Dear Evan Hansen in London: Hot Damn I Love this Showby Randi / December 12, 2019Man alive, if you didn’t hate England after last week’s election, you definitely will after seeing Translations, the classic play by Brian Friel that is basically the stage version of the quote “You be careful out among them English.” (The actual quote is ‘the English’ but most people remember it as ‘them English’ because it’s so much better.) Translations tells of the folk who run and attend a hedge school in the Irish community of Baile Beag in 1833. They seem to be having a grand old time learning and living their lives, until the English military comes in supposedly to map their area and record the right translations of the farm-county names. But you can’t trust the English, as they come to know, and as the ‘translations’ become ‘renaming’ their locales, and as ‘renaming’ becomes, well, executing English military control. With well realized characters and a captivating style and story, Translations is a fantastic show and this revival could not be better.
So, your first question first: a hedge school (according to our friend wikipedia because I never heard the term before) was a small informal (and I guess illegal?) school that secretly educated kids from ‘non-conforming faiths’ (catholic and presby/anything but Anglican). They generally provided rudimentary primary school education for children – historians estimate for up to 400,000 students by the 1820s. Sometimes, they provided a higher level of education, and our hedge school run by Manus (Seamus O’Hara) and Hugh (Ciaran Hinds, heyyyy) seemed a mix of both: their students shout out the Greek or Latin etymologies of words used in regular conversation, they quote the Aeneid and the Odyssey, they talk of Greek mythology like they are friends with the gods (and at least our loony old man student Jimmy Jack (Dermot Crowley) believed he was), but then they also work on their times tables. So a general school of all things, and eventually, because of the damn English, a school of hard knocks?
When the English arrive with their mapmaking plan, their translator for the local language is Owen (Fra Fee, one of the best names), Hugh’s son and Manus’s brother, back after years establishing himself in the big cities. Owen doesn’t seem to mind erasing interesting old Irish names, with histories that locals like to share with each other so someone remembers, for English-friendly boring shit like White Plains and River Cross or whatever bullshit they came up with to replace like Billarendy Kragger. While he seems to be missing any respect for where he came from in his desire to change/better himself and his country, his partner in mapcrime, Lieutenant Yolland (Jack Bardoe), has a well-meaning but overly romanticized notion of ‘loving’ Ireland and the language, and the two surprising positions make for interesting subtle conflict. I also loved the subtle showing of the students feeling inferior and uneducated in front of the Englishmen since they couldn’t speak English, despite their ability to talk about the Greek gods and Latin poets and word origins like its nothing and despite the Englishmen’s inability to even recognize a Latin phrase. How did this assumption that English people are smarter begin? That’s some white nonsense.
Making for not so subtle conflict is the romance between the Lootellan and Maire, my hair twin, who always seemed destined to marry Manus but things a-change when the English come a-courting. Unforch for all, the Lootellan goes missing, and his military buddies, like all military buddies, are not happy and so they threaten increasing amounts of action/crime/murder until he is found, the gd fascists. The rapid development of drama and terror in act two is alarming, especially since it so worryingly relates to those in power today. The final image is so harrowing, earning a rare ‘faaaaak’ from me in the blackout before curtain call.
But aside from the distress of connecting the action to our crumbling society, Translations is terrific theatre. All the acting was strong, and some of my favorites I didn’t even mention yet (like the mute-but-working-on-it Sarah, played by Liadan Dunlea). With perfect timing, there was so much unexpected humor, and laugh-out-loud moments with the back-and-forth translations. The world they created was full, absorbing, and epic-feeling right off the bat, and it felt important, especially in trying to understand English history. I feel like this is the show for Irish people who felt overlooked by The Ferryman.
INFORMATION
Unfortunately, this ends its run tomorrow, December 18. but there are tickets available for tonight and tomorrow night so hop to it.
This is playing in the Olivier theatre inside the National Theatre (there are a few theatres in there).
DO NOT bring bags bigger than like a sheet of paper? About? Or they give you shit and might make you check it. Luckily I remembered and brought a little bag.
