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PRIDE ICONS Flash Mob

Brighton Dance Flash Mob

Want to take part in a Flash Mob!

Want to make this years Brighton Pride flash mob the biggest ever?

Simply go to one or both of the free rehearsals and find out where the flash mobs will be held later that day.

Show up at the flash mob location and… flash mob!

Remember you will need to purchase a ticket to gain access to Preston Park.

REHEARSALS:

Emporium, 88 London Rd, BN1 4JF (the old Methodist Hall) from 10am-12pm. Wear comfortable clothes and bring water. Tell the dance teacher of any relevant medical conditions. Please support the venue and buy a drink/snack as they are supporting the flash mob. They will be serving a gorgeous Pride Brunch too. The parade will be passing by the venue at around midday so you will be able to catch most of it 🙂

Women’s Performance Tent, Preston Park: 1pm-1.20pm

FLASH MOBS:

• Preston Park 3pm & 4pm

For more information, CLICK HERE: 

Brighton Dance Flash Mobs were formed in 2010 and since then they have flash mobbed 31 times!!

Their first flash mob was at Brighton Pride… To view, CLICK HERE:

IT IS NOW TIME TO RETURN!!

This year’s theme at Brighton Pride is Icons. It just so happens their first flash mob is laden with icons including Lady Gaga, Katy Perry,will.i.am and more!

TRAINING VIDEO

Here’s the whole routine. You only need to learn from 0.58 to the end. Follow the girl in the white miniskirt with black leggings/vest top on the left as she does everything right! CLICK HERE: 

Why not organise a flash mob party and learn the routine with your mates?

FREE REHEARSALS

There are two free rehearsals on the day of Pride. Go to one or both. They are fun and accessible to all. Participation is encouraged from all genders, ages, sexualities, abilities and backgrounds.

If you cannot go to rehearsals, learn the routine on-line and email them so they can tell you the exact locations of the flash mobs! EMAIL:

They won’t tell you exactly where they are, otherwise it isn’t a flash mob!!! You will be told verbally at rehearsals. They will also tweet it 5-minutes beforehand using #brightonprideflashmob.

Start following them @BDFlashMobs. Also download the Brighton Pride app and receive live updates.

ENTRY TO THE PARK

Tickets are £17.50 (concessions £10/£9). http://www.brighton-pride.org/tickets.php

Brighton Dance Flash Mob have secured 30 free entry tickets to the park. These are first come first served, and only open to those attending the 10am rehearsal and taking part in both flash mobs.

Email: brightondanceflashmobs@gmail.com with your full name and mobile number. One ticket per email address. We will give you the ticket on the day at rehearsals.

MAKE THIS THE LARGEST FLASH MOB EVER!!!

Brighton Dance Flash Mobs welcomes everyone! It is free to participate; no joining fee or membership fee. They send you the details of the free rehearsals via Facebook “Brighton Dance Flash Mobs”, Twitter @BDFlashMobs and their database brightondanceflashmobs@gmail.com

You show up and learn the routine – rehearsals are relaxed, fun and fully accessible. Then they reveal where you will flash mob later that day. Simple!

 

KAT CALLS

Blimey, that time again already? It only seems like, ooooh, a couple of weeks since we last had the “weekly” Kat Calls round up. Well, if you read that last one, you’ll realise I’m trying my damnedest to catch up with my own tail due to various ‘difficulties’.

So it’s me again *jazzhands*, going on a bit about what I’ve been up to and how completely frazzled I bloody well am and how I keep fainting in the heat because of my stupid low blood pressure. So on to, well, let’s call it Friday to keep it neat….

FRIDAY

After slating A Chorus Line in these here pages, the publicity guy turned round and said, kindly, “Would you like some tickets to LET IT BE?” I thought, “You’re skating on thin ice, mate. I hated one, so you offer me tickets to something else you and me just know I’m gonna loathe, but hey, they’re free, so gimme.”

Savoy Hotel

Which was how I came to be seated in the SAVOY with son Sid. I had intended to have a poke around yer actual SAVOY HOTEL before the show, but for once we weren’t early and I didn’t have time. I’ve taken to poking around in hotels a lot these days as I’ve found their foyer sofas lovely and comfy and big to have a kip on when out and about in the smoke. I wondered if the SAVOY would actually let me and my scruffbag son in the front doors, but they’re not to know we’re not rich bastards who just hate dressing up. But it’ll have to wait till another day….

“I wondered if the SAVOY would actually let me and my scruffbag son in the front doors, but they’re not to know we’re not rich bastards who just hate dressing up”

LET IT BE is simply a pretend Beatles concert with actors who can also play and sing and who bear a slight resemblance to the Fab Four from a distance and if you’re not wearing your glasses. Sid likes the Beatles and knows Sergeant Pepper’s well enough, but even he was underwhelmed. It didn’t help that the volume was up a wee bit too much for these old ears. There was an unseemly fight over the earplugs and I won. Yay me!

In the end I gave up watching the band. The fact that George looked exactly like the new Barnaby from Midsomer Murders (Neil someone?) doing an impression of Basil Fawlty doing an impression of George Harrison unnerved me a bit – or was it my stupid mind, which always sees these convoluted ‘lookie-likies’, that had unnerved me? Well, let’s just say I was unsettled so settled on the audience to see if they were enjoying themselves.

