The RSC
Stratford-Upon-Avon

It started with a pre show talk with the Director and climaxed with Henry VIII’s indecision – that was my yesterday.

I wish I could state that this was spontaneous or just another day in the exceedingly joyful life of a middle-aged catfish however that would be untrue, for what occurred less than 24 hours ago, was planned, purchased and eagerly anticipated for eleven months.

What I didn’t plan for though was having a super smiley Hilary Mantel sit just to my left, two rows back. Mastercard couldn’t have even managed that one. Yes – it took immense inner strength not to pounce and gush at her – instead I contented myself with the occasional turn of head (gee, she’s still there) and took to actor spotting and sucking in the excitement vibe pre-performance.

Back to the Director for a moment though – Jeremy Herrin is one to keep an eye on. For not only in the flesh is he an interesting, amusing, attractive (did I say that) and very personable fellow, but also in terms of his vision and ability to direct – gifted. Put simply, he has managed to bring to the stage two Booker prize winning novels, superbly produced (OK, I only saw one – however luckily am seeing the next in 13 days), ‘made them accessible’ (my son’s words, not mine) and at the same time, happened to make television watching less appealing.

To the show: Attempting a little prior preparation and planning preceding our day out – yes I said attempting – I’d only managed to read 111 pages of Wolf Hall, so though I’m happily currently enjoying it, I had to depend on the actors, crew and musicians to do their bit. And YES they did

The bare set works, the casting is spot-on and the costumes are exquisite. Did I say the costumes are exquisite? The fabrics, the pleats, the jewels, the shoes, the furs, the doublets, the hats, the hosiery – the RSC wardrobe department have delivered the most divine clothing eye candy in Tudor play history.

Ohh…you wish to know what happens. Well, Thomas Cromwell (played by Ben Miles) is the chap you follow throughout the drama.  He’s pretty much everyone’s go to man, the one you head to if you have a couple of issues that need sorting. Like when Cardinal Wolsey needs some assistance with the Monks up North; or when Henry VIII requires a little assistance with divorcing his first wife and betrothing his next. Thomas Cromwell will fix it – for you, you and you.

The play covers seven years of Henry VIII’s reign – approx. twenty years into his marriage to Catherine of Aragon – a period that most of us would be aware of; perhaps enjoyed learning about; and a time of colossal change in terms of the Church and its authority within this country. And it is the latter that comes across so incredibly well. I guess I’d never really questioned that by taking power away from the Church in Rome and handing greater powers to the King could be risky, however this plays demonstrates it supremely. It also encouraged me to draw some interesting comparisons between Anne Boleyn and Veruca Salt, where I feel that Miss Salt comes out the sweeter.

Golly, I forgot to mention the dancing. The performance is sprinkled with a few perfectly incorporated dances which are further enhanced by the thrust stage. The flirtation between key characters is delicious to spy.

Try and get a ticket – it’s on until 29 March 2014

At The British Museum
As the final day was looming, we had to act fast.  So we three jumped into the car early last Sunday morning, found a super convenient single yellow line park in Russell Square and walked briskly (it was cold, though bright) to join the throng of happy tourists at the Capital B for Breath-taking British Museum.

From the outset, I promise my interest in this particular exhibition was not completely spurred by the wording ‘sex and pleasure’ jammed into the title, rather that Japanese art, textiles, food, way of existing, is something I’m currently experiencing above average levels of interest in.

To put you in the space, the initial summary of the exhibit ‘Shunga…it challenges us to reconsider the mutually exclusive categories of ‘art’ versus ‘pornography’ that evolved in the west’ pretty much covers what’s in the show. And dear reader, I carried out a lot of considering whilst wandering through.

Firstly, was it wise that I brought my 13 year son along, would he be the envy of the playground or damaged for life?

Secondly, have I become a little uptight in my old age?

Thirdly, do women really fantasise about having octapuses attached to their lower parts?

Don’t get me wrong. I thought this exhibition was ambitious, worth the trip, eye-opening and great for conversation during and post our visit. It also provided me with ample food for thought about my tastes and feelings about ‘pornography’ specifically. Ready for it…I’m a less is more kind of girl and I don’t mean less clothing, but go light on the visuals. The below example typifies it nicely. This is an incredibly beautiful display of physical (and maybe emotional) feeling, produced in 1788 by Kitagawa Utamaro, which starts you on your journey through the exhibition.

