It's a wrap...Frome Festival 2022 now golden memories...

Our revels now are ended. Frome Festival, the week when every public space offers performance nightly while homes & gardens across the town open daily to share artistic & horticultural splendours, is over for another year. Festival Director Martin Dimery has steered the show splendidly for his final time, and can step down with due dramatic pride in this year's showcase of the range and quality of events.  

And as Martin is also responsible for this festival's theatrical highlight - he wrote the book & lyrics and directed the production -  we'll start with The Haunting of Richard the Third. With music by Martin and David Hynds, Kairos Theatre Company performed this stunning drama, emotionally gripping and crammed with jeopardy and joy, on ECOS amphitheatre. It's the eve of the Battle of Bosworth Field, and Richard, last Plantagenet king of England & last English monarch to be killed in battle, is recalling his increasingly indefensible rise to power. We see his glory days, and his fall, overwhelmed by the Yorkist army of Henry Tudor, whose dynasty ruled England for the next hundred years. It's now 20 years since Richard’s body, in an unmarked tomb, was found in a car-park in Leicester. Steve Middle was superb as the degenerating king, and Sarah Wingrove genuinely moving as his queen, with all the cast of supporters & foes, nobles & peasants - and ghosts too, combining to create three hours of riveting entertainment. 

With several theatrical productions, and only one week of festival, choice was difficult: my next pick was the black comedy Silence by Moira Buffini at the Assembly Rooms, a Dark Ages drama billed as Monty Pythonesque. Written in 1999 and well received at the time (it won an award for best English language play by a woman) this production by Frome Drama definitely had its moments and was well acted and often funny but perhaps Black Adder and social media have raised the bar for dark age satire as there wasn't much edge or bite, and the thought-provoking aspect seemed lacking. 

Even the Museum became a performance space this year, as Rosie Eliot of Nevertheless Productions together with Debbie Clayton created a clever, funny, and informative drama around some of the characters in the current 'Celebrated Women of Frome' exhibition there. The Auditions imagines six of Frome's most colourful historic characters chatting as they wait for their moment to impress the judges of Britain's Got Talent: here Christina Rossetti worries that In the Bleak Midwinter will be dismissed as too gloomy while Emma Sheppard is keen to further her philanthropic work with a rendition of Bring Me Sunshine - an apt choice as her 1859 pamphlet urging workhouse reform was titled 'Sunshine in the Workhouse'.

Segueing from conversational speech to narrative, the dark horse of the festival was a one-off extravaganza at the Assembly rooms on Monday: The Magic of the Universe from the Pagan Gospel Groove Machine, led by Ed Green, promised 'an interactive immersive experience with audience participation, harmony singing, music and dancers, told with love, hope, spirituality and connection'. Think '70s 'happening' idealism, with shared intention like an '80s 'encounter group'. It was moving simply listening to the music and watching the backdrop film of galactic activity, but the hall was too full of seating for the audience to actively join the dancers - a really lovely immersive experience though.

As you'd expect, bands were playing in most of the pubs around town - Frome's popular Unit 4 had a 'Soundcheck' show on VRA, viewable here - and there was also excellent live music at nearby Marston Park Glampsite, a pleasant 40 minutes walk away, down lanes and across fields, which offered free access during festival week to locals - fabulous to lounge by the lake at sunset, listening to high quality live jazz from the Damian Cook Trio, with Bryan Posslethwaite on piano & Henrik Jenson on bass.

These were my evening highlights, but throughout the daytime there was an amazing array of art on view in venues right across the town - and beyond, too. Among my favourites were Cameron Scott's relief wood carvings, and the superb paintings of Miguel Ornia-Blanco and Dan Morley in their Silk Mill Studios, but there was much more that was hugely impressive too.

The final weekend brought another Frome Festival extravaganza/happening - the Open Gardens, when 42 private gardens in and around Frome reveal their locations and invite visitors to call in and admire them - the map plus details is a well-invested fiver, as wandering these gardens and talking to their friendly tenders is worth five times that. Lavender thick with bees, forests of hollyhocks, lily-ponds, trees, curios, and cups of tea all feature in these drop-in visits, with garden-lovers comparing notes and sharing recommendations. 