The Brazilians down below us were! Four of them – two couples I presume – were giggling, squirming, drinking, talking, kissing, filming, getting up, sitting down, and dancing in the aisles. They were the only ones. Everyone else, like good theatre-goers, was sitting still, perhaps clapping or tapping their feet, and half tutting at and half admiring these carefree kiddies. The usher would ask them to sit down: they’d look bewildered, as if saying “this is a music concert you stupid British idiot”; they’d obey for five minutes; they’d get up and start gyrating again or go to the bar for more booze.

I was with the audience: half of me loved their attitude, half of me wanted to swat them like flies. As I wasn’t in any way bothered about seeing the concert, the first half won and I just stared at them and enjoyed their antics. One brilliant move that one of the boys perfected was holding his camera up to video the girl he was so obviously in lust with, and rather than asking her to turn around (it was too loud even for him), he did a swirling motion with his finger like he was stirring a blancmange. “Dance, my lover. Dance, my puppet. Later I will jump your bones,” that finger seemed to say.

 “”Dance, my lover. Dance, my puppet. Later I will jump your bones,” that finger seemed to say”

Me and Sid nudged each other, smiled, and copied the stirring motion. But then Sid went all meta on me and began videoing the bloke videoing the girl and I loved him just a little less.

Clapping. What’s that all about, excuse me? Clapping is strictly for the end of the first half (a smattering), and then the end of the show (full-blown). That’s it. Two clapping bouts and you’re done. Yet clapping diarrhoea is running rampant across this land. The first note of a song and someone claps – out of time. The first high note sung and someone claps – out of time. Always. And it’s always *cough* middle aged women who should know better. Tsk.

What enjoyment do people get to clapping along to a tune anyway? It a) makes it harder to hear the tune and b) it makes a right old racket. I may as well have stumps for hands when it comes to the subject of applause. I do my bit I suppose, in the right places (i.e. the end of the first half and the end of the show, AS I SAID), but I’m even a reluctant clapper then, as I sit there self-consciously thinking “I’m putting my hands together to make an arbitrary noise to show that I liked this show” and it all goes a bit wobbly in my head.

Never take me to a panto. I actually love, nay, adore a good old panto, but all that audience participation is like torture. “Put your hands in the air like you just don’t care!” Well, excuse me, but I do care and I don’t like to be ordered about by a man in a dress held together with clothes pegs thank you very much. I shall clap and wave my arms when I see fit, not before (so that’ll be never then).

That’s what I didn’t understand when I sat watching (mostly) middle aged women clapping like their lives depended on it. There was ‘dad clapping’ too, so it’s not the women I’m singling out totally. It just always seems to be some middle aged bint who’s had one gin too many who starts the whole thing off.

“It just always seems to be some middle aged bint who’s had one gin too many who starts the whole thing off”

And isn’t hearing clapping petering out one of the worst sounds in the universe, to the audience as well as the performer? It just sounds like everyone’s already lost interest in the thing they’re watching which sounds a lot ruder than if they’d just sat on their hands in the first place. Enough already.

To read my review of LET IT BE CLICK HERE:  http://gscene.com/let-it-be-the-savoy-theatre-review/

SATURDAY

A marathon day in London where I again had to catch up with my sleep in a foyer chair. I’ve now taken to carrying a blow-up travel pillow with me at all times which is handy, but does look a little odd. Blowing it up makes me feel self-conscious but by that time I’m usually too pooped to care much.

We started off having a sort of ‘behind the scenes’ look at WAR HORSE at the NEW LONDON THEATRE in Drury Lane. Sid and I had seen it when it was at the National years ago, but got some free tix through Twitter for this explanation of how Joey, the puppet horse, worked and I’d forgotten just how effective the horse was when he trotted on to the stage. Well, three men and a wicker frame.

Then it was off to Shoreditch to SUMMER RITES and we were actually on time while SUMMER RITES was late. Opening, that is. So we sat on a bench and when it did open we were just about the only ones in there as everyone was still off on the big march through town.

We’d gone on the march once, or rather, we’d gone in the crip bus on the march. Three hours cooped up on a stifling hot minibus wasn’t my idea of fun. As we passed, people seemed to think that because we were enclosed in a bus that we were famous and I got a lot of good stares and a few hopeful waves, but I wouldn’t want to repeat the experience. I’d never want to be famous. Your whole day must consist of catching people’s eyes as you walk past them and their faces either looking puzzled (‘Do I know you?’), excited (‘I do know you, don’t I!?’) or, worst of all, nonchalant (‘Yes, I know exactly who you are but I’d rather slit my throat than admit it, boyo’).

So there we were on a deserted common full of large tents blaring out loud music, with nowt happening. We couldn’t even console ourselves with food as there seemed to only be a couple of burger places in the whole joint. It was, to be frank, my idea of bloody hell. The earplugs came out. It was still unbearable. So we left, after all of 20 minutes. I’d like to say we just didn’t give it much of a chance, but it was more that it just wasn’t us. Not everyone likes music that makes your ears bleed.

