Blood Brothers @ The Phoenix Theatre (13.07.11)

Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers is now into its 21st year in the West End. It’s a musical that has quietly run and run, touching thousands of theatregoers without the expectation of an all star cast or flashy special effects. Indeed, Blood Brothers manages to be gritty, engaging and impressive all at the same time with the help of its intensely hummable tunes.

I found the experience of watching Blood Brothers to be akin to sitting in front of the TV after a long day at work. You relax in your seat – simply allowing the action to unfold in front of you – safe in the knowledge that the cast’s roles come so easily to them that you barely question your transportation back to 1960s Liverpool. Not that the production lacks intensity or drama, you just can’t ignore the slickness of the staging, set changes and professionalism of the cast.

There’s a stigma that comes with being a pop star in the West End. All too often tickets are sold by the promise of a famous face on a tube station poster, but then when it comes to the performance there’s little gravitas. I was thrilled to see the same cannot be said regarding ex-Atomic Kitten star Natasha Hamilton who is more than capable in the lead role of Mrs Johnstone. Hamilton is an incredibly talented actress who brings her natural motherly instinct to the role as well as her emotive singing voice in Tell Me It’s Not True.



Conversely I found less to like in the role of the Narrator (Philip Stewart). Perhaps it stems from my fear of anything too sinister but I found that the role’s constant references to the tragic conclusion hindered the lighter moments from really taking off. Stewart certainly played the storyteller with authority, however I found his presence a little unnecessary.

Stephen Palfreman’s portrayal of Mickey reinforced the sense of being in a safe pair of hands. It was obvious to see that the role of the poorer twin is a second skin to him. He certainly has the energy of an eight year old; throwing himself around the stage in his holey jumper and with his dirty face he has a freeness that his richer, more sheltered twin, Eddie, lacks.

Undoubtedly, Blood Brothers is more than a musical, it is a social commentary on the rigid class barriers. Yet it still skilfully manages to be genuinely funny and, despite the tragic climax, allows you to leave the theatre feeling uplifted by the protagonists’ friendship.

Originally published on TheatreFixblog.co.uk

Strictly Gershwin at the Royal Albert Hall (18.06.11)

I arrived at the Royal Albert Hall last week with very specific expectations for Strictly Gershwin; I wanted to be dazzled. Having sat through many a hip-hop-street-dance-style extravaganza for the last few years, I wanted to be transported back to the classic era of my favourite Hollywood musicals such as Top Hat, Singin’ In The Rain and Swing Time. Not only this, but I wanted to see this golden age of cinema crossed with technical brilliance, glamorous costuming and beautiful choreography from the English National Ballet…fortunately for me I was not disappointed.



It has been argued that Broadway melodies and pointe shoes do not necessarily mix, and yes, the fast Quickstep and cabaret numbers are danced very cleanly, with balletic like precision, but I fail to see how this is a bad thing. From the overture onwards I was caught up in the beauty and musicality of Derek Deane’s choreography to Gershwin’s familiar rhythms. This positive first impression went on only to be bettered as a faultless selection of guest artists and Gareth Valentine’s orchestra followed, creating a show that, for me, is the complete package.

Maria Friedman provides several musical interludes throughout both acts and her performances of The Man I Love and A Foggy Day certainly serve to make her more than just a filler to cover costume changes. And what costumes they are, ranging from Latin dance legend Carmen Vincelj’s black fringed creation to the ENB’s Swarovski crystal studded tutus for the perfectly staged and executed Rhapsody In Blue.

Other particular highlights include the ENB’s entertaining take on An American In Paris, filled with pram-pushing nannies, wayward cancan girls and roller skaters. Summertime is a deeply sensuous and passionate feast for the eyes, as is the greatest pleasure of the show, an exquisite rumba performed to It Ain’t Necessarily So by seven-times world Latin American champions Bryan Watson and Vincelj. Their placement, precision, pure class and style make Strictly Gershwin worth the ticket price alone.

I was dismayed to see that the Royal Albert Hall was less than filled to capacity with dance lovers and fans of the TV show alluded to in the production’s title. Fortunately, however, those out of the capital will still have an opportunity to catch this stunning show as it goes on tour throughout the rest of the year before returning to the London Coliseum in January 2012.

(Originally published on theatrefixblog.co.uk)

Pygmalion - A Review

“I’m going to see Pygmalion next week.” I told my housemate recently, only to be greeted by a blank response. “You know ... like, My Fair Lady.” I elucidated. Said housemate’s expression was then suddenly less blank as we went onto discuss the much loved Audrey Hepburn musical with its memorable scenes at Ascot Racecourse and the Ambassador’s Ball. It’s only, as I was well aware, Pygmalion is a play and not a musical, and after having watched the first preview on Thursday May 12th, I can’t help but feel, despite its slick staging, the deliberately mainstream casting and inherent links to a musical classic may leave its tourist heavy audience feeling a little disappointed.



