Month: November 2018

Widows
DF-04550_R2 – Michelle Rodriguez and Elizabeth Debicki star in Twentieth Century Fox’s WIDOWS. Photo Credit: Suzanne Tenner.

07/11/18

If I’d ever been asked to predict what Steve McQueen, director of 12 Years a Slave, might choose as his next project, there’s no way I’d have come up with the suggestion that a reboot of a Lynda La Plante TV series from the 1980s might be the perfect fit. But nevertheless, here it is: a big, brash, swaggering crime drama, bearing scant resemblance to the original series, other than its initial set up. For one thing, the story, adapted by McQueen and bestselling author Gillian Flynn, has been ripped from its English roots and relocated to the city of Chicago. For another, this is rather more than just a criminal potboiler  – it’s a nuanced, amoral tale that incorporates a whole bevy of dazzling twists and turns.

McQueen sets out his stall with incredible chutzpah, whizzing us through the opening sequence at an almost breathless pace. We meet Veronica (Viola Davis), loving wife of hyper-successful career criminal, Harry Rawlings (Liam Neeson). We encounter Linda (Michelle Rodriguez), rather less happily married to a gambling-addicted member of Harry’s gang; and we glimpse Alice (Elizabeth Debicki), struggling through an abusive relationship with yet another of these charmers. We also witness Harry’s attempt to steal five million dollars from rival criminal, Jamal Manning (Bryan Tyree Henry), watching agog as it all goes spectacularly tits-up, transforming Harry, the stolen money and his gang into a pile of ashes – and the three women we’ve just met into the widows of the title. And that’s just the opening ten minutes. Phew!

No sooner is the funeral out of the way than Veronica gets a visit from Jamal, who tells her, in no uncertain terms, that he wants his money back and she has just a week to get it for him. Veronica is understandably terrified. She’s not a criminal, she’s a former representative of the Teacher’s Union. How is she going to find the necessary funds? And then she discovers that locked away in his regular hideout, Harry has left detailed plans for yet another audacious robbery…

As the story stretches out, more characters enter the scenario. There’s Colin Farrell as dodgy politician Jack Mulligan, running against Jamal for re-election as a local alderman and trying to shrug free of the embrace of his racist father and political predecessor, Tom (Robert Duvall). There’s Jamal’s terrifyingly brutal henchman, Jatemme (Daniel Kaluuya), tasked with the job of retrieving the stolen money that his boss was planning to use to finance his own political ambitions. And then there’s Belle (rising star, Cynthia Erivo), Linda’s muscular babysitter who is drawn into the ensuing heist when Veronica, Linda and Alice realise they need somebody to drive a getaway vehicle.

It’s all so confidently woven together that there’s barely time to appreciate McQueen’s storytelling skills – though a scene where Mulligan and his assistant drive several blocks in a car is a particular stand-out. The two characters talk off-camera whilst the audience’s gaze remains resolutely fixed on the scenery, making us appreciate what a short drive it is from the poverty stricken community that Mulligan represents to his palatial residence, just a few blocks away.

But this is only one sequence in a film that fairly bristles with invention and one where every character – politician, priest or passing person – comes complete with a hidden agenda and where nothing can be taken at face value. The action sequences are compellingly handled, and there’s a shock reveal half way through proceedings that actually makes me gasp out loud. With so much happening, the running time of two hours and nine minutes fairly gallops by, leaving me vaguely surprised when the closing credits roll.

Okay, you might argue, let’s not get carried away. After all, at the end of the day, it’s still just a crime drama, but one thing’s for certain: if other films in the genre were as assured as this one, chances are I’d be watching a whole lot more of them.

Go see.

4.7 stars

Philip Caveney

Stuff

06/05/18

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Sylvia Dow’s Stuff, the story of Magda, a woman who struggles with a hoarding disorder, really resonates with me. Not that I have the same affliction – I don’t; I’m definitely on the ‘minimalist’ side of the spectrum – but I did have an uncle who lived a life a lot like hers. The play reminds me of him, and it makes me sad. Mainly because I miss him, but also because of how much he missed out.

Directed by Muriel Romanes, this is a subtle, nuanced piece, told with tenderness and care, and never judgemental: not about Magda and her teetering piles of junk; not about her daughter, Chrissie (Romana Abercromby), who’s never once phoned since she left home; not about Jackie (Pauline Lockhart), the social worker assigned to ensure Magda clears her home because the neighbours have complained.

