I guess I never learn

I’ve not written about Strictly yet this season. It’s still early days, after all. But this weekend’s fiasco, has prompted me to share my thoughts. You’d really think all my illusions about reality TV had been shattered long ago, but I guess there’s a little part of me that still believes.

First things first. I don’t like the new format, with the results show now on a Sunday. You know it’s recorded, if you wanted to go on the internet, you could easily find out the result, and it looses the momentum. And I think this week, I’d have rather have liked to see all the furore live!

I didn’t think I’d like the judges making the decision between the bottom two, either, but that hasn’t bothered me too much. I don’t like the ‘dance off ‘ though as it (usually) means we get to see two of the worst dances again. What we seem to be seeing is a huge increase in the ‘sympathy’ voting. Keeping bad dancers in at the expense of others.

Now I hadn’t really taken to either Penny or Gabby, but it is ridiculous for one of them to go and the likes of Kate, and Kenny, and John to be still in. It would actually have been fairer if Penny had gone last week, following her truly awful jive, and this week of the two of them, I thought she was the weaker.

As I said, it’s still early days, and I don’t have a favourite as yet. Gethin is the highest in the cuteness stakes - not that there's a great deal of choice this year. His dancing needs a lot of work though. I like Aleysha for her energy and sense of fun. Matt was very good on Saturday, and has already developed a lot, but he’s not a favourite at the moment.

I guess it’s still anyone’s game, but I hope some of the bad dancers will start to go from here on, and this has given a wake up call to the voters. Not me though. I never vote... well, at least not till the last couple of weeks!

I finally got to see the play

Last night I saw The History Boys on stage. I don’t know why it’s taken me so long. I wanted to see the play before I saw the film, but it didn’t happen. It’s already toured extensively, but I guess this week’s sojourn in Leeds is the closest it’s come to me.

Both Corinne and I agreed that we wanted to adore it, but I worried because watching it was bound to be tempered by seeing the film. It wouldn’t be as fresh as it would have been, and of course, the film featured the original cast. It’s the Nicholas Nickleby syndrome again.

I hadn’t been to Leeds Grand since it re-opened after extensive refurbishment, and I love the way they’ve reconfigured the seating. The sightlines are very good, and there’s actually some leg room. We were sitting in the stalls, in two single seats – it was either that, or up in the top gallery, and we both like to eyeball the actors.

I did love it. It’s such an intelligent play. Nothing really happens, yet it carries you along. There are some brilliant Bennett one-liners (one about Larkin was my favourite), and it’s both literate and literary. I really enjoyed Des Barrit’s performance as Hector, and Andrew Hawley was an excellent Dakin, quite pretty enough for Corinne, and I think matching up to Dominic Cooper. Most of the other boys were excellent too, many of them in their first professional roles.

Unfortunately, the only performance I didn’t like was Daniel Fine as Posner. He was, quite simply, too gay. To me, Posner is the heart of the play, and I had utterly adored Sam Barnett in the film. His was a beautiful performance, and quite heartbreaking. This Posner was just too camp, and it just didn’t work. It made him stand apart from the group. And I think it was the main reason that I didn’t actually cry at the end.

I thought the use of video to show you scenes outside the classroom, covered with some classic 80’s tracks, was very effective, and I loved the scene between Irwin and Dakin.

As usual, we discussed it afterwards in a fab little bar close to the theatre. Yes, there were some reservations, probably born mainly out of theatre snobbery, but it was still an excellent production.

Who calls so loud?

In a preview article for the Chichester production of Nicholas Nickleby, it was suggested that anyone who rhapsodises about long gone productions should be taken out and shot. But I make no apologies for doing so. My blog, my rules.

There are theatre productions that you never forget. Ones that when you think back, make you smile at the memory, and even recall something of the experience of what it was to be present. For me, the RSC production of Nicholas Nickleby is one of those. I never saw the original production on stage, only in its TV adapted form, yet I followed its development closely, and it was one of the landmarks in my at that time growing obsession with the RSC. One of my favourite theatre books is Assistant Director Leon Rubin’s book The Nicholas Nickleby story, which I read avidly, as it tells the tale of the development of the production in a time of financial crisis, and from the point when forty six actors walked into a rehearsal room. No other company of actors could be such an organic part of the production in the way that the original cast was. It was such an influential production. Things that we’re used to these days in storytelling theatre were new and innovative then.

What I did see was the revival in early 1986, first in Newcastle, and then in Manchester. Some of the original cast remained, though most were new, but the performances and production were modelled on the original, and it was quite simply mind blowing. I loved everything about it, from the actors mingling with the audience before the start of the show, to standing there at the end, the tears running down my face, but with the biggest grin. I had no doubts about giving them a standing ovation.

Once I discovered that the Chichester production was touring, I knew I had to go and see it. It was to be my ‘treat’ for getting through the stressful last few weeks. So on Thursday, I turned the car towards Newcastle. I had that excited anticipation that good theatre brings, linked with the memory of the earlier productions. I felt quite giddy with it.

