Solange LaFitte is mooching backstage at the dilapidated New York theatre. Everyone has arrived at the Weismann follies reunion party, revisiting the venue where they were once the dazzling epitome of showgirl glamour. They’ve all grabbed a drink, squealed at long lost buddies and curled a lip at long-grudged rivals. Stephen Sondheim’s musical Follies (directed by Dominic Cooke at London's … [Read more...]
Propwatch: the balloons in Company
When your life is a perplexity – because your friends are needy-bossy, your cute boys aren’t quite right, your choices are urgent but confused – the last thing you need is balloons. Specifically, huge silver balloons bumping along behind you and reminding you how old you are. Bobbie (Rosalie Craig), heroine of Marianne Elliott’s gloriously rethought version of Sondheim’s Company, hoists herself … [Read more...]
Sad face
As a child, I was never afraid of the dark. I don’t mean actual nighttime (you don’t achieve inky darkness in light-spilling London). But cruelty, sorrow, isolation: these thread their way through many of the best children’s books, reaching out a hand to the solitary reader in his ladybird dressing gown and first pair of glasses. That doesn’t mean gloom-drenched stories. Quite the reverse. My … [Read more...]
My American dreams
Some people plunge into pantomime for their festive entertainment. I went to America. Not real America, but pretend, demi-dystopian America, courtesy of two musicals – Assassins and City of Angels – and a scintillating reboot of The Merchant of Venice set in Las Vegas. Three versions of damaged, damaging America – its greed and desperation, its delusional entitlement and self-making desire. Happy … [Read more...]
Candy-coloured world of stupid
Musicals should have jokes and tap dancing. There, I’ve said it. I’ve long thought it, sitting in the dark while leather-lunged belters lay about with coshes made of bombast and earnestness. Jokes and tap dancing, people. Jokes and tap dancing. Most musicals I see are for review, rather than on my own dollar. Partly that’s because that dollar doesn’t take you very far at West End prices (I will … [Read more...]
Speak, memory
How do you imagine your memory? As a rheumatic showgirl going through her old paces; a disembodied mouth yabbering its hoard; a frolicsome performance troupe or a whirring tape machine, speaking into the void? Memory is the story the mind tells itself about itself, the unreliable biography that is all we’ve got. We build it up and then it starts to fall through our fingers. But how do you put … [Read more...]