It’s sensual, you don’t need to see their faces, or their bits, just the way the fabrics fall, the curve of her body and the way she holds his face -it’s enough to suggest that these two are having a fairly nice time in each other’s company. Happily also for me, this was one of the very few pictures that was safe enough to make it to exhibition merchandising.

A couple of other treats throughout included the Shunga parody section – with my personal favourites being a couple of educational books for women; a see-through picture postcard (1905), which could easily make it past the censors out to the frontline troops; and a Kabuki costume for a princess role (think spectacular reds, threads and robe).

And another treat – it was a really good spot to do some people watching.  Some parts of the crowd would hide their fear in disinterest, whilst others – particularly a few little old ladies spent perhaps too long transfixed by an act dressed as art. You can imagine this was excellent activity in itself.

The exhibition closes 5 January 2014

By Donna Tartt

Search no further…I repeat…Search no further, for this is the book you should be reading. In fact, this is the book that just might encourage you to call in sick; miss your stop on the bus; delay Christmas; take annual leave from Facebook or force you to tell hideous untruths to release yourself from family commitments.  It’s a shout out loud, god I’m so pleased she wrote it kind of a book.

Not sold yet?

Well, it started out as a book at bedtime, the kind my husband and I occasionally partake in, where I read a chapter  – struggling at times with larger than two syllable words, then he reads a chapter  – with no struggle and excellent dramatic skill – and so it goes. However, I needed to sleep one night and he was off. Feasting away on the tale, accumulating little sleep, finishing it rapidly and bursting to share – although knowing he had to wait.

I’m a slower reader, or should I say ‘savour it’ kind of reader, so he really deserves a commendation for not giving the game away, particularly as this is a book that you want to discuss.

Thankfully, I like to talk, so though he did have to wait, he didn’t need to for long.

I’m trying to work out if it’s the fabulous assortment of characters such as Xandra, Hobie, Boris, Popchik, Andy and Horst; the plot; or that each sentence is flawlessly crafted – no dribble, just powerful literature, that makes this definitely the best book I’ve read in 2013…so I shan’t vote…instead I’ll give you a little more.

So, you follow Theo Decker throughout the action, almost growing-up with him from the age of 13 until I’d guess him to be mid-20s.  Yes, he makes some really unwise decisions at times, but you cut him slack, he’s an adolescent for pity sack, his dad isn’t gifted in the parenting department, he isn’t a bad person. Best of, he’s believable and he’s dealing with what life has thrown at him – which at times is fairly poo, but also excellent page turning stuff. Additionally, as he grows, ‘the voice’ evolves and the language/style of the writing matures with him.

And why the title? Well, it’s also about a painting, one that is so exquisitely detailed, desired and pursued. You read this and you can easily see why Art is essential; why it’s powerful;  why it’s worth fighting for; and how it’s a really personal thing. It also makes you want to run out to a gallery and take a class in Art History.

Donna Tartt you are a master – thank you.

Can you top fantastic?

Hmm…and I am a truly positive person but I can’t see how that’s possible. Well last night was on a par with it at least. Come with me reader and I’ll explain.

Picture this – evening time in the Divinity schools at the Bodleian Library. You are seated, aisle-side, hearing, seeing and drinking in the pleasure of a ‘conversation’ with Donna Tartt. She’s more than an infinitely talented author. She’s controlled, fascinating, honest and unbelievably good at keeping you engaged, both in the spoken and written word.

She starts with a reading, the kind that clearly cements her brilliance. Another plus point, she’s a really competent reader as well.

Oh no dilemma – how can I engineer it that she’ll come back to mine after and read the rest of The Goldfinch to my husband and I (it’s currently our book at bedtime) without coming across too creepy?  Sadly, I not very capable when it comes to thinking, in particular – fast – so I’ll have to put this hankering to bed.

I promise my intention isn’t to rub it in, as possibly you missed it, but her Master class was better than satisfying.  Additionally, her chair/questioner/co-stage sitter Michael Prodger cleverly took her off piste a little and the listeners were granted further access to her mind and passions. For instance, she spoke enthusiastically about art + antiques and their impact upon her.

