***** Orpheus at the Battersea Arts Centre - A kaleidoscope of Django Reinhardt, Paris, Cabaret, Love and Greek mythology

The Orpheus Gang

 There is a lot to say about Little Bulb Theatre’s brilliant production of ‘Orpheus’at the Battersea Arts Centre but one thing is for certain and that is this kaleidoscope of mixed performances and musical scores inspired by Jazz musician, Django Reinhardt, will catapult an audience to magical Paris faster than the Eurostar. Although Reinhardt is the 1930’s maestro and protagonist who embodies Orpheus (Dominic Conway,) the show is electrifyingly sharp it manages to squeeze in its own creative assemble with added classical edge including Debussy, Brahms and Monteverdi. Parisian cabaret would not be complete without sound bites of Edith Paif that is emulated through Yvette Pepin (Eugenie Pastor,) our hostess who also portrays Eurydice to illustrate the Greek tale. It is a play inside a play.

Yvette Pepin (Eugenie Pastor)

The grand hall is home to Robert Hope James’ historical organ that dates back to 1901, which the Master of the Keys, Charles (Charlie Penn) plays ravishingly through Bach’s Toccatoa and Fugue in D minor. The stage turns into Bar De La Muse where front row cabaret tables, red wine, champagne and camembert are available for an authentic red velvet experience. Within the first few minutes the audience get a run down of the mythology played out fervently but with great amusement. Orpheus does not say a word but Conway’s talent on the guitar needs no explanation as his dexterous fingers speaks volumes much like Reinhardt own musical expertise.

Orpheus (Conway) and his lyre with Tom Penn & Shamira Turner, Clare Beresford and Miriam Gould

A skillful and versatile troupe come together including the strong arms of our actors stage hands, (Tom Penn and Alexander Scott) and the sweet vocals of the triplettes de’antiquite, (Shamira Turner, Clare Beresford and Miriam Gould.) Not only can these guys act, deliberately in an odd way, they can also sing operatically in additional to playing musical instruments. They partake in several plots as artists of the cabaret stage as well as the mythology in elaborate costumes dressed as Parisians, animals and creatures of the underworld. The triplettes de’antiquite jump around as fern, rabbits and Cerberus. Scott and Penn bounce around with attempted ballet jete - the lousy and comedic variation - with paper birds in their hands. 

The Lovers

In Act 2, Scott plays a conniving Hades in mask and cloak showing off his musical mastery with the clarinet, but Penn puts on an androgynous Persephone who beguiles the audience with an unexpected sorrowful falsetto voice. His soothing presence calms a hyped up room and renders everyone speechless.  Yet, as Conway strums his chords harder and everyone puts their fire and might into progressively bashing and blowing their instruments louder they build up a momentum that gets the audience’s adrenaline pumping which diminishes the moment Orpheus turns around. Eurydice grasps and poof - she is gone.

Poof! And she goes!

Orpheus comes as part of the Battersea’s Arts Centre season of Gods, Myths & Legend. Think of Bottom from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night Dream, think cabaret and tragic love story. ‘Orpheus’ is a jam-packed show which theatregoers won’t have a moment to reflect on as they will be too busy enjoying it.  

 

‘Three Sisters’ at the Southwark Playhouse ****

Anton Chekhov’s ‘Three Sisters’ is a musing of lives segregated from the parameters of modern society - a provincial town many miles away from Moscow.  Yet in Anya Reiss’ script, it is set in a today’s Middle East. The use of headscarves is our only clue yet even without a specified country, the suffering and ennui on the Southwark Playhouse’s stage instill the necessary symptomatic ingredients for portraying a jaded ex-pat household thanks to its director, Russell Bolam.

The three siblings; Olga (Olivia Hallinan,) Irina (Holliday Grainger,) Masha (Emily Taaffe) encompass a collection of distinct personalities that like a puzzle are disjointed and tattered if not put together. Act 1 sees them at their most hopeful. Olga plays a strong motherly figure that tries to assert order as she does in her full-time teaching role, whilst Irina is the young, dashing and charming face of the house that longs to return back to London. Masha, on the other hand, is temperamental. One moment she is indifferent, stubborn, aggressive and then, notably in Act 2, distraught in love and tears - something other than her sisters. She is a complicated character with much to regret including marrying her local and faithful Kulygin convincingly played by Tom Ross-Williams.

From the spotlight, one can tell these attractive actresses enjoy playing their inexperienced characters, particularly Taaffe who has a field day with bi-polar and frustrated Masha. She has a clandestine affair with Paul McGann’s character, Vershinin or ‘the sulky soldier’, which she likes to call him. He has a somewhat philosophical presence about him, but not entirely. “The world is full of beauty and intelligence” and it’s these words that grab Masha, but unfortunately he cannot predict the future, which turns out much grimmer.

