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Posts Tagged ‘Andrew Maxwell’

Crocodile Fever*** at the Traverse was an extraordinary cocktail of black comedy, horror & fantasy with an added dose of the surreal! Set in South Armagh during ‘the troubles’, two sisters who haven’t seen each other for eleven years unleash horror on their bullying dad, with a lot of twists, turns and revelations along the way. It was too Tarantinoesque for my taste, a bit heavy handed and OTT, but you had to admire it’s chutzpah, and gold stars to the production staff who have to erect and dismantle an elaborate set worthy of the West End daily, the latter after it’s been roughed up rather a lot.

One of political comedian Matt Forde‘s daily shows**** is each week turned into a live, lighthearted political podcast with a guest and when we went he’d pulled off the coup of getting Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon. It was a good blend of serious and irreverent and Sturgeon was game; I rather warmed to her.

Manual Cinema’s Frankenstein**** is the creation of a silent movie before your very eyes using three overhead projectors, actors, puppets, live music and sound effects. You can watch the creation or the end result or both, as I did. This American group is like our own Paper Cinema, but bigger and more complex, with ‘live’ action. I found myself more engaged with the creation than the story, but it was captivating nonetheless.

In a joint venture with the Television Festival, we got to see TV writer Russell T Davies****, most famous for resurrecting Dr Who, in conversation, illustrated by film clips. His body of work is extraordinary and his enthusiasm and boyish nerdiness was infectious. Illuminating and entertaining.

I only know American folk musician Anais Mitchell**** from her recent NT & Broadway hit musical Hadestown, but I loved her concert at Queens Hall. She writes great songs, and with the help of another guitarist, plays and sings them beautifully. Carsie Blanton provided outstanding support with a more varied, lighter set that was just as enthralling.

Buzz*** at Summerhall was storytelling illustrated by film, music and a soundscape. It was often gripping, but when the actor used a microphone she became inaudible behind the music / sound and when she changed character you sometimes got lost; well, I did anyway. I had to ask my companions too many questions afterwards!

No such problems with Fishbowl**** at the vast Pleasance Grand as there was next to no dialogue! This French company presented an ingenious and hysterical show about three very different inhabitants of adjoining attic apartments and their connections with one another. Brilliant physical comedy and a real comic treat.

Had I fully realised what Julius ‘Call Me Caesar’ Caesar*** was I probably wouldn’t have gone. It was a frenetic one-man-telling of Shakespeare’s story which even at only an hour seemed too long, but you had to admire comedian Andrew Maxwell’s hard work and audience engagement.

Modern opera’s are a risky affair but Breaking the Waves****, based on the Lars von Trier film of the same name, was one of the best I’ve ever seen. The challenging story of what one troubled woman believes she has to do for god and the love of her injured man was hugely dramatic and the music just as dramatic but also accessible. American soprano Sydney Mancasola was stunning in the lead role.

Back at the Traverse to begin the final day with How Not to Drown*****, the story of a Kosovan refugee who from aged 11 to 16 travelled to and lived in England, returning briefly to reunite with his parents in Tirana. It was deeply moving, with the refugee himself (now late twenties) narrating / performing, and brilliantly staged and performed. An absolute highlight.

Sometimes the juxtaposition of shows impacts enjoyment, and so it was with Austentatious*** which seemed too light and frivolous after How Not to Drown. Still the improvised ‘Pride & Prejudice on the Titanic’ was fun, but it would probably have been more fun at another time.

1927’s Roots**** at Church Hill Theatre didn’t live up their earlier work, largely because it was a loose collection of unconnected tales rather than a cohesive story, but their unique brand of live action and music synchronised with animation worth seeing nonetheless.

The final show, at the Traverse again, was Enough***, about two air stewardesses having a mid-life crisis. I liked the poetic writing, but the attempts at bringing in bigger issues were a bit obtuse and half-baked.

Little time to take in much art, but retrospectives of Bridget Riley and recent discovery (for me) Victoria Crowe and some Grayson Perry tapestries telling the life story of fictional Julie, the inspiration for his House for Essex, were all very good, and of course some fine dining, notably at newbie Grazing by Mark Greenaway, last year’s discovery The White Horse seafood restaurant and Martin Wishart’s The Honours.

A year without bummers, and with more than 60% of shows shining. Until next year?…..

Time for a rest; four days in Northumberland…..

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Well, here we are again at the world’s largest arts festival, and this year without any main festival shows booked because the programme for our week looked a bit dull. Still ,with more than 2000 shows on the fringe, you’re not going to be twiddling any thumbs up here.

