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Theatre: are we f***ed?

The UK is in recession – which means the economy has been shrinking for most of the last year. 

Theatre is increasing being preserved for the wealthy, which will disproportionately affect the next generation of theatregoers

There has been a lot of discourse about ticket prices since the £400 tickets for Cock starring Taron Egerton fiasco. 

So let’s start with actor David Harewood: “My wife went to the theatre the other day, it cost her nearly £200 – who could afford that?”

Indeed, Harewood, Rada’s first black President, explained that theatre is at risk of ‘vanishing’ because of soaring costs and needs to be protected. 

Hard to argue with that.

Without wishing to over-egg a pudding that is already 90% meringue, audiences need increased transparency in ticket sales, and protecting from overpriced tickets.

In related news, then, Cameron Mackintosh Ltdrecently saw turnover almost double year on year – to £186 million – as the company reported its first full 12 months of accounts since the pandemic. Still, Mackintosh famously said “Theatre’s excellence comes at a price.”

Some guys have all the luck.

Plaza Suite in the West End, starring Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick, is selling “premium” seats at £395 (plus a £3.80 transaction fee!). That’s more than the average weekly rent for a studio flat in Primrose Hill.

Where does this end? Who are the people other than billionaire theatre owners, paid publicists, lapdoggy influencers and ATG staff defending premium prices? Literally nobody.

Increasingly, however, it’s not just me and David Harewood who are alarmed about eye-watering ticket prices.

Last year, Dominic West called West End ticket prices “crazy”.

Ralph Fiennes suggested to BBC One’s Sunday With Laura Kuenssberg that ticket prices are “worryingly high,” in the West End. “We can do it (lower prices),” he said.

David Tennant, recently said some theatre tickets had become “ludicrously” expensive and warned that young people would be deterred from going.

Society of London Theatre co-chief executive Claire Walker responded to Tennant’s criticism highlighting that average ticket prices had decreased when adjusted for inflation. Hmm.

Heck, even Patsy Ferran is uncomfortable with it all: “Theatre should be accessible. If tickets get to a certain price that only a very small amount of people can have access, it gets to be problematic… Prices have reached a point that is shocking to me, but maybe I should just get used to it.”

And it was unarguably powerful to hear Andrew Scott say seats costing £150 are driving away young people and risk keeping theatre ‘elitist’.

Scott told BBC Radio 4’s Broadcasting House programme: “No matter how zeitgeisty or how modern you think your play is, if you are having to spend £150, no person between the age of 16-25 or beyond is going to be able to afford that. That is frustrating to me.”

Of course, these criticisms have been flung at the West End for over a decade, and they routinely bounce off armour-plated titans like ATG, a company with all the too-big-to-fail swagger of a debt collection agency.

A recent survey by The Stage newspaper showed the average price of the most expensive tickets was £141, but the average price of the cheapest had risen by more than inflation to £25. The latter development is a serious concern; these prices are creeping closer to Broadway levels.

Well, according to theatre producer Patrick Gracey, top prices “reflect demand and the willingness and capacity to pay by those people who want the best possible seats.”

He stated that it can cost up to £350,000 a week to operate a West End musical, which means that the production might need to sell £500,000 of tickets that same week to meet its operating costs.

Anyway, Cush Jumbo summed things up recently: “Audiences would be shocked to know what the actors performing on that stage are getting (paid) a week” she says. “Because it wouldn’t pay for two of those seats.”

Alas, even with the painful cost of living crisis, people are still paying the crazy prices. Of course, I agree this is a sensible way to balance the economical challenges of producing star driven work, with a limited run in the West End in 2024. But if you are on £34,963 a year – the median annual salary in the UK in 2022 – and after you have paid tax and national insurance, it would represent around one week’s pay.

Anyhow, I can’t believe it even needs to be said out loud: if no theatre producers agree to dynamic pricing on their shows, it would cease to exist. Trotting out ‘supply and demand’ won’t cut it. Economically, short-term salvation lies in the middle-class pound that extends to interval champagne and cheeseboards.

Nevertheless, I guess we are where we are. But what if that place is Birmingham? Or Bristol? Communities will soon be paying the price of horrifying 100% cuts made by the city councils to many theatre’s arts funding, in a move that has been termed “cultural vandalism” by many.

A holy slap has been delivered to theatres, and even a business built on pretending increasingly no longer avoids acknowledging it.

Suffolk County Council is exploring a new funding model after the total withdrawal of investment. Meanwhile, senior Labour councillors in Nottingham have refused to back proposed recent council cuts that included an 100% reduction to arts funding.

Surely it is now time for the bigger theatres to develop more innovative approaches to pricing, and address head on the issue that keeps most people out of theatres: the fact that the cost of going is often disproportionate to the experience offered. 

The increasing number of lotteries for tickets are not the answer, either. Often these lotteries involve very few tickets. 

Bring back day seats.

With the world on the brink of nuclear armageddon, I know this all sounds like a lazy swipe at the West End for being an uncaring behemoth, and of course it is, but there’s a serious point. 

We have got a big problem.

Indeed, judging by the commercialisation of theatre, current elitist trends and hundreds of comments on social media around this topic, perhaps 2024 will be the year the West End finally becomes a place where the young, working class and state educated are no longer welcome. 