Specifically two things stick out as I reflect:

1. when she detailed the experience of seeing a Dutch Master from 22 feet back in a crowdless gallery
2. her first experience with real art (not reproductions), aged 17, at the National Gallery in Washington.

Actually, there was a downer to the evening – we didn’t get more time with her – and I was too nervous to ask her out for dinner.

Dash it, the reality of being a groupie.

By Martin Amis

‘Would I recommend it?’… they were my sweet Hairdresser’s words as she bear witness to my convulsions yesterday; as I sucked in the pleasure of Mr Amis’s latest literary creation.

Oh dilemma…so I decided to be upfront and admit…I think it’s hilarious, deliciously wrong and the characters are superb, however I can see it wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste. In fact I went further by suggesting, that quite possibly the only person I could firmly (and safely) recommend it to is my husband, whom so kindly introduced me to Mr Amis (unfortunately not in person), 15 years ago when London Fields came into my life and made it to Number 2 in my Best reads of all time.

Lionel Asbo: State of England is loaded, doesn’t hold back and at times you’ll feel like you have been punched by its cruelness. I even found myself thinking, ‘This is enough – stop it’, though I’d continue with eagerness.

So, the story unfolds in the London borough of Diston (thankfully not a real place), where Des Pepperdine resides with his Uncle Li and a couple of curry-eating, beer-swilling pooches. You’ll meet Des at 15 and find him to be a good natured, slightly misguided teen, who’ll definitely make good, even in this harsh environment, made more unstable by Uncle Lionel’s frequent trips to prison, views on females over 39 and deep affection for assault.

There’s something really in the name, for Lionel Asbo the man, is an unstoppable menace and devouring each page is like watching a car-crash in slow motion, for he’s disturbing, though crazily about ¾ of the way through you start to feel, for a second maybe, a pang of pity for him.

With no intention to blow the whole plot, I will provide you with a couple of tasters.

Firstly, Lionel gets a financial break which furnishes the reader with some truly terrific moments:

• like his trip to Mount’s to dine and the aftermath
• the tailored outfits he commissions
• the dinner he lays on for his brothers
• the hotel that never expels guests however disgraceful their behaviour
• his rise in celebrity

Actually, the story is thick with fabulously described action and detail.

Secondly, you’ll feel nervous pretty much from start to finish, for Lionel is volatile so you never know when and who he’ll lash out at next. In particular, you’ll warm to Dawn instantly and want the best for Des, so you’ll find yourself constantly on edge when Lionel turns up at Avalon Tower, in case the former two say something that Lionel doesn’t get or feels inappropriate.

Ohh and another treat – the faultlessly depicted Threnody, Lionel’s glamour model girlfriend.

The bottom line – it’s tough, brutal and aggressive…though you’ll laugh often, very often and be so pleased that Mr Martin Amis produced his 13^th book.

By Barbershopera

Squealing, shrieking, marvelling and applauding, is not the law however slips-out naturally when one finds themself seated in a production put on by these guys. For they are born entertainers and have all bases covered.

No…Really?

Oh…very much YES

Tick – they can sing

Tick – they can dance

Tick – they can act

Tick – their facial expressions are a hoot

And WOW – they really lead the pack when it comes to mastering disguise.

‘Thrilling’ audiences and gathering fans since 2007, their latest production focuses on the tale of Nicole D’Artagnan as she recruits the Musketeers to help fight the jam roly-poly embargo which threatens the very livelihood of her local community and France as a whole.

Don’t be alarmed… though note… the action is fast, the Cardinal’s wicked and the demands on these four are epic. Will they? Won’t they? Retrieve that King’s golden plums. Will they? Won’t they? Discover that D’Artagnan isn’t a boy. Will they? Won’t they? Manage to secure sufficient amounts of English gastronomic pleasures for King Louis’s birthday party. Yes, it is edge of the seat, suspensed-filled drama and fun – incredibly fun.

From the concept itself (think Blackadder with the added bonus of song), through casting (Bucky is so very good), music and lyric composition, direction, choreography and props – it’s all there and in abundantly, perfectly, co-ordinated supply.

Now I challenge you to go visit their website to learn more and check out their tour dates    http://www.barbershopera.com

At the National Theatre

Truth be told, before I took my seat on the 5^th August eager to submit myself completely to another of Shakespeare’s treasures, my knowledge of the characters was sketchy to say the least and my appreciation of the storyline was a definitive Blackhole.

