…in which Hille Perl makes a cameo appearance as the viola da gamba and sexting interest…
…it really isn’t often you’ll see those two terms – viola da gamba and sexting – in the same sentence.
Then, recently, DJ kindly bought me an electric ukulele in the style of an oil can:
…inducing me to comment to Ian Pittaway, after my last baroq-ulele lesson, that I now no longer know whether I seek to emulate Lee Santana or Carlos Santana.
Anyway, Janie and I were very excited that we would be seeing this remarkable couple, Hille Perl and Lee Santana, playing at the Wigmore Hall.
After such a build up and such high expectations, it wouldn’t be surprising if the concert turned out to be a disappointment, especially as we needed to brave unseasonably awful weather to get to The Wig. But no such thing – we were truly entranced by the music and their performance as a couple. It really was a beautiful concert from start to finish.
We found their style of remaining on stage throughout and looking so captivated by each other’s music making was quite touching. In particular, when Lee Santana played a few solo pieces on a slightly smaller theorbo; a “théorbe des pièces” to be precise, Hille Perl looked transfixed. As were we – what a sweet sound that solo instrument version of the theorbo had – I don’t think we’d ever heard one of those before.
Hille Perl and Lee Santana concluded the concert with Les Folies d’Espagne by Marin Marais, which is the very piece that Hille Perl plays solo in the movie Happy End. If you want to see what Hille Perl and Lee Santana look like playing together, here is a little embedded vid of them playing that very piece together:
They played us an encore on the afternoon which was unexpected and unannounced. I’m pretty sure it was O’Carolan’s Dream, which you can see/hear them play on this embedded vid:
The afternoon was an absolute treat; a super way to enjoy a Monday off work!
The subject matter of the play is fascinating; pornography, the objectification of women, violence against women and how all those things might interrelate. But, to me, the play fails to develop characters and plot sufficiently to make the audience care about the drama; only about the issues.
Janie thought that maybe it was the production that was a bit stilted rather than the play. Hard to tell.
A little unfair, perhaps, to compare a Finborough production with a Royal Court one, but the point is we do have the stamina for long days and long plays if/when the quality is high enough.
Returning to Masterpieces, I can understand why it seemed timely to revive the play, given the topicality of its issues in a subtly different context 35 years on. But as a play, it seemed very old-fashioned to me and the style in which the Finborough directed and produced this play very much locked it in as an 80s period piece, which (for me) was a mistake.
We rarely walk at half time, but on this occasion, tired and cognisant that the second half contains gruelling material, we did walk.
On the matter of Sarah Daniels writing style, I cannot find an extract from Masterpieces but here is a short monologue from The Gut Girls which gives you a feel for the style:
Anyway, we have seen far more hits than misses at the Finborough, so we remain fans of that super place.
Once again I found myself selected to represent the MCC against Middlesex University Real Tennis Club; a match scheduled for 28 April. But that was not to be my only Middlesex v MCC experience that week.
Tuesday 24 April – Middlesex v MCC
On the Tuesday, 24 April, there was an historic cricket match between Middlesex CCC Women and MCC Women at Lord’s. As it happens, largely by coincidence, I had arranged to play tennis at Lord’s that afternoon. So I rose early to get my work out of the way, taking the afternoon out to watch a couple of hours of cricket and do some leisure reading before playing tennis.
I commuted to Lord’s by public transport and found myself in a swirl of schoolkids and teachers on the Wellington Road – some arriving at the ground for the match and some leaving (there had been another exhibition match in the morning).
Do not be deceived by the empty stands in the photograph below, which I took from pride of place in the Warner Stand. The Grandstand was ram-packed with youngsters watching the game. As I understand it, 5,000 to 6,000 people attended the day, making it the largest ever crowd for a domestic women’s cricket match.