But what to do until the opera in the evening? We ended up on a hot, sticky bus for an hour which made me think that that Pride march wasn’t looking so bad now. Off to our bolthole, the National, for a nice kip, and then to HOLLAND PARK for MADAMA BUTTERFLY.

We’ve been going to see OPERA HOLLAND PARK for quite a few years now as we get free tickets through their splendid Get Kids into Opera scheme. Unfortunately, it hasn’t succeeded in getting Sid into opera – he dreads going every year – but it got me into it and I’m nothing if not a big kid so I consider it a success.

Tis a posh affair – not quite as posh as Covent Garden, but posher than the Coliseum – full of people in evening dress with plummy accents paying a ridic amounts for champers. I like it though as we slum about amongst the crowd, eating our bread and cheese, swigging our squash. And the opera’s not bad either. Unfortunately, I got a German bloke next to me who played with his phone throughout. He was slowly reading his texts and then deleting them. When he wasn’t doing that he was looking at his watch. Then his wife, sitting next door, decided to join him in this little game. I sat and fumed, as you do, then let the low-paid door operative (or ‘usher’) do the dirty, awkward work of telling the Germans off. At that moment I fitted in with the opera crowd perfectly.

To read my review of MADAMA BUTTERFLY, CLICK HERE: 

SUNDAY

Sod all. The Land of Nod called.

MONDAY

I’m a sucker for a church, and one in COVENT GARDEN supposedly designed by Inigo Jones (they’re not quite sure) sure gets my juices going. Stick a Shakespeare play in and around it and I’m salivating like a pit bull that’s just seen a chihuahua wearing a bacon bonnet.

WEB.600.1

So it was with great joy and happiness that I dragged Sid to see Iris Theatre’s JULIUS CAESAR at ST PAUL’S COVENT GARDEN. St Paul’s is known as ‘the actors’ church’ and I’m pretty sure you’ll have passed by it’s back end at least once in your life, as its the bit of Covent Garden were all the buskers do their turn. There are steps going into the surrounding garden which are now a landscaped haven of peace in a madly touristy area. This, of course, used to be the graveyard, but now no one’s allowed to be buried there.

In 1839, in a book called GATHERINGS FROM GRAVEYARDS, a London surgeon wrote about the graveyard thus: “On a recent occasion, the grave digger had to make several trials before he could find room for a new tenant, and he assured me that on several occasions he had been driven from the attempt at digging a grave, and compelled to throw back the earth, owing to the dangerous effluvia he experienced from the soil.” Yuk! And what a great job!

I did once come across a gravedigger digging in a village church and asked him if he’d ever found any bones when digging and he looked at me as if I’d said something that had never crossed his mind before. “No!” Any coffin handles, or teeth? “No!” I left it at that as I think I’d actually managed to put the willies up someone who dug graves for a living. He was either spectacularly unimaginative or was lying and had found loads and loads of skulls and they were all lined up on his mantelpiece so he could play at being Hamlet every minute of every day (when he wasn’t grave digging of course).

My old pottery teacher had a human skull on her mantelpiece. Two of her pupils had brought it in to her one day, knowing she had odd tastes, claiming they’d found it on a bus. I’ve always thought that was a mighty fishy story, but have never been sure if the fishiness came from my pottery teacher or the two boys….

But I digress (again). Oh no, I can feel another one coming on…..

ST PAUL’S, being the actors church, pays host to many a memorial service for actors. I suppose they may have lived in and been buried in other parts of the country, so a service to remember them is most handy in the middle of London. Do you remember JAMES who I mentioned in my last missive? The autograph guy? Well, his autograph mates crash these services. They put on nice clothes and turn up and mingle with the congregation so they can sneak a signing or two out of them and enjoy the sandwiches and champers provided afterwards. Even I, a certified autistic idiot of the first order who’ll hang around most places for a vol-au-vent and a comfy seat, find this odd.

“Even I, a certified autistic idiot of the first order who’ll hang around most places for a vol-au-vent and a comfy seat, find this odd”

So, back to JULIUS CAESAR (at last). As we sat waiting for the play to begin, I bored Sid rigid with the history of the place so he switched his brain off. I couldn’t tempt him to edge his finger near the ‘on’ button even with the ‘effluvia’ story. What did wake him up was the bang bang bang of riot shields being bashed, as an army of masked men dressed in tattered leather and armour walked in.

So began a couple of the best hours of theatre I’ve seen in a long time. Atmospheric, powerful, and moving – and I don’t often say that about anything these days, having developed the dreaded Reviewer’s Jade. But I found temporary respite from it in that church on that evening as Iris took us on a walk round the gardens, playing a scene here, a scene there, ending up on the church steps and eventually into the smoke-filled church itself. There was enough blood to put a rosy glow into Robert Pattinson’s cheeks, most of it spilling on the chancel tiles. It was electrifying, and I will be snapping up a ticket to their ALICE IN WONDERLAND at the same venue which begins it’s run on July 30 (p.s. if you’re quick, you can still see Julius Caesar too).

“There was enough blood to put a rosy glow into Robert Pattinson’s cheeks, most of it spilling on the chancel tiles”

TUESDAY

BOEING BOEING at the DEVONSHIRE PARK THEATRE in Eastbourne wasn’t quite the trolley dolly style play I’d been expecting. I was thinking….ooooh…….sort of James Dreyfus in Gimme Gimme Gimme, but it turned out to be a 1960s French bedroom farce. I’d missed the film of the play totally. 1965 with Tony Curtis and Jerry Lewis in case you have too.

