January 19, 2023
HABIBI Take 2: The Band's Visit at the Donmarby Randi / October 20, 2022Yes I am aware summer is over, I’m cold.
This past summer we at Ldeezhy had the pleasure of seeing three shows at the Pitlochry Festival Theatre, a lovely (and recently refurbished) venue that all tourists and residents of Perthshire, Scotland should visit when they visit the most beautiful part of the UK (hopefully not for long! Not that other places will take that crown, I mean because it won’t be part of the UK anymore, sink that ship yourselves Tories). We started with Noises Off, followed by Little Women, and ended with Private Lives. Some pretty classic shiz up in here! Getting through this backlog of posts y’all!
The PFT is a repertory theatre, with a resident company, so you see the same actors regularly. Rep theatres are so interesting, because someone will be amazing in one show and then completely miscast in another, but I guess it makes sense here because the pool is smaller? It kind of reminds me of high school drama club in that way. Well and also because they’re doing Noises Off, which we all did right! Okay my school is the only one that didn’t but I know yours did. My best friend was the stage manager! So let’s start with that beloved comedy classic!
Noises Off
Noises Off is one of the few shows that I don’t think I can get sick of. We recently saw the latest West End revival in…my god it was 2019, I guess not so recent, JFC. But that was sensational, because a) Matthew Morrison was sitting behind me (THAT’S EXCITING!) and b) it was directed by Jeremy Herrin, who directed the 2016 Broadway revival that cannot scientifically ever be topped, it was 104% perfection even before accounting for Megan Hilty’s performance in a role no one knew could actually be that funny. Having seen Herrin’s precise, flawless direction on the big stages TWICE, I was thus spoiled for civilian work. The PFT’s production was hilarious, tons of fun, but the direction proved a bit sloppy. In that third act, when there’s very little dialogue but tons of chaotic action and stuff falling and people arguing but with their body language only, it needs to be directed and executed precisely so that the audience has a clue what’s going on. It was a bit too messy. If I didn’t know what was going on, I would have been a little mad that it was so unclear. But not actually mad, because even with the wee messiness, it’s impossible not to keep smiling so hard it hurts your damn face through any production of this show. Also this ensem confirmed that possibly my favorite line in all of theatre is “If it wasn’t attached to my neck I’d forget what day it was.” I mean, I’ve heard that line a lot, but I COULD NOT STOP laughing this time. The best! I also adored that there were two little kids up front who could not possibly have understood all the jokes but they were having the time of their lives.
Little Women
I hate to give her even more power over me, but Greta Gerwig has spoiled me for all versions of Little Women that aren’t hers. Her framing of what Jo was probably forced to include in her book vs. what was probably/definitely true of its author is simply too brilliant to ever deviate from again. When Jo all of a sudden finds love that isn’t Laurie, you just KNOW it’s Louisa being like ‘ugh you bastards want her to find a man, here you go, half-assed plot!’ So to see it portrayed straightforwardly feels wrong, and always has, but especially after seeing Saoirse’s wee smirk at us for even thinking for a second that it could have been true for Jo, or Louisa, whatever/whoever/both. But aside from that, this play verzh was very pleasant, though the whole repertory theatre company thing means that some parts were muhmuhmuhmiscast. I’m okay saying that and not feeling mean because the worst cast person in this, so wooden and strange that we were literally like what what what is happening, was good in a different show, so it’s very much not a talent thing. Minor faults in an otherwise fun time. Also shout out for making us realize how f-ing hilarious (unintentionally) some lines are, like when Jo exclaims to fake-professor man about how much ‘boys just love to go around nutting!’ We nudge each other a lot in shows (no talking!) but this might have been the pinnacle.
Private Lives
This was my first time seeing this Noel Coward classic live! What fun what ho! Noel has a cheeky good time with a terrible couple who makes terrible decisions. At the start of the play, the couple isn’t a couple. They have gotten divorced, and they’re each on their honeymoon with new people – and they somehow ended up with hotel rooms next to each other (with balconies, apparently, that don’t have any barrier between them??? security risk security risk! I would have to move hundo p). Their new spouses are nice plot devices, but you know from the get-go that the two terriburs are meant to destroy these new marriages and end up together again, even though they can’t go five minutes without fighting. What a lark! The cast of four? no five! there’s a housekeeper! does a great job of painting terrible people you can’t stand in different ways. The central couple nails the whole shibang, but my favorite performance was that from Nalan Burgess as the terrible man’s new wife for a hot second (I am too tired to go look up names of characters) who does some of the best theatrical over-the-top wailing I’ve ever heard. I was HYSTERICAL, her crying was so good and so big and it kept getting bigger and funnier the longer it went on. Just excellent work. Overall, it was a strong production, possibly the tightest of the 3? I mean Noel Coward is always a good time, it’s not like it’s Pinter.
