over the head, we can no longer block out the moaning. The cuts are really beginning to bite, with Arts Council funding issues slicing into theatre budgets. Even the arts, that industry which always tries to hold itself a little aloof from the vulgarities of capitalism, must muck in. Theatre Uncut was conceived as a kind of demonstration on behalf of theatre, a last ditch attempt before the full squeeze of the Arts Council bodice-tightening was felt. Falling on Staurday, 19th of March, it took the form of a day of nationwide short performances from some of the best playwrights.

To see the world of theatre actually getting involved, speaking out and addressing contemporary issues should have been a moment of triumph for the art. A chance to fulfil one of its most important roles in our modern world, to demonstrate the relevance and power of drama. All too often, theatres seem to get bogged down with reproducing established pieces, trying to draw out commentary on contemporary issues by looking backwards. But this day was a chance to rectify that, to prove that theatre can be used to make relevant responses to our issues using modern playwrights. This can only further the utility of art as a form of expression. Artists produce fascinating pieces about the economy, why should theatre not do the same? Theatre is blessed with the ability to rapidly produce responses to the world, to speak to us in ways television and film cannot. And it should be used in this way wherever possible.

Unfortunately, though, the reality felt quite different. Theatre Uncut looked very much like protest for the sake of protest, the need to be seen to speak out driving the act forward rather than it being a eloquent and considered response to a difficult situation. And, at the risk of sounding unfeeling and dispassionate, this is all the cuts are. I, as a rational being, would far rather see the arts have to find ways to cope with a smaller budget than see other, more deserving sectors bled dry. I agree theatre is life-enriching. But I must also point out that hospitals and the emergency services are life-preserving. If we accept cuts are necessary, which I do, surely it is more noble to bear a little less money for the arts for the sake of the our safety and health?

I also believe that theatre is going about protest in the wrong way. Yes, protest can be a positive thing, pushing forward the relevance of what goes on in our theatres to the contemporary world outside. But this protest was nothing more than a litany of complaints, an over-dramatic wail at the realisation that the arts, too, must be affected by the economic situation in that strange world outside their doors. A more mature, proactive approach would have been far more effective; I would like to have seen the industry actually produce constructive suggestions as to how the financial blow might be softened, and how they can go on making art on stage with a reduced budget. I am confident it will be possible, but all I have seen so far are pitiful whimpers and stage whispers of dissent.

The most crucial factor for the continuation of Britain's vibrant arts scene in these dangerous financial waters is clear to me. Theatre has a small audience, as a proportion of the population, a factor which only further reduced the effectiveness of these demonstrations, confined to preaching to the converted. Theatres need to reach out, to look beyond their traditional audiences, and to seek new ways of doing things. Perhaps this will mean needing to produce more of the big money-spinning shows, pantos and popular Shakespeares, or perhaps closer collaboration with corporations will bring more funds. Of course, there is much to be worked out, and keeping the careful balance between artistic quality, the ability to show new work, and providing popular entertainment will be of paramount importance.

York Theatre Royal was under the management of the Takeover team at the time of the nationwide protests. This fantastic opportunity itself seemed to fly in the face of the budget belt-tightening, especially with the announcement of the scheme's continuation next year. A group of under twenty-six year olds were selected to take on the running of the theatre, from box office and marketing to artistic direction and organisation of post-show bands. This team chose to stage three protest performances in the upstairs lobby area where a stage had been created for the entertainment which followed nearly all the performances of the two week festival. This in itself was not ideal. Lucy Kirkwood's Housekeeping was particularly disappointing from this point of view, with a good deal of the dialogue being lost. The central piece was infinitely more powerful, doing justice to Jack Thorne's darkly comic Whiff Whaff, but to finish on an incredibly dull economics lecture, The Fat Man, was disappointing.

Theatre was right to make a stand, but it did not seem this was the most effective way to do it. The financial difficulties we see should be seen as an opportunity to push forward the relevancy and artistic quality of theatre, to get more people inside the buildings. The plays themselves were admirable, prompting debate and discussion, but it is great a shame that they were not more widely appreciated.

Double Vision; every show unique

Thanks to Takeover Festival, and its associated abundance of free tickets, I recently became more aware of what I think is one of the greatest distinguishers between live performances and the static, usually pre-recorded, "modern"media of television, film and radio. This was the first time I had been to see a show twice, revisiting 4:48 Psychosis on the third night, and catching both the matinee and evening performance of Belt Up's magnificent The Beggar's Opera. The stark differences between each showing were so significant, it is hard to underestimate the unique quality of each performance, and the weight an audience commands in determining this.

I had expected quite a different audience for The Beggar's Opera matinee. In truth there were no more than fifty in house, with just a handful of those falling under, say, 65 years of age. And many came expecting a beautifully classic version of John Gay's comic opera. Needless to say they found themselves challenged. The level of expletive usage was critically high for such an audience, and we quickly felt the tension rising from the stalls. The lady behind accosted us in the interval insisting "That was not the Beggar's Opera". Not a promising first half.