In truth the quality of the cricket was less than special. It reminded me a bit of Janie’s and my first experience of Women’s test cricket, at Shenley in 2003, in cricket quality terms. So there is room for improvement but also proof positive that improvement can come quickly – by 2009 when Janie and I attended the Women’s T20 World Cup final at Lord’s…
From my vantage point at the front of the Warner Stand, I did need to keep an eye on each ball in case it came sailing my way, but equally was able to do some reading too. I was re-reading chunks of “What To Listen For In Music” by Aaron Copeland, with a view to helping my nascent instrument-playing, not least in the matter of transcription, adaptation and shifting modes/keys.
But I was interrupted quite early in my reading by a young woman with a strong Scouse accent who had never been to a cricket match before and wondered whether I could explain “the rules” to her. She in particular wanted to understand wickets.
Unfortunately Middlesex Women at that time seemed signally incapable of taking any wickets – not even the relatively frequent potential catches that were being offered, to help me demonstrate the ideas.
Nevertheless, my pupil seemed to get the idea of catches and clean bowled wickets quite easily. Stumped and run out seemed a little further from her experience, so we both struggled a bit when I tried to explain those. I then paused momentarily to try to work out how (or even whether) to explain LBW, when the young lady told me she needed to meet a friend, thanked me profusely and took her leave of me. I was a little relieved to be honest…as was she, I suspect, as I spotted her at the end of the innings sitting on her own at the front, a few blocks away from where she had collared me. Perhaps she was now explaining “the rules” to an “imaginary friend”. Nevertheless, she waved at me as if greeting a long-time pal.
It was well cold that day. I watched and read from the comfort of the pavilion for a while, before changing and playing two hours of tennis; an hour of singles which went very well and then an hour of doubles, to help me get my head into the doubles side of things for my impending match. After I played, I tried without success to find out the result of the women’s cricket match – both the MCC and Middlesex websites put up photos straight away but not the result.
Friday 27 April – Warm-Up Practice Doubles Ahead Of Middlesex v MCC
When I realised that, by chance, my Friday singles match was to be against one of my MCC team-mates, David Mitchell-Innes, I mentioned this fact in bant form in response to one of the organising e-mails from Carl Snitcher, the team captain and my doubles partner for Saturday’s match:
I hope you are training hard for our role in this fixture. Mr Mitchell-Innes and I are due to do battle towards the cause on Friday…
…so you’ll either have two perfectly honed team members or a last minute need for two substitutes.
This kicked off a flurry of e-mails, initiated by Nick Hewitt (David’s doubles partner), that resulted, instead, in the four of us having a practice session together.
This sounded like a brilliant idea; an opportunity to have four perfectly honed team members. Except of course, when the competitive instinct kicked in, we soon realised that there was the risk we’d end up with a last minute need for four substitutes.
Carl bowed out a little early (it had been kind of him to stay on to join us at all) so when the practice match reached its inevitable denouement at one-set-all, five-games-all, forty-all…
…and I somehow, single-handedly managed to prevail…
…naturally emotions were running high. I don’t have a film clip of real tennis concluding in such a competitive spirit, but I have found a similar-looking example from women’s ice hockey:
Being Friday morning, fortunately, both Mark Ryan and Chris Swallow were on hand to help all of us to leave the court with our dignity intact and mop up ahead of the senior gentlemen, who were next on court.
In retrospect, I think this style of preparation worked better for Messrs Mitchell-Innes and Hewitt than it did for Messrs Harris and Snitcher.
Saturday 28 April – Middlesex University Real Tennis Club (MURTC) v MCC
So to the big day. Janie had kindly agreed to join us for the afternoon and help us to eat what I predicted to be, based on my previous experience of this fixture,…
…a sumptuous lunch provided by David Sloan. I was right about the lunch.
Janie and I attempted to play modern tennis first thing, but the weather was unexpectedly shocking at 8:40 when we arrived on court and we gave up, drenched, at 9:00.
We got to Hendon while the first rubber was in full sway; a close-run affair which MURTC took by a hair’s breadth. Heartbreaking, it was. Almost enough to put one off one’s food. “ALMOST” I said.