Boeing Boeing

One of the advantages of being a reviewer and not having to pay for tickets is that I can go into things blind. It’s the equivalent of sticking a pin in a map and stating “I’m going THERE!” with no idea where ‘there’ is or whether it’s a mosquito-infested swamp or a palm tree-lined paradise.

I try to not find out about a production beforehand as I like the element of surprise, and also, Google can come up with some really nasty spoilers if you’re not careful.

Anyway, I took my MUM to see this one which had Sid whooping with joy at his escape. He is an ungrateful sod really, as he gets to see so many things that he’s blasé now. Just wait till he grows up and I’m dead. He’ll look back and think me the most excellent mother who ever lived. Harumph.

The play was OK and Mum behaved OK so the evening was OK. Enough said really. Oh, and she bought me an ice cream in the interval. Result!!!

To read my review of Boeing Boeing, CLICK HERE: 

WEDNESDAY 

….was supposed to be a day of rest, but turned out to be a day of Mum again as I was offered tickets to see MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG which is on its last legs at the HAROLD PINTER in Panton Street (which sounds very like a musical hall song).

I couldn’t resist as this production had ‘received more five stars than any other musical in West End history.’ Well, I enjoyed it but five stars across the board? I could see Mum was miffed. I’d dragged her old crumbling bones up to London again with the promise of something spectacular and she got Sondheim (which I secretly knew wouldn’t be her cup of tea but I figured it’d give her enough to moan about for the rest of the week to keep her happy – and I was right).

THURSDAY 

PUDDING NIGHT!! Yay!! Even Sid had been looking forward to this one. It was a chilly walk on WORTHING PIER but I do like a pier. Not Brighton Pier. Oh no. I lived near there for too long for a visit to be considered a treat. It’s not the vulgarity that I can’t stomach: I love that. I love the Carry On feel to it and liked nothing better than popping in to the old Victoria Bar when I used to drink like a fish, whilst wearing a Kiss Me Quick hat and pretending to be CHARLES HAWTREY in Carry On At Your Convenience. No, it’s just that it’s in Brighton and therefore not exotic enough, whereas Worthing is all of 10 miles away! And Worthing smells of the sea (unlike Brighton which smells of people).

“……whilst wearing a Kiss Me Quick hat and pretending to be CHARLES HAWTREY in Carry On At Your Convenience”

We had a lovely PUDDING NIGHT, celebrating the 4th of July and all that and I put on half a stone which unfortunately my bracing pier walk didn’t make a dent in.

TO read read my review, CLICK HERE: 

FRIDAY

I’d missed out on MISS NIGHTINGALE when it came down to the south coast, but managed to catch up with it at the LEICESTER SQUARE THEATRE view: http://missnightingale.co.uk/

With just 20 people in the place I felt sorry for the cast. A bit hit and miss, it kept my attention and the queer love story between the Jewish refugee composer and the posh club owner was the highlight of the piece. Definitely worth catching if it comes around again.

The evening was spent with both my theatre and history lover hats on at the same time so it was a good job it wasn’t too hot.

I’m not sure how I’d missed a visit to the ROSE THEATRE site before, being both a history and a Shakespeare nut, but I was making up for it now by meeting the head honcho volunteer PEPE, a guy whose specialist Mastermind subject would never be in any doubt. I came away feeling that I’d just scratched the surface of what there is to learn about the site and a return visit is definitely on the agenda – probably with Sid in tow just to make him suffer.

My dad used to be a history of London nut and would go round places with me trailing behind him whining “Enough of the past already” (as I loved pretending I was Jewish when I was a child). Now he’s gone, I’ve caught him up and all that early grounding has paid off as now I can’t get enough of the subject myself. I work on the same principle with Sid. He hates me with a passion now for taking him to all these ‘boring’ places and ‘boring’ things but, as I said before, when I’m dead he’ll bloody thank me.

To read my review of Macbeth at the Rose, CLICK HERE:   

Next time, my lovelies, I shall drone on about going on a bear hunt with a Spice Girl (and Les Dennis), meeting Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, seeing The Lone Ranger before everyone else (with my earplugs in natch), and experiencing the log flume of circus boredom that is Timber! at Southbank.

How do I know this? Because once again I’m a bloody week behind in my ramblings and I’ve already done it all. Just gotta get it down on paper. Oh for a spare five minutes….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

LATEST TV: QTube Episode 4

 

Latest TV

In episode  4 of the QTube, Jonesy, Torsten and Al Start look at some Pride events coming up with guest Richard Jones from Brighton Pride.

Torsten checks out the Pride Film Festival, running in the two weeks leading up to Pride and Al reveals what’s coming up in the Women’s Performance Tent.

In a special Pride Symposium Tom, Darren, Rhys and Jackson discuss if they are still proud of Pride.