Negatives aside, it does seem that in Kara Tointon’s portrayal of Eliza Doolittle we have a rare example of perfect casting. In the last 18 months Tointon has gone from gritty East End realism in the form of the country’s best loved soap to the glamour of West End, more than holding her own alongside accomplished Hollywood star Rupert Everett whose camp representation of Henry Higgins appears to work perfectly even at this extremely early stage in the production’s run. Tointon’s recent transformation from small screen actress to glamorous Strictly Come Dancing winner is essentially what she must bring to the stage in the role of Eliza and certainly in the first act she did this comfortably. Her East End flower girl accent is endearing and comical, anyone would be hard pushed to criticise this performance on her West End debut.

In contrast, Everett slinks around the stage, prancing and tip-toeing like the exuberant personality he is. I just wonder how much of Everett himself is in his Henry Higgins character. In any other role he would be in danger of showing up his co-stars inexperience but fortunately this is the one role where it makes both portrayals more convincing.

The first two scenes run smoothly, on the streets of the East End and at 27A Wimpole Street, plush adobe of Higgins and his many servants although I can’t help but feel the desire for Tointon to burst into a rendition of Wouldn’t It Be Lovely? while she sells flowers to the aristocracy leaving the Opera. This feeling, I learnt, would not really budge for the entirety of the play. There is no Rain in Spain and Dover never exists in order for him to “move his bloomin’ arse!” The famous scene at Ascot racecourse is instead a tea party and Henry’s mother, the dialogue is identical to George Cukor’s 1964 film. The only change coming when Peter Sandys-Clark’s likeable but only fleetingly seen character of Freddy Einsford-Hill asks Miss Doolittle if she will be walking how via the park: “Not bloody likely!” comes the indignant reply. There is a knowing titter for the audience, who immediately spot this alternative climax to the scene.



To take Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion totally on face value however, this is a slick new production with simple, effective staging, stunning costuming and a highly competent cast of actors. Diana Rigg is faultless as Higgins’ mother. She brings some gravitas mid way through the first act just as the audience begin to feel the two protagonists are having far too much fun. In a recent interview, Tointon has even talked how she aspires to “speak with (Rigg’s) voice all of the time” No doubt then, that Kara in undoubtedly enjoying her transition from real life cockney sweetheart to sophisticated thespian.

Rating 3/5

Royal Wedding Part 1

On Thursday April 28th and Friday April 29th I braved it into London to take a look at how the media was preparing and then covering the Royal Wedding. I’ll try not to make this entry too sappy or schmaltzy but it was a wonderful couple of days. I have never seen so many cheerful people on mass and together with most of my idols in such close proximity. I’ve never doubted that I want to be a journalist but these two days taught me not to completely let go of my delusions of one day working in television. I told myself a few months ago to firmly stick to writing and go nowhere near cameras. April taught me that it is every element of broadcast journalism which fascinates me. Behind the camera even more so than in front of it ... I was suddenly endowed with an urge to shout into glamorous people’s earpieces for a living.

I got the 7.12 train into London from Egham on Thursday morning and got myself to Westminster for roughly 8am. The atmosphere was one of understated busyness. Breakfast television from the UK, US, Canada and everywhere hogged the especially-created media platforms outside Westminster Abbey for the next day’s events. The faithful campers were beginning to wake and enthusiastically talking to various TV crews. Immediately I spotted Carol Kirkwood from BBC Breakfast on pavement level and Sian Williams up on the platforms. I spent a while gauging the situation trying to work out how easy it might be to skulk around where all the media lot were but not a chance, mate. It looked like Sian was totally out of reach up on her platform. A feeling I’m very used to when I’ve gone to outside broadcasts to try and meet my idols. I did however have access to Carol, as did many others (!)



Sian looked even more miniature than I remembered when I had seen her last time. Smart and composed she looked great as ever. I was fascinated with simply watching how she interacted with interviewees and what she did between broadcasting. And on a hideously aesthetic level, her hair is gorgeous, bright, blonde and beautiful.

I chatted with several of the friendly campers to pass the time and ponder whether I should attempt to ask Carol for a quick photograph – being on my own I thought that might be a little awkward. I deliberately went by myself to avoid boring any of my friends, none of whom would have found my passion at all interesting. Throughout the morning I met predominantly Americans and Australians all of whom were very friendly. Why can’t the British be so full of compliments? I must have been told at least five times that I was beautiful which did my non-existent confidence marvels. I asked them how long they’d been there and what part of the wedding they were looking forward too, essentially pretending I was a journalist. I wish I could have been working on it if only in a small way.