So while the next rubber was in full sway, most of us took advantage of the delectable spread. The highlight was a superb joint of roast beef, but there was also smoked salmon, a fine selection of cheeses, plus bread, potatoes and salad.
We socialised. We ate. We got to meet John and Catherine’s delightful cocker spaniels. We watched Messrs Mitchell-Innes and Hewitt take full advantage of their practice session from the previous day to level the match 1-1.
At that stage of the afternoon, Carl seemed less concerned about the impending battle with MURTC and more concerned about doing battle with his internet service provider, who had simultaneously threatened to cut off his services unless he paid his account, while seemingly making it impossible for Carl to pay. At roughly the same time, David and Will did battle with a computer, a large television set and a TV subscription website, to enable us to see the final chapter of the 2018 World Singles Championship.
Next up for MCC was Sebastian Wood and Chris Stanton, the latter I have, coincidentally, known for over quarter of a century from my time writing for NewsRevue – he was the first professional actor ever to perform one of my lyrics:
No comedy involved in the fierce contest of this tennis match, though. But by the time that third rubber was concluded, MURTC were leading the fixture 2-1 and most of the crowd was watching the telly rather than watching the live tennis.
Naturally Janie (Daisy) took pride of place in the dedans gallery, along with a few others, to watch me and Carl Snitcher do battle with a pair of mighty gladiators from MURTC. Even more naturally (to anyone who has seen Daisy play modern tennis) she was cheering and applauding points won from false shots, dodgy bounces and net chords as vociferously as good shots.
In short, it is probably just as well that most of our MCC team-mates were watching the telly during that final rubber. It was all over rather quickly, MURTC winning the match 3-1, at which point those of us still on court mixed it up and played for fun for a good few minutes longer.
After that, we all decompressed and enjoyed some social minutes while watching the very end of the 2018 World Singles Championships on the TV.
Sadly, I don’t have any film clips of this year’s MURTC v MCC match, nor of the 2018 world championships that people were watching on the TV. I do have a couple of similar clips, but they have got all mixed up and I really cannot tell which is which – I’ll have to leave it to the viewer to judge:
Anyway, the match was a great success, both as a sporting and as a social occasion. With thanks not least to David Sloan for organising the fixture and food, Will/MURTC for hosting and making the match run…and of course to Carl for trying to organise the MCC team – a task that might be described as, “like trying to herd cats”.
We thought this was another really good Orange Tree production of a new play by a new playwright. Once again Paul Miller and his team showing a consistently good eye for talent.
On paper it sounds like yet another small-scale drama about lonely lives and handling grief. But the dialogue sparkles, the mix of tragedy and comedy is elegantly handled and the production values are quite outstanding for a tiny theatre like the Orange Tree. Very clever design with the odd coup de theatre thrown in for good measure.
All four performers were excellent, with Irfan Shamji as Harry the standout performance amongst stiff competition…not that it IS a competition.
In truth, it is a slightly slow play – a lot of build up and back story – but the dialogue is so well written and the piece so well acted and directed, the 105 minutes seemed to whizz by in a jiffy…
…much like the life of a mayfly.
No reviews at the time of writing – ahead of press night – but I’d expect this one to be well received, so (if you are reading this during the run, which ends 26 May), book early to avoid disappointment.
For once we did not indulge in Spanish food after the show – my indulgences over the preceding 24 hours, which included a sashimi feast when I returned from Chelmsford…
The original idea for this expedition was to be a day at the Essex v Lancashire cricket match with Escamillo Escapillo as well as Charles. Indeed, Charles had also been hoping to line up Nigel “Father Barry White” Hinks – a Lancashire supporter, like Escamillo Escapillo – but in the end neither of the Lancastrians could make it.
With the cricket season still new and the weather set fair (at long last), I was still up for it, so we arranged that I would drive over to Malloy Manor, leave Dumbo in safe custody there, while Charley drove us to Chelmsford for the day.
