Michael Hootman

Stewart Lee: Brighton Dome: Review

Posted on 21/09/201310/11/2013 by Michael Hootman

Political comedy is notoriously hard to get right: on one hand you can end up slightly too earnest, too right-on and not particularly funny (a lot of ’80s alternative comedy). On the other you can appear merely snarky and even hypocritical (The 10 O’clock Show). Part of Lee’s greatness is that he’s obviously politically committed and he’s also brilliantly, disarmingly funny. The one mention of Mrs Thatcher leads to a pleasingly puerile gag about anal sex.

Lee’s latest show has no unifying theme – he candidly informed the Dome that it’s a try-out for an upcoming TV series – but it demonstrates a master at work. Not just a great writer, his laconic slightly world-weary delivery is always strangely captivating, even for those rare moments when something doesn’t work. But even then he can rescue any apparent failure through an inciteful analysis of where the joke went wrong or, more likely, where we the audience failed in our collective duty.

One of the joys of any Lee show is his use of repetition – he’ll come back to a word or phrase almost incessantly until his innocently quizzical tone renders it ridiculous. One of the hits of the evening is a cabby’s observation that ‘these days you just have to say you’re English for them to throw you in jail‘ which forms the only words of a duologue, going back an forth in some crazed conversation, like a surreal verbal duel.

The bit of paper I brought into the show is filled with great gags, inspired word play and playful insights which should appear in standard quotation dictionaries. But writing them down would, of course, only spoil them as no stand-up joke is enhanced by appearing in print. The only solution, dear reader, is to catch Lee at the earliest opportunity.

For details of upcoming gigs click here.

Coward: Marlborough Theatre: Review

Posted on 14/09/201309/11/2013 by Michael Hootman

Lovers of Noël Coward may be surprised at James Martin Charlton‘s portrayal of the Master as a man with sex foremost on his mind. Although we still get the dapper dandy possessed of an elegant wit living a glamorous life, the play also presents a man who tells no lie when he describes himself as a ‘pestering queen‘.

The object of Coward’s desire is a young, strikingly handsome actor (coincidentally played by the young, strikingly handsome Josh Taylor) who sees in Coward (Jake Urry) a way to advance his career. But his religious convictions prevent him giving what Coward wants. At least at first. Discreet witness to this this strange affair is Coward’s good and faithful servant Cole Lesley (Peter Stone) who puts aside his own desires in order to serve a man who could give Naomi Campbell a run for her money when it comes to diva-like demands.

Charlton does a great job at capturing the rhythms and lacerating wit of the Master. While the first act is extremely funny, the play pulls off the feat of also exploring the darker side of the 1930s with Britain heading towards a second world war. We find out something about Leonard’s past which gives an added resonance to the play’s title.

Coward is an impressive debut from new company Just Some Theatre. Urry gives an uncannily accurate rendition of the title character. He gives us both the familiar Noel of popular culture whilst also showing the man behind the theatrical mask. Stone is compellingly enigmatic as his employer’s confidante and future biographer. Taylor is charismatic as the angst-ridden yet sexually pliable object of desire.

The playwright obviously knows his subject inside out, and fans of Coward will have a lot of fun spotting the references. Yet far from being a hagiography, the play’s attitude to its protagonist is profoundly ambiguous. Even mulling it afterwards I’m not sure how I feel about Noel and whether his wit and charm compensate for his tendency to exploit the constant supply of eager young actors willing to do anything for a part.

Coward is funny, moving and has an authentic erotic charge. It might not be a flattering portrait of its subject, but it certainly fascinates. And who couldn’t like a play where the act one cliffhanger has Noël Coward demanding of his dashing protege ‘show me your cock‘.

Continues until Saturday 14 at the Marlborough Theatre, Brighton. It will then move to London’s White Bear Theatre for a three-week run starting October 22.

For more information and tickets click here.

Death in Venice: ENO: Opera Review

Posted on 15/06/201308/01/2016 by Michael Hootman

Benjamin Britten’s last opera is perhaps his finest: a work which, although it embraces aspects of discordant modernism, also contains some of opera’s most hauntingly melodic music. Deborah Warner’s production brings out the opera’s eerie beauty, its internal struggle between sensuality and repression, and manages to almost palpably convey the atmosphere of a decaying, pestilent and ‘ambiguous‘ Venice.

If the music can be challenging, the opera’s theme is even more so. Gustav von Aschenbach (John Graham-Hall) is an uptight middle-aged writer whose creativity is blocked. Hoping a sojourn in the South will revive him he travels to Venice where – and there’s no easy way to put this – he becomes obsessed with a pretty teenage boy. (I’d half feared – and half hoped – for an updated production with its protagonist a ’70s DJ.) But the exact nature of this obsession is every bit as ambiguous as the city it takes place in. Aschenbach feels, or at least says he feels, ‘a father’s pleasure, a father’s warmth‘ when contemplating Tadzio. In the same way that most of Venice is underwater, so could this simple explanation be the most easily comprehended extent of murkier, subconscious desires.

Graham-Hall’s interpretation of Aschenbach is revelatory. As written there is a danger he can come across as pompous, vain and almost comically self-important. Graham-Hall manages the not inconsiderable feat of making the opera’s hero entirely sympathetic, a man whose obsession takes him to the edge of madness. Occasionally there is something vulnerable, almost childlike, in the way he tries to explain to himself his feelings that he fears would shame his ‘decent, stern’ forebears. A rather leadenly written piece of recitative in which Aschenbach assesses his critical reputation is now something read in a newspaper article. Under Warner’s direction the evaluation that he has ‘accepted, even welcomed the austere demands of maturity‘ is delivered with a wonderfully self-deprecating irony.

Andrew Shore gives equally good performances playing a number of characters who Aschenbach meets on his journey. Amongst his seven roles his Elderly Fop, Old Gondolier and in particular the cackling leader of a troupe of players, are either marvellously comic, strangely sinister, or both. These roles are in a sense the backbone of the opera, a series of chance encounters which seem to presage humiliation and death.

For pure vocal brilliance Tim Mead’s Apollo is perhaps the show’s highlight. His delivery of the aria ‘He Who Loves Beauty‘ genuinely gave me a thrill of pure pleasure as he perfectly seems to realise the voice of an ancient God.

Visually Warner’s production is flawless. With its immaculately costumed cast, its evocative ballet sequences, its grand hotels represented by giant billowing curtains, its subtle projections of sky and sea, this is as good-looking an opera as I’ve seen in ages.

Continues at the English National Opera, London Coliseum, St Martins Lane, London.

Performances: Tues 18, Fri 21, Mon 24 and Weds 26 June.

For more information and tickets click here.