Eventually, as I saw the time pass 9.15am, I knew Carol would be making a move soon and as she looked free I took my chance. I don’t know why I always feel the need to justify my need for a picture with whoever my unfortunate victim is, I just do. “Carol, I am THE biggest Breakfast fan, please could I have a picture?” “Of course” she replied with that smile which I was never always convinced was very real, but she definitely is that jolly in real life which was nicely reassuring. We faffed with my BlackBerry trying to find someone to take a picture and she told me I was looking very glamorous which was sweet of her (I adore all these media luvvies and their compliments.)

Main excitement over for the morning, I helped out some kind of Thai/Japanese/Chinese journalist out with what the cheers from the crowd had been for early. It transpired that Harry and Kate had been to the Abbey for last minute rehearsals again. I tried to explain this to said journalist through the medium of Twitter. It was also amusing the note that the small the news organisation/country, the smaller patch of pavement they claimed, some even resorting to the main road.

As the Breakfast shift ended, Sian left and it wasn’t long before I could see Louise Minchin appear up on the platform for what I assume was a shift on the News Channel. It was a weird feeling, the people I watch on the News Channel nearly every day are suddenly right in front of me and no one is bothered apart from me. Louise must have disappeared shortly before the 1pm news. I was beginning to weaken for lack of food but I didn’t want to leave my little patch of pavement in case something happened. I was checking my phone every few minutes for texts or tweets and it was then I saw Louise tweet that “@maitlis is in charge now ... ”. At this moment I was perched in a small stairwell just behind the media platform and couldn’t see any of the broadcasters from where I was but it was then that it registered with me that Emily Maitlis was literally a few feet from where I was sat - breathing the same slightly dusty air and everything.



Almost cautiously I edged towards somewhere where I could get a view of the platform, not really knowing what to expect, and there above all the now rammed pavements of Westminster Abbey was Emily, her unmistakable glossy blonde hair, silver/grey jacket, fitted black trousers and naturally huge diva sunglasses which covered nearly the whole of her face when she wasn’t on camera. I had never seen her in the flesh before. It all happened so quickly I didn’t quite know how to react. In fact, I had no reaction. It was almost like it was too much to process for my brain so I decided not to try and process it at all. The streets were so busy at this point it took about 20 minutes to walk one block along the media platform but I made this journey several times just so I could have a good stare. If I was to sum up her image in one word it would be glossy, like her hair, but I think “expensive” would also fit the bill – just like every element that goes into her appearance is nothing but the best. When she wore her sunglasses she looked like such a bloody diva and reasons like this are why I love her.

Once I had worked out what I felt a little bit more, I took obligatory photographs and pondered whether I should leave. I was happy just sat in her shadow but, like I mentioned earlier, very weak. So I caved and went home, glad that I had finally seen my idol in the flesh yet knowing she still remained far away. I was momentarily gutted to discover later on in the day that she had gone to mingle with the crowds but I told myself that even if I had stayed I would never have had the confidence to go up to her by myself. The prospect is still far too scary. The only way I can explain it is when you respect someone so much you really don’t want to have to put them out by having to deal with the likes of you, lowly you, who’s normal and not perfect like they are. ... So yeah, I’d never have gone up to her by myself, besides, there had been many more positives from the day that I shouldn't have let myself dwell on the negatives too much. That was the way I had to look at it.

(I'll do Friday asap!)

Part 2: 2005

For Mr Paul Campbell any anyone else who has the misfortune of reading this too. Hello to you, we have reached part two of this EXCITING journey.


Shortly after this incredibly mature approach had been established, the Boxing Day tsunami of 2004 happened. After 9/11, it was probably the second news event in my life so far that I actually took notice of. I was a bit too young to care about Diana. For the first time I was watching Breakfast not just for the presenters but for the news. Call it a break through or growing up, it was just another way in which the programme was beginning to shape my life, my education, my general knowledge and my outlook on everything. I often first heard about new musicians through Breakfast, new series on television, I knew what was going on in Sports I didn’t, and still don’t, care about ... I damn well cared if it was Chris Hollins telling me though.

Anyway, the point is, it was December 2004 and Sian was sent to Indonesia to cover the tsunami. I woke up to see her talking to families who had nothing left; she didn’t seem so chirpy now. I remember saying some pretty dreadful things then, things I am more than not proud of ... something about wishing that she had been swept away by the wave too ... I know! Awful! Never did it occur to me in my ignorant little mind that it wasn’t Natasha who had sacrificed all her plans, dropped everything and gone to live in the basest of accommodation for a short period in order to report what a tragedy had happened to the wider world. No. Sian was still a Tash wannabe to me. I should have been gassed, on reflection.

