Being MISERly about the programme brings many problems

This Saturday I went to see the matinee performance of Molière's Miser performed at the Royal Exchange in Manchester. The tale of a miserly father trying to make money from marrying off his two children with somewhat predictable twists, misunderstandings and revelations. I'm very fond of the Royal Exchange. The theatre's futuristic pod squats brilliantly beneath the Victorian building's domes and columns, like a Dr Who Villain in it's non-contemporary lair. The pod itself is a glass multi-levelled piece of beauty that encloses a stage surrounded 360 degrees by seats that reach up to the ceiling. It is always fascinating to see how the players adapt and utilise the space to accommodate an audience that surrounds them. Personally I love seeing plays there, it's like looking down into a goldfish bowl at some very dramatic postulating fish.

Until I walked in to the matinee I knew nothing of Molière or his play 'The Miser'. What I did know within 3 minutes was that the production design was bold and brilliant. The cast all wearing a strange punk-17th century cross, with the miser's household covered in splashed white paint and dust. The stage itself was also white, filled with dripping pipes, occasional bare metal furniture and plastic sheeting that managed to be both modern and period at the same time. A brilliant touch was the gold barely hidden beneath the floorboards and visible only to those audience members willing to tilt their head and squint.

The performance combined some excellent bouts of choreographed chasing and comedic action, that suited the quick fire dialogue. The mime background of the movement director Julian Chagrin being very evident and an excellent addition to the play. Derek Griffiths[1] naturally excelled as Harpagan the Miser and was well supported by the younger cast. Other performances I enjoyed were Helen Atkinson Wood providing an excellent robust Frosine and Simon Gregor as a physically hilarious La Fleche. I laughed continuously and I even enjoyed when Harpagon interacted with the audience; a situation that normally makes me squirm. I found some fault with the actresses, who upon being given hooped dresses to wear all seemed to believe that their character's mannerisms should include unnecessarily grasping their skirts and swinging them about, but I was mostly entranced by their quick banter and comedic timing. Unfortunately the quality of the acting seemed undermined by the performances of Jaques and Signor Anselme. Jacques failed to sparkle or even keep up with his part of any interaction, providing a plodding delivery that seemed to be out of pace with everyone else, perhaps indicating an unfamiliarity with the role or the line's delivery. Signor Anselme was really quite awful, providing some of the most stilted line delivery I have ever seen and quite damaging my enjoyment of the last scenes.

This led me to be suspicious that the two actors might be understudies. However, I had not purchased a programme leaving me with no idea as to what the actors should look like. This led to some frantic internet searching and desperate face recognition but I struggled to draw conclusions. I just about confirmed that Signor Anselme was not played by the well known cast actor (Tim Barlow - him with the long coat in Hot Fuzz), but Jaques's portrayl remains something of a mystery. I therefore feel a little uncomfortable criticizing performances that might have been last minute additions. So I will still recommend the play as a very enjoyable few hour's entertainment. Sumptuous to look at, inventive, funny and somehow making 17th century dash-about, twisty comedy accessible and new.

Plus a note to myself: Buy the programme.

[1]He was the voice of SuperTed! Not that I could tell

Wicked - Girl power in Oz

Taking place mostly before Dorothy skipped across Oz, Wicked is the tale of the wicked witch of the west and her one-time friend Glinda-the good. You really should have heard about it, there are long running productions all over the world. And last Saturday as part of an extra special birthday treat I went to see it in London. I really enjoyed myself, it offers everything you expect from a west end musical, slick choreography, great performances, good laughs, expensive interval sweets, hum-along songs and lots of magic. The Oz magic even begins before the curtain goes up (and the incredibly sweet giant dragon begins to fume) as the underwater themed Apollo Victoria theatre is bathed in green light.

I have no knowledge of the book (the Oz series or the prequel the musical is based on) but I really enjoyed the change of perspective that Wicked provided. I was terrified the first time Glinda sang (No-one mourns the wicked), so high and squeaky was she that I couldn't distinguish the words. Fortunately all later songs were sung at a more comprehend able pitch and were generally awesome. The easily recognisable quotes from the Wizard of Oz that were included in the musical, really made me giggle. Glinda's comedic character makes it easy for her to steal most scenes, but I was rooting for Elphelba, which is a testament as to how she is written and performed.

