January 19, 2023
Hamlet at the Young Vic: What Can't Cush Jumbo Do?by Randi / November 12, 2021Those of you who know me, or who have been around here for a while, know that Friends is like water to me. And I drink more water than you think is healthy. I’ve needed Friends as a sort of lifeblood since I was a wee behbeh watching it on live TV. With everything you’ve ever said to me, I’ve immediately thought of the most applicable line from Friends in response and smiled to myself. Instead of my daily dose of viewing therapy (it’s not weird) one recent night, I went over to Wilton’s Music Hall (my fave London venue because I can pee at home and barely need shoes) to catch Brendan Murphy’s absolutely hysterical one-man show ‘Friend (The One With Gunther)’.
This 70-minute romp features Murphy in a sometimes-chaotic constantly energetic rehashing of all 10 seasons of the best show ever made from the perspective of the barista with hair brighter than the sun. It’s not so much an impression of Gunther that Murphy is giving in his portrayal, as he doesn’t waste time trying to act or sound like him, but more of an homage, a pledge of allegiance to appreciating what Gunther did as the only legitimate candidate for the oft-debated slot of ‘7th friend’. Gunther was in the most episodes after the main 6 cast members – 148 of the total 236 – and became a necessary part of the show, as familiar and constant as the couch in Central Perk. He’s usually a welcome sight to catch in the background, but when he comes more to the fore, he steals the show. His limited but potent lines reminded us that he was probably the best representation of our civilian selves on that screen, with his estimation and his annoyance with the main six.
In ‘Friend’, Murphy is a whirlwind of energy running around that stage. Gunther would never move so fast, but Murphy is instantly winning nonetheless. I started cracking up fast and furious right at the start when Murphy does a win-sided phincall and is telling his friend “yeah I’ll be about 70 minutes…yeah I expanded it a bit since the Fringe.” I was in hard on this comedy even though it had nothing to do with Friends yet. That sentiment continued as Murphy morphed into Gunther and told his early childhood tale: a clear paraphrase of Dr. Evil’s monologue in Austin Powers, you know the one, where he says his father claims he invented the question mark? I think husbo and I were the only ones who realized it was this excellent monologue, not because it’s niche but because we were the only non-drunks. These opening segments had me hooked and they were all clearly Murphy’s brand of comedy, not Gunther’s, which makes me want to see more from him on other subjects.
And then it moved on to the main subject, ‘Friends’ from Gunther’s perspective. Murphy told us the expected details – how he was in love with Rachel and how much he hated Ross, etc – as he attempted a rapid-fire run-through of every season and all the big plot points and what it was like for Gunther as opposed to Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe. As we went on, the show seemed to split into two aspects: the portrayal of Gunther sharing the deets as he lived them, vs a non-Gunther entity sharing a history of the show and its other minor players. The attempted run-through of all 10 seasons regardless of their import to Gunther’s story plus all the minor characters that Gunther never interacted with felt unnecessary and too divided from a core concept. And the non-Gunther-entity segments included a little too much audience work, like some trivia that felt too separated from a Gunther tribute.
However, these are just thoughts I’ve having thinking of it as a play and trying to consider its central thesis. But treated as a comedy show, who cares about a thesis if you are laughing your ass off the whole time. It doesn’t matter that the thread of what Gunther experienced is dropped at some point, and it doesn’t matter that Murphy’s tenuous enactment of our fave side character becomes more and more detached. It’s all really funny, most of all when he leans hard into his crush on Rachel and hatred of Ross and comes out the other end with the “Stan” segment, a work of complete and inspired genius. I was falling off my chair at this part – it’s so perfect.
This One With Gunther was more of a tribute to ‘Friends’ as a whole in the guise of being a tribute to this one fan favorite character rather than a legitimately full tribute to this character. However, it still felt like such a lovely treat to be able to experience so soon after the death of James Michael Tyler. My connection to Friends runs real deep (as it does for so many people even though I never could believe anyone else knew or loved it as much as I did until I saw this show and accepted that Murphy probably does) and so too does my assumed connection to all the characters after a lifetime of considering them like actual friends. Gunther is the first biggie that we’ve had to say goodbye to in real life and it’s a weird thing to grapple with, the death of someone you didn’t know who played someone you did know but who didn’t know you. It’s complicated to try to grieve for that person. What does it matter that it’s all a TV show?
