Dramatic time-slips: 16C to1945, 18C revisited in 1963

A couple of theatrical re-envisagings for you this week: First, Shakespeare's sweet-bitter comedy Much Ado About Nothing from Rondo Theatre Company in Bath. Set in 1590s Sicily this story of soldiers returning from war to reconnect with the women missing them (and becoming more feisty, too) seemed to directors Lisa Thrower and Andrew Fletcher to have fascinating parallels to the end of World War II. This too was a time of conspicuous celebration, with undercurrents of unease as roles were clearly changing. Beatrice especially has a confidence in her opinions which chimes with the independence of those UK women who'd coped with amazing fortitude for six years, and now found they were expected to step back into subservience. The directors' theory works ~ impressively well in fact. On an unelaborate set with lots of union-jack bunting, the bard's script transfers with minimal tweaks to the volatile emotionalism of 1945, making it actually easier to forgive stupid Claudio and believe in everyone's gullibility. A terrific cast helps: Naomi Miller and Chris Constantine as Beatrice & Benedict were simply superb, bringing absolute authenticity to every moment, especially in the scene after Hero's collapse which still makes me shudder to recall. Among their elders, Jeremy Fowlds' Leonato, his friend Don Pedro (Matt Nation) and wicked Don John (Richard Chivers) were all excellent. I laughed, I cried, what else do you want from a comedy on a cold night? Big congratulations once again, Rondo Theatre.

Over to Merlin Theatre now, where Frome Drama Club chose a ready-made revival: Richard Bean's award-winning One Man Two Guvnors is a re-envisaging of The Servant of Two Masters, a commedia dell'arte piece by Carlo Goldoni written in 1746. It's the same central thread, as summarised in the title, but the 1963 version is set in the seedy side of Brighton, and the immensely successful National Theatre production, which transferred to Broadway, featured not only a TV superstar but a skiffle band live on stage. Calum Grant directs, with Andrew Morrison as James Corden ~ sorry, as Francis Henshall ~ who has to carry much of the comedy, including organised impro and binge-eating. There's nice contrast from Tracey Ashford and Giles de Rivaz as Rachel and Stanley, especially in their tender reunion, and laugh-of-the-night award goes to Laurie Parnell's Charlie for four words, perfectly pitched: So what's your point? An excellent review from Fine Times Recorder here gives more detail of this exuberant production: congratulations to all involved - and my personal special appreciation to Aaron Hooper's skittish geriatric waiter and his wayward wig.

As the misnomered 12th month creeps closer, Frome is already getting jiggy with crafty markets & multi-clash jollities... my Saturday night scamper round town concluded this week at the Sun Inn where the Raggedy Men showed why they're shooting to supernova status ~ especially when supported by a lively uke band and rapper XjX

Another mini time-trek on Sunday as Jazz at the Cornerhouse this week featured the sultry songs of Ella Fitzgerald, born a hundred years ago, recreated by the smouldering voice of Frome's Emma Harris, with the John Law trio ~ Billy Weir drums & this time Adrian Smith on bass.

To end this post: my appreciation to Ciara Nolan, for including me in her chronicle of Humans of Frome ~ big privilege to be interviewed for this, and a pleasure too as Ciara being from Dublin can relate to my Irish experiences...  Published in Frome Times this week.

And another, 'finally' moment: As a TV viewer generally only when the moon is blue, I'm loving Howards End on BBC on Sunday nights. EM Forster is one of my favourite novelists: he uncompromisingly nails Englishness in all its foibles & follies, and this tale of upper-class arrogance also reveals the inherent weakness of their 'liberal' middle-class challengers, and it's just brilliant. "I don't intend to correct him, or to reform him - only connect," says avant-garde Margaret with confident aplomb. A good meme but a difficult aim, as history shows us still. Great story-telling and great acting too. 

Art, music, theatre ~ usual mix, with 3 new treats!

Starting with art: Art Squared is the title and presentation concept of the Frome Art Society exhibition showing at Black Swan's Round Tower until 6 November ~ an intriguing range of subjects and painting styles, and a chance to credit your favourite in the 'public vote' .

Every 2nd-Sunday of the month I aim to make the three-mile trip from Frome to Nunney for Acoustic Cafe, always good performers & great refreshments, and sometimes I actually get there... this time I did, to hear Ba Pardhy with her band and other excellent acts including Carl Sutterby playing Clash & his daughter Gwen commendably following his punk footsteps by playing Green Day.
Another regular local get-together deserving credit, though I rarely get to it, is Griffin Open Mic which this week had a varied lineup with some strong acts ~ here's Nick Balura, organiser and guitarist.
The session I never miss if in town is Roots at the Grain Bar, this week extra special with wildly popular local band Captain Cactus and the Screaming Harlots and their 'whirlwind of swampy folk blues' with harmonies ~ a romping chaos of must-dance music.