And finally... this week's artsy account of life in Frome life will conclude as mine did, on a writerly note: Frome Writers Collective gathered on the ECOS site to read flash fiction to each other - thanks Dawn Denton for this pic of me, with organisers Gill Harry & Brenda Bannister -

- and to discover the results of this year's short story competition, judged by  journalist and novelist, Keith Stuart ... and the winner was: Nikki Coplestone! And my festival, having begun by sipping champagne with Roger McGough, ended with the monthly 'Proof Pudding' book-club meeting at River House, where we share our reviews of titles sent to Hunting Raven Books for manager Tina Gaysford-Waller's consideration - mine this time was STALKING THE ATOMIC CITY by Markiyan Kamysh, a shocking yet lyrical account of the perilous life of an illegal returner to Chernobyl. 

 

Dramatic reflections

Shakespeare had a thing about mirrors - or at least, his kings did: Richard II in his abdication speech pleads for a mirror 'so I can see the very book indeed/ where all my sins are writ' and symbolically smashes it as he abdicates to Henry. Richard III, brooding on his deformity, takes the obsession further, and the new production at Bristol Old Vic superbly uses the nightmare potential of literal self-reflection to create a set where every assault, every collusion, every betrayal, is visually echoed from subtly different angles. The effect is haunting. The set's archways never change, as if the entire story is all in Richard's fevered mind: sometimes the glass mysteriously clears and ghosts from his murderous past watch the ambitious king writhe. It's mostly very dark, but occasionally beautiful, as when the petals cascade down to symbolise the ending of the red and white rose rivalry.

 In a stella cast Tom Mothersdale is supernova as Richard, his deformity and his charisma both emphasised in his unforgettable performance. The design team - Chiara Stephenson, with Elliot Griggs lighting & George Dennis sound - all deserve credit too. Directed by John Haidar, this is a collaboration with Headlong and part of BOV's vision of renewed vibrance and engagement with the city and community. If you like your Shakespearian history plays true to the bard's intention but you relish classic gothic horror and a bit of black humour, this is definitely one for you - it's timely too: 'England hath long been mad and scarr'd herself.. in blind division,' laments Richmond, surveying the debris as he takes up the baton and promises 'fair ordinance' - we could do with some of that right now.  In Bristol till 13 April, recommended.

This is an interim post for southwest arts followers - the next will be an off-piste bulletin from Brussels!

Identity & history - drama, art, poetry, and ducks.

Richard III as re-envisaged by Beyond the Horizon has the kind of anarchic energy and raw violence I imagine productions would have achieved in Shakespeare's own era. The set looks like a kind of dystopian Occupy and familiar roles are chaotically unfamiliar, but the story is faithful to the savagery of the times: this rogue king is not uniquely monstrous but a creature of his age.  Adam Lloyd-James, producer and co-director, is charismatic in this role: duplicitous, ruthless, credibly the fittest to survive when 'war has descended into brawls and government into shambles.'
This young company based in the southwest has just completed a year of touring this dynamic production, the final two nights at Bath's nice little Rondo Theatre. I'm delighted I caught the penultimate night, and will look out for their tour of Oedipus and Antigone next year.

Tom Stoppard's play The Real Thing was first performed in 1982, over twenty years since his 'modern masterpiece' Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, which may be why the playwright-hero of this piece reflects with irony that 'it's the fate of all us artists - people saying they prefer the early stuff.' Actually this one at Theatre Royal Bath is very entertaining. Henry's play about love and marriage opens the 'real' play, which promptly replicates the storyline of suspected infidelity. His daughter's summary of the play-within-a-play works for his 'real' life too: “It’s not about anything except did she have it off or didn’t she?” The 'real' play seethes with sensual possibilities but its fascination is cerebral: wit and wordplay constants as Henry (Laurence Fox) struggles with emotional uncertainties and the audience can never be sure if we are seeing the real play or the play within the play. Flora Spencer-Longhurst as Annie, whose moral system challenges Henry's belief in 'insularity of passion', is fabulously watchable and entirely convincing as woman even a passing stranger might follow anywhere, even to prison.  Stephen Unwin's direction and Jonathan Fensom's set design effectively supported the sense of era and the overlapping realities. And how much of this is autobiographical? Tom Stoppard has only admitted to identifying with Henry's preference for Procul Harum to Bach and pop to opera. On till 30 September - recommended. Image: Edmond Terakopian