I’m thus grateful to this show for giving me a timely outlet for thinking about Gunther a little more, and so glad that it turned out to be a hysterical original show and a great time. I’m only a little bit still full of hot rage fire at the audience, who was 90% messy sloppy drunks. They were so loud, literally shouting to each other, asking their friends at the other end of the row and behind them (jfc) if they wanted some of the wine they were passing around. They shouted to Murphy as though the show was a conversation, preempting his next lines (nb he was not asking for call and response). They were the kind of people that so badly wanted to prove that they knew all the inside jokes that they would ruin the joke for everyone else. People, you don’t have to prematurely scream ‘oh smelly cat!’ to show the rest of us that you are in on the joke. It’s ‘Friends’. EVERYONE IN THE WORLD is in on the joke. They were the kind of audience members that are blatant pathetic attention seekers, the ones who badly want everyone’s attention on them instead of the onstage talent and who you pity as a result but hate them for ruining your experience. It’s a testament to how much fun this show is that they didn’t completely ruin our time, though they were that bad that it was a close call. Brendan actually worked in jokes about the dozen-large group we were amidst, because he had to, they were that obviously disruptive. I’m mad that people like this who have no concern for anyone else around them in life get away with shit like this with no repercussions. They had a blast while we heard their loud chatter over what Brendan was saying a lot of time and suffered for it. When a few of them put their phones up and started filming, an usher halfheartedly waved to them to say no and then left. Great enforcement guys! They didn’t even see her. Anyway, this audience was full of pathetic pieces and that was a shame. Gunther would call these people azels, and then we serve them sneezers.
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Dear Evan Hansen in London: Hot Damn I Love this Show
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is Dear Evan Hansen, now playing in London at the Noel Coward Theatre until the end of time if there’s justice.
Man alive does it feel good to see a flawless show in this old town! You know from my review of past productions of Dear Evan Hansen (off-Broadway and Broadway here) that I love this show. However, there were concerns among some (myself included) that the show might rely on the talents of original star Ben Platt to succeed as much as it did. His is a singular talent that seems born for this role, and the role tailor-made for him, so it seemed valid to wonder if his incredible performance was what made the show great. While Benny boy is definitely the definitive Evan, and no one can match his vocal ability in this role – in particular his ability to sing and emote through snot-dripping tears – it’s safe to say the success of this phenomenal musical does not rely on him, and the West End is doing it proud.
Dear Evan Hansen tells the story of – you guessed it – Evan Hansen, a high school outcast with no friends, a single parent working overtime to pay the bills, and a broken arm. When a fellow student commits suicide, there’s A Misunderstanding that the deceased and Evan were friends, and the grieving family is so overjoyed at the thought of their son having had a friend that Evan goes along – and builds – the lie instead of coming clean. He benefits in many ways from prolonging his lie, but of course he can’t continue lying forever and in different ways to the family, his mom, and his friends. And this means it all goes to shit, which is when Platt did his aforementioned incredible snot-faced singing. Although Sam Tutty, our British Evan, doesn’t fall to as many wet pieces, his Evan is great (and we found ourselves weirdly feeling proud of him). He makes the journey so believable and real, and his timing and inflection may be even more impressive than his vocals. DEH is EMOSH and stunning in its mature handling of the subject matter while also managing to be hysterically funny at times. The emotional beats, the fun songs, the heartbreaking songs, the nuances that build these characters so fully – the creators did everything they could to establish a watertight show, and this cast and production team take it and run with it.
This is the extraordinary and rare show that has a fantastic score and equally strong (maybe even more gripping) book scenes, a feat rarely witnessed, all while capturing today’s yoots and their struggles in a way that’s relevant and modern without seeming condescending. Now that I know all the music so well, I could concentrate on the book scenes more and really appreciate how well written and well performed they were. And I am convinced even more that this is a flawless show. On this viewing, I was curious to see if I could find any merit to the complaints about Evan the character. Since DEH’s bow, we’ve had lots of fans arguing on message boards about how Evan deserves more punishment or how he’s an evil person or how he’s the villain in the story. I don’t know if it’s because they’re under 26 and their brains aren’t done yet but I cannot see how someone can watch this show and think anything close to that. It’s so obvious to see Evan’s struggle, with the part of him that knows he should tell the truth, with his desire to not cause the family any more pain, with his longing to belong, and wit his attempt to just make grieving people feel better. No, he’s not perfect, and his Act II spiral out of control as he takes down his first friends shows this, but it’s so obvious that his hostility is due to his lack of control in trying to do the right thing (also his baby teenage brain unable to handle all that is happening). People who think he’s evil clearly don’t watch The Good Place, where the most important thing is to try to be a good person. Evan is trying to do the right thing – he thinks what he has chosen is right because it makes the family feel better. And yeah he’s lying but he’s not a Kantian; he thinks that it’s for a good reason. It seems impossible to me not to empathize with his predicament, especially when you know what he’s been through himself.