That would be a tragedy.

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The Hills of California

Every so often, you’re watching a play about ordinary, deprived, unlucky people and something divine happens and they are are no longer ordinary. The transformative power of live theatre is very strong in Jez Butterworth’s new play.

We open in a Victorian Guesthouse in Blackpool in 1976, during the driest summer in 200 years. The joint is called Seaview (where there’s no view of the sea), and a family is gathering to say goodbye to their dying mother.

The rooms are given the names of American states: “I’m going to Minnesota”.

From here, we spiral back through time.

In the beautifully layered piece, we see younger and older versions of the four sisters.

At one point, matriarch Veronica coaches them, “Now then. Obstacles. Children, who else, in their career, when they were starting out, faced a barrage, nay avalanche of seemingly unsurmountable hurdle snags, bars, blocks and impediments.”

This is a fine piece of craftsmanship, with almost every detail in place. Magic runs through nearly all of Butterworth’s 3 hour drama. (Child cast Nicola Turner, Nancy Allsop, Lara McDonnell and Sophia Ally as the younger singing siblings are terrific).

To say that Hills of California is well lit doesn’t do exact justice. It is perfectly lit, by Natasha Chivers, which is to say, the colours are lustrous, the images so completely composed they are almost static – picture postcards of grief.

Yet the most memorable parts of the beautifully acted female-led play don’t *always* reach for that special clarity that makes action memorably poetic.

However, the details accumulate; nearly every detail of meaning is worked out, right down to each flicker of emotion in the supporting characters eyes.

On Rob Howell’s revolving set, with endless stairs, director Sam Mendes handles the cast immaculately; Mendes’ love of the material is palpable; it regularly makes one smile and gulp.

Butterworth isn’t afraid to hook you and to keep hooking you. There are no weak performances, either. The finely balanced tone of Hills of California is startling, both brutal and lyrical. An expansive evening that is heavy with the anticipation of buried secrets about to be revealed.

Laura Donnelley, playing both Veronica and estranged sibling Joan, soars particularly as the matriarch – her words are convincingly hers. Donnelley, Butterworth’s wife, has never been better, you don’t see her trying to act.

As Veronica, she conveys her remorseless watchfulness, sharp intelligence and chip of ice in the heart by coaching her daughters on the path from Lancashire to the London Palladium. She creates a driven, embattled woman – a woman prepared to do whatever it takes for her children to succeed.

“A song is a dream, a place to be, somewhere to live,” she explains, as she gathers them at her feet. 

A few trims and tucks would render it sleeker but part of Butterworth’s charm is the scaffolding that goes into the structure. There is nothing middle of the road about it.

More significantly, the emotional violence of this play is violent; you can’t get it out of your mind. There’s no question Veronica is guilty of allowing her teenage daughter to be left alone with a predatory music producer. 

Yet the harmonies and singing cradle us, quietly enhancing a tale that is at once timely and timeless. Deftly chosen songs (You can see it all come together during a rendition of Nat King Cole’s ‘When I Fall In Love’) put us right there in the moment.

Even so, it’s hard to find a critical language to account for the delicacy and intimacy of this play. This is an emotionally piercing and beautifully understated tale of family estrangement and loss.

What a pleasure.

‘The Hills of California’ runs until 15 June, Harold Pinter Theatre, London. haroldpintertheatre.co.uk

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Guest post – Mike Shepherd’s witterings

It’s been an eventful summer and we’ve been lucky !

My show Calvino Nights played the Minack Theatre without a hint of drizzle or Cornish fog.

It’s a straightforward relationship with the marvellous Zoe Curnow who runs the Minack. They pay to get the show “on,” we get it on, if we’re lucky with the weather, then we play to a full audience of all denominations, we generate income and share the profit…. simple ! I then use this revenue to generate more ideas for performance. There are no lengthy Arts Council Grantium forms to fill in, data collection or proof that giving people a good night out is worthwhile.

In the 90’s and the 00’s the cultural industries were hot, theatre was buzzing and Kneehigh was right in the thick of it. 

Venues, producers and ACE helped us fly and were seemingly hungry for artists to create. Now artists have to convince “those in charge” that art is valid and, without proof, we are dismissed. 

Indeed, the world has changed, it’s harder to know what’s real and it feels like the sense we need to find our bearings is being destroyed.

I took over a tumbledown set of barns on the Cornish cliffs in 1990, they became the Kneehigh Barns which I have run as a home for artists ever since. I have always taken creativity and the conditions of creativity seriously (but not too seriously) and it’s here, at these barns, where I find my bearings.

Recently I’ve hosted a variety of people – companies, students, young people, artists and, bizarrely, software specialists… for them the Barns was an alien environment which seemed to stir them, as they searched for things long forgotten.

With these different groups there has often been an anxiety which has been hard to combat. I have no easy answers to how to dispel all our increased anxieties although I find attaching a piece of agricultural fleece to a stick and telling people to play with the wind helps. 