Act one is one hour and 20 minutes. Act two is under an hour and the 7:30pm curtain ended at 10:05pm.
There are toilets on the mezzanine level between the stalls doors level and the circle doors level, and these are always crowded because the people going up to the circle don’t realize that there are more toilets once you enter the circle doors and it’s awesomeeee. If you know. which I do. I also think the circle is better for this theatre because it’s a GD BARN (enormous) and you get a better view. Also if you sit in the front row of the circle your view begins at the tip of the stage, which is incredible for my blood pressure because it means you can’t see anyone in the stalls using their phones, the English bastards.
Also at one end of the circle bar now there’s a water machine for filling your bottles or cups! Whee! The line for that at the interval was longer than the bar line which like good for the world but bad for me.
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Ian McKellen Live in London is the Best G-D Thing in London Right Now
Ian McKellen is dazzling audiences at the Harold Pinter Theatre until January 5.
However high your expectations are for Ian McKellen’s one-man show at the Harold Pinter Theatre, he will exceed them. Doing a celebratory ‘birthday’ tour around the UK, which makes a ton of sense because I know all I like to do for my birthday is work my ass off (??), Sir Ian (honestly he earned this title just with this performance) is showing everyone why he is such an icon: because he’s g-d incredible.
This birthday he’s celebrating, he’s like what, 100? 110? And has more stamina and energy than most performers nowadays. He is up there alone for THREE HOURS. Yeah, it’s a 3-hour show! We thought maybe it would be a one act 90-minute situation, but the first act alone was 90 minutes! (The Harold Pinter website says it’s 2 hours 25 minutes with an interval, and just like its namesake, that theatre tells lies.) The performance is a life onstage, truly, a nonstop whirlwind of his entire multi-decade career, from stage to screen, from his early school days to his most precious memories, and of course, his recollections of the very first theatre he saw.
But of course, the show begins with a bang, as audio from The Lord of the Rings movie (one of them) booms over the blackened theatre until the spotlight reveals Sir Ian ‘reading’ (he has everything memorized, I don’t know how; he explains later ‘well it’s my job’ but even so man, even so) from Tolkien’s book (“it was a book first!”), the section around the famous “You shall not pass!” part. So yeah, he knows, give the people what they want right off the bat. The thrill of seeing this man saying these words in person was only topped by his bringing out his actual sword from the movies – and letting a ‘youngster’ (she looked my age, I’m pissed, I would have volunteered) come on stage to wield it.
His entire persona is pitch-perfect for this kind of show, where his effortless charm and affability make anything and everything he decides to do utterly enjoyable. Monologue from earlier stage works? We love it! Yes! Silly stories about Christopher Lee and everyone who brags about having read LOTR? Yes! We love it! Anecdotes about Judi Dench as a cat? Benedict Cumberbatch as a baby? Starring in his first panto? YES, WE LOVE IT ALL!
The first act is generally the story of his life, as he talks about the highlights of his career as well as the earliest theatre memories he has. The loveliest parts of the show are about his family and his coming out, and he ping pongs your heart between the warming and the breaking so quickly and so easily that you almost forget to pay respect to the art of his storytelling, some of the most brilliant storytelling imaginable. He makes all of this seem like he’s just chatting with friends in the most pleasant, wonderful way, and you’re too busy enjoying it to realize how revolutionary that is for an actor of such stature, and how astonishingly talented he has to be to make all of this work.
Just when you think you can’t be any more impressed, he decides to completely blow you away with the second act. He literally goes through every. single. Shakespeare play. All 37 of them. It’s quite the magnificent feat: He pulls 37 paperback copies of the plays out from his trunk, from which all his props came, and tells the audience to yell out titles as we think of them. Whenever he hears one, he picks up that paperback and either tells a wonderful story about his favorite production of that, or his favorite memory of when he was in that or when his friend (usually Dench) was in that…OR, he will just flat out do a 10-minute monologue from memory. Sometimes hearing the big speeches out of context doesn’t have the same power that seeing it in a play would, but sometimes, as with his monologue from Cymbelline that he used to eulogize the loved ones he’s lost, it still manages to be extraordinary, and to remind you that he’s not just your new best friend – he is a capital-A Actor, and he’s f-ing amazing.