To view, CLICK HERE:

DIRTY DANCING: Piccadilly Theatre, London: Review

Dirty DancingHow many people in Britain do you think haven’t seen the iconic 1980’s film Dirty Dancing? Just me? You’re probably right and it’s my USP for reviewing the revived theatre show that’s just opened at the Piccadilly. No preconceptions, you see. Before this evening I didn’t even know why you shouldn’t put a baby in the corner. Actually, it still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense….

After a successful six year run at the Aldwych, the production went on tour and is now back until at least February next year in its new home, the Piccadilly Theatre just off Shaftesbury Avenue.

Everyone (but me) knows the story, but here’s a very short reminder. It’s the summer of 1963. Francis (known as Baby, played by Jill Winternitz) and her mum, dad and little sis Lisa take their usual holiday in the Catskills on the American Plan, roughly equivalent to our Butlins. The resort is staffed by waiters and dancers just waiting to get into the girl’s voluminous 1960’s panties, and Baby makes the acquaintance of one of them, a sometime gigolo called Johnny Castle (Paul-Michael Jones).

Stuff happens. Baby and Johnny dance together, they fall in love, they’re kept apart, they reunite. Yay! A happy ending! Honestly, that’s as much of the plot as you’ll need to know if you’re approaching the story for the first time. It’s pretty self-explanatory and besides, everyone but me’s seen the film anyway, right? Right.

The first problem with the piece is the leads. Winternitz sports an authentic 80’s poodle-perm wig which looks so lank it makes you think Jedward had the right idea, while Jones just has hair that looks like a syrup. It has that odd Travolta vibe where it won’t quite sit still on his head one minute and then is as frozen as a dormouse cornered by a cat the next. They both have the charisma of wet fish, hers being a bit less moist than his. There’s not one iota of sizzle between them even in the key dance scenes which makes it a difficult watch.

Jones’ high-toned voice is all throat and no diaphragm, while Winternitz can out-bellow him any day with her deep, resonant tones. The pair are thus out of kilter just by opening their mouths. Both are curiously unsexual even when doing their best smutty moves, with the only truly smoking hot mama in the whole piece being Charlotte Gooch’s tortured Penny, who sways her hips and butt around and around like nuts in a very tight nutsack.

Dirty DancingThe second problem is the pacing. Scenes last for all of 30 seconds. The actors walk on stage, say a few lines and then they’re off again, giving the show a cartoon-like quality, as if written for people with a very short attention span.  If there was a great, galloping story to fit into two hours this might be understandable, but the plot could be summed up on the back of Nick Clegg’s ‘Promises I have kept’ list.

There’s also an almost complete lack of humour to the script (written by Eleanor Bergstein, the original scriptwriter of the film) with very few really cracking lines. The funniest turn comes from sis Lisa when she enters a talent competition with a nervy rendition of Hula Hana. This small spotlight piece gave her one of the biggest shouts of approval when the bows were taken and rightly so, but in a better show it would have just been another ‘funny bit’, not the stand-out it becomes here.

A revolving circle on the stage works well as it discretely ushers the lovers away behind the scenes when anything vaguely naughty looks like it’s going to happen. Otherwise, the stage is bare with a background of white wooden shuttering opening up to reveal a five piece band on the first floor level and an ever-changing projection of backgrounds below them, thus setting an atmosphere easily and quickly, but I think if I’d forked out West End prices for a ticket I’d feel a little cheated by such a sparse set-up.

The cleverest trick involves projections on a front-of-curtain screen of a forest, a field of grass, and the sea, all in quick succession: boom boom boom. Baby and Johnny dance behind them and seem to be ‘there’, immersed  in the scenery due to some simple but ingenious lighting. This gained laughs when they fell into the briny only to resurface a couple of seconds later with a big ‘pah’. The problem was that with the rest of the production being an irony-free zone, I wasn’t sure if the director (Sarah Tipple) had actually meant for this to be the comedic moment it was, or whether she just didn’t understand how daft it actually looked. When you’re that unconfident in the driver’s intentions, you’re already reaching for the car door and a speedy exit.

Considering Dirty Dancing is set in 1960’s America when everything was boiling over politically, every bit of ‘what’s happening in the outside world’ is shoehorned into one campfire scene – so American it made my gums hurt – with a This Land is Our Land and We Shall Overcome sing-a-long. Someone mentions the Cuban Missile Crisis, another says they’re going to join the Peace Corps, and then *fingersnap*, we’re back in the room and it’s never mentioned again.

This isn’t a musical, by the way. A musical, to my mind, involves the leads actually singing and neither Johnny nor Baby warble a note in this production. When singing is required, people are dragged up from the back of the stage to do the honours. Generally they do it well (Wayne Smith as Billy being a standout), but it’s not the same as having the two people we’re investing our emotions in singing their emotional hearts out. The music itself is an odd mishmash of styles, with all the classic 80’s hits thrown in plus some more modern, throwaway numbers. Nothing quite gels, nothing quite sparks, nothing quite works.

But hang on! What’s happening here? Johnny, previously a gigolo of good character, is accused of pinching things and is sent off from the resort with his tail between his legs. But tah dah! Suddenly there’s a huge crash (which both my son and I thought was a door falling off its hinges at the back of the auditorium) and he’s back, skipping through the audience, hair bouncing like a tortoise on a trampoline. “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” he squeaks.