Oz is apparently well known to be something of a pro-women novel and it follows through in 'Wicked'. How often are musicals written about the relationship between 2 women, with the love story in firm second place? It was no accident that all the best numbers were between the two witches rather than the love-interest(s) or the wizard. Whilst I appreciate that the film and musical never really cross , I felt that the end melting sequence was a bit of a let down. Played in silhouette on a quickly drawn across curtain, the scene seemed like a high school worthy dodge and not worthy of an otherwise very resourceful set design. But this is a small quibble, I loved the rest of the musical. Sure it only has a few numbers that really stick in the brain but the fact that I tried to sing 'defying gravity' for the rest of the evening after hearing it only once is quite a credit (And I'm really bad with music). I was also utterly dejected that I couldn't take the dragon home.

It Felt Like A Kiss - terror and revelations in a Manchester office block

It Felt Like A Kiss –How an insight into US culture, your pack mentality, human suggestibility and blind terror can be a great Birthday present.

It Felt Like a Kiss (IFLAK) was one of the stand out events of the Manchester International Festival. A collaboration between film-maker Adam Curtis (The power of Nightmares), Punchdrunk ( A theatre group specialising in walk-through theatre experiences) and Damon Albarn (the man whose breadth of creativity Noel Gallagher wishes he had ).It's officially over now and was originally slated to be a one off, although now it is rumoured to be travelling to London and Moscow?!? Because the more you know about the performance, the less you get out of it I shall keep this part brief. IFLAK is a similar to a walk-through fairground ride, which will just like Curtis's films shoot ideas past you at a rapid rate. At the centre was a 35 minute showing of Curtis's film, a documentary on late 50s/early 60s America and the power and falsehoods of dreams. The spaces you walk to to get to the film, reflect fragments of the film. These spaces are incredible in detail, innocuous discomfort or blatant fear manipulation. After the film (as you are warned at the beginning) and as you progress through more spaces connected to the film you begin to see the dream become an nightmare. And what was naggingly uncomfortable before becomes a terrifying assault. Your role as spectator changes slowly to participant and you find yourself assaulted with just how suggestible you are and how much you will obey. And after 2 hours of creeping about, with growing paranoia, it's a lot more than you think. IFLAK wants to show you that you are not an individual, that you are the same as everyone else and as you dash gasping and possibly screaming into eventual daylight and see the rest of the audience doing the same, you take the point to heart. Not bad for 'art'.

After most theatre/gig trips you can find yourselves dissecting the performance over a pint, maybe relishing a few choice memories for a couple of days. Post IFLAK most people sit in the pub, gently shaking, convinced the barman isn't real and desperately trying to process the ordeal. You won't forget IFLAK, infact most people will be having 'nam style flashbacks for weeks. I managed to get very alarmed by an empty corner of my bedroom at 3am following the show. With such a resounding impact, I recommend the performance to anyone who relishes a new experience, enjoys having the boundaries between exhibition, play and film blurred and can handle a gentle transition from spectator, to active participant. Go and experience IFLAK, sell your horror movie DVD collection, psychology, self help and history books. You'll get a more intimate understanding of yourself and your fellow man in 2 hours of IFLAK than in any of them.

It Felt Like A Kiss: The spoiler version

My more detailed re-cap is below. Obviously spoilers, don't read if you think you will ever get a chance to go.

The It Felt Like A Kiss performance took place in a completely bland 70s office building. So innocuous was it, we struggled to find the entrance and with entry limited to groups of 6-8 every 20 minutes, there were no handy queues to show you the way. Innocuous on first inspection yet disturbing on the inside was a recurring theme for the next 2 hours. Fear is all about expectation and IFLAK is a masterpiece of building it. From the moment a very nice steward gave us severe warnings about unsuitability for people who are pregnant, have heart conditions or have a nervous disposition and reminded us about wearing sensible enclosed footwear (They weren't kidding on the last one), to the rooms that connect by ominous black corridors, or ominous music, to the time later on when you are issued an classic horror movie adage of 'Don't split up', expectation is a fundamental part of your experience. Hence my heart-rate was already rising as I entered the lift with 4 strangers, all of us indulging in a terribly British jokey banter to calm our nerves. By the time the lift opened to nothing but darkness and a yawning clown's face, I was already telling myself 'It's just a show'