INFORMATION
The Pitlochry Festival Theatre is an enormous space that I don’t think could ever be filled even if everyone in town during the height of tourist season came, so there’s usually room to move around away from people, which is the greatest thing you could ever ask for when out in public. The theatre went through a recent refurb and it shows, except for the bathrooms which didn’t get the memo, which is a shame but there’s never really a line. The bar has vegan treats (but not ice cream) and little water fountain spouts. All in all a fantastic theatre. Stay tuned for another (actually recent) show coming later this week!
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The Prince of Egypt Hits London: That DreamWorks Money Though!
A tad too late in the game for reminding English people that they actually approve of (the idea of) some refugees, The Prince of Egypt has arrived in London, packing ‘em in at the Dominion Theatre and taking no prisoners (except the Hebrews). Based on the 1998 DreamWorks movie of the same name, The Prince of Egypt tells the story you know from your babble, of a little Hebrew bebbeh whose mother put him in a basket and sent him down the river instead of keeping him to suffer the slavery and genocide of their people. That baby was discovered by the Queen of Egypt, who adopted him, named him Moses (surprise!), and raised him as her own, until he realized his heritage and decided, with the help of god, to save his people. It’s a fantastic story, and really a phenomenal idea for a musical. So why is this show so lackluster?
Honestly, it feels amateur. It feels like an early draft in terms of book (at least some of that dialogue, yeesh) and, much more so, score, which is a strange feeling to get about material that has existed in large part for more than 20 years. I hate to speak ill of my boy little Stevie Schwartz, composer of some of my favorite scores (like Pippin and Wicked (don’t even try to pretend you don’t also love the Wicked score, no one’s buying your bullshirt)), but aside from the Oscar-winning “When You Believe”, there are few musical numbers that don’t feel pedestrian, despite so many golden opportunities for great songs. And the layout, my god: in Act II, there was a 40-minute span where every. single. song. sounded the same, with the same melody, same key, same time signature. It’s like Musical Theatre 101 to not have songs that sound the same or achieve the same goal in a row, so to have like, 7 of them almost made me scream. It’s a shame that a production this huge and this destined for a long run has such a bland score.
The visuals of this production, however, are fire. I mean that literally – there’s a good amount of pyrotechnics used. This production is dripping with evidence of endless financial backing, and it’s quite a visual treat. The staging, the special effects, that stage lifting up to ‘drown’ the Egyptians (the best part!), it’s all great. Not in an artistic way, mind you, not in a ‘wow this is sophisticated storytelling’ way, but in a ‘wow this spectacle is fun to watch’ way.
That extends to the cast as well. Luke Brady is a strong Moses, tasked with the enormous burden of carrying the show and doing a commendable job. His brother-turned-enemy, Ramses, is played by a solid Liam Tamne who gave me strong Papi from Pose vibes while offering a very very different Ramses from what we’ve seen before from performers like Yul Brynner, much more obviously insecure and uncertain. Christine Allado’s Tzipporah, like most of the women in this male-centric show, was sung well but felt poorly written. Her first big song is a sexy dance in a cage and she’s like ‘when I dance I dance for me’ which could have given Miss Saigon early-first-act vibes but instead reminded me of the Crazy Ex Girlfriend song “Put Yourself First” where the girls satirically sing “make yourself sexy/just for yourself” and I was like, oof. Her character continued to enrage me when she complained about the possibility of having to live in the palace in order to SAVE AN ENTIRE RACE like holy what girl get over yourself oh it’s so sad you have to live like a princess in order to SAVE PEOPLE FROM SLAVERY my absolute goodness. Ramses’s wife Nefertari (which every time I heard it was like like “It’s NeferTITI oh wait no it’s not”) (played by Tanisha Spring) is similarly underwritten as a haughty bench, except she gets to show a softer side (really any side) with a moving song in Act II that was, unfortunately, too similar to the ones before and after it. I did like Alexia Khadime’s Miriam, possibly because she is only really in it to act like Jasmine in the marketplace pretending to be crazy (except not pretending) and then singing the best song, so, lucky her.
The ensemble is probably the hardest working in London right now, with endless difficult choreography demanded of them. I’m not sure if Sean Cheesman’s (stay fresh, cheese bags) nonstop, energetic, primal choreography is always necessary, but it’s always interesting to watch and feels raw and visceral in a unique way (I almost yelled in pain just watching some of the more intense moves). The talented ensemble may be the most diverse in London too, which is great.