2005 began and I began to accept that each Friday and throughout the weekends I would not have my precious D&N. At this point I began recording the programme, Monday to Thursday. The whole experience was some sort of love affair. I couldn’t get enough of them and I was genuinely sad when 9.15 came ... actually it’s 9.13am. I slowly became more tolerant of B&S, I think part of me even began to find their TV marriage a little endearing but I would never have admitted it. I certainly began to come around to the concept of Mr Turnbull as he occasionally presented with Natasha with when Dermot was away and thus of course was Bill graduated to my level of acceptance. Despite this, any feelings that were brewing for B&S were thwarted by 2005 being the year of Natasha’s “whirlwind romance” engagement/marriage. (A now 20 year old Vikki promptly vomits at this phrase.) Although my “obsession" with her lasted at least until 2008, I can safely say 2005 was the peak of my full blown freakish, stalker like love for her. I’m surprised I managed not to wee with excitement when I saw her wedding pictures in the newspapers. (I forced my parents to buy every newspaper that day.)



Later 2005 however, provided everyone with a reality check in the form of the London bombings, possibly one of the first news events I understood the magnitude of. Not only was I watching Breakfast, I was a News 24 addict and followed every detail, every eye witness, every report. At the same time, I was introduced to a new sector of this wonderful BBC News family, the likes of Simon McCoy, Kate Silverton, Jon Sopel, Carrie Gracie, Tim Willcox, Ben Brown, Joanna Gosling ... and so many others: more and more people to admire and analyse. Unlike with the tsunami, I had grown up a little since then, I understood why Breakfast had adopted a sombre tone for the next few weeks. You couldn’t go around giggling about jumper made of dog hair when people were carrying explosives onto the underground.

This said, it didn’t stop the 2005 series of Strictly Come Dancing taking over my life in a way I still struggle to comprehend. When I think of the winter of that year in my head, lots of little fireworks start going off because I can’t quite describe how wonderful the people were that it introduced me to. Natasha was suddenly less important. In that all important GCSE year of my life, I cared not about exams but about the dances that Bill Turnbull and Karen Hardy were pulling out of the bag. Following their journey was an emotional tsunami (should at least keep the theme going) and then some. They were my everything. They were so bloody amazing. I don’t think it’s possible to love two people more without actually knowing them than I did with Bill and Karen - the peak of this love coming at the time of “footgate”.



To add petrol to this already burning inferno of obsession, I was lucky enough to get tickets to the fourth week of that year’s Strictly. Back in those days, you could swagger around TC1 like you owned the place, security was non-existent and my, at the time, best friend and I ran around like loonies pestering everyone for their autograph. My very first victim was Sian who happened to be in the studio as well that night. My friend and I clocked her in the corridor as we entered the studio and in less than a second, over a year of hatred quickly evaporated, only to be transformed into unrivalled adoration for every scrap of her little 5ft 2ins frame. I’d never met anyone “famous” before and I didn’t expect them to really speak to me. I had no idea, as a 15 year old from Devon, what “famous person” etiquette was. Baring in mind the conversation I am trying to recount was nearly six years ago I honestly can’t remember much of it but all I do retain is that she was absolutely lovely. Having met more people now, very few ask you about yourself and instead of just indulging in discussing their disgusting levels of success but Sian did. I mean, she didn’t have to have a conversation with a hysterical fifteen year old, did she? But she bloody well did and looking back on that as a now hugely mature twenty year old I applaud that. I give that a bloody standing ovation.

Night of magic over, those huge blue eyes had committed themselves into my memory for a long time to come. For weeks following meeting Sian, each morning I’d say at the TV, “I met her.” As if to reassure myself that she was real. The Monday after that weekend, I took the plunge to email Sian to say thank you for being so lovely. This would sound acceptable yet I was still on my giddy high from the weekend and sent her an unforgivable rant essentially declaring my love for her that she still bothered to respond to. That was when this part of my life moved onto a new level, knowing that I could have contact with the people who were fast becoming my idols was like the most uncontrollable and exciting new addiction. It was all I thought about.

How a TV programme changed my life ...

I started writing this a few days ago and discovered I had so many suppressed memories and emotions attached to what I'm writing about I'll need to do this in several parts. This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a number of blogs on BBC Breakfast.

Before you read, I am already aware of how ridiculous this whole thing sounds, and how much amusement you'll probably gain from it at my expense, but I have not exaggerated one little bit. Writing about the sentiments I have for the show is just a way of dealing with my sadness that everything I loved about it will very soon be coming to an end.

At the beginning of 2004 I was 13 years old. I can’t remember being interested in much other than dancing and where my next pair of ballet shoes was coming from. Shortly after that, Strictly Come Dancing hit our screens; I quickly developed an intense and now embarrassing obsession with Natasha Kaplinsky (one I’ll vigorously deny these days ...) which meant I started waking up at 6.30am each weekday to watch BBC Breakfast and that was it. My morning routine has barely changed since. I’m now 20; an adult. I’m meant to be at that stage where I actually have a life, thus not allowing it to be ruled by minor TV pap but I still do ... I can’t let it go, but in the coming months, due to the programme’s relocation to media city, I am being forced to. It started like this ...