We started with Africa Heart & Soul*** by a group of five performers from Zimbabwe who tour their show to raise money for their youth work. The harmonic singing was gorgeous and some of the dance was good too, but they tried to create a narrative that came out a bit embarrassing; they’d have been better sticking to a song and dance show. Still, a good cause and the spirit of the fringe.

The first highlight was Antonio Forccione***** with his trio including regular Brazilian percussionist and a new Senegalese Kora player. The sound is gloriously uplifting and it’s without question the best band he’s put together. They’re clearly loving it and it was infectious.

The first trip to the Traverse Theatre was for The Golden Dragon***, a show that weaves the stories of the staff of the Chinese-Thai-Vietnamese restaurant of the show’s title with those of its customers and neighbours. It was clever and original with some lovely touches, including regular ‘punctuation’ by menu descriptions ,but it outstayed it’s welcome by about 10-15 minutes and became a bit too surreal in the end.

I always seem to make the mistake of booking monologues when I know I don’t like them, and I did it again with A Slow Air**, lured by favourite playwright David Grieg and favourite theatre The Traverse. This was a sad tale told in two interlocking monologues. It’s well written and you can’t fault the performances but for someone with a visual imagination, under stimulating. For me, something for the radio not a theatre.

Faure’s Requiem by candlelight*** at 10pm in a church after a nice supper with rather too much Montepulciano – yes, you guessed, I joined Narcoleptics Anonymous rather quickly and the rest is a bit of a blur, but a rather pleasant blur nonetheless!

The two Welsh members in this year’s party booked for Llwyth (Tribe)*****, a play in Welsh, partly out of loyalty and partly because theatre company Sherman Cymru had given us two treats in the last two years with Deep Cut and Speechless. A play about a group of gay boys in Cardiff on the night of an international rugby match didn’t sound that promising, but it turned out to be an outstanding piece of writing which was staged well and brilliantly performed. It was captivating throughout, often funny and occasionally moving. Being from the valleys probably helped, but judging by the enthusiastic audience reaction not essential. When it opened with gorgeous choral singing I was impressed by the sound; when the choir walked onstage in the final scene, my mouth fell open. A highlight.

Sadly, we had to follow this with Wondrous Flitting*, a simply dreadful play from the Lyceum Company no less, at the normally reliable Traverse. Allegedly a social satire, it was a series of preposterous scenes that added up to nothing except a numb bum and a feeling that I’d waste of 90 minutes of my life. To appreciate the bad, you have to put up with the good, I suppose. Following Llwyth didn’t help, but it would have been bad following anything or nothing.

We ended Sunday with stand-up Sarah Milican***, whose Geordie charm is irresistible. Her use of ‘fuck’ doesn’t really suit her and we’d have liked more interaction with the audience because she’s good at it, but it was a funny hour which we enjoyed and brought the day back up again.

Monday started with an impulsive addition – Stepehn Berkoff’s adaptation of the Oedipus**** legend. I hadn’t realised Berkoff was in it, which was juts as well as he wasn’t, having pulled out following a slipped disc. I also didn’t realise Anita Dobson was in it too, which explained her sighting with Brian May at the restaurant we’d eaten at the night before. As it turned out, it was the eight man chorus and Simon Merrells who stole the show – not that Dobson and assistant director Matt Cullum standing in for Berkoff weren’t good too – they were. It was a touch long for the amount of story to tell, but was on a scale you don’t often see at the fringe and a thoroughly enjoyable show.

Judith sat next to two actors on the train up who were finishing off their show, as one does, so of course we had to go! It was an audio experience where you wear headphones and listen to stories unfold, but unlike similar experiences, the scenes were also being acted out amongst the crown in the Pleasance Courtyard so you could also wander around and if you found them, watch from as much distance as you wished (or not at all). In Invisible Show II****, four actors played a number of characters each and though the scenes did not seem to be inter-connected, it did add up to a satisfying dramatic experience.

We ended the first half as we had started with the spirit of the fringe, but this time it’s comic godfather Arthur Smith in his latest incarnation as chat show host for Arthur Smith’s Pissed Up Chat Show***. He’s now famously dry and the premise here is that the guests have to be pissed – they are breathalysed by ‘a licensing officer’ (his mate Terry!) to check. Our guests were a new labour spin doctor turned comic whose name escapes me, poet Monkey Man and comedian Andrew Maxwell, breathless from running straight from his show, but the highlight nonetheless. It was all rather eccentric fun, ending with a sing along Wild Rover with song cards held up by a naked woman and a naked man (who looked extremely uncomfortable, so I hope he got a decent fee!).

To be continued…..

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