At the Barns I want to tickle and jolt people into a more wild and self-willed state that doesn’t really have much to do with getting things right. At Kneehigh we took things seriously but not too seriously, we delved into all sorts, we agreed to tussle, we found our fools and on occasion, we used sharp intelligences but we didn’t obsess about getting things right and didn’t bother about what we referred to as  “wasted work” as we explored the improbable.

Creating the Barns and that community of artists coincided with finding out about the brilliant educationalist Ken Robinson (please check him out if you haven’t already)

Here’s a quote from him: “We need to educate our children for unpredictability. If you’re not prepared to be wrong you’ll never come up with anything original. We stigmatise mistakes in school, mistakes are the worst thing you can make. We are educating our kids out of their creative capacities.”

Sat in a cafe this morning I couldn’t but help overhear a parent and child talking about results and how they weren’t good enough for her to get into the university she wanted but that was probably just as well as they wouldn’t be able to afford it anyway- the teenager sat despondent and eyes down. This is very sad and things -(almost everything) have got to change. 

“Those in charge” don’t have to invent anything they just have to remember. In a moment of absurd optimism in Calvino Nightsa character declaims “everything that was lost will be found.” 

…. that’d be nice !

Anyway, I want to talk about Ben Stokes who, despite being hopeless at school has become the England cricket captain. The England cricket team had plummeted down the rankings due to a terrible run of results and a debilitating anxiety amongst it’s players. In comes Ben Stokes and simply gets players to play freely, enjoy themselves and not worry about results. Immediately their fortunes change and they become a winning side. 

Traditionalists and those with a preoccupation for “the right and the wrong way of doing things “ tutted aghast when England’s best batsman Joe Root played a completely unconventional ramp shot back over his own head. It could easily have gone wrong but it went for six.

There was a recent interview with England Test Captain Ben Stokes that resonated with me: “I want everybody to be selfless in the decisions they make,” said Stokes. 

“It’s always been my main goal playing for England to think about what I need to do to win this game when I have the responsibility on my shoulders, whatever stage of the game it is. That’s always been my main priority. Personal milestones and individual performances have never been at the top of my priority list. Bottom of my list of priorities is the result, I want to entertain-to give people a good time-to inspire.”

He talked about seeing Freddie Flintoff in 2005 when he was a kid and how that inspired him and how proud he feels that kids this summer, boys and girls, have been so inspired by the sold out, exciting games (when you never know what’s going to happen next) which he has captained this summer.

It strikes me that’s how we want our theatre to be in these times; getting back to a more wild, self-willed state.

Coincidentally, on the same day that I heard the Ben Stokes interview, I went to Leyton Park to watch a young circus company Revel Puck, they had a small big top (can you have a small big top?) that seated 500. The site was welcoming and exciting, the company were amongst the public, there was delicious food, I particularly liked the samosas, and a building sense of expectation. A sold out multigenerational audience took their seats, a lion roared terrifyingly and a young female clown ran into the space terrified.

The roaring continued whist a tiny remote controlled lion entered the ring in pursuit, eventually the remote controlled lion bumped into something which triggered a big chain reaction of objects and scenery cascading down and falling over. The audience went wild. The clown who so clearly knew her fool, in a gentle understated way, had the audience eating from her palm.

For me, when circus is a display of amazing skills, it fairly quickly becomes less interesting, less engaging. Revel Puck absolutely had brilliant skills but they presented them in a way which was totally engaging and elemental. They didn’t always succeed, it wasn’t always easy and as an audience we found ourselves complicit in their successes and failures.

In the interval, outside the tent, there was a buzz of activity as children cartwheeled, spun, balanced and attempted death defying leaps. Ben Stokes would have been proud.

The audience were so up for having a good time and it was a genuine thrill to be amongst them.

Of course, theatre takes many forms but to give a cross-generational audience a bloody good night out with tasty snacks and the opportunity to stick around, meet new people and maybe have a dance feels more important than ever.

It’s what we did with Kneehigh’s Asylum and I’d love to make it happen again. 

Meanwhile, I want the Barns to remain a place of inspiration where ideas can fly towards performance without concerning ourselves with “results”.

We need to keep finding inspirations and we need to inspire the next generations.

Mike Shepherd, August 2023

photo credits: Steve Tanner

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Top 5 shows of 2023 (according to me) 🎭

Hiya,

It’s top five time of year again – the shows that have made me laugh, cry, gasp, shudder. I have to say, it has been total chaos.

Yes: 2023 was a horror show. The planet is currently playing host to countless alarming crises. No wonder Mrs Doubtfire Musical is so popular.

Before we proceed, though, a recap of shows that should never have been staged.

Ah, Kenneth Branagh’s King Lear, starring Kenneth Branagh, directed by Kenneth Branagh, cheap and cheerless ABBA comedy The Way Old Friends Do, Kristin Scott Thomas and Lily James in Penelope Skinner’s joy-sucking play Lyonesse. A doomed Michael Ball in feeble Aspects of Love. Finally, Here We Are (NY) – the final (unfinished) Sondheim musical — all of them uniquely terrible.

Harsh, I admit, but I can confirm that, they were painfully dreadful.

Actually, people do tell you to write down your feelings in a journal, mine just happens to be public. I’m frequently asked why I don’t write my memoirs. I think I have.