Charley was on hand to greet me as I arrived along the driveway of Malloy Manor – he then directed me to a very specific parking place he had in mind for Dumbo. It’s protocol galore in such rarefied parts of the land, it seems.
I had the opportunity to greet Mrs Malloy briefly, but Charley wanted to keep the pre-expedition pleasantries to a minimum, as he was convinced that we needed to get to the members’ car park early. As it happens, Chas was right.
But it also meant that I didn’t get to greet The Boy Malloy, who it transpired was also in the house at that hour, as he is on late shift at the moment. That made me feel badly about not having even shouted out a “hello” to the lad, although The Boy could, of course, have come down to say hello to me. The Boy was probably seething with envy in his room, envisaging me and Chas relaxing all day in the sun at Chelmsford, while he would be toiling on a late day at work.
Before the start of play – Chelmsford looked a picture
Chas and I were in the ground and well positioned in the Tom Pearce stand by about 10:20. We would have been in place five minutes sooner, but Chas started to mount the wrong staircase for his favourite spot, realising his mistake quite late in the ascent and displaying considerable embarrassment at his error.
“You’re going to blog that mistake, aren’t you?” said Chas.
“How many years have you been coming here?” I asked.
It was a gloriously sunny day. I took the above picture and zapped it to Escamillo Escapillo, with a kind note:
Missing you already.
We watched the whole of the first session from Chas’s favourite, elevated in the Tom Pearce, spot. But while there, Chas spotted that, across the way, a small stand with green chairs has been erected, where formerly there were just some higgledy-piggledy loose seats. It was from that shady spot three years ago we had witnessed Essex v the Australians and a steward who seemed to have St Vitas Dance:
“That looks tempting for the second session”, said Chas.
“I can see some seats at the front, by an aisle, that would certainly do the job”, I agreed. So that’s where we went for the second session and the start of the third. A shadier spot for the hottest part of the day with an excellent view.
Soon after we arrived in that small green stand, a gentleman with a dog, Clive, arrived and sat near us.
Meet Clive
Chas and I remarked afterwards that, although people talk about County Championship cricket being attended by “one man and his dog”, this was the first time we’d ever seen (or at least noticed) a man with a dog at the cricket.
It transpires that the dog’s attendance is perfectly permissible at Chelmsford. Chas wondered whether the same applies at Lord’s.
“Only if the dog is of the requisite pedigree and from the right sort of family, I should imagine”, I mused.
Clive displayed extreme indifference to the cricket at times, which encouraged me to ask permission to photograph him and blog his pictures. A King Cricket piece on this matter is ready and will no doubt appear quite soon, by King Cricket standards. It will be worth it.
Having enjoyed my ham sandwich in the Tom Pearce (Chas went for cheese initially), I felt ready for my cheese sandwich just before tea – as Chas indeed felt ready for his ham.
But, horror of horrors, it transpired that Chas had eaten my cheese sandwich, not his own.
I should perhaps explain that it is Mrs Malloy’s charming habit to write a little personalised note in each sandwich, describing in detail the delights therein. Sometimes she will prepare different sandwiches for different people. She knows that I don’t like egg, for example, while Chas normally would opt for egg ahead of cheese.
As good fortune would have it, the menu was exactly the same for both of us on this occasion, so the fact that Chas had eaten “my” cheese sandwich rather than his own ought to have made no difference. But I threatened to snitch on Chas for this error. In fact, perhaps fearful of my squealing, Chas himself confessed to that misdemeanour when we returned to Malloy Manor.
Parenthetically, Mrs Malloy seemed irritated and a little anxious about Chas’s mistake, chastising him for his carelessness. Also parenthetically, I have displayed some strange symptoms in the subsequent days, which Daisy has diagnosed as mild arsenic poisoning. Daisy and I are both absolutely sure that these must be entirely unrelated matters.
But I digress.
Chas and I moved on to The Boy Malloy’s favourite side-on view (beyond the members area) for most of the final session of play, taking in some early evening spring sunshine.