It was April 2004. Seven years ago. I woke up in the morning and whilst only semi conscious I’d hit the switch on the television in my bedroom and listen to Dermot and Natasha go through the newspapers. I never realised before that newsreaders ever strayed from their autocue, but here they seemed to and it was suddenly fascinating to me whenever Natasha commented, offering a personal view about one of the headlines, or if Dermot adlibbed as he handed to the sport.

Moreover, I loved waking up each morning and discovering what Natasha had chosen to wear and whether Dermot was complimenting this with his tie. Over time I became familiar with what must have been a jacket rota, and I’d always notice whenever she wore something new. All in all, I was transfixed by what seemed to me to be these two nice people, who read the news, wore nice clothes and had some personality, not to mention conduct interviews with politicians who at the time I’d never heard of, over issues I had no interest in. I wanted to be just like them, I concluded.



Occasionally, while Natasha was doing Strictly, they would discuss how training was going. It was like having some kind of behind the scenes access into how her dances were coming along. I thought she was brilliant. I loved in interviews how she never seemed flustered, always in control and yet, from seeing her on Strictly I knew there was a vulnerable person in there somewhere and not just a robot who read the news. I don’t particularly hold these flattering views of la Kaplinsky these days; I find her a little too dull, a little too careful and predictable and importantly a little bit too professional to be as human as I thought her to be then.

Shortly into my love affair with BBC Breakfast I was to have a nasty surprise to interrupt my mornings with Dermot and Natasha. I flicked my television into action again one Friday morning to find well ... I wasn’t sure The female presenter was like Natasha but her hair wasn’t as fiercely styled. I was angry. “Who are these WANNABE’S?!” I remember squeaking in disgust from my bedroom to my Mum who was watching in the kitchen. “Where’s Natasha? What’s that bitch done with her? She’s just a wannabe ... look at her sucking up to everyone. She’s just a Natasha wannabe!” Thinking back, I must have sounded like a toddler throwing her rattle out of the pram, the only problem was that I wasn’t an enfant I was a teenage girl who had become strangely possessed by the lure of a breakfast show and wanted those familiar faces back - my morning could not function without them. It was a turning point.

“Good morning, you’re watching Breakfast with Sian Williams and Bill Turnbull.” Their names chimed out. If only I knew then how much of my life I would dedicate to them. I watched for twenty minutes or so, still incensed that my precious D&N were not there. I decided they were both far too chirpy and bloody happy about everything. D&N had a certain gravitas that I believed was far more suitable to the moody teen I was, I could tell Natasha could be a right cow if she wanted to be, and I liked that. Sian was too damn twee for 6.30 in the morning. I resolved to hate them, no matter what.

Sexism in the Media

Sexism in television is not exactly a new topic. The BBC has been wrestling for years with claims of ageism and sexism towards some of their best known female presenters. Only last month, former Countryfile presenter Miriam O’Reilly won her court case against the BBC who were found guilty of sacking the 53 year old from the flagship programme on grounds of ageism, at the same time as keeping on 70 year old and most definitely male, John Craven. And one need only mention the name Arlene Philips to be aware of the ageism media circus synonymous with her untimely sacking from Strictly Come Dancing.

However, the most recent episode concerning sexism against women in broadcasting is threatening to rumble on and on. Ex Sky Sports commentators Andy Grey and Richard Keys sexist “banter” saw their resignations and then almost immediate hiring to rival radio broadcaster Talksport has caused more than a little controversy. Does this move indicate the green light for all male sport commentators to indulge in the kind of talk that belongs in a pub (for dinosaurs), in a television studio?


I’ve an interest in broadcasting of all areas and it is something I aspire to do in the future but I’ll admit before I enter full rant mode that I know very little about football, I do not know the off side rule but, I’m not a lineswoman at an important football match. I enjoy watching other sports on TV and I think the likes of Clare Balding, Gabby Logan and Sue Barker are more than worthy of the prestigious roles they fulfil. Clare, for example is effortlessly knowledgeable about all things equine and so much more, she’s funny, she knows the relevant people to her sport on a person and professional level, the people she is interviewing generally like her and want to talk to her which makes a difference. In the case of Gabby, I find it genuinely wonderful that a thirtysomething attractive blonde woman can host a flagship football league show on a Saturday afternoon and more than hold her own when always outnumbered by men that she shares the set with.

For those unaware of the original incident which caused so much uproar, the comments which even the most macho of cavemen might see as a little dated occurred when Grey and Keys passed comment over lineswoman, Sian Massey, on Saturday January 22nd. Believing their microphones to be switched off, the two men agreed that Massey, and female assistant referees in general “did not know the offside rule.” Greys can be heard commenting, “What do women know about the offside rule?” before Keys agreed, replying, “Someone better get down there and explain (the offside rule) to her.” Grey concurred. The pair then moved on to discussion of West Ham vice-chairwoman and Apprentice aide, Karren Brady, Keys bringing up the subject, “See the charming Karren Brady this morning complaining about sexism?” “Yeah, do me a favour, love” stated Keys in response.