So, a good week for theatre, and a fine week for other creative-artsy events too. Hinterland, the new exhibition from Gladys Paulus at Black Swan Arts, has already stimulated enormous emotional response. Gladys is a felt-maker, previously best known for her theatrical animal masks, but after her father's death two years ago she started to explore the hidden story of her heritage and uncovered a painful history dating from Japanese occupation of Indonesia. The story is available alongside the work: it is too traumatic to précis here but do visit before 14 October if you can. Gladys work is disturbing but no way depressing, a painstaking reparation for the shattered past, which she calls 'mourning and healing.' It's an invitation to consider your own identity, as a human in history, interactive with the past and proactive with the future.
Words at the Black Swan, the writing group dedicated to responding to Long Gallery exhibitions, met on Monday for a workshop led by Dawn Gorman, founder of Words & Ears in Bradford-on-Avon. Dawn's imaginative guidance inspired all ten participants to create some powerful writing, using the installation as both window and mirror.


Dawn's other poetry highlight this week was finale of her role as organiser & host of the Bradford-on-Avon Arts Festival 2017 Poetry Competition with the award ceremony at The Swan. Entries came from all over the world, over 600 of them, so it was remarkable as well as delightful that 7 of the 11 finalists could be present to hear senior judge Carrie Etter introduce their 'Flights of Fancy' and, after reading of some of her own poems on that theme, to announce the verdict: overall winner New Yorker Eric Berlin, second David Van-Cauter, bronze for Penny Hope, with Daniel Snieckus collecting the local prize: a bottle of bubbly and an illustration of his poem by Bradford's artistic deputy mayor Alex Kay. An excellent night, well organised, friendly, and sky-high with stunningly imaginative fanciful flights.

And now for something completely different - ducks.
Nine hundred yellow plastic ones, all bobbing down the river Frome, as they do every year since 1976, in the Frome Carnival Duck Race. This admirably compact event lasts about five minutes from start to finish, probably a tenth of the time it takes the bold canoeists to collect the 897 non-winning ducks.

I'm desolate that I won't be in Frome for the actual Carnival on Saturday or the musical party after... but at least, despite several clashes, I caught a couple of the brilliant musicians of Frome ~

viz : Al O'Kane, celebrating his birthday (here with Andy Hill), and Pete Gage at the Grain Bar with terrific support from Duncan Kingston and Paul Hartsholme on guitar.

Finally for this week's post: once in a while in a writer's life a chance arises to take on a project which is totally fascinating & obsessively engrossing.  I'm lucky enough to be deep in one of these now. One of my research strands took me literally into the underbelly of Frome, into the labyrinth of tunnels that date back to Saxon times and before. This is the view below the bridge, one of only three left in England still with its 18th century buildings in use as shops and cafes, but long before then there was a ford across the marsh here... Andrew Ziminski, my fascinating guide, reckons it's been a crossing place since prehistoric times.

Media excitement over the unearthing of Richard III's remains in a Leicester car-park makes this a good time for another look at Shakespeare's most melodramatic historical play, but the new production at Bristol's Tobacco Factory is more than timely: it's superb. One of the strengths of this theatre is its physical space which, set centrally to the audience on four sides, offers huge scope for imaginary landscapes both external and psychological. Andrew Hilton's production relishes this aspect and uses it vividly, from the opening moment when Richard's confidently casual entrance transforms us all somehow into witnesses in his own head, to the final battle raging imminently as he calls for a horse, a horse...
John Mackay (image by Mark Duane) is marvellous as Richard, playing the lines for callous wit and near-psychotic ruthlessness. It's a dominant but hugely subtle performance, with even room for fleeting pity for the killing-machine king as he looks on bleak and impassive while his mother the Duchess of York pours out a torrent of loathing dating from the moment of his malformed birth, recalling that earlier declaration since I cannot prove a lover, I am determined to prove a villain. He's not dog-scaringly deformed either ~ a bit gangly and with a useless arm ~ which is also effective to add psychological depth. A lead actor this charismatic needs some counterbalance, and the rest of the cast provide that with strong performances all round, especially in moments of respite from terror & treachery: Chris Donnelly as an inept murderer, Piers Wehner and Jack Bannell bringing a younger energy, and of course the sweet & solemn little princes. Costumes designed by Harriet de Winton are sumptuously of the era and look fabulous - gorgeous jewel tones teamed with sable, black and gold. Matthew Graham's lighting design enhances every mood and even the programme deserves recommendation: lots of fascinating history and no annoying stuff like most glossy ones. So there you are. Richard III, on till the end of March, and well worth seeing.