Theatre update now ~ and, as last week, another adaptation of a period novel about love between social unequals. The Woodlanders, from touring company Hammerpuzzle, was written only 20 years before Room with a View (reviewed in previous post) and deals with similar social barriers.  But because EM Forster’s mantra was ‘Only Connect’ and Thomas Hardy’s appears to have been ‘Life’s a Bitch and Then you Die’, instead of a feel-good ending with love conquering all, the only glimmer in the gloom of Hardy’s story is a posy of snowdrops on a snowy grave…
The mundane misery of this saga is interrupted only by melodrama, especially in the second act, which poor Grace, (sundered from her lover by, well, cruel fate is the simplest summary) spends in well-modulated rants while her brute of a husband repeatedly concusses himself falling off a horse called Darling. (Remember when Tess of the d’Urbervilles had a baby called Sorrow, and it died?). These characters don’t have personalities, they are figures in a hopeless continuum of loyalty and fickleness, morality and immorality; the set is composed largely of crates and a step ladder, and the performance features both those potentially cringe-making elements: singing and mime.
Yet somehow this is a terrific production. I really can’t imagine a better adaptation, and by the time Grace’s last vestige of social propriety is clearly going to cause the death of her beloved Giles, it was a struggle not to weep. The cast of five were all fantastic, with Adam Fuller as low-born Giles and Katy Sobey as posh Felice Charmond both outstanding. Parchment and sepia tones of lighting and costume enhanced the surreal sense of a written story coming to life. I’m not a fan of Hardy, as you can tell, but this co-production with Cheltenham Everyman, directed by Bryn Holding, is totally engrossing theatre. Sadly the tour finishes on 16 October - look out for their next.

Fun footnote this week:
I don't usually include social get-togethers in my blog but this splendid birthday bash at the Cheese & Grain was a party-plus-performance with a starry line-up including Martin Dimery's Unravelling Wilburys and a fabulous flame-juggling fire-eater too..

Great Scott! Time for a May medley

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Conspiracy theories ~ those wild stories their wild-eyed tellers insist are fact ~ must have been around even before the first feudal baron insisted if he kept all the gold for himself it would trickle down into the populace. As arguments rage over the more outrageous modern cultural myths, Gonzo Moose Theatre Company has uncovered another bubble to pop: Great Scott, their new touring comedy, tells 'the true story of Scott of the Antarctic.'  Did his final voyage really end in failure, or is this a coverup by the authorities for the terrible truth... (no spoilers!) With the help of some OHP transparencies, various hats and pipes, variable accents and a lot of messing about, the brave team of Conspiratorians create the 'real' last journey of the explorer as reconstructed from his diaries, with much slapstick and song. There's no pretence of sophistication in costumes or props or set but there's a lot to enjoy and there was great audience rapport at the Bath Rondo on Wednesday night.

Roots Session at the Grain Bar has given Frome two excellent evenings since I last posted: the glorious Dempseys and entertaining duo Mambo Jambo who between them play (I think) 13 instruments.

And while various writerly gestations continue, an exciting hatching for Nevertheless Fringe Theatre: after auditions, our Frome Festival production Time Slides now has a terrific cast of young graduates from Bath Spa Drama course: Matt Harrison, Chloe Tailby, and Gabrielle Finnegan - welcome to pub theatre in Frome!


This post was going to finish with a comment about sizzling sunshine but the weather has wobbled a bit here and I don't know what followers in Russia & Ukraine are experiencing (or even why I have followers there ~ not complaining, just puzzled to see Blogger stats...)  So instead I'll end with this short & satisfying video: it's been exactly a year since Frome town council became fully independent, and The Guardian has featured a reminder of how the awesome Independent State of Frome now shows the way to other towns around the UK.

Bah humbug, magic snow and capering crabs. Its that time again...

It's that time again, isn't it, and as I generally avoid the topical C-word with euphemisms like 'winter solstice' and 'festive season', the show currently at the Brewery in Bristol suits me fine: A Christmas Carol is as we all know the story of Scrooge, who although admittedly a capitalist with appalling business practice & a repugnant personality nevertheless had a point in his lack of sympathy with ritual celebrations.  Scrooge of course finally found sympathy for the ill & undernourished however which makes him a better man than George Osborne will ever be.