And so on to my Top 5 Shows of 2023:

  1. Sunset Blvd, West End

In a good year for musicals, (I also loved Secret Life of BeesA Strange Loop and Miss Saigon) this Andrew Lloyd Webber show was the musical revival of the year.

Nicole Scherzinger starred in Jamie Lloyd’s quicksilver production that is Broadway bound. Scherzinger has such beauty and strength that she commanded attention.

Ultimately, it was a sleek, dark, glittering Andrew Lloyd Webber remix, the dehumanisation was funny and alluring and a little eerie.

  1. Oliver! Leeds Playhouse

It’s impossible to separate your reaction to a musical from your own history. I watched Oliver! so many times as a child that my absolute shit stepdad destroyed the VHS tape.

Anyway, this was a superb in-the-round regional production of Lionel Bart’s beloved musical. A bold, large-scale and ambitious production. Excellent.

Raw, stirring and deeply affecting, James Brining’s piece was a regional producing theatre delivering a huge Christmas musical a) precisely when their audiences needed it but also b) when the world most needs it.

Steve Furst was a superb Fagin. I sat there smiling and sobbing at the stage, in complete happiness.

  1. August in England, Bush Theatre

22 June 2023 was the 75th anniversary of the arrival of the passengers of the HMT Windrush in the UK. One of the great good fortunes of my 2023 – indeed career – was to to manage WINDRUSH 75; a creative schools project working with Windrush descendants across the North West of England.

Anyway, Lenny Henry made his debut as a playwright with a richly detailed one-man show about the Windrush scandal. Daniel Bailey and Lynette Linton’s powerful production was a blistering indictment of our government’s mistreatment of Windrush generation.

With a stunningly living-room set by Natalie Price, Henry’s part-monologue and part theatre as activism took us on a rollercoaster.

‘Have you seen Theresa May dance? Now that’s a hostile environment,” said August.

It was really funny and tackled all the big issues with a laugh.

  1. Here Lies Love – New York

I loved this imaginative and immersive  Imelda Marcos 90 minute disco musical on Broadway. It was a lot to cram in, but I was awed by the boldness of the conception: the Theatre was divided into four quadrants and the orchestra seats cleared out to make room for a dance floor.

Arielle Jacobs (better known as Jasmine from Broadway’s Aladdin) was simply brilliant as the former First Lady. And the all-Filipino cast breathed new life and feeling into the original source material.

The piece was, for me, concrete, simple, literal, yet it all worked on a metaphorical level, and it bursted with energy.

  1. Motive and the Cue, National Theatre

Sam Mendes and designer ES Devlin reignited Gielgud and Burton’s Broadway Hamlet in Jack Thorne’s beautifully rich play. Bonus was a staggeringly good Mark Gatiss. Johnny Flynn was exquisite, too. 

Thorne has a gift for snappy storytelling, rich dialogue and dry humour that allows him to handle big themes in an engaging way. Which is why this was the best new play of 2023. 

There we have it.

Beyond that, the theatre year broke down into five seemingly unending and increasingly apocalyptic elements.

Rip off ticket prices

Alas, whichever way you slice it, nauseating premium ticket prices are out of control, and are creeping closer to Broadway levels.

For example, next year’s West End revival of Neil Simon’s 1968 comedy Plaza Suite -starring Sarah Jessica Parker and husband Matthew Broderick – is shifting £350 tickets.

The intention to make money is generally all too obvious.

Indeed, the cheapest seats, which often have a restricted view, increased by almost 13% this year compared with last.

Furthermore, audiences – broken by industrial action, soaring inflation and a crumbling rail network – are being priced out of the theatre. 

Audience misbehaviour

Just to grind our gears a little more, a recent survey of theatre staff showed many feared for their safety. Incidents reported included physical aggression, threats of violence, sexual harassment, mass brawls, assaults on staff or other members of the audience, racial slurs, inappropriate use of mobile phones, and vandalism. Oh. Right.

Decline of Theatre criticism

The other thing is that, regrettably, there is much less of all arts criticism than there was.

It is not merely the praise of everything in sight — a special problem in itself — that infuriates theatregoers with a brain, but there is also the unaccountable decline in informed writing in favour of #gifted PR nonsense.

Nowadays, the shift from knowledgable writers to those simply in search of free tickets devalues theatre – and audience experience.

Arts in schools

The prioritisation of EBacc subjects (English language and literature, maths, sciences, history, geography and languages) in secondary accountability measures has led to a reduction in the level of teachers of arts subjects, resources, and GCSE and A Level take-up.

There is, too, an ever growing disparity between state and private schools provision of creative education. Colleges, too, that once fostered talent – often from working-class backgrounds – have vanished at an alarming rate – a creative education in the British state sector has essentially been demolished.

Cultural careers 

This year, filled jobs in music, performing and visual arts dropped by a total of 35,000 roles in the space of just under a year, “chilling” government statistics have revealed. 

Occupied positions in the creative sector fell from 311,000 to 276,000 between April 2022 and March 2023. Still, the reality is that only those from certain backgrounds can now embark on a creative career. 

Why does this matter? It’s not, to put it mildly, the immediate problem that really haunts me.