Carol Ann Crawford’s Magda is at the centre of the piece, and it’s a lovely performance. Magda’s sadness and vulnerability are palpable throughout, but so are her humour and her humanity. And Rosemary Nairne’s opera-singing Mama-ghost adds an extra dimension, physicalising the memories Magda can’t let go, not least her childhood in war-torn Ukraine. The singing is haunting and beautiful.

The set is rather special too. It doesn’t seem so at first: just a pile of boxes and scattered sheet music. But the boxes begin to reveal a doll’s house of recollections, cleverly constructed miniatures, designed by John and Jeanine Byrne. There’s a graveyard, a grand piano, a teetering pile of chairs: eight boxes, eight spaces, eight specific memories. No wonder Magda struggles to give up her precious things.

Tonight is Stuff‘s last night at the Traverse, and it’s sold out – but, if you can get hold of a return ticket, it’s certainly worth your while. This is a thoughtful, thought-provoking play, and I know that it will stay with me.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

 

Vulcan 7
Theatre Royal Bath & Jonathan Church Productions Vulcan 7 by Adrian Edmondson and Nigel Planer Dress Rehearsal Sept 2018 Directed by Steve Marmion Designer Simon Higlett Lighting Designer Philip Gladwell Adrian Edmondson/Gary Savage Nigel Planer/Hugh Delavois Lois Chimimba/Leela ©NOBBY CLARK +44(0)7941-515770 +44(0)20-7274-2105 nobby@nobbyclark.co.uk

05/11/18

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s been 40 years since Adrian Edmondson and Nigel Planer first appeared together at Soho’s Comedy Store. They were fresh out of University then, with a hunger for success and, as they both readily admit, considerably more hair. Ahead of them lay the triumphs of The Comic Strip and The Young Ones. In this latest incarnation, the duo appear, appropriately enough, as a couple of not-so-young actors, sharing a trailer on the Icelandic set of low budget sci-fi movie, Vulcan 7. It’s clear from the outset that the two of them have a few scores to settle before the shoot can begin.

Edmondson plays Gary Savage, a once successful star of stage and screen, who, after several disastrous marriages and a life devoted to total debauchery, is now reduced to accepting a walk-on role as a ‘Thermadorian,’ a lobster-like creature with just a single word of dialogue to deliver. Planer is Hugh Delavois, who, while he might not have achieved the dizzy heights of stardom, has nevertheless worked steadily over the years and managed to appear in all seven of the Vulcan movies. He has accordingly been given a ‘luxury’ trailer to stay in, while Savage is expected to share a humble ‘three-way’ with other minor stars, something which doesn’t sit well with him at all.

The hapless runner assigned to look after (i.e referee) the duo is Leela (Lois Chimimba), who clearly has her work cut out for her, and that’s before the local volcano decides to erupt, stranding Hugh’s trailer on the edge of a crevasse and plunging the cast and crew into a life or death situation. And then Gary discovers a crate of wine…

Written by Edmondson and Planer (and perhaps inspired by the former’s recent appearance in the latest Star Wars movie) Vulcan 7 is consistently entertaining and, while the laughs may not be of the runaway variety, there’s wry humour here and some knowing winks at the current state of the film industry. The two comedians are given plenty of opportunity to extend their acting chops beyond the usual limitations, and Chimimba proves to be an adept foil for them. Those who have long thought of Edmondson as a one-trick-pony will be pleasantly surprised by his efforts here. His failing actor persona manages to be both funny and vulnerable, even (especially) when slagging off Daniel Day Lewis.

There’s also a brilliant gimmick in Simon Higlett’s ingenious set which increasingly angles the trailer into an ever-steeper diagonal aspect, a conceit that quite literally ramps up the tension every twenty minutes or so and eventually leads to one of the trickiest curtain calls I’ve ever witnessed.

I had a lot of fun with this and chances are, you will too.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

 

 

Peterloo

04/11/18

As somebody who lived and worked in Manchester for many years, the title of this film strikes a resonant chord with me. It refers to a particularly horrible massacre which occurred in the summer of 1819, when a huge crowd of peaceful pro-democracy campaigners marched to St Peter’s Field to hear a speech by acclaimed orator Henry Hunt, and were promptly set upon by the local yeomanry and a detachment of Hussars with sabres drawn. In the ensuing melee, 15 people were killed and more than 500 were seriously injured. The event was subsequently airbrushed from the pages of history and rarely spoken of. It’s not taught (much) in schools and many people – even those who live in the city where it occurred – have never heard of it.