The stern faced, foolishly in love, aspiring professor and brother, Andrey (Thom Tuck) marries socially awkward Natasha (Emily Dobbs) who dupes him and has an unsolicited affair. From the beginning, chavy Natasha is insecure and un-classy yet Dobbs adapts her as the play goes on as a manipulative new member of their home requesting Olga to move out of her room and that their drunkard party go elsewhere. They carelessly sing Pulp’s ‘Common People’ karaoke style until the early hours, which, alludes to their hope of returning to London away from the reclusive life. 

Joe Sims’ ‘Solyony’ is an ignorant irritation represented as an army captain who often uses Tusenbach (David Carlyle) as his punch bag. Carlyle’s Scottish accent enhances a grounded and harmless Tusenbach that pines for Irina. And Michael Garner’s portrayal of an apathetic and wise, Chebutykin has much profundity and likeability as he says, ‘what the hell does it matter?’

Throughout the play, the audience accumulates a sense of malaise and nihilism for these pitiful characters, particularly Irina, who may never be liberated. Chekhov’s startling story that Reiss re-invigorates sees twelve character’s scorn in a secluded modern day space. Bolam expresses how insightful it is to witness drama and anguish take hold of people with little breathing room. 

Ends May 3^rd

George Clooney & Amal Alamuddin - I salute thee!

By Mary Grace Nguyen

Writing about celebrity news, particularly gossip, has never been my forte. Not that it doesn’t interest me, because it does by giving me tremendous satisfaction and reaffirmation that the glamorously rich and well-known have their flaws too! - but also that there isn’t much justification to prod and probe into celebrities lives (or anybody for that matter) unless it has consequences that affect others. However, news just in that George Clooney is engaged to a British human rights lawyers is a revolution for me, and probably a zillion Clooney fans out there.

Clooney has been the epitome and golden example of bachelorhood. Proudly has he flaunted himself in the media including TV interviews of his conviction and confidence of what he was: a bachelor without entitlement or devotion to one. In today’s society, relationships, sexual interests and behaviours have changed and diversified more than ever and bachelorhood is no substitute as it is just as acceptable. Clooney, as a good-looking older man, had only enhanced his status and sex appeal which made his bachelorhood easily agreeable.  Take for example, his recent commercial for Nespresso coffee where he approaches a lady who then screams to all the women on a roof bar that he was present. We know, and he actively knows, he is God’s gift (or nature’s gift if you're an agnostic or atheist,) to the world.

How can this be? He is a bachelor! He can’t be engaged! Can he even fall in love? Ok fine, maybe he can fall in love (with several women,) but who is she? Who is Amal Alamuddin? Are you ready? Drum roll please…

Well, she graduated from Oxford University, studied law at New York University School of Law and now specialises in human rights and international law in Doughty Street Chambers, London.  She has served as counsel to the inquiry for the UN on special rapporteur on counter-terrorism, advised Kofi Annan as well Syria to the UN Special Envoy. 

She is a legal adviser to the King of Bahrain and also represented Julian Assange, the WikiLeaks founder, in his battle against extradition to Sweden. Additionally she has represented clients before the International Criminal Court, the International Court of Justice and the European Court of Human Rights including domestic courts in the UK and US. 

If that isn’t a mouth full, there is more. She also manages to train judges, state officials and UN investigators on international criminal law and human rights and has trained police forces in the Gulf.  She has also contributed to many books on international criminal law, co-edited The Law and Practice of the Special Tribunal for Lebanon, and lectured at the University of North Carolina, The Hague Academy of International Law SOAS, The New School in New York and Chapel Hill. 

Phew, what a lady! I am sure she has done a lot more, but from these key points alone her career history sounds impeccable and being brutally honest, I am not surprised that Clooney has fallen for her –I’ve fallen for her! I have always respected those who were career driven, have endeavours and goals - in any shape or form - that were humanitarian. (Please note this is not an opportunity for trolls to come in and burden me with their political views on Assange, the UN, Syria, Gulf or any of the above mentioned.)   

As the tabloids have expressed, Clooney saw interest in her focus of work within human rights inDarfur, which is perhaps where it may have ignited the spark, so to speak. The relationship was described as platonic years ago by his spokesperson but, that doesn’t seem to be the case now. :  )

Clooney was formally married to Talia Balsam which, ended in 1993. He claimed he wasn’t cut up for marriage thereafter (or something along those lines,) to then having a string of short term relationships with women including actresses and models. Yet, his situation and marital status has now transformed - he has a woman who has radically changed his worldview. 