It’s the not too distant future, 10 years from now where only rich people get to make, write about and experience live performance.

And yet, theatre will always endure and thrive because it’s occasionally glorious, beautiful and thrilling but also very, unpredictable.

Good shows make you care, make you believe in possibilities again. 

What were your favourite shows?

Anyway: Happy Christmas everyone. Keep the faith.🎄

A joyous heart always,

Carl W x

Special mentions: The WitchesGuys & DollsPacific OverturesShuckedShirley ValentineCrazy For You. Standing at the Sky’s Edge.

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Cabaret: The Kit Kat Club *in Selfridges, London*

Money makes the world go around
The world go around
The world go around
Money makes the world go around
It makes the world go ’round.

A mark, a yen, a buck or a pound
A buck or a yen
A buck or a pound.
Is all that makes the world go around
That clinking, clanking sound
Can make the world go ’round

Money money money money
Money money money money
Money money money

If you happen to rich
And you feel like a night’s entertainment
You can pay for a gay escapade
If you happen to be rich and alone
And you need a companion
You can ring (ting-a-ling) for the maid
If you happen to be rich
And you find you are left by your lover
And you moan and you groan quite a lot
You can take it on the chin
Call a cab and begin to recover
On your 14-karat yacht! What!?

Money makes the world go around
The world go around
The world go around
Money makes the world go aroung
Of that we both are sure
On being poor!

Money money money, money money money
Money money money, money money money
Money money money, money money money
Money money money, money money money

When you haven’t any coal in the stove
And you freeze in the winter
And you curse to the wind at your fate
When you haven’t any shoes on your feet
Your coat’s thin as paper
And you look 30 pounds underweight
When you go to get a word of advice
From the fat little pastor
He will tell you to love evermore
But when hunger comes to rap
Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat at the window
(At the window!)
Who’s there? (hunger) oh, hunger!
See how love flies out the door

For, money makes the world go around
The world go around
The world
Money makes the world go ’round
The clinking, clanking sound of
Money money money money
Money money money money.

CABARET: The Kit Kat Club at Selfridges  until 31 December 2023

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Finally Some Good News: Indhu Rubasingham appointed new director of National Theatre

I remember asking Indhu Rubasingham what she wished somebody had told her when she was starting out in theatre. She replied that she wished someone had told her that she had a right to be part of this industry, and that her voice was important. “One of the skillsets that you need is tenacity and to keep going,” she said.

This week, Rubasingham, 53, has been announced as the first woman and first person from an ethnic minority to be appointed director of the National. She will succeed Rufus Norris, who will leave in spring 2025, and joins the organisation as director designate in spring. Important stuff.

Born in Sheffield and with Sri-Lankan heritage, she will be the seventh director since the National was founded by Sir Laurence Olivier in 1963. In the six decades since it was founded, all the artistic directors have been white men. 

“For me, this is the best job in the world,” Rubasingham said of her new appointment, in a statement.

She added: “The National has played an important part in my life – from tentative steps as a teenage theatregoer, to later as a theatre-maker, and to have the opportunity to play a role in its history is an incredible privilege and responsibility.”

Rubasingham landed her first theatre job at the age of 18, when she directed a production of Roy Williams’s Starstruck at The Kiln – then known as the Tricycle Theatre. As artistic director of the Kiln, her credits include The Wife of WillesdenPass OverWhite TeethRed Velvet and Handbagged. She steered the North London theatre through some of the most difficult years in living memory.

The NT may be 60 years old. It remains, however, an enduring, advancing, uncompleted project whose future will be determined by a unique variety of headwinds: by the quality of the team around her, by the perils of the British economy and, not least, by the impending General Election that the country so desperately needs.  

Inevitably, the gig had taken a toll on her predecessors. Peter Hall wrote in his diaries of his suicidal feelings. In his National Service, Richard Eyre, the director from 1987 to 1997, admits to “melancholia, a shrinking of the spirit”, along with, yes, “recurrent thoughts of suicide”. Yikes.

In 2022 Arts Council England, the funding body, slashed the National’s subsidy by 5 percent, to £16.1 million , as part of a drive to reallocate grants to institutions outside London. From next Autumn, the NT will face further budgetary hell when it must start repaying a covid loan worth £19.7 million. 

Rubasingham – who has directed a number of plays at the NT over the past 25 years – was among panellists discussing arts provision in schools as part of The Big Arts and Education Debate that I organised, held at Birmingham Repertory Theatre in 2018. Industry professionals gathered to discuss the fact that diversity would suffer because of the cuts to arts in schools.

She said at the time: “It’s so frustrating that the creative industries are worth £91.8 billion to the UK economy and [the government] is not valuing them We’re world-class [at the arts], and if we keep going this way, we’re not going to keep the pipeline, we’re not going to be able to get a diversity of voices, in terms of class and race.”

One of the reasons, then, I am thrilled about this landmark appointment is because Indhu cares. She cares about stuff that matters. I believe that she will flourish in this role, because to run the UK’s flagship theatre you must find the opposite of schadenfreude: you must take joy in other people’s successes.

In fact, Indhu is an expert in enabling others to do their best. This is brilliant news – the sort of news about theatre leadership that happens in a country that deserves better, but that no longer expects it.