INFORMATION
I honestly haven’t been so happy about my seat in a theatre in a while. I remembered my last experience at the HPT and used that info to make sure I had the seat right next to the exit in the stalls that is RIGHT at the Ladies bathroom – H22. You’re welcome. (Ladies bathroom users, you will want to sit house left in the stalls to get to the bathroom.) If you want to catch some of the candy, fruit, or giant cucumber he will throw into the audience to explain what the fork panto is, sit in the front center.
RAGS the Musical at Park Theatre: A Moving, Relevant Production of a Lesser (Known) Work
Today’s show is the new production of RAGS the Musical at Park Theatre in London’s Finsbury Park, playing until February 8.
There is nothing more incredible than when musical theatre shares something magical that changes my life from that point forward. Sometimes it’s a superb, gorgeous score that will forever live in my heart. Sometimes it’s a performance so magnificent it remains indelible. And then you have the new production of RAGS, which hath bequeathed upon me the most fantastic term of endearment for my husband: my Shabbos goy.
Now it sounds like I’m joking but I’m so serious, this is the best thing ever, and I wonder how I never before came across this perfect phrase for a non-Jew who comes into a Jewish household to do the prohibited work (like turning on the lights) on Shabbat. I LOVE IT. No matter how I felt about the rest of the show, this is what I’d call a successful night at the theatre. And you know husbo’s happy with his new title [Ed. Note – he is not].
But fortunately for theatre fans in London, the new production of RAGS at the Park Theatre is a good one, providing much more than a bit of fun with Yiddish. The tale of Jewish immigrants making a new life in 1910s America may be predictable and clichéd but it’s enjoyable and ultimately moving, featuring classic immigrant struggles, good pacing, some great comic relief (sup Rachel Izen), and above all, great performances, especially from Carolyn Maitland reigning over the stage as Rebecca and an adorable Jude Muir (alternating) as her young son David. Honestly, the bones of the show itself are not that strong. It’s an overall mediocre score (with highlights) and a trouble-making book if there ever was one (more infra), with a truly unnecessary Hamlet (*cough* Haim-let) bit. But the production as a whole is strong enough to elevate the material, making this quite a successful undertaking of a show most people have written off not only as lesser known but also as less than.
When RAGS premiered on Broadway in 1986, it closed after only four (4!) performances, making it one of the most infamous flops in musical theatre history. Whether it was due to the somewhat pedestrian score, the confused and overloaded book, or just the lack of interest, I don’t know (I do know most theatregoers were still making their way to the ridiculous spectacle of Cats that year), but it came, went, and was mostly forgotten, failing to achieve what Ragtime would with a very similar story a decade later. With RAGS, Joseph Stein set out to ostensibly write the sequel to Fiddler on the Roof (which he also wrote the book for, you knew that), imagining what would have happened next for the victims of the pogroms if they made it out of the shtetl and sailed to America. You can’t blame him for wanting so badly to convey the emotional and dramatic heft of what these people would have gone through that he overfilled the story, but unfortunately, he focused on the results he wanted from the audience and not the means of authentically getting there. So much of RAGS clearly demands an emotional reaction, but unlike with Fiddler, it doesn’t build up the necessary world or develop characters sufficiently to reach that point as often as it wants to. The moments where Stein et al. wanted us to CRY are so blatantly demanding emotional connection, and when you demand it instead of earn it, you don’t get it.