Fiction Feast on Thursday evening once again saw the Merlin stage transformed into a bohemian bistro where the audience became a supper club, read to by local writers:  Emily Gerrard, Alison Clink, Jill Miller, Rosie Jackson, Frances Liardet, Debby Holt, and me. Thanks to everyone for your warm and appreciative feedback, both on the night and in postings & emails.



Keats did it - Auden did it - even Wendy Cope did it, and writers throughout the ages have found inspiration in visual art. Now Black Swan Arts has started its own group of wordsmiths to respond to each exhibition.  Words at the Black Swan is launching with a free pilot session, with refreshments, at 4pm on Monday March 11th, so contact me if you fancy coming along. The inaugural exhibition is  Charlie Murphy's installation 'Retort'. 


Again looking ahead poetically, small yelps of delight echoed around Frome when we heard Luke Wright has included Merlin theatre in his national tour of Your New Favourite Poet with a show there next Friday, March 1st. This one has been travelling down from Edinburgh collecting 5-star reviews and lovely soundbites like  "visceral, poignant, and riotously funny" (The Scotsman) "Blisteringly good… heartfelt, true and richly human" (The Independent) and "Positively life-enhancing as well as hilarious" (Evening Standard). So come along, support the Merlin, support poetry, have a blistering riot and go home with your life enhanced. I am.

When one is tired of London one is tired of life, Oscar Wilde famously quipped. Even as a Londoner I'm not convinced losing the will to live is so geographically specific, but you'd certainly have to be in a bad way to feel lethargic in that city with fantastic shows like Sweeney Todd at the Adelphi and - even more mindblowing - Richard III at the Globe. Sondheim's musical, featuring Michael Ball and glorious Imelda Staunton, is beautifully lit and staged as well as movingly performed. I loved the Tim Burton movie, but hadn't appreciated how powerful a really good stage version could be.
But nothing could surpass Mark Rylance as Shakespeare's most vicious and mendacious monarch. He inhabited the role to an extraordinary degree, as though his lines were not memorised but chosen in that moment, his eyes flicking around to seize any advantage, seducing us to laughter and pity with the wit of a standup comic and the pathos of a sad clown. As Al Pacino put it, 'he speaks Shakespeare as if it was written for him the night before.’ Strong performances too from his supporters and victims ~ most were both ~ especially Roger Lloyd-Pack, a long way from Dibley's parish council meetings. This was my first experience as a 'groundling' in the pit and I was lucky to grab a footage right next to the stage, where I could have reached out to pinch the king's ankle when he stepped forward ~ which was often, as the Globe's policy is to recreate the production values of Shakespeare's day, so women are played by men, scenary is minimal, and Richard gloats direct to the audience like a pantomime villain. He's duly hissed and heckled, too. Thrilling stuff ~ can't wait to go again.

Fun footnote: Frome Festival pictures are in the local paper now, and I'm delighted with this review from journalist Suzanne Norbury:
Four witty women wordsmiths wowed the crowd with their tasty poetic treats in a comedy send up of TV's food favourite Come Dine With Me.
Crysse Morrison, Alison Clink, Rosemary Dun and Muriel Lavender transformed into incredibly glamorous but equally catty and critical dinner party guests rating each other's feast of words as they competed for the chance to walk away with the title of Frome Festival Rhymster.
Oranges, wine, Ambrosia, aggressive male chefs, botox, men in glasses and the exciting possibilities life can hold for women no longer shackled by a wedding ring were all on offer as visitors to the Garden Cafe joined the ladies around the dinner table.
Armed with score cards, wicked words and cutting jibes the poetic princesses dissected each other's offerings then rated them out of ten.
Frome's Muriel Lavender was crowed the champion thanks to her witty ditties exploring the lives behind celebrity super injunctions, the appeal of strange men and what happens can happen when cookery recipes and erotic fiction collide in the kitchen.