So, onwards.

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Sunset Blvd

“GREAT stars have great pride…”

For all its bravado, Jamie Lloyd’s Sunset Boulevardbook and lyrics by Don Black and Christopher Hampton, is a bitter and queasy production, and the figure of Desmond is its greatest grotesque, a former Pussycat Doll of 47 striving to be 25, surrounded by video images of herself and entranced by her own face on a screen.

First thing is first, Scherzinger cannot act – it does not matter, though: her vocals are world class. 

This is musical theatre as gothic assault and battery, and like the recent sexy Oklahoma! grabs you by the balls from the first moment and never slackens.

Lloyd’s stylish revival opens with Joe Gillis, the narrator (Tom Francis), unzipping himself from a body bag. “I believe in self-denial,” sings Francis in Let’s Have Lunch, the line both a humorous take on his financial status and an acknowledgement of his sense of frustration. 

Desmond appears in just a black slip for most of the show and Soutra Gilmore’s design is dark. 

Crucially, video designers Nathan Amzi and Joe Ransom deserve credit for the cinematography, initially distracting, it pays off in that it gives a nod to old Hollywood and the Insta-era. There are big screens and live relay cameras, while both the backstage at the Savoy and in the street. Watchers and watched.

The screen wins, every time.

Meanwhile, at 10086 Sunset Boulevard, in Desmond’s mad mansion, there is always champagne to hand, and enough money to cater to her every whim and to turn Gillis into a kept man. 

“Without me there wouldn’t be any Paramount studios,” she declares, discounting film crew on the lot: in Scherzinger’s hands she becomes a victim of her own mania.

The lyrics – bittersweet, sharp and accompanied by a fabulous orchestra – are left to speak for themselves.

David Thaxton as Max Von Mayerling (he is the only one writing her fan letters) is brilliant as Desmond’s fiercely protective servant and former husband. 

Though the musical may be 30 years old, Lloyd’s stripped-down, psychologically focused production forces us to contemplate the cost of needing to be adored – namely, the unquenchable thirst for validation that cultivates beneath a culture of self obsession.

The opening of Act 2 is pulled off to stunning effect. 

Fabian Aloise supplies incisive choreography for the lively ensemble. I really liked the tongue in cheek staging of This Time Next Year. But for traditionalists – which I would mostly class myself – it’s a curiously disengaging experience. (Just don’t expect any of them to smile at the curtain call).

Elsewhere, there is subtlety from Grace Hodgett Young as Betty. The triumph is in showing that the jauntiness is not separate from darker aspects but dependent on them.

There will be those who can’t stand it, I am normally wary of parachuting pop stars and reality stars into musicals, but this version is an almost total triumph. It works.

Every now and then there is too much mugging and self-consciousness, of working too hard on pressing a point, but the detail is unrelenting. Here, Jamie Lloyd demonstrates that he has a sense of humour, which is a relief. 

Norma Desmond still causes excitement when she enters the soundstage. After all, she is big – it’s the pictures that got small. This is a revival with razor sharp clarity and passion.

Sunset Boulevard runs at Savoy theatre, London, until 6 January 2024


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God, Lyonesse

The title of Penelope Skinner’s play refers to a mythical lost kingdom in Cornwall buried under the sea. Yet the themes are wide-ranging: #MeToo, cancel culture, the oppression of women and more.

Lily James

I’d have had a lot less room to moan, though, if it had a couple of 3D characters and just one moment of tension to fill the West End in these bleak winter months. 

The cast look like they’ve been forced into positions by a cattle prod and would welcome the sweet release of a stun gun rather than endure one more second of this.

Speaking to the Guardian, Skinner, who shot to fame in 2011 when The Village Bike opened at the Royal Court, said she began writing Lyonesse in 2019 and ended up with a first script that was four hours long and ‘a little crazy’, in her own words.

‘It was not a play that anyone would want to watch,’ she admitted, before adding she went back to the drawing board to rewrite the whole thing. The only element she retained was Scott-Thomas’s character Elaine.

It’s mostly dreadful, in fact, and lacks even enough skill and subtlety to pace itself. 

The plot? Kate (Lily James) is an ambitious film executive and high achieving north London mother sent to draw Elaine’s life story out of her to re-fashion it for a film. But she is misunderstood by her husband (James Corrigan); considered irrational for abandoning her child; and humiliated; driven to melancholia spending time in the Cornish dump. She breezes through most of this.

Kristin Scott Thomas

Early on, Kristin Scott Thomas delivers a stand-up monologue that culminates in her jumping around to Ultra Nate’s You’re Free with her lesbian poet neighbour Chris (Sara Powell).

I want to be specific about my grounds, because so many people – and male reviewers especially – have been falling back on narrow or simply savage criticisms of virtue signalling. Lyonesse is short on characters, detail, activity, proper dialogue, even music.

Alas, it would be easy to be able to say that Ian Rickson’s 3-hour production of Lyonesse is bad strictly on formal and technical grounds, but that would, I think, be fundamentally a lie. It is very poor technically but that’s not all that makes it bad.

The play is full of bits of dialogue that have lost what they coupled with, character dynamics that have become rambling, scenes that trickle off. And I am certain it would be 20 minutes shorter if Scott Thomas had a grasp of irony and natural timing for comedy.