Subsequently Sky Sports promptly sacked the two men for their comments, some critics and commentators defended them, suggesting their views had been blown grossly out of the proportion, others believed Sky’s decision had been the right one. No one can deny these views still are not rife throughout the country in pubs, bar and livings rooms, although in my view the point is that these (up until now) well respected men in their industry felt it was okay to make these comments in the very public arena of a television studio. Moreover, when Keys participated in a radio interview (for TalkSport, ironically) following his sacking, listeners expected a sincere apology, but oh no, siree. It appeared that Keys still had a mental block when it came to accepting that his comments were wrong, saying “If off air conversations of television and radio presenters were reported up and down the country there would be no-one left working. You know that as well as I do.” And “I am here to say sorry to those people who I need to say sorry to.” No suggestion that he wishes to retract the view he put across as anything but his own then.



Clearly social blunders and prehistoric views of women are what Talksport ultimately seek in their commentators as days after this interview, both Grey and Keys found employment again, certainly not a strong signal to other male broadcasters that such behaviour is not acceptable. Grey said of the appointment, “This is an ideal opportunity to do what we do best, and that's talk about sport", doing what you do best, eh, Andy? Assuming that the sport concerned isn’t women’s beach volleyball I’m guessing.

It occurred to me while watching a news bulletin reporting on these comments that the world of sports media should surely take a hint from the current affairs media. When was the last time you saw a news programme that did not feature a female as a presenter or co-presenter? It appears we live in a society where we trust Fiona Bruce to tell us the latest from Afghanistan but we don’t want Sue Barker to comment on the Andy Murray match unless in the undoubtedly illustrious presence of Tim Henman and Andrew Castle.

But then again, I’m a woman. What do I know? I should most probably get back to the kitchen.

Comic Relief 2011

As we enter the New Year and have only recently been urged by the BBC to empty our pockets for their annual Children In Need appeal, just three months later we’re being urged to do it all over again for another worthy cause in the form of Comic Relief 2011 – cue Lenny Henry looking forlorn as he surveys the slums of Africa, cue various celebrities believing it is suddenly socially acceptable to unleash their lack of dance skills on an audience that is left with the choice of watching them or Take Me Out ... how dare you question the price of the licence fee, sir


First and foremost let me get the serious stuff out of the way. Every year Comic Relief helps thousands of people across Africa and the UK, restoring people’s site, protecting families from malaria and give education to children who have very little else where the average life span is just 35 years, so get your hand in your pocket you miserable lot and give to a good cause. Once you’ve done this, unless celebrity exhibitionism is your thing then Friday 18th March is definitely a night you’ll want to spend in a pub as a host of “famous faces” remind us of the facts I have just outlined to you ... continuously, interspersed with some middle of the road but very definitely politically correct comedy. Here’s a taste of what you can expect:

Let’s Dance: Yes as aforementioned you can’t stop celebrities dancing these days. As a result, every Saturday in the weeks leading up to this year’s “extravaganza” we are being treated to what is essentially largely a collection of male comedians dressing up as women (Kate Bush, Madonna, Beyonce, Cheryl ... I could go on) to see who be the most appalling and then send the most appalling into the one hugely disturbing grand final where there will be more of the same. The whole thing is hosted by Alex Jones of The One Show and Steve Jones of ... of, well, I’m sure he’s famous for something, both of whom spend the duration of the show pretending it’s not awkward hosting a TV show with your ex and maintaining that every single act of “absolutely hilarious”.

Celebrity Trekkers: Coming soon to our screens will be a one off documentary about what happens when you send an assortment of celebrities on a 100k trek through a dessert; think of it as a slightly more civilized I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here. The five day trek which was completed a couple of weeks ago with Kara Tointon, Olly Murs, Ronni Ancona, Dermot O’Leary and Craig David all taking part. Hearts are sure to bleed as it is reported many of the celebrities experienced “discomfort”, O’Leary even reporting that “my feet are ruined”. I’m sure the kids with no clean water to drink are brimming, with sympathy, I honestly do.

Famous, Rich and in the Slums: So when I first read that celebrities including Reggie Yates and Angelo Rippon were being “stripped of all their possessions and left alone to live, work and survive in Kibera” I thought it sounded an excellent idea. Too bad it was only because they’re being followed by a film crew for a BBC documentary of the “moving” variety. Are there really any others where Comic Relief is concerned? I am assured however that the programme does its best to get the message across and is packed with some truly shocking statistics such as 3 billion people live in abject poverty today and survive on as little as £1.50 a day; maybe it is worth a watch after all ...