What? Why?

Well…my awareness of a couple of the characters goes way back, back to the early 1980s in fact, as I’d had an above average addiction to the TV series FAME and during one treat of an episode, Leroy, the hot one who’d wear mesh midriffs, bagged the role of Othello and sweet, shy, Julie Miller the Cellist, secured the role of Desdemona.  Aside from that, my recollections of the play aren’t actually there – though Leroy; small in stature Danny Amatullo; and super mover Coco will always be.

Additionally, high school English had only introduced me to Hamlet and Henry IV Part One and I guess I just hadn’t got around to…maybe I was scared…in retrospect…I was terrified.

So to the show: No doubt everyone who’s reading me knows the detail, so I shan’t hold back.

It was horrifying and ‘Honest Iago’ – horrible, intensely horrible.

And how I mentioned ‘terrified’, let’s discuss it in the present tense, for it’s ‘terrifying’ that just a small, tiny, evil seed can be sowed so simply, then so cleverly nurtured, impact so hugely and destroy so fiercely.

Mr Rory Kinnear, he who plays Iago, had me feeling nauseous from the outset. For everything about him was creepy and untrustworthy. I can just imagine when they were casting, the Director must have beamed from ear to ear, pleased in the knowledge he’d found the most convincing evildoer in audition history.

And Mr Adrian Lester, he who plays Othello, you poor trusting fool. You really did put all your eggs in the wrong basket.  I pity you, am sickened by you, will learn from your heart wrenchingly disturbing example and was blown away by your presence, command of the stage and talent.

And Mr Jonathan Bailey, he who plays Cassio, I’m so, so sorry. I really hope that never happens to you again. And I guess on the bright side, you lived. Again, a top casting call-out.

And a final mention on the super talented, well casted actor front..actually a double call-out…Olivia Vinall (she who plays Desdemona) and Lyndsey Marshal (she who plays Emilia). The beauty of your singing voices, your very convincing portrayals of two fine women treated so harshly, or put another way – your first-rate performances – an absolute pleasure to be party too.

Furthermore, the staging of this evolving tragedy was supreme. From the concrete walls, flood lights, barred wire/steel gates surrounding something comparable to a Camp Bastion, through to the washhouse and demountable office space which were bare, soulless and purely functional. All artfully benefitting the plot and sadness unravelling. Even the Mess and sleeping quarters lacked human warmth, further supporting key themes such as the acute (and chronic) breakdown of love, trust and loyalty.

Additionally, the use of loud, pounding, thick on base, techno music and costume – in particular the modern day army kit utilised – further placed the audience somewhere far removed from comfort, loaded in testosterone, intense and ‘on edge’.

Ohh and when it was all over… I lurched to my feet, squealing and pounding my hands together in an attempted rhythmical pattern of gratitude. This production was/is formidable all fronts.

And finally, big thanks to Mr Mark Lawson, for if I haven’t tuned into you as I drove out to collect one not so small chap back on the 24 April, I would have quite possibly stayed in the dark and not experienced every single moment of this fabulous show.

at Stratford Upon Avon

Rounding off our mini Shakespeare fix for July 2013, last Monday evening found us primed and ready for action at the RSC.

Primed you ask…well, fisting a programme (half-perused); post a champagne swifty; seated comfortably – all eyes to the stage; attempting to suppress the excitement levels which were threatening to make my stomach gurgle.

You see experience has taught me well. The RSC can’t produce rubbish. They can’t even manage half-rubbish.  Try as they might – they can only produce exceptionally great theatre. And though I might rabbit on about bad theatre being preferable to no theatre, great theatre is King. So post my demi-look through the paperwork – not for plot obviously, rather to star gaze upon the talent – I removed the heels, reclined a little more and proceeded to take in a 3 hour festival of Top Shelf entertainment.

Let’s look further at the detail
Not intending to give the whole game away – I do feel duty bound to enlighten you a touch.

First things first, don’t be fooled dear audience by all those whom appear initially nice, in particular one young, not male character. She’s so crafty…outrageously so.

Secondly, be very grateful that the King of France doesn’t hold sway like he used to, specifically his power to ‘love match’ his subjects.

