Theatre Review: Living Spit's A Christmas Carol at the Brewery Theatre, Tobacco Factory Theatres, Bristol

This review was first written for The Reviews Hub

Much-loved comedy duo Living Spit is back in the Brewery Theatre with its own particular take on that perennial Dickens classic A Christmas Carol. Such is the extent of Bristol’s appreciation for Stuart Mcloughlin and Howard Coggins that most of the run is already sold out, with extra shows having been added.

It isn’t difficult to see why. Living Spit’s particular brand of adult-style Horrible Histories silliness has previously tackled subjects as diverse as Elizabeth I and Adolf Hitler with sharp-witted verve. The two actors are great at storytelling and playing themselves alongside multiple characters, so it seems A Christmas Carol should be right up their street.

And indeed, there are moments of guffaw-worthy delight. The entrance of the actor Howard Coggins is a highlight as he transforms into the pyjama clad, Daily Mail reading Ebenezer Scrooge railing against migrants with plenty of Bah Humbugs thrown in. From thereon in, it’s a largely traditional retelling of the story, featuring the ghosts of Marley and Christmases Past, Present (taken very literally) and Future, with a contemporary twist. There’s a good old debate about the talents of Pierce Brosnan and his untrained singing voice in Mama Mia!, while a chugger gets short shrift as he accosts Scrooge in the street. Stu takes every opportunity to don a variety of dresses and wigs and the duo’s well-sung harmonies make a reappearance in trademark songs such as Howard’s Interval Song and the funny but surprisingly poignant ballad Let’s Have Pity on Uncle Scrooge.

In between, though, there are some meandering scenes which could do with tightening to lift this piece to the same level as other Living Spit productions. Scrooge’s encounter with his first girlfriend Angharad at Fezziwig’s nightclub is endearing but overlong and doesn’t really go anywhere. Some of the dialogue isn’t as crisp and sparkling as usual and the appearance of each of the ghosts and recreation of minor characters in the form of Barbie dolls and teddies – despite a fantastically Pythonesque Christmas meal for the Cratchit family – is oddly lacking in comedic or dramatic tension.

The ending is satisfying, though, as the audience gets the chance to join in an enjoyably crass rendition of Hymn 1971 and Scrooge realises the error of his ways and sets about putting things right with an inflatable turkey. Living Spit’s A Christmas Carol is still a Christmas cracker full of festive fun, sure to please the fans, but it could be so much more with some judicious tweaking.

Reviewed on 9 December 2015 | Image: Paul Blakemore

Theatre Review: Happy Hour at The Brewery Theatre, Tobacco Factory Theatres, Bristol

This review was originally written for The Reviews Hub

The latest commission in Òran Mór’s A Play, A Pie and A Pint series showcasing new writing is Happy Hour, Anita Vettesse’s funny, poignant and sharply observed exploration of a family floundering in its attempts to re-establish an equilibrium after the death of father and husband Joe.

Gathering together in the family pub to scatter his ashes, each of them has their own baggage. Kay (Hannah Donaldson) was always a daddy’s girl, but she has her alternative therapies and crystals for comfort – and if they don’t work she still has the inhaler and red wine to fall back on. Tom (Stephen McCole) is home from his role as an overseas aid worker – having missed his father’s funeral he’s there to say a final farewell. Meanwhile, their mother, Anne (Anne Lacey), is selling the pub that she and her husband ran for many years. She’s promised the money to her children, but she might be about to change her mind.

Joe’s ashes sit in their midst in a shoebox on the table and you can really feel his presence and absence in this family. Then, talk turns to inheritance and the arguments gather momentum; Kay’s desperation for cash becomes increasingly plain as she alternates between threats and pleading to recruit her brother to her cause. Tom has secrets he wants to reveal at his own pace while Anne sees the opportunity for a new life –although determined not to lose any of the control she held in the old.

Vettesse’s writing is full of promise. Here she delivers a finely nuanced examination of family dynamics at a time of loss and critical change; her frequently barbed dialogue rings true in all its tragicomedy and the audience’s sympathy gradually realigns as perspectives change and each character reveals a little more of themselves. Under Gethin Evans’ direction the pace is fast yet naturalistic, the setting simple and the cast of three delivers its characters with venomous yet touching assurance. The only real question mark is over those ashes; as you fix your gaze on them, it’s impossible not to feel a certain predictability in their outcome from early on.

That said, Happy Hour’s ending, in the face of a pub quiz conundrum, is more than satisfying enough to complete an evening’s entertainment for ticketholders that begins with a pie and a pint; a tasty and refreshing celebration of new one-act plays and an inspiring initiative.

Reviewed on 19 November 2015 | Image: Contributed

Theatre Review: Eventide at the Brewery Theatre, Tobacco Factory Theatres, Bristol

This review was first written for Theatre Bristol

The prosaic setting of a pub garden in the heart of the Hampshire countryside – a place where smokers gather to nurse their addiction – becomes the confessional at the centre of Barney Norris’ new play Eventide. 

From the beginning, the play’s three characters are intricately observed; under Alice Hamilton’s direction you can feel the weight of every facial tic and reaction. John, played by James Doherty, is the larger-than-life landlord of the establishment, ever ready with a joke about a ferret and a blow job. Hasan Dixon’s Mark is a young man scratching a living from whatever manual labouring he can find; work is scarce and, no matter what his troubles, he has to pay the rent. And Ellie Piercy’s eager, diffident Liz travels for miles to play the local church organ because there aren’t that many left and – by her own candid admission – she’s really not very good.