Naturally, when I saw the tweet by LBC radio talk presenter, Julia Hartley-Brewer, that he was engaged I was curious and had to find out who the engagement was to. Now knowing what I know, I am actually happy for him and Miss Alamuddin, soon to be Mrs. Clooney (unless she decides to keep her name.) Not that my consent will make any difference, but I completely approve and as a fan of Clooney’s looks and charms, I salute thee.

May I add Amal is only 36! I am not referring to the age gap but, I am referring to how much she has achieved at 36. Brava! She is definitely up there with Michelle Obama.

**** See Thatcher and the Queen have tea and scones in the Tri-Cycle's comedic production of 'Handbagged' at the West End's Vaudeville Theatre ****

It is the queen’s priority to be as politically neutral, wary of her government ministerial advice but not let her opinion be known if she does not agree. The Prime minister, Thatcher in our case, must respect and acknowledge the sovereign’s opinion irrespective of whether it clashes with her political agenda.  Yet putting principles aside, these influential women could have had a relationship of a more comical and endearing hue as shown by Moira Buffini at the Vaudeville Theatre. 

Indhu Rubashingham’s original tri-cycle production of ‘Handbagged’ is an imagination of the young Queen and Mags having private and awkward conversation over tea and scones, which prove to be a surprisingly unthreatening event. Despite what history may have portrayed, Buffini puts media spin on its head and reveals a personal side to the iconic ladies through four actresses on stage, the Queen (Marion Bailey,) Thatcher (Steller Gonet,) Liz (Lucy Robinson,) and Mags (Fenella Woolgar.) 

‘Handbagged’ is a giggling political farce where Richard Kent’s golden jubilee inspired stage fits a party of both the older and younger figures reflecting on past secrets kept hidden from the world, ‘I didn’t say that’ or  ‘I definitely said that.’ Mags (Woolgar) would look sternly to the audience and state her conservative ideology as if she were at the Houses of Parliament and Liz (Robinson) would sheepishly sink into her seat and admit she is tuning out. Bailey as queen, would then have a moan and tantrum requesting an interval because ‘it’s the best part of the play’ seconds before Thatcher (Gonet) begins to explore her second term as Prime minister. 

Although comedic, the script manages to handle controversial claims on their differing opinions particularly on the commonwealth, policies of the British government including apartheid and the miners' strike. This is where much-needed actors like Neet Mohan and Jeff Rawle come in, breaking down chunky and often contentious political subjects. They play multiple characters with a mini sub plot between them regarding which characters to act and which not to which include a Neil Kinnock battle on his ‘I warn you’ speech. 

 

Mohan plays a palace footman, Kenneth Kaunda, Enoch Powell, Kenneth Clarke, a protester, Michael Shea, and Nancy Regan, which is his boldest impersonation. He wears chic lipstick, is ‘handbagged’ and struts in heels. Jeff Rawle manages to keep his composure in 10 character roles including Dennis Thatcher, Ronald Regan, Lord Peter Carrington, Gerry Adams and Michael Heseltine through a northern Irish accent, American accent, cockney accent, posh accent and a parody imitation of Prince Philip. When interviewed he told me, ‘it’s fraught with disaster, especially coming on with the wrong hat or forgetting your glasses.’

‘Handbagged’ encapsulates over 11 years of Thatcher’s service in less than 2 hours. It will make theatregoers laugh until they cry. It is meant for everyone as the historical events, government figures and humorous jokes are all too familiar. The script is just right which is why ‘Handbagged’ does not fail to show a funnier and unintimidating side to politics. 

‘We Kill Pimps’ at the Barons Court Theatre ***

It is like watching a final cut of a play where all the action and suspense is over and the only thing left is the conclusion - the deed of killing pimps. We have two average ladies on set but they are covert assassins. Justine is cast by Beth Granville, known for appearing on television’s ‘Gavin and Stacey’ and Beverley, is played by Alys Daroy who played Fleur Simpson from ‘Home and Away.’ 

The set is their hide away, a bunker, to dwell over their murders and dreams but not the type that Freud would analyse. Justine is talking about dreams of what to do after they have received their commission. A trip abroad is top of her list.

Playwright of ‘We Kill Pimps,’ Alistair McClure, gives us a sprinkle of the mindset of killers on the run but there is nothing James Bond about it. It is simply two killers having a troubled dialogue. It is Lara Croft meets ‘The only way is Essex’ without the men. It’s an odd combination but somehow the script manages to capture the audience’s attention with some interesting lines and profanities including, 'God is a c***'.