Radio 3 Concert: Something for the slightly more sophisticated among us is Radio 3’s Big Red Nose Show which will involve a 100 piece celebrity orchestra try to break the world record the largest simultaneous playing of an instrument no one was sure existed, the kazoo. Although promisingly the celebrities include Miranda Hart, Marcus Brigstocke, Stephen Mangan, Jenny Eclair and MANY others. You’re not sold on it yet, are you? What if I tell you that Basil Brush is presenting it ... Oh yes, you’re there now, aren’t you?



So there you have it, music, dance and abject poverty, all thrown together to create this year’s fundraiser. Don’t forget to Do Something Funny for Money now, guys ... because the chances are it’ll be a hell of a lot more entertaining than what they’re doing on the telly.

Love Never Dies - A Review

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom sequel, Love Never Dies was cruelly dubbed Paint Never Dries by hard-to-please fans of the original when the show opened in March of last year after much anticipation. Just months later, the press reported that tickets were selling for as little as £3 and the show was heading for disaster. No surprise then that the good Lord saw the need for a re-think, controversially closing the show for a few days over the Christmas period for some readjustments.

Noting the teething problems, I approached my visit to the Adelphi with mixed feelings; concern that this allegedly distinctly underwhelming follow-up would sent me running back to Her Majesty’s Theatre where the majestic original is still packing in the tourists, but on the other hand, I believed that Lloyd Webber was not foolish enough to put on a production to an original that is renowned worldwide if it was not up to scratch.

The rearranged show now begins with one of the big songs, ‘Til I Hear You Sing. There is no lead up, no introduction, just bam, there it was before you even had time to get comfortable in your seat. At first I found this confusing, it was like going to see The Sound of Music and starting with the Nazis rather than ending with them. Despite this conscious decision, I believe it worked, the orchestra effortlessly fill the theatre with a genuinely haunting feeling as we first see the Phantom, now ten years on, the hairs on the arms began to stand up ... and as the show continued, it transpired there was far more emotive blackmail to come.

Many have asked where Love Never Dies is an accessible watch to the Phantom virgin and the answer is unquestionably yes, although the only difference to someone who has never met these characters before is that the content of the sequel will inevitably mean less. The plot is touching, rather than taxing for the brain: We meet Christine and Raul ten years on; they now have a son of the same age named Gustav. The family are captured on arrival in New York by the Phantasma Freaks (go with it ....) and are taken to Coney Island, a down at heel land of sleaze and mystery. The Phantom reappears to haunt Christine and demands he sings for her for one last time, whereas Raul insists he will leave Christine if she does. In addition, there is the added intrigue of the subplot consisting of Meg Giry, now a washed –up dancer for the Phantasma troupe, and her mother, still bitter ten years on that the Phantom fails to notice Meg’s talent.




Reading that back it is easy to see where all the criticism has come from with such a thin seeming plot that would seem to lack the depth of the original, and to an extent it does, but I would argue that it is the music that saves the show, unquestionable Lloyd Webber’s greatest achievement since the Phantom of 1986.
The set as well, is a delight with big projections, effortless acrobatics and impressive costumes creating a sense of life at Coney – these scenes are a feast for the eyes if nothing else. The moments in the first act, shared by Christine and Gustav are endearing, containing some heart warming moments, most notably, Look with Your Heart, just as she and the Phantom share some thrilling romantic arias.

In a peculiar role reversal, Love Never Dies encourages us to side with the Phantom as we see Raul’s character take on a darkness of the former Phantom in his dejected, drunken state. As the show draws to a climax, never have I seen so much tension injected to a title song, but Sierra Boggess’ talent makes it more than worth the wait. If the goose bumps haven’t come yet they will now.

In essence, I loved it, there’s no denying. It is obvious to see Love Never Dies is a show that has had a lot of money thrown as it to make it work but I believe after a nervy start this is a wonderful and genuinely spooky show that can run the course. It is a show with heart, intent and meaning, and after all, if the insipid tackiness of shows such as Dirty Dancing can still pack in the punters, why can’t this one?

Rating: 4/5

From 21/01/11

Why I love Miranda ...

As she's flavour of the month, I appreciate my love for this woman is hardly surprising although I like to consider myself a fan of hers before she hit the big time. Here's my article of why I think she's so wonderful which is also in the next issue of The Founder.

Miranda-Mania

Why do we all suddenly love Miranda Hart?

Slapstick comic Miranda Hart swept the board at Channel 4’s annual British Comedy Awards. Her unique brand of humour, self depreciation and physical comedy proving to be a rare but astoundingly popular success for the Devon born comedienne as well as showing women can be funny.

So, who is this woman who, I think it is safe to say, two years ago no one had heard of in mainstream comedy? Miranda is unashamedly honest about her middle class upbringing, attending public school Downe House, where Claire Balding was a contemporary of hers, and despite studying politics at the University of West of the England she had always wanted to be a comedienne, crediting Morecambe and Wise as being her main inspirations. She is a fabulous example of someone who has battled for their career and persevered despite multiple knockbacks before rising to the top. She originally pitched a comedy to the BBC as early as 2002 and has been on the sidelines ever since, until 2008 where she recorded the pilot episode of the self-titled Miranda; she is quick to claim however that the main character is not a direct portrayal of herself.