But I’m not sure that huge diverse ensemble includes any Jews (and even if it did, the whole awkward dancing to chanting Hebrew felt strange). And that wouldn’t be the only problem with this show in terms of that representation. This is a show about Jews – not sure if you knew, but Moses, hoo boy, he’s big with us. And this is telling his entire story, from birth to the parting of the Red Sea, like, it’s foundational Judaism right here. But this production, aside from treating ‘Hebrew’ like it’s some exotic fictional designation (and never saying the word Jew), has sanitized the story so it never actually feels like it’s about religion. It really seems like this guy Moses is doing all of this on his own, with very few, too few, mentions of how god is working through him and how god is on the side of the Jews (chosen people helloooo). Also, his guilt about all the shit he’s wrought is sad but he never confronts god about what he’s making him do. Seriously if you didn’t know the story it’s very blink-and-you’ll-miss-when-they-mention-it’s-god’s-doing, when they mention that god wants to save the Jews. Which is weird. Maybe they wanted this to feel like a more universal refugee story, which is valid for today’s society, but there’s a way to do that without making it feel like Jewish erasure.
If you are a discerning theatregoer, you are better off forgetting about Charlton Heston’s crappiness for a bit and rewatching The Ten Commandments film and playing “When You Believe” at the opportune moment, like when I watch Legally Blonde and pause when she sees her name on the list of interns so I can sing “So Much Better” from the musical version. If, instead, you are an average London audience member who loves spectacle, you will love this.
INFORMATION
Act I ended after an hour and 20 minutes, and the show overall ended after 2 hours 45 minutes. Yes it is about 20 minutes too long.
I sat in the stalls, and I recommend sitting on the house left side aisles for easy access to the ladies rooms. There’s one up from the bar at the back on the left, and there’s one if you sit on the extreme left all the way down by the stage, so that’s a fun little secret few people knew about. This theatre is a g-d barn so I can’t say if the right side of the house was set up the same.
Like most things at the Dominion Theatre, the audience behaves like they’re at a rock concert (as most long-running recent productions have been rock concert-ish…or the traveling megachurch services, not even joking). Lots of phones, lots of talking and even at like, regular volume? I had to yell at an old man for nonstop loud talking and he didn’t stop so I had to sit back and stew and hope that corona gets him.
Maybe I’m just spoiled with well done theatres lately, but the Dominion is a mess right now, not really up to par with small hospitality things that every other West End and near-West End theatre does. Like, they have no water pitchers at the bars. If you want water you have to wait in the regular long bar line. What’s up with that nonsense! Also, only one of the stalls doors had a content warning sign (strobe lights, flashing, fire, &c) and I had to go searching for it. And there are no signs for the run time information so you have to find an usher to ask.
Also, programmes are £6. And they aren’t even giant souvenir-edition ones! Just for the regular small programme. PASS (over).
What It’s Like Seeing The Normal Heart During Another Pandemic
TL;DR it’s soul-crushingly ironic.
A few weekends ago, we had the complicated privilege of seeing Larry Kramer’s seminal work, The Normal Heart, now playing at The National Theatre. Kramer wrote the play, which premiered in 1985, during and about the rise of the AIDS epidemic in New York City in the early ’80s.
Whenever people talk about The Normal Heart, they use the phrase ‘searing indictment’. I mean not without good reason – it works, and it sounds good. It’s a ‘searing indictment’ of state and federal governments, of all aspects of the health system that failed to do literally anything to help the sick or help curb the spread. And, of the hindsight granted to us in viewing a community that was stuck between a rock and a hard place — not wanting to ruffle too many feathers in their attempt to get people to care, but doomed to fail unless they did so.
What this production ended up being, however, was an indictment of our present theatre-going community, and, of course, the entities tasked with ensuring our welfare. I am not comparing the situations or the people involved, but it was beyond ironic to see a play about a world-changing pandemic during a world-changing pandemic, and upsettingly so. You don’t want the lessons of Kramer and of AIDS and of incredible words like The Normal Heart to simultaneously be relevant and ignored, yet here we are.
In the play, Ned Weeks (Ben Daniels) is painted as the odd man out for being so quick to anger, so full of rage that he easily unleashes, while his peers try to remain calm and reserved and polite, as though that ever accomplishes anything. Early in the show, Ned says some whoa there things about Jews in the Holocaust and in America during the war who didn’t fight against what was happening. He rails against Jews for not fighting for what was right, as though they could have done anything. For the rest of the show, Ned lives firsthand through a refutation of this speech, as he and his community become the new embodiment of the powerless, with no one listening to them and no one willing to help except one lone doctor, Emma Brookner (Liz Carr).
There’s a lot I can say about this always moving, emotional show. I could talk about Ben Daniels’ lead performance, and how capably he carried this heavy, heavy show. I could talk about the quality of the supporting cast. I could wonder why it seemed like the famous Act II monologue of Dr Emma Brookner, always hailed as the most impressive featured role, seemed truncated even though it wasn’t. I could talk about the fine directorial choices like the gradual accumulation of physical junk on the floor, or in contrast how for some reason the play overall felt more overtly didactic than any production I’ve seen before, like it was solely a sequence of monologues.