In addition, be prepared to enjoy a fine scene between a handful of soldiers, a blindfolded Parolles and a deeply shocked Bertram.

Not enough said, the cast are faultless and the kind of people you’d be so happy to discover turned up on stage at a venue near you.

And further good news – it’s running till the 26^th September.

Hampstead Theatre, London

Cuddling the opportunity to see three of Shakespeare’s plays in six nights, last Saturday (20 July) found us three, plus one Grannie, on evening Number 2 of our exciting calendar of drama. This time in a venue unknown previously to us all, the Hampstead Theatre, located approximately 30 seconds skipping from Swiss Cottage Tube.

The theatre itself is fabulous, intimate, provides really comfy seats and the bar – kindly well stocked.

The production – so deserving of a screechy ‘YIPEE’ and huge gratitude to the youngest member of our team for recommending it.

Down to the detail:
Briefly, the Propeller are an all-male Shakespeare company, who provide you, the audience, with Top Shelf appreciation and understanding of the text, whilst plying you with entertainment and leaving you feeling so much better for it.

The talent of the troupe is considerable with each and every member perfectly cast, in particular Liam O’Brien as Feste, Vince Leigh as Sir Toby Belch, Gary Shelford as Maria, John Dougall as Sir Andrew Aguecheek and Joseph Chance as Viola – with the latter, specifically bringing to an incredibly difficult part, a strength I have yet to see in any other portrayals of the role.

In terms of Direction – I’ve just discovered my new Director crash, for Edward Hall couldn’t have done a better job.

Set design – Mirrors and reflection were used to great effect along with wardrobes that turned into doors off stage.  And there’s also a shout out to the triangular green trees and statue in Olivia’s Garden (Act II Scene 5) which were so cleverly devised and key to the amusing telling of the tale.

Costumes – well considered and utilised admirably to draw distinction and to demonstrate where one could easily fall foul of ‘mistaken identity’.

Unfortunately the show is now over….Happily though, they are returning November 2013 with A Midsummer Night’s Dream and in January with A Comedy of Errors.

And finally, I’ve just discovered that if I become a TOP PROPS ‘Friend’ of the group, I could secure real contact with these players (+ even the Director), for I’d be invited ‘to additional rehearsal and meetings’ have ‘regular contact with the company and a warm welcome to join Propeller on overseas trips and at social events throughout the year’.  Just imagine my extreme pleasure and maybe their concern…now to find the cash…

At the Royal Academy

Being a little overwhelmed and unable to understand much of what was going on at last year’s exhibition (it’s me, not them), I was prepared once more to gaze and under-appreciate the masterworks on display at this year’s show and by George what a silly mistake that was.

To demonstrate, husband and I had managed to make it through just half a room before we realised we needed more, we needed the pocket sized ‘list of works’ yellow booklet, available back at the entrance to participate wholeheartedly in the joy that was taking place in front of our eyes. So quick we dashed there, purchased and dashed back, now armed ready for our expedition through the main galleries.

You see for me (and hopefully him), there is something ambrosial about identifying the art you like and believing it could be yours. For this 214 page pocket sized guide provides the peruser with key information like ‘can I afford it?’, which 9.75 times out of 10 indicates No! – though for that 0.25, you can go into interior design over-drive, discussing where that etching should go (a very easy decision when your home is less than large) or feeling miffed that if only you’d come sooner, it would be your red dot signalling the sale on that great piece which would be perfect above the piano.

In addition to seeking out more affordable finds, I found myself particularly taken by the whole exhibition itself.  The mix is great and along the way I discovered a few things about me.

Number 1: I’ve definitely got a taste for Ken Howard

Number 2: That I really really want End of Empire in the British Museum (1056) by Georgia Hayes – google it, it’s supreme.

Number 3: That you can find exquisite perfection by simply resting your eyes upon Yoko XII (949), an inkjet print by Don Brown

Number 4: Grayson Perry makes me laugh. His works are fabulously filled with cleverness, comment and colour. And…I was reminded also…that I haven’t been determined enough (and must try harder) to persuade someone…anyone…that the silk scarf that he designed (and is on sale currently at the Tate Modern shop), would look simply special around my neck.

I shan’t flatter myself that I really understand art, however I will say I know what I like and I liked this.

It’s on until the 18 August