Essex had been on the wrong end of this match for much of the day, but as the day unfolded they were right back in the contest, ending up, in my view, a smidgen ahead.
Late in the day we got a response from Escamillo Escapillo to my morning message. I wanted to take and send him a photo of the sunset, but while trying to mug the phone into a suitable light setting, ended up taking and sending a short video instead:
I told Escamillo that it had been super entertaining cricket – which it had.
When Chas and I returned to Malloy Manor, in addition to Chas’s chastisement for the sandwich swap error, I also got a quick tour of the lovely garden and a look at a wonderfully moving cricket team photograph, including Chas’s father, taken in a German prisoner of war camp.
It had been a great day. The weather had smiled on us and the cricket had been excellent. An especially memorable day of county championship cricket.
Gosh, we thought this was a very good production indeed.
We both normally have reservations about “dystopian future” plays. Janie in particular was not sure about the subject matter of this one when we booked it. Had it not been for my enthusiasm for the specific moral dilemmas I saw coming and our general sense that Hampstead Downstairs plays are normally worth seeing, we might well not have booked this.
In short, the play is about a future society in which genetic profiling becomes the “be all and end all” of people’s prospects.
Indeed Janie said she found the subject matter creepy during the interval and we noticed that several people did not return after the interval. That is a real shame, because the play was extremely well acted, directed and produced; well worth watching for the drama that unfolds, even if the story line is not quite your bag.
The plot was somewhat predictable, because (without wanting to give too much away) the motivation that might cause certain behaviours could only logically have been caused by the eventual, pivotal plot twist.
But I still think this is a good play – the dialogue is top notch and the moral dilemmas well worth exploring, even if in the context of a future society, elements of which seem prescient but the extreme version depicted seems somewhat unlikely.
Below is the promotional video for this play/production:
Attempts to get John Random (aka John Burns) to see some real tennis at Lord’s had not gone particularly well, previously, with John being called up to appear in a meerkat advert last time he was due to come see.
So when John called on the afternoon before our arrangement for 6 April, because he had a last minute call to be a 1940’s MP, we both thought the worst.
But in the end, as the call turned out to be 15:00, we still had time 6 April for John to see me play. As it happens, the contest turned out to form part of an unusual type of hat-trick. This was the second of three singles matches in a row in which my opponent had a double-barrelled name. Such names are not exactly rare amongst players of real tennis at Lord’s – but three in a row must be quite a rarity. In any case, I played well (by my own modest standards)…
Hopefully I have come on a bit in the 18 months since this photo was taken
…then John and I took some lunch at Mazi in Notting Hill Gate before he went off to be an historic MP.
I’d forgotten how good a place Mazi is – and so convenient for a local lunch. So when Stephen “Stentor Baritone” Barry got in touch on the following Monday with the good news that the Lord’s tickets we thought had got lost in the post had in fact been returned to him, I suggested we meet at Mazi for a quick bite on the Tuesday to avoid further possible postal misery. A very enjoyable lunch and a good chance to catch up, as we hadn’t seen each other for some months.
The Lord’s tickets in question are for Charles “Charley The Gent Malloy” Bartlett and Nigel “Father Barry White” Hinks, who shall be joining me and Daisy (Janie) on the Saturday of the test match.
But Charley and I had/have some cricket to see in advance of that test match – not least and first up, the opening day of the season at Lord’s – now a traditional meet. I produced a picnic in my traditional stylee. Smoked salmon bagels, Iberico ham muffins and a fine Riesling (Alsatian on this occasion) forming the core.
Gawd it was cold at times that day. But we suffered for our love of cricket and sat it out at the front of the pavilion.
The MCC have been granted permission to use floodlights for the County Championship matches this year, which is a real coup and/but frankly overdue. I understand why local folk didn’t want untrammelled use of floodlights at Lord’s in the evenings, but they cause no disturbance during the day.