Anyway, despite my incessant rantings about how British musical theatre does not compare to Broadway and how productions are just done better there because musicals are treated with more respect whereas here there’s this weird need for Brits to always assure the world that they value straight plays more AND the history of panto seems to bleed too much into their vision of musical theatre – well, that’s a long essay, apparently, for another day, so despite all that, this production is ace, as we Brits say. Tutty is giving the star turn of the year, and the supporting cast is equally good. Along with the absence of Platt, I was worried about the absence of Rachel Bay Jones as his mother, since her performance was pitch perfect and as usual she found more to the character than is written. While Rebecca McKinnis might not have uncovered as much between the lines or with her delivery as RBJ somehow magically did, she was no disappointment, and her ‘So Big/So Small’ was the most emotional part of the show, even more than Evan’s breakdown. It was perfect. If I did my own awards (should I do my own awards) they’d all be winners.
INFORMATION
The Noel Coward theatre is one of those ‘stalls is below ground’ theatres, so if you don’t like being below ground, sit in the circle. Also, the ladies bathroom is house right, right next to the circle entrance. If you go for stalls like we did (CRY ON US), there’s a ladies in the back of the theatre with 4 stalls??? Like good luck even getting back there at the interval. Or you can sit house right and run upstairs for the circle one. RENOVATE THESE THEATRES, GUYS.
Stagedoor: We waited for just under 10 minutes but it was too cold. If it’s too cold to wait, it’s too cold to make them talk to you.
“Underground Railroad Game”: The Most Scandalizing Thing I’ve Ever Seen Comes to London
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we are talking about the shocking American play that recently came to London’s Soho Theatre.
You know how art can be fucking crazy? (‘You know how people have these little habits that get you down?’) Like how artists, regardless of their medium, like to shock their audience into strongly feeling something so they do bonkers things like using feces instead of paint (real example) and preserving a shark in formaldehyde (real example) and nailing their scrotum to Red Square (real example) and constructing a complicated series of machines that take food and pass it through tubes and bowls to digest it in stages until it literally produces poo at the end (real example that I’ll discuss more of when I blog about our Australia adventure)? Well here’s one more example! ‘Underground Railroad Game’, considered one of the 25 best plays of the past 25 years by the New York Times, is forking nuts and made me feel very uncomfortable in ways no theatre has ever done. Yet unlike the aforementioned examples of alarming ‘art’, this play wasn’t being scandalous just for the sake of being scandalous – it actually had a purpose for wicking me out so much, and although I’m still grappling with it, I can’t deny that it was powerful. (The other examples are bullshirt.)
‘Underground Railroad Game’, which from now on I’ll refer to as URG because that’s the sound I made through the entire back half, is a riveting 80 minute tour of American racism on a societal level and an interpersonal level, and even though it starts off funny, it’ll leave you staring hard into the floor wishing that it would swallow you whole so you don’t have to think about how gross you feel from what you just witnessed and what it said about the world and people and black people and white people and America and just everything but then you get up because you want to take a shower.
And boy does it start off funny. The play opens on a barn at night in the 1800s, as a scared, skittish black woman enters and ravenously eats an apple from her pocket. But when she hears a man outside, she hides in a wooden box. The man still finds her but tells her she doesn’t have to be scared – he’s one of the good white men, an ‘angel’ really, who will help this runaway slave escape to the north. Their acting is overly earnest and over the top, and kind of funny but we started to worry that the entire play was going to bank on this conceit holding water for more than a few minutes. Of course, just when we thought ‘hmm is this really this play?’, the lights came on in the entire theatre, jarring the audience, and the two actors came closer downstage and said to us, “Okay class! What did we learn?”
