The Village Bike by Penelope Skinner tells the story of Becky, a married woman going through her first pregnancy. Her whole life is being transformed irreversibly in front of her very eyes and the desperation brought by fast change is creating a personality crisis in her. She lives in a quiet village away from the busy London life with her husband, the emotionally clumsy but well meaning John, who has a zealot like hatred of Tesco and a very low count of “empathy” in his blood. Continue reading “Review : The Village Bike @ Sheffield Crucible Studio”
Spamalot @ The Lyceum, September 7.
King Arthur and his loyal steed, Patsy, ride the lands of Finland England with a pair of coconuts, a bunch of jokey characters and a merciless barrage of jokes, some of them skewering musical sensibilities. Oh, and they are on a mission from God to find a cup.
Can’t they go to Ikea? They can get a dozen for a tenner.
(Reviewer’s note: Apologies for the rant nature of the review. It’s been a bad month.)
The Premise: An old town in nowhere and nowhen is rocked to the core when accusations of witchcraft are made. It looks like Salem, but it could be right now.
The Review: An allegory to feminism? Sure thing. Caryl Churchill wrote this play in 1976, the hey day of feminism, injecting some feminist views on the period of the witch trials in Salem, one of the most grim, grotesque periods of humanity, when women suffered horribly and many a wicked man did unspeakable acts.
And after watching Sutco‘s chilling portrayal of Vinegar Tom, I wonder: is it necessary to insert that reference? It seems almost overkill as the parallel is pretty obvious. In fact, I’d venture to say things haven’t really changed.
From the desk of Quintana “Quinto” Haberno (pt 3 – The Woman knew her ways)
I hate theatre.
There, said and done. I hate the fakeness of it. I hate the “sparsity” of it. Calling an actor “theatrical” is easily my fave insult and the BBC sure has a knack for having “theatrical actors” in their ranks. The same damning that makes Mexican actors shit.
So, yeah, I avoid theatre like the plague. And don’t get me started on musicals. Shit, please, drill my eardrums and drop some Tesco Quality bleach on them. I’ll take that over anything that Lloyd Webber or Stephen “The Master of Dissonance” Sondheim crap.
With that in mind and hopefully waiting for half the audience back home to recover, I’ll tell you about how I ended up watching a play.
The Woman in Black ( 26/February/2010 )
The curtain goes away and the audience goes quiet. A very shy man called Arthur Kipps (Robert Demerger) starts telling a story, in a monotone drone that might give you the idea of getting a refund.
But it’s all misdirection. Remember this, because The Woman in Black is all about misdirection.