We’d probably have had no play at all without the lights and indeed, because it was so gloomy, only got a limited amount of play – about half the day’s play – even with the lights.
Middlesex had of course been inserted by Northants and I thought did well to battle it to 136/4 by the time stumps were drawn.
No shame there, though. John Random had been similarly “stitched up like a kipper” by it. Indeed it seems to have fooled most people.
I dare Ogblog readers who missed the posting over Easter to click through, watch the little vid and work out what was going on.
But enough of Lauds and back to Lord’s…
…play ended a little early and the day ended all too quickly, as always. I shall be joining Charley at Chelmsford next Friday, with the weather forecast suggesting a more pleasant climate for cricket than that gloomy opening day. But it had been worth it for the splendid company and the cricket, of course.
The week had somewhat run away with me, though, having ruled out much of the previous work day unexpectedly for Hazel Jacobs’s funeral, followed by the Middlesex CCC AGM, which also had a somewhat funereal feel to it this season.
Anyway, I got to the office after an early meeting at the LSE and managed to get my office stuff done by the appointed hour, so I was able to hot-foot it to SJSS on time.
A jolly looking harpsichord
I thought Tabea Debus came across really nicely – showing great enthusiasm and academic interest in her instrument and the topic of the concert, while projecting also the poise and folksiness of a true show-person. A star in the making.
She has previous at SJSS and they in fact made a short vid for her first mini-residency as a young artist a couple of years ago – see below:
The concert I saw was mostly Telemann – the theme being the subscription lists Telemann developed during his masterful music business career, plus the high-falutin’ composers who were among his subscribers and friends; Bach, Handel and Blavet.
Below is a video of Tabea performing some delicious Telemann, but not the stuff we scoffed that lunchtime:
Tabea also played a couple of modern works which were part of a commission commemorating the 250th anniversary of Telemann’s death. One of those, Frank Zabel’s “…fizzling out” was extraordinarily complex-sounding and must be a real challenge to play.
Then on to a music lesson for my humble skills – although Ian Pittaway seemed surprisingly pleased with my simple transcription of a Loqueville Rondo.
Then on to punish myself with two real tennis singles matches at Lord’s – 135 minutes unbroken is too long for an old geezer like me.
But I digress.
That lunchtime at SJSS was an hour supremely well spent. I’ll be looking out for Tabea Debus’s name again, that’s for sure.
…this evening at the Royal Court – the opening night of Instructions for Correct Assembly – did not.
We arrived at the box office to the dissonant tones of a shouty man, who apparently did not understand what a member of staff was saying to him, tearing that poor member of staff off a strip. The evening went down hill from there.
We were told that the show was approximately 110 minutes without an interval – that is a worrying sign to me. It sometimes means that the play is so absorbing, the creatives feel it best not to break the spell with an interval. But more often it means, “best not to let the audience out for an interval, they might not come back”.
The bar was overcrowded and it took an age for us to get a couple of glasses of juice ahead of the show. The crowd seemed unusually down-beat for an opening night. This all gave me a sense of foreboding, which I did not share with Janie, other than to say, “I’m not sure I’m up for these heaving theatre bars any more”.
The audience did not get less irritating when we entered the theatre. A very tall couple entered the row in front of us – the female of the pair wearing a high-hair do reaching “fairly tall gentleman in a top hat” heights. “There’s lucky”, said Janie when they sat down a few seats to the right of us – at that juncture the seats in front of us were still free. In the end, though, in front of Janie, a very fidgety man. To the left of her, the type of people who forget that they are not in their own living room. Around the place, several mobile phones went off during the show.
Within about five minutes, I guessed that this play/production would not please either of us. At around that moment, Janie turned to me and whispered, “I’m not going to like this one – I can tell”.
What can I say about this play/production?
I had high hopes for it when we booked it. We had found an earlier Thomas Eccleshare play, Heather, at the Bush Studio, fascinating, just a few month’s ago:
But while that one was an innovative, quirky hit for us, Instructions for Correct Assembly kept missing the spot.