But Baby isn’t in a corner: she’s sitting at a table. Is this corner metaphorical or is she in an actual corner in the film, sitting with her back to us with a dunce hat on her cockapoo perm? Son Sid turned to me as the whole house erupted in hearty cheers of unalloyed joy, raised his eyebrows and shrugged. He’d given up trying to understand it too.

I was bored with this show; nothing more, nothing less. Having said that, my mate Cathy saw it twice on its original run and, well, the fact that she was willing to pay to sit through it twice tells you all you need to know, so it really is horses for courses. I think it goes like this: if you’ve seen the film and loved it, you’ll probably wet your expensive Piccadilly seat. If, like me, you’ve steered clear of it, it’s probably because the whole concept didn’t really take your fancy in the first place and you’ll want to tear your eyes out by the interval.

WHAT: Dirty Dancing,

WHERE: Piccadilly Theatre, London

WHEN: Until the world goes bang probably

TICKETS: £26.50 – £67

MORE INFO: CLICK HERE: https://seatplan.com/london/dirty-dancing/

WOULD I SEE IT AGAIN: What do you think, Baby?

STARS: 2

 

 

 

 

PROUD TO BE WED Festival in 2014

Southbank Centre

London’s Southbank Centre is to celebrate the Same-Sex Marriage Bill by welcoming all couples to wed over one weekend in summer 2014.

The Proud to Be Wed Festival will see gay or straight couples join in with the mass celebrations with a two-day relay wedding reception, complete with flowers, food and cake, on The Clore Ballroom in the Royal Festival Hall.

The Clore Ballroom
The Clore Ballroom

There will be communal dancing across the site, fireworks, and brass bands as well as musicians, magicians, choirs, circus artists, poets and dancers on hand to provide romantic entertainment for all tastes. In advance of the weekend, there will be best man and woman speech-making workshops, calligraphy classes for those who want to create hand-made invitations and opportunities for couples to be linked up with designers to create bespoke wedding outfits. In solidarity of this historic act, people already married will be able to renew their vows too.

Jude Kelly, Artistic Director of Southbank Centre, said:

“Love must be celebrated and so must equal rights. To celebrate this historic moment and in recognition that love conquers all, we will welcome gay and straight couples to be at the centre of our magnificent wedding party at Southbank Centre next summer.”

For more information about The Southbank Centre, CLICK HERE:     

A SEASON IN THE CONGO: The Young Vic: Review

Photo: Johan Persson
Photo: Johan Persson

As we waited for the performance to start, I brought my young son up to speed with the ‘Scramble for Africa’ and the colonization of the Congo by King Leopold II of the Belgians.

“What happened next?” he asked, and I had to tell him that I didn’t know. ‘What happened next’ had happened in my lifetime but I’d only ever read up to H.M.Stanley’s opening up of the area in Africa that was arbitrarily bordered and named Congo. I faltered. “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” I said, shakily. And find out we did, in the most exciting way possible.

Aimé Césaire’s play was written just five years after the assassination (some say by the CIA) of Patrice Lumumba, the first elected prime minister of the Congo, and Césaire’s burning anger towards such recent events shines through.

It’s 1955 in Leopoldville, and Lumumba (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is selling beer (Polar Beer, “the beer of the unified Congo”).

Already we see conflict between the tribes in the area: one half swearing by one sort of beer; the other, another. The play sets its stall out early. This area now called Congo was never a unified country, it says. Even before the Belgians came, arbitrarily drew a border, and called it ‘their’ Congo, there was in-fighting between tribes. In a way, Césaire is saying that Lumumba as tribal peacemaker, as unifier, as saviour, was doomed to failure. It’s a startling way to begin a play: setting your hero up for a fall from the very off. But Césaire is dealing with real life. And fall Lumumba did.

But first he had to rise, and the first half of this irresistible play deals with his irresistible rise to power after Congolese independence was unexpectedly granted in 1960 and Lumumba was declared the country’s first prime minister in the first democratic elections held in this commodity-rich country.

Through a nightclub tableau, director Joe Wright (Atonement and Anna Karenina on film) shows us the changes in the country as it swiftly transforms from old/traditional to modern/sexy. This enables much dancing, singing and colour to flood the stage while half the audience look on from their makeshift tables and chairs positioned in a sunken semicircle between the actors (who sometimes drop down amongst them) and the normal seats.

The atmosphere is casual – happy, but charged. And sure enough violence erupts pretty soon and Lumumba is arrested and thrown in jail. It’s a rollercoaster of a ride from there, swooping through 1960 and into 1961 as the fastest decolonialization process in Africa begins and this kaleidoscopic ride is rendered in such a lively and immersive way by Wright that you feel part of the show yourself, even when (like we were) you’re sitting in the back row.

The narrative voice threaded through the piece is a native Congolese shamanic figure (Kabongo Tshisensa), an old man who plays the likembe and speaks prophesies in his native language that are then translated by whichever actor he’s nearest. A figure from Congo’s past intruding on Congo’s future and not liking what he sees one bit, he acts as the voice of continuity and sanity. He’s an interesting device but the pace of the piece is so fast that his profound-sounding utterances get lost as we’re given no time to digest them before another piece of fantastic theatre is thrown our way.