There’s no doubt about it, Living Spit have a special kind of magic. With farcically few props and only a chair for a set, this duo of ill-costumed & apparently graceless men completely control the stage whatever tale they decide to create or, as with A Christmas Carol, to inappropriately embellish. Admittedly the magic dust comes primarily from Stu Mcloughlin, who can raise an audience to its feet to sing a funeral hymn with the refrain He’s Satan’s Bum-boy Now, rouse them to hysteria with a Ghost of Christmas Past manifesting as an irritable Irish fairy called Sharon, and reduce them to tears as Bob Cratchett mourns at the grave of his lost child Tiny Tim. That’s what I call a wide range.  Howard Coggins is very good too and has a great voice especially in the song that replaces an interval, called the Interval Song, after which the story shifts to Bob Cratchett’s house where Howard is Bob's wife, the children are soft toys, and the christmas meal is a dead spider in a pile of hoover-dust. Hard to say which looked most unsuitable for purpose. As always there’s a mix of colloquial contemporary references and rehearsed ad libs in an performance that relies largely on audience affection, but the story is unexpectedly true to Dicken’s narrative from start to finish. And rather more expectedly, it’s very funny. (image Paul Blakemore)

For a more magical take on the season, head for the Rondo in Bath where Butterfly Psyche is telling the story of The Snow Child. Written and directed by Alison Farina, this endearing fantasy based on a Russian fairytale is vividly created by a strong cast - I especially enjoyed Piers Wehner as Father Frost and Charlotte Ellis as a vegetarian bear called Carl, while Beth Caudle is enchanting as the Snow Child. There's a great deal of emphasis on inclusive performance, both in special shows and by signing throughout the show which brings a kind of grace to all the interactions and becomes, like the falling snow, another of the magical elements in this lovely piece of theatre. On till December 20th.

The fairy tale of choice for Frome's Merlin was The Little Mermaid in a new version written by the theatre's artistic director Claudia Pepler, supported in this 'symbiotic' venture by a large creative team. Claudia was especially fascinated by the embittered Sea Witch who in this version has her own Miss-Haversham-style backstory ~ and her own redemptive resolution too. No authentic version of the Hans Anderson story can of course allow mer-Juliet to wed her land-Romeo (though they did perform a lift-filled dance that would've ensured their place in the Strictly final), but as Saturday was the last night it's not a spoiler to say there's a happy ending for the wilful little mermaid. Maisie Fogg was superb in this central role ~ in fact, the whole production was sumptuous, with an amazing set and lighting, great live music, glamorous costumes and fantastic fishes ~ the Moray Eel guarding the cave was amazing (Robin Ainslie-King created this illuminated monster, along with the dancing fish-heads.)  And Ryan Hughes & Aynsley Minty as clowning crabs provided a comedy double-act that very nearly eclipsed everything else. A well-deserved standing ovation from the full house ended this all-too-short run.

Elsewhere in Frome.... Poetry came to the Cheese & Grain in the guises of John Cooper Clarke, Clare Ferguson Walker and ~ my personal favourite ~ Luke Wright, looking more boy-bandish than ever. No gags about pictures in attics, please.  Luke is always amazing, and I especially enjoyed his epic abuse of Ian Duncan Smith in lipogram form using only the vowel I (because it's too easy to just call him a cunt) and a wonderful evocation of why he refused his invitation to the Palace last year to attend the 'Poetry Industry' awards: Have a Gong!

On a musical note, there are more than a few event clashes as the festive seasons starts properly rolling, but I did get to Al O'Kane's refugee fundraiser BOOM at Wheatsheaves where he was joined by Fat Stanley with disco from Banco de Gaia.  Is it only in Frome the dancing starts as soon as the music does, everywhere, both genders & several generations...? Mind you we did have Patrick Dunn's weird projections to encourage us (I noticed Nigel Farage pogoing alongside at one point)
I'll conclude with the reminder there's a fantastic lot of seasonal art in Frome right now, from the Winter Show at Black Swan Arts, beautifully curated with lights and shadow, to the Festival of Colour at Welshmill Hub where you can buy Amy Yates' views of the town as cards (and sample some of Stina's deadly-sin chocolate.)

Next week, of course, you can sample our Nevertheless Fringe Theatre winter production TOXIC COCKTAILS.... here's a rehearsal taster...