One man who clearly thinks of this as a major injustice is Mike Leigh. Peterloo is his attempt to rectify the situation and it represents his most ambitious undertaking to date, portraying the slow build-up to the event and the massacre itself, whilst still employing his unique (at least in film) improvisational technique, where the actors inhabit their characters and devise their own dialogue. I’m sorry to say that I don’t think it works too well when applied to something of such immense scale. Sure, Leigh has visited the pages of history before, both in Topsy Turvey and in Mr Turner but, in both cases, he was working on a smaller canvas. Don’t get me wrong, I’m generally a huge fan of Leigh’s films, but what works brilliantly when applied to more intimate events founders somewhat here. Mind you, to be fair, the film does start well.

We meet Joseph (David Moorst), a young bugler at the Battle of Waterloo, clearly deeply and permanently traumatised by his experiences. The war over, he heads home on foot, to find his family struggling to survive in a country assailed by the corn laws, which prohibit the import of cheap grain. Family matriarch, Nellie (Maxine Peake), and her husband, weaver Joshua (Pierce Quigley), can barely afford to eat, so it’s hardly surprising when they find themselves increasingly drawn into the pro-democracy movement and looking forward to the great day at St Peter’s Field, when thousands of people in similar situations will come together to challenge the powers-that-be. The settings are convincingly done. Here is real squalor, real hardship, a million miles away from the chocolate box imagery so beloved of many period dramas – and early scenes of luckless individuals in court being sentenced to heinous punishments are powerful stuff.

But there are a lot of characters to take in – so many that, inevitably, acclaimed actors are demoted to tiny, walk-on roles. And there are speeches – a lot of speeches – so many that the film’s two hour running time starts to drag, especially in the long sequence depicting the mass gathering at St Peter’s Field. Henry Hunt (Rory Kinnear), heralded as a hero by the protesters, is depicted as a rather unpleasant, horribly self-serving prig who clearly thinks himself a cut above the working-class people whose plight he is supposed to be representing. The people would clearly have been better served by speaking for themselves.

If there’s a problem, it’s that virtually every establishment character we encounter is a smirking, pompous and downright unpleasant individual verging on caricature. This reaches its apotheosis in Tim McInnery’s turn as the Prince Regent, a bloated, giggling buffoon, not so much out of touch with the electorate as living on another planet. Of course the ruling classes’ behaviour was abominable, but this seems crude and over-simplistic.

And then of course, there’s the massacre itself, a lengthy sequence that really ought to bring us to tears of outrage – but the film’s 12A rating obliges Leigh to hold back from making it too visceral and the result, with sabres clearly hitting little more than fresh air just feels clumsy and unfocused. If ever a sequence cried out to be properly storyboarded, this is it.

This isn’t a total dud. Indeed, there’s plenty here that does work but, I think, too much that really doesn’t. I feel bad for not having enjoyed it more. I really wanted to like it, but ultimately, it feels like a missed opportunity. This is such an important subject, one that symbolises a turning point in British history and the democratic movement. I can’t help feeling that it deserves a better film than this.

3.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Brewhemia

03/11/18

Market Street, Edinburgh

This is our third visit to Brewhemia, and this time we’ve persuaded friends to join us. The promise of live music, themed performances and – not least – Schöfferhofer grapefruit beer on tap makes this an offer they can’t refuse. We’re ready to have fun.

Brewhemia is a vast enterprise, appealing to a wide demographic. We’re here on a Saturday evening, and there’s a nightclub vibe, but it’s oddly inclusive: there are people of all ages, some dressed to the nines, others much more casual. It doesn’t seem to matter; the place is big enough to accommodate all sorts. This is reflected in the building too: we’ve chosen to sit in the huge beer hall, because we want to see the band and the performers, but there are plenty of more intimate spaces tucked away up on the mezzanine, and a quieter dining area at the front of the venue.

Tonight’s theme is ‘Vegas’ and there are already actors mingling with the crowd: a couple of showgirls, a croupier, a ‘just married’ husband hugging a stuffed tiger. It sounds tacky – and it is – but it’s all done with such vivacity and good humour, such unabashed pleasure, that it really works, putting smiles on our faces – or maybe that’s just the beer. (On our previous visits, we’ve been treated to ‘The Wizard of Oz’ and ‘Women from History’ – the themes are nothing if not eclectic!) The house band perform a selection of speakeasy classics, crowd-pleasing covers that we’re happy to hear.