There are moments they reenact some of their assassinations in a very non-serious way however this is often mixed in with bizarre acting such as Justine wailing like moody child demanding Beverley give her cranberry juice because she thinks she had cystitis. Beverley chucks her a box of paracetamol from Superdrug to which Justine replies, ‘bitter’ after some improvised gagging.

Justine dressed in a hoodie, pair of tracksuit bottoms with a copy of heat magazine in her bag, is the main energy on set. She has the funniest lines and does the oddest things that a young lady questioning her adolescence would. She would speak to her cuddly toy called Britney Spears and have a mini mime with a gun in her hand, leaning by the wall and pretending she is being chased. By who, only Justine knows.

Beverley, on the other hand is a bag of nerves trembling as she somehow creates an alarm for unwelcomed guests out of empty cans and bangles. Her stumbling words and stern expression makes her uninteresting compared to nut case Justine.  She elaborates on her nightmares and speaks openly about her paranoia.

Yet, on the contrary, both of them are just as paranoid and as untrustworthy as each other as they steal each others bullets. Justine’s justification is that she needs all of the money and with both of their guns at each other, realising they have no bullets left, Justine grabs a frying pan and tries to suffocate her. ‘Death by frying pan,’ ‘are you kidding me?’

The minimalist dim set suffices for a simple script. ‘We kill Pimps’ although good to watch did not give an audience a lesson. Perhaps a better setting which allows the characters to move around and give them air to breathe would complement such a succinct script.

Grassroots' Othello warrants a position in the West End, which so happens to take place on his 450th birthday *****

There are so many things to learn from Shakespeare. But Grassroots’ Siobhan Daly alludes to one of the most important lessons - the human soul and its fragility - in her production of Othello at the Leicester Square Theatre. With subtle sounds orchestrated by Tom Barnes, simple lights directed by Andy Peregrine and rich coloured fabrics that instill Venetian nobility and imagination by Rachael Vaughan and Suzi Lombardelli, much vision and craft can flourish in such intimate settings.   

Nari Blair-Mangat’s dramatic illustration of a young and good Othello tarnished by eating the fruits of Iago’s (James Alexandrou) words and tempting concoctions drive him into a pit of insane hell. Alexandrou’s plays a cool-under-pressure Iago sure of his deeds and intentions under a looming red light as he softly and slowly quotes Iago’s most famous soliloquys. He manages to retain east London characteristics as Eastenders’ Martin Fowler yet with keeping his boyish attributes at bay he successfully plays the most dangerous character. Iago is without a doubt a favorite villain not only for his Machiavelli cunningness and power to control the fate of feeble innocents but his undeniable tendency to make an audience question human evils and capability; can we plant the seed of manipulation to take life including one’s own? 

Blair-Mangat’s Othello however, is extraordinary. He is the most aggressive and maddest hothead but this does not put him at a disadvantage. Valiant and noble as the ‘moor’ must be, this lighthearted and loving husband is a sweet honeymoon bloom whose fortune is undermined by his naivety and gullibility. Blair-Mangat’s portrayal highlights an insecurity silently killing Othello as he tells the audience, ‘she loved me for the dangers I had pass'd, and I loved her that she did pity them.’

If Shakespeare were alive today this would be how he wanted it to be. Iago the frighteningly clever psychopath and Othello the easily swayed captain who regresses into a sickly and mentally unstable maniac. One may even say that Blair-Mangat’s Othello takes on another shade, a paranoid husband who believes he does not deserve the love from Desdemona, (Annabel Bates) the Venetian senator’s daughter.

Bates’ displays a pitiful and cherubic Desdemona whose unfortunate simplicity makes her submissively obedient to her jealous lover. Roderigo, (Adam Blampied) is Iago’s sad sideline but Cassio, (Boris Mitkov) is the complete antithesis as the handsome charming soldier who regards Othello highly.

Emily Jane Kerr was most notable for her embodiment of Emilia in the final scene showing the audience what a truthful best friend looks like. And Jim Conway’s version of Brabantio is ruthless. You would not want to mess with him nor his sword.

Shakespeare theatre is not dramatic unless its makes an audience engaged, gasping and introspecting the human condition and Daly’s Othello effectively does this. Othello can be produced in various ways but Grassroots ‘re-vitalised, re-imagined and re-examined’ work warrants a position in the West End as part of Shakespeare’s legacy, which so happens to take place on his 450^th birthday.