Autumn season specials

It's Open Studios across Somerset for the 2014 Arts Weeks, a fortnight ending October 5th, with several venues in Frome. There are some interesting local-history installations at the back of 15 Sun Street : here's one of the two big murals by Sally-Anne Fraser using 'stitchery and a variety of techniques to bring outside space to life.' Photo montage is by David Goodman.
Over at the Silk Mill, Annemarie Blake has a wonderfully vibrant and exciting exhibition of paintings from a week spent on site at the Glastonbury Festival, mixing lithography, etching, conté and egg tempera "to capture the energy and atmosphere of this annual temporary city." There's also a lovely portrait of Annabelle Macfadyen, accordionist extraordinaire, doyenne of the Frome Street Bandits, Lady Mayoress and a special friend of mine. Upstairs in the workshops, Amanda Bee has sketches and prints from Cornwall and 'Raggedy' has the usual amazing selection of 'wearable art' for anyone sharing her desire that we should all 'dress like nobody's judging.'

Bath's Rondo has been basking in a Brontë bonanza, staging stories from all three of the emo sisters: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and the least-known Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Rosie and I sallied forth on Saturday to do, not quite the Full Brontë, but at least Emily and Anne. Butterfly Psyche and Livewire theatres have combined their talents to produce a set of impressive adaptations, retaining the 19th Century Gothic melodrama of the writers' imaginations and creating scores of richly-varied characters with just two actors. Alison Campbell was simply superb in the complex tragedy of Wuthering Heights, identifying passionately the longing of every obsessive adolescent to find a lover "more myself than I am." In Dougie Blaxland's faithful interpretation, Alison takes on a couple of Cathys and a Nelly, while Jeremy Fowlds has a brace of Lintons, a Lockwood, and several men whose names begin with H, as the drama unfolds in 90 minutes of compelling storytelling. Truly disturbing ~ I really did dream of ghosts ~ though I'd have liked a sound design with more wuthering (and less Greensleeves) but impressive performances directed by Jazz Hazelwood rightly won huge audience praise.  The final play of this traumatic trio, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, was more popular in its day than either of the other novels (though, curiously, suppressed by Charlotte after first publication) and has similar themes of dysfunctional male degeneracy, debauchery and domestic violence,  summed up sadly by stoic suffering heroine Helen Graham "If I had known him better at the beginning, perhaps I would not have loved him at all." Alison Farina adapted this one, teasing out a complex storyline for actors Madelaine Ryan and Tom Turner, directed by Shane Morgan. An impressive achievement all round.

So October is nearly on us, with another autumn special: Salisbury Fringe where Rosie and I will premiere Crossed Wires, our new double-bill for Nevertheless Productions, on Sunday 5th at Boston Tea Party. Rosie's been rehearsing Champagne Charlotte in Salisbury while my actors for Muffin Man spent Sunday at the Cornerhouse, where the show will  run on Friday 10th & Saturday 11th. Ross Scott and Fleur Hanby Holmes are so fantastic in their roles my only worry is they may peak too soon... but they're consummate professionals, so that won't happen! For Frome, call 01373 472042, for Salisbury just show up.

Black metal, black magic, autumn sunshine

I had no plans to watch Andrew O'Neill is Distracted  at the Merlin until I saw him on Stuart Lee Presents, when attendance became irresistible - not a general response unfortunately, as Andrew had a sparse sample of Fromies to analyse in his what-kind-of-audience-are-you routine. 'Offensive, yes, but also politically acute,' he commented, pointedly, after a paedo gag didn't get us rollicking. His 1980s heavy metal references were a bit over our heads, too, but by the interval howls of mirth were rocking the empty-ish aisles. The first half of his act had delivered everything you could want from standup: sharp observational comedy combined with surrealism, delivered in a noisy, unpredictable way and very very funny.  The real impact came in the equally hilarious second half, when Andrew talked about being a transvestite, how he's dealt with stigma, and about his ADHD. He's come to enjoy both, he says, and encourages everyone to accept and welcome their own distractions ~ for their mental health's sake.  For a black-metal occultist comedian, Andrew O'Neill has big humanity and talks much sense.

Henry Walker and the Wheel of Death was adapted for theatre by director Shane Morgan from the novel Mr Sebastian and the Negro Magician by Daniel Wallace. The author apparently agreed a title change was a good idea. Roughhouse Theatre took on this ambitious project, which was performed at Bath’s charming Rondo theatre. The story opens with profound and beautiful words taken from Carl Sagan's 'vision of the human future': Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark, to introduce this tale of a man first white then black, and his struggle to become a magician. Another fitting quote might be Tolstoy’s observation that each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Specifically, Henry is unhappy: his mother is dying, his father is drinking, and his sister is besotted by a dog. Henry, well played at this stage by Dan Gaisford, unwittingly enters a Faustian pact with mysterious Mr Sebastian and discovers that by acquiring magical skills he has traded his beloved sister Hannah (excellently played by Madelaine Ryan.)  Much of the twisting plot offers metaphors for human life ~ as commented on, perhaps overmuch, by external narrators including a greek chorus on microphones side stage. Vast red curtains create a circus-like environment for the story as Henry changes persona, goes from riches to rags, and finally disappears but this "dark fairytale” is also an allegory of human life. Cue Sagan again: In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. Or, as the narrator puts it: "You need to let go of the past when the things you have to remember are sad."
Interestingly, the original story is set in a Southern US town in the 1950s and starts with the disappearance, focussing on the search for the real Henry by three outsider-status circus friends. Possibly this, rather than featuring the change in Henry's pigmentation, might have offered more dramatic scope ~ but new approaches and bold ideas should always be applauded.