Not much happens; events in this play take place elsewhere. Here, on the decking of the beer garden, between the bin for the empties and the hosepipe, all we see is their aftermath. Yet, there is so much going on. It’s quickly evident that John, Mark and Liz are all, for different reasons, reeling from an individual sense of loss. The slow-building poignancy of this character-based piece is the way in which each of their tragedies gradually unfurls. The skin is stripped back until we reach the bone. Norris’ writing is subtle, layered, incisive, full of witty one-liners – and all the more devastating for that.

Norris gets the performances he deserves from a talented cast, so warmly natural and believable in their chatter that you feel tempted for a moment to leave your seat and join them. On these wooden benches, connections are made through easy banter but long-held desires dashed by a moment’s heedless line; a mistaken recollection can wound to the core and what is really meant stays lurking in the gaps between the words.

After the interval, a year has passed and although it seems there is now cause for celebration, this could be an illusion. The pub may be hosting a wedding party, but it’s been taken over by a chain. The villagers’ way of life is being eroded and not everyone finds it so easy to move on.

Like Bea Roberts’ And Then Come the Nightjars that played recently at Bristol Old Vic, Norris follows his award-winning debut Visitors by framing isolation and loneliness in a rural setting with finely drawn characterisation. In doing this, he finds a humanity common to us all; a place amid the hopelessness where there’s still a ray of hope.

Reviewed on 11 November 2015 | Image: Contributed

Theatre Review: Infinity Pool at The Brewery Theatre, Tobacco Factory Theatres, Bristol

This review was first written for Theatre Bristol Writers

Sleep: Dream: Wake: Work: Drink: Eat: Repeat

Welcome to the humdrum life of Emma Barnicott, who works in a plumbing supplies warehouse on a Plymouth trading estate and comes home every evening to Paul, her husband of many years. 

Not that we’re told this in so many words – in fact, in her experimental one-woman show, Bea Roberts takes the concept of ‘show not tell’ to its extreme. She hardly utters a syllable but reveals Emma’s story, to a backdrop of eighties’ bands like INXS and the Pretenders, through the multimedia use of a television, an overhead projector and laptops which project conversations and imagery on to two large screens at the back of the stage – and often on to Roberts herself.

Loosely based on a modern retelling of Madame Bovary, Roberts captures the remoteness of contemporary life; Emma updates her status and tracks her travelling daughter on Facebook and embarks on a witty email flirtation with a builder which threatens to tip over into reality. For all our technological progress since Flaubert ‘s novel was published in 1856, it seems we have not escaped the everyday tedium which leads to Emma shopping beyond her means online and fantasising about an affair with Michael Hutchence.

There are shades of Bridget Jones here as Emma counts the calories, she has mainly expended on wine, in a half-hearted attempt to lose weight. In her dreams, she is always lighter, sexier, more alive. In reality, the highlights of the life she longs to break free from are drunken conversations at a colleague’s leaving do and party rings – and increasingly intimate online exchanges with her builder.

This seamless storytelling is captivating; it’s as intriguing to anticipate the next move in Roberts’ relentless bustle as it is to absorb Emma’s story. The simplest things often work best: slides of her car journey to and from work and the inside of the office lift; pouring water into a Pyrex dish on the overhead projector to signify rain. Adding a sponge turns this into taking a shower – reminiscent of Katie Mitchell’s much larger scale, multimedia production of Virginia Woolf’s Waves.

It is playful, wistful and at moments unexpectedly profound. Maybe Emma’s Dad, gazing at the stars in all their infinity from his caravan, is the one who’s really got it right. Food for thought, that is much more substantial than party rings, anyway. 

Reviewed on 11th July 2015.

Theatre Review: Gloriator at the Brewery Theatre, Tobacco Factory Theatres, Bristol

This review was first written for Theatre Bristol Writers

If there was ever an award for the best use of cardboard in a show, it would have to go to Gloriator, a supremely silly reinvention of the Oscar-winning film Gladiator by French/English female comedy duo Spitz & Co. The set and many of the props and costumes – from Roman armour to Emperor’s laurel wreath – have been constructed out of cast-off boxes in a blaze of inspired recycling.

The laughter begins early on, as hapless tour manager Josephine sells lottery tickets to support French actress Gloria Delaneuf’s mission to bring the arts to a deprived community in the depths of the Kungalunga jungle. Apparently, Gloria is a household name in France and Josephine gives us a short presentation of her most famous films (projected, of course, on to cardboard) before the icon herself sweeps imperiously on stage, announcing she will be re-enacting the role made famous by Russell Crowe, while giving greater voice to other previously overlooked female characters in the film.

There then follows an inventive and eye-moppingly funny play-within-a-play, full of clowning, mime and physical comedy, as a just-about recognisable version of the story is performed. The cardboard is supplemented by a flurry of wigs, sackcloth and a nowhere-to-hide white leotard; whether bedecked in a bear costume or stripped down to their underwear, this duo displays great on-stage chemistry and an endearing willingness to laugh at themselves. Pauline Morel as Gloria maintains a comical hauteur throughout; she issues forth a stream of commands to Susie Donkin’s puppyishly enthusiastic – but often ineffective – Josephine, who rushes around providing costumes and props, mopping up spills, translating Gloria’s French and playing all the minor roles from horse to ghostly visitor. 

They’re not afraid to interact with the audience, either. "Is he a plant?" wonders my teenage daughter, as a young man called James is given both the women’s phone numbers in a subversive act of love rivalry on Josephine’s part. It’s his birthday and, invited onto the stage for a crucial scene, he’s rewarded with an unrehearsed chorus of Happy Birthday from an appreciative audience at the end. 

Silliness seems to come as naturally as breathing to this show; there’s a convincing appearance of anarchic spontaneity which must belie all the thought and timing that’s gone into its creation. Gloriator is like the workout for the facial muscles it at one stage portrays – on the way home, I realise mine are still aching from the relentless laughter of the last hour. 

Reviewed on 17th June 2015. Photo courtesy of Spitz &Co.