A couple who lost their only child in his early adulthood, try to build and train a robotic replacement.
There were some excellent lines. Eccleshare can write. The jokes when the couple did (or didn’t) turn the “opinionated dial” on the robot’s control panel were sometimes funny, although it was basically variants of the same joke several times over.
There were some excellent performers on show – their talents underused and misused on the whole. The only performance of note was Brian Vernel as the robot/druggie son.
There were some excellent illusions to assist with the creepiness of the robotic doppelganger idea – the production team clearly wanted us to experience the uncanny valley, as indeed the neighbour/friend characters get freaked out in the play.
Why the non-robotic characters were made to dance robotically during some of the scene changes is anybody’s guess.
The whole thing added up to very little in our view – a fascinating subject but a very poor play. The comedy of trying to assemble a robot much like an Ikea flat pack bed felt trite and inconsequential, while the tragedy that had befallen the family sat uncomfortably (indeed melodramatically) with the comedic element.
Below is a trailer/interview for this play/.production:
Perhaps we wouldn’t even have bothered to turn up had we watched that video in advance.
Once this show is reviewed, those reviews and other resources will be available through the search term links you can find if you click here. My guess is that those involved in the production and their loved ones would do best by not looking.
As we were leaving the auditorium, a small group of nice, older people were struggling because one of the women’s coats had got caught in the chair mechanism. We tried to help, but agreed in the end that they should wait for some assistance once the place emptied and the lights went up. The man, whom I recognised as a regular, said to me, with a twinkle in his eye, “we need the instruction manual for the chair”. Sadly, that was probably the most entertaining line of the evening.
Out in the lobby, the same shouty man from our arrival was tearing some other poor member of staff off a strip about some issue or another, this time about the exits. It was so bad, Janie remarked afterwards that she suspects that shouty man has a serious brain disorder. The irony of that notion – both with the subject matter of the play and the way we felt about the evening we’d just experienced, was not wasted on me.
Instructions for Correct Assembly is one to avoid.
We’ve mostly been very impressed by the stuff we’ve seen at the Finborough Theatre. We started trying the Finborough less than a year ago and this piece, White Guy On The Bus, was our tenth visit in that short time. Again we were most impressed.
We thought we must have seen US playwright Bruce Graham’s work before, until we realised that we were both probably making an amalgam of Bruce Norris and James Graham. The best of those two would make a pretty formidable amalgam as it happens and Bruce Graham’s piece, while perhaps lacking some of the flair of either of his semi-namesakes, was an excellent piece of writing.
Add to that Finborough’s ability to assemble a quality team of actors and creatives to pull together a low budget production that punches well above its weight…
…this was a very good evening of fringe theatre.
The themes of racial tensions, social inequality and political correctness seemed absolutely pertinent for our times. In truth the play is a bit of a slow starter, but by the interval we found ourselves hooked on a thriller with lots of issues and by the end we felt thoroughly entertained and thought-provoked. Two hours well spent.
Below is a trailer from one of the US productions – Curious Theatre Company:
Below is an extract from another of the US productions – Northlight Theatre – which gives a better feel for how the play comes across on a small stage:
as Janie and I we were walking up the stairs to the theatre, the man in front of me turned around and said “hello Ian” – it was Kim Ridge. I wondered out loud whether Kim and Catherine were regulars at the Finborough, but it turned out that they were there quite by happenstance having decided to give the place a try for the first time;
after the show, “The Ridges” disappeared rapidly, but Janie and I stuck around and chatted briefly with a very nice Canadian lady who had been sitting next to us. It turns out she goes to many of the fringe places we go to – I didn’t recognise her face but suspect we’ll run into her again. Next to her was a really pleasant young woman who also chatted with us about the play. It was that sort of theatre experience for us – we wanted to talk about the issues afterwards;
a yummy meal in Noddyland taken away from Mohsen’s – Janie and I continued to mull the issues over dinner.