Filling the stage with joy, happiness, and later – in a red-drenched stuttering staccato dance – pain, choreographer and co-director Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui captures the complex nature of both the country and the story perfectly. Large puppet heads are used on the upper part of the set to represent the white colonial forces playing out their power games in doggerel verse (“God gave us Congo – it’s a sin to let it go”), while puppet vultures pick over bones on stage. White people are represented throughout with varying sizes of prosthetic white noses which gives an absurdist feel to the piece and which enhances the feeling of cruelty being ever-present.

Lumumba, an increasingly desperate, impassioned figure, is gradually undermined by both the colleagues he himself promoted, and the world powers who are only after the wealth of the country, and it becomes clear that however much he tries, he’s entered a fight he ultimately can’t win.

It’s difficult to express just how powerful Ejiofor’s towering performance is. In lesser hands Césaire’s wordy speeches would have been a touch dry for today’s audiences, but in Ejiofor’s hands they spark to life, catch fire and burn with an incandescent intensity. Lumumba’s prime ministerial acceptance speech (“Everything that is crooked will be straightened”), delivered just after he’s jumped down from the balcony via a fireman’s pole, is quite simply electrifying.

Photo: Johan Persson
Photo: Johan Persson

In a production as good as this it feels like nit-picking to point out the things that don’t quite feel right, but it’s got to be done. For a start, the puppet heads are less than convincing. Instead of being menacing, they bring a childlike quality to the piece, although the puppet vultures do chill the air. But when Wright does get the gimmicky aspects right, they’re genius. Hundreds of tiny parachutes literally bonk the audience on the head, while a small line of tiny figures pulled across the stage represent a line of pathetic refugees.

Another problem, inherent in Césaire’s script, is that we don’t get to see much of Lumumba the man, only Lumumba the politician. Yes, he has a wife, Pauline (Joan Iyiola), but even in his scenes with her, politics is pretty much the only thing they talk about. He’s a hero and we see very few weaknesses which can make his character feel a little one-dimensional. Again, a lesser actor would have had real problems here, but Ejiofor steers through dangerous seas with ease.

But these are very minor quibbles, and quibbles that can easily be overlooked in the grand scheme of this astonishing piece of theatre.

Well, my son is now up to speed on the Congo (as am I) and I’m pretty sure he’ll look back on seeing this production when he’s older and think ‘I was there’ as it’s destined to be one of those productions that’s remembered for years to come.

WHAT: A Season in the Congo

WHERE: The Young Vic, The Cut, Waterloo, London

WHEN: Until August 24, various times

TICKETS: http://www.youngvic.org/home

RUNNING TIME: about 2 hours 15 mins

WOULD I SEE IT AGAIN: In a heartbeat

STARS: 4 (simply because of the tiny flaws, and I’m being cruel)

 

 

 

 

 

Mzz KIMBERLEY makes rare Brighton appearance

New Steine Hotel

The New Steine Hotel & Bistro are staging a dinner and show to raise money for Brighton Pride on Wednesday, July 24 at 7pm.

An evening of delicious French food will be followed by a live show from the UK’s favourite import from Detroit, Michigan, Mzz Kimberley, singing songs from her youth including jazz, blues, gospel and show tunes.

Tickets are £29.95 per person for the dinner and show.

Tickets for the show only are available at £10.

All profits to Brighton Pride.

To make a reservation telephone: 01273 681546

Mzz Kimberley
Mzz Kimberley

PRIDE ICONS art exhibition at Jubilee Library

Pride Art Show

Brighton Pride’s first ever Arts & Film Festival, which covers multi-aspects of LGBT art, culture and lifestyle, has teamed up with Brighton-based Thirteen Art Productions to produce a flagship art exhibition.

Working to Prides ‘Icons’ theme, this exhibition includes a number of South East-based artists and photographers from the LGBT community (and their supporters) and will be one of the main focus’s of the Pride Arts & Film Festival.

Local artist Romany Mark Bruce who sculptured the Brighton Aids Memorial ‘Tay’ and photographer Mark Vessey are amongst a number of talented participants.

In addition, a selection of exclusive and original posters have been donated by The Keith Haring Foundation in New York and will be displayed at the exhibition alongside the local artists’ work. The posters have received framing sponsorship from local business Art Republic and are a rare selection, the likes of which have never been seen before in Brighton.

With a value in excess of £1000 they will be an exciting asset for any Haring fans out there when they are auctioned off at the Private View. All profits from the sale of the posters will be donated to the Rainbow Fund, a fund for the benefit of the Lesbian Gay Bisexual and Transgender Community in Brighton & Hove which also maintains the Brighton & Hove AIDS Memorial.

Profits from the event itself and 10% of any other artwork sales will be donated to Pride.

The exhibition is taking place at the Jubilee Library from July 22 – August 1.

The Private View, hosted by comedienne Zoe Lyons, will take place on the evening of Wednesday July 24 and will feature the auction, a raffle and live entertainment from solo performer Fiona Sally Miller.

The Keith Haring Foundation have also licensed the use of an image for limited edition merchandise to accompany the first Arts & Film Festival. The items, including t-shirts, totebags, badges and posters will be on sale via Pride’s website from July and at Icons on The Park on August 3.