Those two actors, Jennifer Kidwell and Scott R. Sheppard, are the two creators and writers of this play. And they’re not playing a slave and an abolitionist – they’re playing two enthusiastic teachers at Hanover Middle School, and we, the audience members, are their 7th grade students. They explain that their little skit was an introduction to their social studies unit on the Underground Railroad, in which they will combine forces as classes. We students would be separated into Union and Confederate Troops, and during the next few weeks, the Union army would try to sneak black baby dolls from one classroom’s wooden box to the other’s without Confederate troops catching them – our own underground railroad! To see which side we were on, we were told to look under our seats, where we all found little envelopes with little army men figurines inside. (This is when I broke my theatre rule of No Talking and whispered to Husband “oh so this is like REALLY interactive, huh.”) Who has a blue figure? they asked, and the appropriate audience members whooped, as people do. You’re the Union army! Who has a gray figure? I did, and I was told ‘You’re the Confederacy!’ Instead of whooping, we all, being woke, booed, and Sheppard quickly said “Hey hey none of that! We support our troops!” and we all died laughing.
As middle school teachers, they absolutely slayed me with their pitch perfect demeanor and comments. “Eyes up here!” they pointedly shouted at anyone who was talking to their companion or looking elsewhere. “I better not see any phones kids!” My favorite too-accurate thing of theirs was when the (extended) school bell would ring and they’d both shout together at us: “That’s not our bell! That’s not our bell! Stay seated!” One such moment had me laughing so hard that I made a little squeak-laugh sound after the rest of the audience had already quieted down from their laughter. Sheppard and Kidwell both focused their attention on me like laser beams and glared me down and then Sheppard said, “We’ll wait.” I wanted to laugh even harder at that but true to middle school form I just turned bright red instead and wanted to vomit as everyone turned to look at me, but I also became hysterical.
So I bet you are thinking this sounds just HILARIOUS and like a jolly good time, and it really was, because this was the nice little part that represented how most people learn about racism and America’s racist history – they make it palatable in our schools, and easy and clean and no one gets hurt. But that way doesn’t really work, because our history wasn’t easy or clean and way too many people got hurt, and continue to get hurt, from the racist foundations of America. These cheerful lessons don’t do much to teach kids about real racism and how it affects our society or stop them from growing up into racist adults.
And so, Kidwell and Sheppard swiftly change the story’s focus from these cute lessons for the kids onto their interpersonal relationship as teachers, and then as romantic partners, of two different races. At first it’s funny, like in their Gene-Kelly-throwback dancing around town, or when they ‘walk’ through town making jokes about race that quickly go too far. Even though they start pushing boundaries early on, they’re still boundaries we have seen before, so the discomfort is familiar.
But then. Oh but then. As their relationship progresses, they can no longer gloss over the serious issues created by their different races or the history of what that difference means. Sure both of them teach about slavery but only one of them really understands it on a profound rather than academic level. As a black woman and a white man, they are going to be haunted by the master and slave relationship of their ancestors, haunted by their own lesson plan of whether they’d be reaffirming or rewriting history together. They try to work out their issues in weird sexual ways that become somewhat cruel. Then the ‘somewhat’ falls by the wayside and these two incredibly brave performers start exorcising the demons of history in full-on sadomasochistic ways, playing back and forth with the master and slave roles as the stunned audience looks on and wonders whether we should go get help. The first glimpse of a stark naked Sheppard elicits gasps from the astonished audience, but then he’s naked for like a good 20 minutes, as Kidwell treats him like he’s on an auction block and breaks rulers on his back and chases him around with terrifying advances, culminating in him masturbating into a flag. All of it seemed real – especially, grossly, that last bit – so it was distressing, offensive, and actually appalling to watch. As I covered my face with my hands, I was flabbergasted that the adorable little middle-school-assembly show I was laughing at an hour ago had morphed into this horrifying trauma for everyone involved. But I get it. Going too far in ways we’ve never really seen before in the theatre (at least mainstream theatre) let them so powerfully argue that the horrors of slavery are as relevant and real today as they were in the past, damaging people and relationships and society still. I mean I think they had to do it, at least. I’m still quite traumatized.
INFORMATION
‘Underground Railroad Game’ is at London’s Soho Theatre until October 13th (looks like they got an extension). Tickets are pretty cheap.
No I didn’t stage door are you kidding me I saw them naked.