Despite all the activity, or perhaps because of it, the main characters are rather flat. Like many of us, it tries to be a success and unpack the implications of patriarchy and inevitably fails on both counts. This a play so obviously engineered that you can’t help seeing its form, maybe the writing accounted for the quality as much as the directing did.

Kristin Scott Thomas and Lily James

“It is time for me to step into the light,” Elaine (Kristin Scott Thomas) announces, a former star actress who disappeared without trace three decades previously.

In the most ludicrous single sequence, James plays a scene of comic female incompetence; she’s unable to light a house fire – that would be a historical low point on the Harold Pinter stage if the character didn’t later accidentally do it in an out of pace slapstick sequence. 

For me, the real kicker arrives, though, in Act 2, which was rushed, confused, and barely raised a laugh, it is difficult to know why it is so badly structured and edited. 

Elsewhere, alpha female boss Sue (Doon Mackichan) whose company specialises in “female driven narratives”, forgot her lines (it happens) the line was “Do you know what I think?”. 

Mackichan yelled frantically off stage: “Yes, Janine?” as if we were supposed to think her office door had been knocked on. 

The off-stage prompt came “do you know what I think?” this was Doon’s line.

Unfortunately, Doon has had to withdraw from Lyonesse due to a ‘private family matter.’

Doon Mackichan and Lily James

Do you know what I think?

New writing needs development, it needs space and it needs investment. Why is it 3 hours? Why are there stuffed parrots? Why is the set so lame? Why did nobody in dramaturgy intervene? Why demonise the entire male sex? 

This could have been brilliant. 

Still, as far as bold new writing on a West End stage, though? Lyonesse makes for lousy viewing.

Lyonesse plays at the Harold Pinter theatre, London, until 23 December

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Free Your Mind at Aviva Studios

THE world is in chaos, the Holy Land is in crisis, theatres across the country are being forced to close as crumbling concrete is found in their infrastructure.

How, then, will Manchester’s £240m cultural centre entertain us during this bedlam and ease our worried minds?

With the world premiere of Danny Boyle’s Free Your Mind, a hip-hop dance promenade version of the iconic film The Matrix, obviously. 

We are living in a simulation, but not in the way you might think. In his Republic, Plato suggests that something can be tangible and unreal, if it purports to be something it is not (as, for example, a statue does). 

Sometimes you have to let go of clarity.

Actually, if you were suspicious of all this new technology, The Matrix served as a cautionary tale about our devices overpowering our lives. 

Anyway, in June, the Manchester venue was renamed after the insurance company who – amid soaring construction costs – bought the naming rights for £35 million. 

At 13,350 square metres in size, the building has massive, flexible spaces that can be configured by moving walls to fit any size of performance. Impressive.

Boyle’s Matrix collaboration with hip-hop dance company Boy Blue, designer Es Devlin and writer Sabrina Mahfouz is certainly impressive. 

Sure, it’s prescient; all of us consumers placidly sucking up the trance-inducing pap from the corporate-political complex of the state. 

“Should we be worried that machines could think?” asks a spooky avatar of mathematician Alan Turing, that visual effects company Union VFX created from a photograph. But never once does any of it feel felt or earned; it’s all surface and no depth, a marketing person’s fantasy, not an authentic work.

During the interval volunteer (we’ll come back to these later) white rabbit-headed figures danced with the 1,600 audience members. Warehouse workers marshal us. It’s as much a part of the storytelling as safety measures, I think.

Part two, in the Warehouse, is more startling, with Devlin’s set guiding us through the occasion. London Fashion week on acid. We stand by an enormous catwalk. Narrow screens slide above our heads with a montage of Manchester’s history —millworkers, soaps, references to Joy Division — it becomes overwhelming. Keep your nerve.

Throughout, it looks spectacular. Boyle et al conjure scene after striking scene, their cast serve this material superbly, with miracles of poise and expertise. Their movement becomes part of the disturbing current of the evening.

Most effective, however, is the use of sound and music. Washed along on the surges and throbs of Sandy and composer Michael “Mikey J” Asante, pounding score allows ensemble members to hold our attention with their physicality. They are creators of distilled moments, all of which remorselessly powers the action along.

All the dancers (50, with 28 recruited from in and around Manchester) perform with precision and significant style. They outshine the flashy pyrotechnics, but even they can’t bring this concept to proper life. Yet Boyle is an astute man of the culture, and the second half becomes mesmerising as he starts to utilise the awesome scale of the Warehouse, this space is his canvas.

The grit in this oyster, however, is on the back page of the programme: “This group of Manchester residents have been an integral part of ‘Free Your Mind’, and we thank them for their time, effort, and creativity.’

Goodness me, no. 

This flies in the face of the show’s commentary on modern capitalism: a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work. Sort it out, please, John McGrath. 

Aviva Studios – four years late and costing more than double the original budget – can crow all it likes in public, then, about the 230,000 people that have already visited the venue since it opened in Summer 2023 — but if truly wants to ‘inspire creativity’ and ‘nurture careers in the arts’ then it should be paying people for their work. They are people who are providing the value so why are they at the bottom of the heap when it comes to getting paid?