Icons art director, Hizze Fletcher, says:

“There are a fantastic group of artists involved in the exhibition and with the addition of the Keith Haring work it’s going to be a very exciting show. It’s great that Brighton Pride are now featuring the creative side of the LGBT community in their summer celebrations and we’re hoping that the Arts & Film Festival will grow into a nationally recognised event”

EVENT: ICONS Exhibition

WHERE: Jubilee Library, Jubilee Street, Brighton

WHEN: July 22 – August 1

TIMES: Monday-Tuesday, Thursday 10am-7pm: Wednesday, Friday & Saturday, 10am-5pm: Sunday, 11am-5pm

 

ALAN TURING ‘pardon’ gets second reading in Lords

Alan Turing Campaign
Lord Sharkey, Wiliam Jones and John Leech MP

A Parliamentary Bill calling for Alan Turing to receive a posthumous pardon received its second reading in the House of Lords yesterday.

Liberal Democrat peer Lord Sharkey’s bill calls for the pardon of code-beaker Alan Turing, who was prosecuted for homosexual acts of ‘gross indecency’ in 1952.

Manchester MP, John Leech who has led the campaign for Turing to be pardoned, describing him as “a Manchester and national hero” is delighted a the Bills progress and expects to pick the Bill up in the House of Commons next year after the third reading in the House of Lords in October.

John is elated by the success of the bill and its prospects for the future.

He said:

“Given that all party support for the campaign, I am confident the bill will be passed in the Commons.  The persecution by the state for being gay is a scandal that shouldn’t be allowed to stand and it is only right that we are pushing for this posthumous pardon.  Alan Turing was a Manchester hero and a national hero. He helped shorten the war and was then persecuted by the state for his sexuality. He should be pardoned and this would be a fitting way of saluting his memory.”

Lord Sharkey who put forward the Bill to the House of Lords, said:

“Alan Turing was a truly great Briton. He was the father of computing; his legacy is with us every time anyone uses a computer anywhere in the world.

“If my Bill becomes law, as I hope it will, then this will finally go some way towards acknowledging the debt we all owe to Alan Turing and grant him the free pardon he so clearly deserves.”

Alan Turing was a mathematical genius and played a key role in the invention of the modern day computer through his work at Manchester University. Today he is remembered principally as a code-breaker due to his significant war role in cracking the Nazi’s enigma code which helped ensure victory for England.

After publicly admitting his homosexuality, Turing was sentenced to chemical castration. He killed himself in 1954 after suffering severe depression.

The debate was also attended by Baroness Trumpington, a former code breaker at Bletchley Park at the same time as Turing, who praised this bill which received unanimous support by the House.

Pictured with Lord Sharkey and John Leech, MP is William Jones (centre) who launched the original e-petition to grant Turing a pardon which attracted  37,100 signatures.

For more information about Alan Turing, CLICK HERE:

 

RAINBOW FUND Pride Grants Round

Rainbow FundAhead of this year’s Brighton Pride, the Rainbow Fund is inviting applications for funding.

LGBT voluntary sector groups looking for frontline grant funding can apply to the Rainbow Fund via the Sussex Community Foundation from now until October 11.

Brighton Pride is one of the high profile groups who donate funds to the Rainbow Fund, giving £1 per ticket sold directly to the fund.

Paul Elgood, Chair of Rainbow Fund
Paul Elgood, Chair of Rainbow Fund

Paul Elgood, Chairman of the Rainbow Fund said:

“Thanks to the continued generosity of our fundraising groups and supporters, we can once again offer LGBT and HIV groups and charities the chance to apply for grant funding. The majority of our autumn grants comes thanks to Pride, so it is exciting that the application process is open during the build-up to the event. 

“I cannot stress enough that we only fund frontline HIV and LGBT groups and activities on a needs-led basis. If an activity does not have a direct benefit in terms of health care, well-being, social care, community safety or similar frontline service, it will not be funded. Our donors provide funding on that basis.

“No group has the automatic right to funding and for the system to work some applications get turned down, as they are independently assessed by funding priority. Because of limited funding there are times when even strong applications get turned down. Groups need to understand this before applying. We do what we can, but we simply cannot fund every application.

“Voluntary sector organisations with frontline projects which will benefit the local LGBT community are encouraged to apply. The Sussex Community Foundation independently assess applications, and then a grants panel meets to discuss the applications. If a group wants to be successful they have to pass both stages and convince the six members of the grants panel of support. The panel members individually make their own minds up on applications – there are no advance recommendations before a meeting. It is a very fair process and the best projects get funded.

“I would like to thank our donors for making this grants round possible. We are accountable to our donors, who give money on the basis that the money donated is used in a transparent and accountable way, for the most pressing frontline causes in our community.”

The Rainbow Fund is independently administered by the Sussex Community Foundation to provide donors with a transparent and open way to support the LGBT community. The fund benefits from a number of high profile fundraising events and activities, and does not raise money directly itself.

Everyone at the Rainbow Fund is a volunteer, with no salaries, offices or overheads to fund. The only expenses relate to the professional advice and support it receives to ensure the safe accounting and distribution of its funds.

Applications need to be made directly to the Sussex Community Foundation, CLICK HERE:

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