Things did, however, improve in the second half. Those who chose to remain (after 12 interval walk-outs) were swept along with the enforced jollity of Belt Up's performance. And there was a decent applause, as much as could be expected from such a small audience. All of this did nothing to prepare me for the onslaught of the evening performance. A pretty good turnout, with a mix of young and old, immediately provided an upbeat atmosphere, something which would build and build right to the exuberant finale. The contrast in the feel of the show is impossible to understate. Those exiting the matinee trickled away almost sheepishly, but later the same day I was hard pushed to see anyone leaving without a large grin on their face.

Psychosis provided a very different comparison experience. The first night performance was fresh and raw, not perfect, but more powerful as a result of this naivety. But the third night was very different, quite surreal. The whole play took on a kind of black comic element, becoming almost a parody of Kane's original. The culprit in my opinion was one man who began to laugh at the more shocking expletive lines. The rest of the audience seemed to get swept along with this tension diffusing humour. What was a brutal, shocking performance had been transformed into a mildly disturbing piece on mental health with darkly comic undertones.

This prompted me to reflect on the unique nature of live performances. We rarely see theatre twice; perhaps every performance is significantly different. The role of the audience seems critical. The feel of a play depends very much on how it is received by those watching. Being in the audience always seems such a passive experience, but in actuality viewers contribute a critical part to any performance. How people react, whether they laugh, yawn, or remain indifferent, creates the atmosphere in the auditorium, an atmosphere which influences the actors on stage, the mood of the audience, and our overall impression of the show. It seems the success of a show is for the most part in the hands of the audience, after the work of the production team and actors has been done. We must remember that it is thanks to both the audience and those creating the show that each theatrical performance becomes a unique experience, in a way that prerecorded or replayed film, television and radio pieces can never be.

Another Someone

PLAY REVIEW: ANOTHER SOMEONE at York Theatre Royal



“A beautiful and deliberate mayhem”; Rash Dash’s Another Someone is a wonderfully uplifting exploration of the nature of happiness. It feels like watching a child's collage being stuck together on stage, layer by layer, as each character explores the feeling of joy in their own way, physically, musically and poetically.

This show is driven by the prolific usage of movement and music. Becky, the whimsical keyboardist narrator, channels a naive Kate Nash with her innocently soft lyrical happiness. Another Someone boasts a very talented cast, with strong singing voices and impressive acrobatic physical pieces. The sheer passion and sensuality conveyed by the dance of the lovers, Jim and Holly, was enthralling and so convincing, although I could not help but feel that some of the earlier movement lacked lightness of foot. 

The main focus of Another Someone is the exploration of what makes each of us happy, and how we express this. Each character takes a different method; Becky's song, Holly's childhood memories, Jim's basic list, and Ellie's dance, which produce, along with the storyline they interrupt, a rather randomly assembled portrait of some of the good things in life. The plot is kept simple; unlikely friends and mismatched lovers discovering the true pleasures of life. The result is far from coherent, but the confusion and rough edges do impart a rather pleasing handcrafted, almost amateurish feel.

Another Someone is a charmingly sweet play, perhaps even a little sickly in places as it attempts to seduce our inner humanity. If we are willing to accept its utilitarian undertones, based on the simplistic premise that we are a species which just wants to be happy, this play becomes an anthology of human joy, illustrating how joy has a different meaning for all of us. Rash Dash pushes us to consider what makes us happy and, hopefully, compels us to act on this.


Reviewed for "A Younger Theatre".

The Beggar's Opera

PLAY REVIEW: THE BEGGAR’S OPERA at York Theatre Royal.

Magnificent. Tremendous. Incredible. Even such grandiose words can only go so far towards adequately describing Belt Up’s latest creation. This show is something else; a frantically crazed, panto-esque musical injected with incisive political satire, hilarious comic sketches and witty improvisation. Nowhere else will you see the Iron Lady majestically cavorting on stage as brothel owner Madame Snatchers to strains of “Rule Mrs Thatcher, Mrs Thatcher Rules the Waves…”

Belt Up’s The Beggar’s Opera is a masterpiece of popular entertainment, but still manages to be clever and complex. There are so many layers here, forming a kind of patchwork quilt of a show which flickers between satirising the contemporary political climate, tearing apart the Thatcher years, and referring back to Gay’s original (if only through the outline plot). Having said that, Belt Up’s performance does continue John Gay’s controversial approach; equally shocking to contemporaries, the original is often credited with initiating the musical theatre genre.

I particularly enjoyed the satirising of the coalition government, with Cameron and Osbourne simpering around “Mumsy”, telling tales of their cruelty to the friendless “Nicky” Clegg. And I would be surprised to find anyone not won over by the humour of songs like the incredible political-correctness rap, “He’s a gypsy…” The audience interaction was fantastic, with Belt Up pulling lots of the audience up onto the stage for an exuberant final number.

I have rarely had a more enjoyable evening at the theatre. This is quite an admission coming from someone who has an intense dislike of pantomime and musicals, but there was something powerfully intoxicating about The Beggar’s Opera, as if they had pumped the auditorium with airbourne jollity. It was quite impossible to sit through that performance and to remain indifferent as trombone players and members of the cast erupted into song from their peppered positions in the auditorium. I cannot wait to see more from Belt Up, a company which I hope has the potential to do great things for the future of theatre.