But we’re not just here for the entertainment: we want to eat as well. Unsurprisingly, the food is of the robust, ‘soak-up-all-the-beer’ variety, and we’re delighted to oblige. Philip starts with the smoked haddock bon bons & Stornoway black pudding, which is served with slow cooked leek, pea puree, and a hollandaise sauce. It’s bold and tasty – if a little filling for a starter – and he enjoys it a lot. I have the beet hummus with coriander, feta, pomegranate, and flatbread. The hummus and all the little bits are lovely, but I’m unimpressed with the bread, which is cold, dry and unappetising.

Still, I’m not too bothered: I don’t want to load up on carbs right now, not with the main that’s coming up. Because I’ve ordered the sausage fest, which is a platter of Crombies’ speciality sausages, served with wholegrain mustard, creamy mash and gravy. There are three sausages, and they’re not only enormous, they clearly have a high meat content. I’ve eaten vegan food for the last three days, so this seems particularly extreme. They’re delicious though, and I eat them all: the pork and fennel is the best, I decide, although the beef is good too, and the pork and herb. Our friends tell us Crombies’ butchers is a bit of an Edinburgh institution, and we resolve to check it out.

Philip has the winter schnitzel, which is chicken, served with truffle and parmesan mash, a fried duck egg, crispy onions, and beer-candied bacon. He declares it a triumph and polishes it off.

I’m not minded to eat a pudding – I’m absolutely stuffed – and remain resolute until everyone else orders dessert. I hear the words “bread and butter pudding” coming out of my mouth, and – ten minutes later – I’m facing a bowl of the stuff, served with whisky marmalade, dark chocolate, vanilla custard,  and marmalade ice cream. Somehow, I find the space for it, and very good it is too, especially the marmalade ice cream. Philip has no such qualms, and orders the sticky toffee and ginger pudding. It’s his go-to pud, and he’s pleased with the generous serving of butterscotch sauce, and not at all bothered that the kitchen has run out of vanilla ice cream; he prefers chocolate anyway.

It’s been a lively, boozy evening, and we’ve had a great time. And it’s not over yet: as the last plates are cleared, and we order a final drink ‘for the road,’ we’re treated to a glitzy lip-synching drag performance, ‘Jennifer Lopez’ and backing singers dancing on the tables and upping the vibe.

Brewhemia really is a special place: an oddity, but a welcome one. We’re still grinning as we step out onto the drizzly midnight streets. Cheers!

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

She Can’t Half Talk

 

31/10/18

Bedlam Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s Hallowe’en, but we’ve already done the spooky stuff. We carved our Jack O’Lantern days ago (the pumpkin soup is just a memory now), and we saw Dracula at the King’s last night. So tonight we eschew the Cameo’s Rocky Horror costume party, and head instead to Bedlam, where a series of monologues awaits.

Writer/director Sally MacAlister might still be a student (she’s in her third year here at Edinburgh), but her scripts are lively and assured. They’re original and sprightly, funny and sad. We’re impressed: this young playwright clearly has a bright future ahead.

The play comprises five unlinked twenty-minute monologues: there’s a foetus gleaning all she can about her mother and the outside world; a sex worker contemplating her future; a drag queen facing Christmas without his children; a tough kid refusing to accept her ‘victim’ label; a middle-aged woman raging against her dwindling sex appeal. They’re varied pieces, both in content and tone, and we’re intrigued by every one.

The Foetus is the quirkiest piece, a whimsical idea played with charm and vivacity by Julia Weingartner, and The Drag Queen (Myles Westman) the saddest, a tale of hidden truths, infused with gentle melancholy. The Camera Girl is outrageous and funny, with Megan Lambie’s bold, engaging performance really drawing out the laughs. There’s some interesting direction in this piece too: I like the use of Liam Bradbury as the banker, mirroring the girl’s movements as she tells the story of their disastrous date.

Perhaps the least credible is The Cougar: Kelechi Hafstad can clearly act and conveys the character’s emotions well, but she’s much too young for the part, and the writing here is less convincing too: I don’t think a fifty-eight year old would describe herself as ‘elderly’ nor compare herself to Helen Mirren (who’s fifteen years older, at seventy-three). Still, there are some lovely ideas in the script, and the delivery is witty.

My favourite is The Victim, a raw account of a teenage girl drawn into a cycle of rape and abuse. Tilly Botsford’s performance is mesmerising, and she really knows how to work a pause (the silence after the innocuous line, ‘She fell off a horse’ is the most powerful moment of the night).

All in all, She Can’t Half Talk is an impressive piece, and Sally MacAlister is clearly a name to watch out for.

Take a blanket and a hot drink though. Bedlam Theatre is really cold.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield