Catherine Bennett resumes the weekly look at the performing arts world, with the sad end of Jerusalem, the luck of a cabbie, and French revolt. Do you hear the people sing?
Adam Alcock reviews Nigel Kennedy playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons and his own Four Elements at York Opera House.
Catherine Bennett highlights the trends in the performing arts world today.
Jonathan Cridford reviews 'Ghosts', one of the Freshers' plays for this year.
Ushered in by glowering bouncers, the barn had been transformed to a vinyl-freaks wet dream setting the scene for Simon Winkler's stylish directorial debut in his production of Jez Butterworth's Mojo.
Late 50's London. The pill-popping staff of Ezra's nightclub, a downbeat venue renowned for its questionable theme nights, think they've struck gold with an attempt to groom a new Elvis-like rock sensation Silver Johnny (Joel Brooks). But when the plan backfires horribly all and sundry suddenly find themselves in extremely hot water. The staging, though hardly groundbreaking, was highly evocative of the sick-stained dancefloors, dank basements and scuzzy backrooms of the East End. The constellation of vintage LP's that covered the walls made for an impressive backdrop but had an unfortunate habit of coming loose from their moorings, a hiccup the cast however coped with admirably.
The live band belting out classic rock and roll between scenes was a stellar touch. The riff from 'Little Green Bag' (of Reservoir Dogs fame) was knowing and atmospheric at first yet got a bit wearing with overuse. Nitpicking aside, the staging was highly evocative of a grimier, smokier era when swinging London wasn't yet a gleam in Brian Epstein's eye and American rock 'n' roll ruled the jukebox.
Though the pace lagged a little at the beginning of the second act the play was propelled by an enviably talented cast. It is to their credit that they imbued the characters with real individuality avoiding the dangers of merely forming an identity parade of stereotypical mockney 'diamond geezers'. The engaging double act of Joe Hufton and Chris White was the comedic powerhouse of the drama, one that counterbalanced the swaggering bravado of Hufton's wideboy with the comic jitteriness of White's Sweets. Underneath their joyously inventive swearing and cockney drug babble there were some unexpectedly touching moments.
Giles Littlewood as the club owner's son Baby occasionally struggled to maintain a London accent. However he more than compensated for this by expertly demonstrating an eerie sociopathic calm which accentuated Baby's sporadic flashes of violence that build towards the plays genuinely harrowing finale. Playing the put upon Skinny, Dan Wood mined a rich seam of pathos with his engrossing characterisation of subtle nervous twitches and paralysing neurosis.
Jonathan Kerridge-Phipps anchored the production as an underboss rapidly loosing control of the situation around him. Whenever he appeared on stage barking orders and muttering ominously about his "fucking head-cold" the tension slowly began to creep. With a weaker cast and less tuned in director Mojo could have proved a muddling adventure into Guy Ritchie territory. But with its combination of nuanced performances, proficient direction and ratcheting tension this darkly comic drama proved irresistible.
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