London Mondays and TFL Commuting - The best thing since trains were invented

London is a depressing place on a Monday morning especially during the commuting rush hour. In fact, it is like that every single weekday besides Friday when the weekend begins. Yet back to reality, let’s face it, Monday is a Mundane start to the week. Even from looking outside the window to a grey expanse of cloudiness, it’s all too daunting to open our eyes let alone get out of bed. You can see the grey discolor through your white lace curtains. There is no sight of hope; there is no sun.

The worst luck is when it is raining and freezing outside. The sky is black like pure darkness as if it were the apocalypse. ‘Why must I go to work? Oh, I forgot because I need to pay for a trip out of here that is ideally hot, has tropical palm trees growing everywhere, white sand, ocean and pina coladas!’ As you close your eyes and envision your quick espresso as a shot of tequila your eyes go into a 0.5 second sleep. But suddenly you snore yourself out of never never land, look at the clock and dash to leave your house dressed as passable as someone picking up milk from the local. As you grab your jacket, you stop and stare at your umbrella. Will it rain today or not? Shall I bother bringing that massive unneccesity that gives me strife to my muscles and does no justice to my fashion sense? As a Londoner, you are patriotic and do as the rest of the race does; walk out without it and it’s a good thing it isn’t raining… yet.

Central London is a feisty place where life is ‘nasty, brutish and short.’ Ensure you had brought your invisible cosmopolitan helmet. Everyone is out to get each other. The station welcomes everyone: suits, nice suits, ugly suits, saville row suits, artsy teenagers, receptionists, librarians, musicians (the people who have ear muffs for headphones and turn their music up for the train to hear,) multi-coloured Spanish tourists in groups of a hundred and stand in your way. The list goes on. Train stations or even bus stops are mini airports where everyone is off to different destinations and you could not give a damn who they were because you didn’t even finish your espresso and are up against millions of people on the platform or street to grab an available seat, or so it seems.

There is no queue structure for Londoners. ‘It’s a first come, first serve’ type of situation and you lose out if you don’t muster the strength to use your bottom to nick a seat before the biggest bottom. Commuters stack themselves up against the door even when the train hasn’t stopped. As soon as the doors open, it’s a rugby scrum. Someone hits someone on the head with their briefcase, (which is usually me because I am short,) and a brutal body bashing like a resilient ping pong game ensues. The announcement says ‘please let passengers off first please’ but to h*** with it! 

Everyone is either of the belief that their punctual presence at work will give them brownie points and a good reference from their boss when they quit, or that if they don’t get in on time, there will be no free fruit left in the fruit bowl which is usually provided for the company office.

Unfortunately the last person as part of the stack is usually you and the last feral looking passengers who have entered have turned around facing the door trying to make a stand – ‘Do not enter.’ It’s a cutthroat world out there and you have got to do what you got to do.  Here is my  technique, which has got me so far in life and loathed at the same time. Irrespective, it will get a place you on the train. Read carefully. Whilst on the platform, turn around and face the wall of the platform and take one step backwards onto the train. Ensure your bag is behind your ass to ensure you don't give any passenger behind you an exciting journey, push back and there you have it. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ and you will usually hear a hissing in the back of your ear, but that’s just a common hazard.

The feel and smell of coffee breathe and yawning makes other passengers realize someone needs listerine on top on their colgate because it is not doing them any services. It is as they say like, ‘a tin of sardines’ and although packed, there is at least enough space for you to breath- air, perfume or someone’s bodily perfume. Ew! No one is comfortable as a bag maybe pushing onto someone’s groin, or someone’s back might be leaning onto his or her back. The safety poles are usually overtaken with clammy hands with no available space for others to hold onto. If all else fails, there is no alternative, but depend on the passengers surrounding you, north, south, east and west, to be your cushion in the face of an instant brake situation, which is comical. People flying onto each other and strangers grabbing each other’s clothes to support them, yet we are British after all and never forget to say ‘sorry’ to those we accidently use their boobs to break our fall. Well, most normal people do!

The train journey isn’t a fast one. It stops and moves as if the driver is letting a mouse cross the rails, which is all the time. And no matter what TFL is the most unreliable thing since trains were invented. Passengers will want to check their mobile to look out for any interesting texts, but its in the bottom of their bag and their current position does not allow for them bend down as it may offend and most definitely annoy the person(s) next to them.

Don’t be surprised if someone faints in the claustrophobic cage as they grab the emergency leaver making everyone even more happier giving them an excuse to be late for work, not! We hate London's rush hour because it means being on a crowded train with unclean, smelly, sweaty human beings.

You can bet your money you will be late for work but your manager will still blame you, which is not worth the torment. I would highly advice anyone (including myself) to leave the house an hour beforehand, but we never listen. London Commute service: Keep Calm, Jog on!