The production is now six and a half hours rather than eight and a half. It’s difficult to see where two hours have gone, though there are whole sections that have been edited out. We’ve lost the re-capture of Smike, so I was a bit thrown when he suddenly drooped a bit and was dying. I commented to the woman sitting next to me ‘they’ve cut a bit’. Like me, she was someone who had been there 21 years ago. One thing I did feel was that although shorter, Part 2 actually felt longer, and more episodic, than before.

If it wasn’t quite as mind blowing as that original production, then that wasn’t the fault of the actors. I don’t think you can ever re-capture what it felt like to see it for the first time, when this type of theatre felt so different. There was so much that I enjoyed. Daniel Weyman’s Nicholas – he had to compete with my memories of Roger Rees, one of my all time favourite actors, and he did very well, bringing energy and vigour to Nicholas, Abigail McKern’s Mrs Nickleby, David Yelland’s Ralph, a more sympathetic portrayal than ones I remembered, he almost made me cry. As I watched Daniel Weyman’s Nicholas wander through the streets of London, I was reminded that the original production was the forerunner of Les Miserables.

The performance that stood out for me was Zoe Waites as Fanny Squeers/Miss Snevellici/Madeline Bray. I thought it was a master stroke to cast one actor as three women in Nicholas’s life, one fancying herself in love with him, one he is attracted to and the one he finally falls in love with.

I was less fascinated with David Dawson's Smike than others, perhaps because the portrayals of David Threlfall and John Lynch were so amazing, and are lodged in my memory, but I loved the way the character developed, and yes, of course I cried.

It’s such an ensemble piece, with even tiny parts being an essential part of the whole, and every member of the cast responsible for carrying the story along. The pace doesn’t slip. There are moments of high comedy (the Crummles Theatre Company production of Romeo and Juliet being possibly the highest), and poignant sadness with the death of Smike.

By the end of the first part, I knew I was grinning like a maniac. By the end of Part Two, many of the audience were on their feet. From hearing conversations, some had watched the two parts over two nights, and some, like me, had gone for the marathon day event. When a production is like this, it almost feels that you are a part of it too, particularly from my seat in the second row for Part Two. It’s the great magic of theatre, and oh how I loved it at the end, as the cast stood there almost reeling back from the applause, and returning for further curtain calls. Yet, I remained in my seat. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because, for me, it didn’t have that edge that tipped it over from excellent to superlative. But I totally except that this is a personal view, and is very much because of my memories.

Customer Service

I bought a new top on Friday. Nothing new there, I know, (it was half price), but it has been much admired so I thought I'd pop back into East when I was in town this morning to see if they do it in any other colours.

I couldn't find any the same style, but when I asked the assistant she brought some out of the back in a deep plum shade. Sadly, these weren't reduced. I did like it though. As I debated whether to leave it, and take a chance that it would still be there when they reduce these - always a risk, as they tend to have just one in each size - she said in a low voice 'if you buy Good Housekeeping magazine, there's a 20% off voucher, but we're not supposed to say anything'.

One copy of Good Housekeeping later, I have a new top. That's what I call customer service!

Before...

I sit and stare into space. The radio plays in the background. I’ve reached saturation point, where the words on the page in front of me mean nothing. The rain runs down the window causing small splashes on the sill. Everything is grey, dull, depressing. It suits my mood.

I wonder again why I’m doing this, why I’m putting myself through this stress, and I don’t really have an answer. It seemed like a good idea a year ago, when I’d just finished a job and thought I had the time.

I worry that whatever question I get on Romantic poetry I won’t be able to answer it*, I hope that the question on the Realist novel can be answered on Great Expectations. The only bit I’m not worried about is the Shakespeare***.

I should go and do something else, really, as sitting here isn’t productive. I can feel the nerves, fluttering, I’m unable to settle. My mind is like a butterfly, flitting about thinking of everything and nothing. This feels like the longest morning I’ve experienced for a very long time. The time seems to stretch out. I watch the vehicles going up and down the street. It’s surprisingly busy for a cul de sac.

At least by evening it will all be over.

*I wasn’t wrong there then, but I had to have a go!
**Thankfully it could be
***Turns out maybe I should have been – As You Like It is a lovely play, and they had to go and choose an uninteresting bit

I'm sure it didn't used to be like this

The meeting was held in the Cunard Building, one of the ‘three graces’ on Liverpool’s Pierhead. I’ve never been inside any of them before.

As we walked up the stairs, we passed some beautifully restored adverts for the great liners of the past (not the Titanic, obviously! Though the picture of the Majestic looked like a sister ship). It’s all very impressive.

It’s right next door to the Royal Liver Building, ‘home’ of the Liver Birds. We adjourn there for lunch. It’s cavernous and echoes with the sound of feet on marble floors. I'm trying to make a call on my phone, and I can't hear a word. There’s stained glass, and an indoor fountain.

So I’m a little thrown when I get to the café servery. It's not what I was expecting, being stuck in a corner, but yes, I think I'd like a turkey sandwich, please.

‘Do you want that in a barm cake, luv?’

Somehow, this doesn’t quite fit with the setting, which is more Palm Court and afternoon tea.