Her comedy strikes a chord with women of all ages, socially awkward teenagers to those older who recognise the personal hang-ups and social traumas Miranda finds herself in. Everyone has experienced an aspect of the life she mocks in her sitcom and I believe that to be at the heart of the show’s success. Miranda plays a clumsy but intensely loveable thirtysomething, useless with men, intelligent but yet she has somehow wound up running a joke shop with her best friend – the irony presumably intentional. In addition she is consistently undermined by her ambitious mother played by the wonderful Patricia Hodge, the deliverer of one of the show’s best known catchphrases, “Such fun!” Refreshingly, Miranda does not for one moment take her success for granted, “This is what I’ve been working towards all of my life.” She enthuses in a recent interview.

I was lucky enough to attend two recordings of this award winning sitcom in December and was shocked by the almost cult-like following it seems to have amassed in such a short space of time. In the queue outside the BBC studios I met what were, in essence a selection of mini Miranda’s and mini me’s, some fans even going so far as to make their own Heather Small heads on sticks. (If you don’t watch, you won’t understand, don’t worry ...) It appears everyone can see a little bit of themselves in Miranda no matter how cool we all try to be.

Miranda’s victory at the Comedy Awards, winning the People’s Choice Award, Best New TV Comedy and Best Comedy Actress signals a significant change in the direction of British comedy. In the past years, the industry has seen it all from Frankie Boyle pushing the boundaries beyond belief to Miranda’s inoffensive yet still laugh out loud funny, slapstick. It may perhaps be worth noting then, that the former was not so much as even nominated for an award. Miranda’s victories are at the same time a triumph for female comedy, maybe soon, we can look forward to when women outnumber men on panel shows instead of being asked on as a somewhat token effort.

What’s next for the new Queen of BBC comedy, then? A move to BBC1 primetime has been rumoured and doubtless series three will have a lot to live up to. I only hope that Miranda continues to write to the best of her ability and enjoys her success. She is a genuinely lovely person who, most probably out of pity, high-fived me at a recording of her show because I was so thrilled to see her. She appeared to be equally thrilled by my excitement. If she continues to stay this grounded, she will be unstoppable and a role model for many who aspire to her honestly gained success.

Flashdance the Musical

Think Flashdance and you think leotards, perms and “What a Feeling?”, right? On the surface, this show new to the West End is the epitome of the working class hero in an elitist industry cliché. Alex is a welder by day and dancer by night but is motivated to do a stage school audition at dying her mother’s request, she falls in love along the way and we all go home very satisfied. All this may be true but the production I saw on a snowy December afternoon has been directed in such a way that it wants you to see more than just a predictable chick flick bought to the stage.

Based on the 1983 Adrian Lyne movie, the character of Alex is played by rising star, Victoria Hamilton Barritt who is in her first leading role and she has more than deserves it, her Alex is feisty but not unlikable and her rise to the top symbolises female empowerment and the realising of her dreams. The audience want her to succeed. Flashdance is no walk in the park for the lead female. There are complex dance numbers to master, music, vocals and an accent to master. She holds it together well and although young, the audience feel in very safe hands with her at the helm. The choreography is the show’s bread and butter, it brims with physical energy from start to finish and I pitied the actors whose job it was to rouse this miserable and severely depleted audience with an enthusiastic rendition of I Love Rock ‘n’ Roll at the beginning of the second act. Okay, there is the occasional stage-school-kids-try-to-do-street cringe moment but this aside, the numbers put together by Strictly’s Arlene Phillips are near flawless and in the case of the dream sequence at the show’s climax, moving.

It is not only Victoria who is impressive in the lead but Matt Willis who plays her love interest Nick is also worthy of a mention as are the rest of the supporting cast members, experienced West Enders Hannah Levane and Charlotte Harwood.
Of course there will be many who have come to view the show as avid fans of the 1980s film (a little before my time, I’m afraid) and I’m sure they will not be disappointed. The film was not renowned for its music other than the big song so inevitably with a musical adaption come numbers designed to pad out what was undeniably a paper thin plot. The writers have done this successfully; I shamelessly wanted to belt out the lyrics to In Touch with the Beat, Totally Different People and Don’t Stop as I made my way back to the underground. I admit there were a few forgettable and unnecessary fillers but the cast work so hard this is easily forgivable.

Make no mistake, if you’re after a high brow evening of enlightening theatre this will not be the show for you, but if you’re in need of a little light relief, a camp night out, a feel good love story that doesn’t require too much thought and some impressive dance numbers that definitely do include leg warmers, head to the Shaftesbury theatre pronto.

From performance on 3/12/10