IFLAK's walk-through sections shoot ideas, objects, sounds and fragments past you at a rapid rate,just like Curtis's films. We crept through some rooms and sauntered through others. They key is to feel, smell, touch and hear rather than to process. It really is a walk through movie. I barely noticed Albarn's soundtrack, although I knew it was manipulating my mood, just a a good soundtrack should for a film. You could touch anything except the dummies which occupy some spaces (at least you hope they are dummies and trust me you ask yourself that every time you come across one). I felt a frisson of spy like pleasure as I nosed through the CIA's filing cabinets and an unknown family's book shelves. The rooms smelled authentic and everywhere TV screens showed fragments of the documentary, often strangely at odds with your apparent location, sometimes in perfect keeping with it. For example Tina Turner's 'Mountain High', was wildly appropriate and inappropriate when wandering through a dystopian rubbish dump. At one point I thought I was George-W style seeing a young Saddam Hussain everywhere (pinned photo to a notice board, Saddam moustaches in the props department, on the bedroom TV). The rooms and the documentary have something to say about any number of social and economic points and sometimes it felt like an unprocessable deluge, so many connections were there to be made as the documentary and the 'theatre' rambled through them. It was almost frustrating to not be able to make them all. I found later that I struggled to remember a lot of these moments and connections as the events after the documentary (the nightmare) somewhat assaulted and then clouded my memory. A mistake or another way of saying 'You noticed the nightmarish fallout, but you didn't see all the signs leading up to it did you?' The film itself; an 'experience', a whirlwind of ideas and questions that was designed to feed some other part of your brain than the one Panorama normally takes up, left a strange after-taste. Certainly a desire to see it again and try and process but also a sense that maybe the message you found was just for you, More art than history lesson or political point.

You know the ending to the Blairwitch? Run up and down some empty stairs and see someone in the corner of the room. I laughed when I saw that. I didn't laugh when I was stuck in a strobe lit corridor with a dummy in the corner. Why 6 adults scuttled past something they outnumbered, but couldn't see well in the lighting, is a testament to how easily we are willing to play our part [1]. Have you seen many films where the body in the corner disappears, the CCTV shows you that something is behind you or the 'dummy' moves when you glance in the opposite direction? Dumb jokeworthy cliché perhaps but really quite scary when after 2 hours of paranoia inducing 'entertainment', you are creeping with a group of strangers, along a maze with no destination other than the one in front of you. That you have just filled out a psychological questionnaire[2] about 'freedom' and been warned that people have accidentally died in ghost rides just adds to the effect.

I always comment on how a logical person would handle a real life horror movie. (Find a makeshift weapon, pull out your mobile, refuse to enter a maze, climb things that got in your way instead of going where the resident nutter wants you to go) and in IFLAK I did none of those things. I was disappointed with myself, until afterwards when I took a good look at what motivated me. At one point I was stuck with 7 other people in a room waiting for the lights to go on in the next, so we could move on (or face a grissly chainsaw death). I didn't barricade doors or make weapons, because I knew it wasn't the point. I was on a ride, it wasn't real, there was surely worse to come but it would be terrifying, not life threatening. And I suddenly felt re-assured about my own competence but implicitly aware that I was following someone else's rules and feeling what they wanted me to. Naturally 'sticking together; didn't happen and eventually we were forced to be alone. Except I wasn't, having gotten jammed in a door, my grand moment of terrifying epiphany was shared with a very pleasant equally scared stranger. I feel awful that I missed out, that I didn't finish my ordeal properly, but also kind of proud that I did eventually buck the system (by accident). My eventual exit from IFLAK was inelegant, filled with relief, exhaustion and a desperate need for a pint and some form of group counselling.

So I refused to take a mystery pill, or put a gun to my head, but when asked to pick a door or am jostled and yelled at to 'run' from a chainsaw wielding maniac, I do it. Not the individual I thought I was. How depressing, how awesome a revelation in such an unexpected way. How badly do I want to go again?

[Edited for my grammar, which is always appalling :( ]
[1] Apparently David Dimbleby was in one group. As a true journalist and presumably used to real terror he tried to interview one of the dangerous and scary things that he came across. Everyone else ran.
[2] I didn't. It seems I have a very modern view of privacy of information irrelevant of my 60s, fascistic hospital surroundings