However, none of these critical aspects of the play itself feel remotely important when considering the overall experience of this play, happening now, in this climate. I think of this experience and I am filled with incomprehensible fury. This audience at the National at a performance on a Saturday night represented the worst showing for maskwearing I’ve seen anywhere since the pandemic began. And I’ve been to America. Twice. I never knew what irony was until I was watching this play about how people weren’t taking a pandemic seriously while surrounded by people not taking a pandemic seriously. Ned yells at his friends when they refuse to entertain the idea of even suggesting to gay men to stop having promiscuous sex for now; they say this is a matter of personal freedom and identity. Guys, that’s just toooo on the nose, isn’t it? Ned says that their personal freedom is endangering HIS life. And a man across the aisle clapped and hooted while coughing openly. I wholeheartedly recognize and approve of Ned’s fury at his fellow man in failing to join him in his, because that’s how it feels being one of the few taking this pandemic seriously. Watching in real time as his righteous indignation, so beautifully and honestly written by Kramer, performed by Daniels, directed by Cooke, fell on such conspicuously deaf ears, it felt like the unavoidable condemnation was on our society now, not then.
Of course the situations are different, and the ignorance is based on different kinds of hate. Yet the emotions are the same — the frustration, the feeling of being abandoned, the feeling that your fellow man doesn’t care, the knowledge that he doesn’t. Because in case you didn’t know, we are indeed still in a pandemic that our government is refusing to take seriously. People in the healthcare community are on the news begging the government to do something, and the government responds with promises to the business communities that they won’t implement another lockdown, as though people in business can’t die of Covid. All the theatres I’ve returned to up to this point have politely and carelessly suggested that audience members wear masks, but without an actual rule that patrons must wear masks, it seems like roughly 80% do not. And for some reason, theatres state their belief that unless the government has a mask mandate, they do not have the legal authority to make or enforce one, which is a bunch of hot hot garbage.
Without an actual mandate from the theatre, and without staff enforcing the wearing of masks, theatre audiences are widely unmasked. I assumed that the kind of people choosing to see The Normal Heart, people voluntarily seeing a heart breaker about this sort of systemic and personal failure to curb a pandemic and help victims, would be the kind of people still wearing masks and giving a shit. I was very wrong!
I honestly still cannot wrap my head around the extraordinary irony of listening to Ned scream at his friends and community members about how they don’t care and aren’t doing enough, while we were sitting next to people who don’t care and aren’t doing enough, and who have the gall to cheer (and then ignore) the lessons being taught onstage. It’s seriously distressing to hear these lines about how other people are pretending nothing’s wrong and they don’t care if others die so long as they can go on acting in their own self interest, when that’s exactly what’s happening. It took all my strength not to turn to all the maskless people and be like, ‘aren’t you guys hearing this?’ Dr. Brookner’s big moment has her screaming at a medical committee that decides not to fund her research into AIDS; she yells at them to just do something, anything, or they would all be dead before they could. And the audience APPLAUDED. The people around us coughing and not covering their mouths and wearing their masks around their necks APPLAUDED. No, it’s not the same, what people could be doing to help now versus what they could do then. Because what we could do now is unbelievably simple and we have the scientific community’s data and backing instead of deadly stymieing. Just wear a mask. And you’re still refusing. You’re clapping at someone in play being angry at others for not doing anything, and yet you are refusing to do the easiest fucking thing of putting a fucking piece of cloth over your nose.
I do believe that individuals in our theatre community have a lot to answer for; two years in, we have the knowledge and ability to be responsible members of society on our own volition, without being ordered to give a shit by controlling entities or governments. But, as we’ve seen, humans won’t do the right thing en masse unless ordered to. So I blame the National Theatre, having the balls to put this show on and ignore its lessons by not enforcing mask wearing or having literally any awareness of it being a pandemic. (I also continue to blame the NT for its long-standing problem of having no ushers around in case of trouble. A few times up in the circle in the past years, I’ve searched desperately for a staff member to help with issues (including one audience member who was ill), and couldn’t find anyone in the whole upper level lobby or anything. They never have anyone anywhere once the show starts. Ridic.) And above all, it is the systemic fault of the Society of London Theatres and UK Theatre membership organizations for not issuing ANY regulations for their theatres. (Obsessed with their bullshit CYAs, like how SOLT’s website has a section for ‘well-being’ to help members and stuff deal with the pandemic. You know what would help everyone’s well-being? A mask mandate.) Literally while writing this, I got an email from Telecharge reminding me how all Broadway theatres are requiring proof of vaccination and enforcing mask wearing. Londoners, you officially lose your right to make fun of Americans. If Broadway can do this, London can do this. FUCKING DO IT.