In the decades since its premiere, RAGS has been rewritten, refocused, and retooled to try to make it something worth salvaging. Now with a revised book by David Thompson, this current incarnation may not be perfect, but it’s definitely an improvement and definitely worth the effort, though there are still blatant moments where there may as well be a light-up sign flashing CRY or BE MOVED (as opposed to the sign actually held onstage at one point that read NO DOGS NO JEWS, which is terrible but made me laugh because I was like ‘those are literally the best things on earth idiots, why not add NO CHOCOLATE and NO TV to it, Nazi morons’). Luckily for us, the performances manage to earn the desired outcome: Dave Willetts’ grief-stricken Avram, Maitland’s repeat anguish, Muir’s remembered terrors – the performances manage to move us where the book wishes it could.
And this revised book is HUNDO P better than the original. Not to be morbid but killing off Rebecca’s husband before the story begins makes much more sense. Not saying the name of the factory where Bella goes to work is a necessity (or maybe I just didn’t hear it?), because once you hear Triangle Shirtwaist Factory (which is, as we learned on Crazy Ex Girlfriend, the favorite fire of Rebecca and Greg, which is supes dark), you been know what’s going down: more than 100 factory workers died, mostly young Jewish and Italian girls so yeah, it’s good they don’t have her say “I got a job at the TSF” because then you’d just be sitting there waiting for it to happen, whereas it’s more of a shock (though not at all a surprise, what a gd mess industry was at this time) this way. The character of Bella is still underserved, banking on bullshirt traits like ‘nice’ and ‘good’ and ‘pretty’ instead of making a fully fleshed character, but it’s improved, and Martha Kirby gives a winning performance nonetheless. And making the character of Saul now Salvatore, an Italian, (the supes charming Alex Gibson-Giorgio) pays off in several ways. I especially loved the scene of the Sabbath prayer mixed with the Italians at prayer (so well done). However, I’m shocked that the proposed love affair with Rebecca never leads to any conversation or hesitation about him being a gentile (given the black hats and David’s payot, I assumed they were Orthodox). It’s cool to think of Rebecca as like the OG interfaith relationship proponent (does my fam bam have her to thank?) but it would need some shoring up in the story, or like, any commentary at all.
Best of all, moving the one SPECTACULAR song in the score, “Children of the Wind”, from early on to now the very end is a genius move, because that’s what we remember. Charles Strouse’s music suffers from the blahs for some of this show but this is where he comes through. (Though it’s Stephen Schwartz’s lyrics that felt surprisingly pedestrian (surprising, I guess, when my favorites from Pippin and Wicked are in the forefront of my mind; not so much when you remember much of Godspell or “Something bad is happening in Oz/something bad/happening in Oz” (I’m sorry no one has a perfect track record.))) I don’t know how Maitland has any voice left in the show to deliver this final number (espesh after shouting at Avram, which seems mean I mean he’s grieving) but she does and it’s worth seeing the show for this moment alone. This song is a sweeping, gorgeous summary of why this tale keeps feeling so necessary and so relevant. As an American, I was crushed to realize just how little progress we’ve made in welcoming immigrants (and, you know, Nazis are in power), and as a Brit (heyoo that’s right) I was depressed to consider how this country is also falling down the idiot slide of blaming immigrants and Jews for its problems. But as a Jew, this song was a revelation: I don’t consider myself a Zionist and I definitely don’t approve of Netanyahu’s government, but wow if this song isn’t the best explanation for why Jewish people feel the need to have a land that is truly and safely theirs. I get it. I don’t understand how anyone could hear this song or watch this show and not get it – for any minority – which is a testament to the power of theatre.
INFORMATION
RAGS plays at the Park Theatre until February 8.
The Park Theatre was designed by, to quote Lewis Black, a guy with scoliosis who is really forking pissed. At least in the circle (just two rows! Not a bad seat in the house, really, view-wise), the seats are all love seats (for two) and there is no leg room, so the entire row has to like, exit the area for anyone to move down it. It felt like sitting on a high bar stool for 2 ½ hours (complete with the inability to reach my purse on the floor). I think it’s a new theatre too so like, what? How!
The circle bathrooms are upstairs in the bar, 3 stalls for ladies. RUN BITCHES.