The Wachowskis’ 1999 film anticipated – and changed – the contemporary world that we’re trapped in today. And now these are some of the worst of times – but they are also a perfect time for cultural organisations and, indeed, all of us to at least attempt to be better and more fairer, equitable versions of ourselves.

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I Went Along To Stephen Sondheim’s Final Musical: Here We Are

A gutsy posthumous musical from the greatest musical composer of all time doesn’t imbue confidence but Here We Are is a reminder of a theatre genius.

Here We Are (originally titled Square One) -becomes the third major Sondheim production running in New York City, alongside Broadway’s Sweeney Todd, and Merrily We Roll Along.

Sondheim said days before his death in 2021 that he did not know when it would be finished, he had written songs for the first act but was struggling with the second. “I’m a procrastinator… I need a collaborator who pushes me, who gets impatient.”

Here We Are – the final Sondheim Musical – is directed by Joe Mantello, and based on two films by Spanish director Luis Buñuel — The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Exterminating Angel, this show is written with the playwright David Ives. Act 1 is Discreet Charm, while Act 2 is Angel.

As for the wider backdrop, in Sondheim’s last interview, he stated that this show had a “so-called plot” in which “the first act is a group of people trying to find a place to have dinner, and they run into all kinds of strange and surreal things, and in the second act, they find a place to have dinner, but they can’t get out.”

Then again, it’s hard to work out what’s actually going on here. For instance, I read in January that producer Cameron Mackintosh said that the show was incomplete and only “50 or 60 per cent there.”

Cam Mack continued: “I think he wanted me to reinforce his view as to whether or not he was going to complete it. Because of the amount of energy it would have taken.”

Hm. Of course, the most difficult thing about making posthumous musicals is that the progress of the artist is frozen in time. No matter what decisions others make, they can only approximate the artist’s will.

So, is Here We Are any good?

Well, it takes aim at obvious targets, and makes a muddle of hitting them, in which self-absorbed characters are tortured by a wicked cosmos, and permission to laugh is never clearly granted. It’s the performances that make Here We Are a worthwhile, fitting postscript to Sondheim’s legacy.

In fact, everything of interest happens in the first act. The book states familiar truths in the most confrontational of ways; an Eat The Rich satire.

The plot: a group of people attempt to find a place to have dinner. Later, they do have dinner but cannot get out of the room. We are presented with American versions of the French bourgeoisie, this show is brilliantly lit by Natasha Katz: the set shimmered.

And, oh, the thrill of minimal choreography that is exact, from the reset of each attempt to have dinner, to the intimate chemistry between two angst-ridden young lovers. 

Yes, the fantastic cast including David Hyde Pierce, Tracie Bennett, and Bobby Cannavale try their best, but the book’s insistent conceptual droning overtakes them. There are no songs in Act 2.

In a memorable moment of fourth wall-breaking, a horny soldier, played by Jin Ha, sings a love song that is interrupted halfway through with a generic show-stop. 

House lights go up: 

It’s the end of the world

There is nothing but you 

I’ve been looking for love all my life 

I’ve got further to go

I want only to be with you, live with you, die with you

That much I know

Then my mother came in 

I saw that her shirt was stuffed, and the sky was cloth, and the clouds were just painted and the food was just rubber

Then a curtain went up and I realised we were all in a play, on a stage, in a theatre

Here We Are, then, grants these people their idle wishes.

Ultimately, though, this project is a ghostly reminder of Sondheim’s perfectionism. And that’s just it: however much you may enjoy this show, it’s hard to completely accept it as a true Stephen Sondheim musical without his final approval.

As a lyricist, Sondheim followed three rules: content dictates form, less is more, God is in the details. This show all sounds pleasantly like an echo of good Sondheim.

A priest – played with excellent comic timing by Hyde Pierce sings: 

Do any of you think about the meaning of life? Any of you

God. Death. Anyone for purgatory? 

In the middle of mass, all I think is my miter should be tighter

I mean, why a bishop? Why not an analyst? 

Why not a bartender, I could be anything

Don’t get me wrong

I love the church and I don’t only mean the clothes

I mean the statues and the windows

And the rows of yearning people and the special par-king

And then of course there’s God

Don’t get me wrong

I love my dog, though, I don’t always understand him

Or agree 

Do we really need the droughts and the floods

And the plagues. And the earthquakes. And the universal suff’ring?

This was funny.

It’s an ambitious musical that works hard to achieve a lean and contemporary look. But characters that we feel indifferent to turns the plot into a guessing game are not substitutes for suspense.

In the end, its existence with a handful of motifs that stand up to Sondheim’s peerless oeuvre, a satire of the super rich, a musical that attempts to illustrate the dehumanising essence of free-market capitalism, via one-liners and mystical virtues. 

Yet I kept waiting for Here We Are to get started — to get into something. I was still waiting when it was over and I was back out on the street. 

What I am describing sounds like a chore. And by Sondheim peerless standards it mostly is. But it’s a surprisingly absorbing musical, just the same.

Steve has his epitaph now. God is in the details.

 Here We Are runs at The Shed, NYC until January 7, 2024.