Fictional footnote: Enterprising Clare Reddaway, doyen of Bath's spoken-word Story Fridays, has branched into audio and I’m delighted one of my stories has been selected for recording. Sisterly Love will be on the Word in Your Ear website soon.
And before winter closes in on us like Andrew's menacing claw-hand descending on the guy in front row on Friday night, here's how Stourhead does autumn... 

This weekend saw the culmination of our spring project at Nevertheless Pub Theatre: When She Imagines... was written by Frome Scriptwriters, performed by Sara Taylor, and directed by Nevertheless Productions' founder Rosie Finnegan.  And every aspect - scripts, acting, and direction - was picked out for praise by enthusiastic audiences on both nights. Extraordinary, professional, engaging, enjoyable, brilliant, fantastic, impressive, thought-provoking, funny, accomplished, superbly acted, wonderful words beautifully interpreted, excellent production, amazing - worth the trip from Bristol... (You can read all the feedback is on Nevertheless facebook page.) Our venue at the Cornerhouse got thumbs-up for installing more comfortable seating, and we loved all the audience responses when asked why they would recommend Frome's pub theatre. Supporting local talent and enjoying good entertainment were often cited, and these three comments probably say it all:

• The quality of performance and writing is superb, and gives the people of Frome the opportunity to experience live theatre for minimal outlay
• It’s like no other theatre - intimate, warm, cosy, and perfect
• Frome is bursting with talent and in the current economic climate Nevertheless has shown what you can do on a low budget

Here's Sara in her three roles as three very different women, age 25 in A Blue Line by Paul Ralston, 50 in Tighe O'Connor's play Hello five O, and 75 in A Long Wonderful Silence by Eddie Young. Frome Scriptwriters' competitions are always sent as anonymous submissions to an external judge, by the way, so some men, in Frome at least, can empathise with a women when she imagines....

Victoria Park on Saturday looks like a Peter Greenaway film as Frome hosts the national Town Cryer competition. I know nothing about crying, in the civic sense, and am intrigued to glean more about this tradition. Judging is on dress, voice, and cry content apparently: two cries each, separated by Morris dancing. "First cry is about the town, second cry is about a news item," explains one of the Axbridge team over tiffin. Everyone makes their own costumes but the Swindon entrant demurs when I ask if he chose his green jacket. "Some of them make it up to please themselves, but this is Great Western Railways!” I don't know who won but they all looked glorious ~ long may they cry for their towns!

It’s easy to spoof Shakespeare ineptly, baffling audience members who don’t know the plots and irritating ones who do. I approached Machamlear at Bath's nice little Rondo theatre with a trepidation which turned out to be totally needless: Dougie Blaxland’s paradic blending of three tragedies into a contemporary soap saga is a hilarious by any standards, and Live Wire community theatre company had terrific fun with it. The basic plots of each play are as recognisable as the Eastenders theme music that links the scenes, but all three are inextricably intertwined as action moves around the London suburb of Burnham Wood with plots are hatched by Mac and Beth and Claude Elsinore in the Kings' Head, the pub Ken Lear has unwisely handed over to his greedy elder daughters... “My mother’s married a total dickhead” moans Hamlet to Cordelia, the only one who understands since Ophelia dumped him, and they run away together followed by hoodies Rosie Krantz and Gill Denstone... The stories end in similarly cross-fertilised mass slaughter. “I’ve never seen so many corpses," declares the doctor ~ there’s always a doctor in a soap ~ "Things like this only happen in plays!” The cast's five youngsters add charming energy to the production and there's zestful acting all round with a superbly scene-stealing cameo as Banquo’s ghost from Jackie Eliot. Spanking script, lively direction, great night out.

How many stage directions should a writer include? How much should a director meddle with the script? Who owns a piece of theatre anyway? These, and other pithy issues from funding & contracts to why women aren't better represented in the upper echelons of professional theatre, were discussed at the 'Open Space consultation' at Bath's Rondo Theatre for practitioners across the southwest, led by Alison Farina of Butterfly Psyche Theatre. A stimulating and informative day and perhaps most importantly affirming: collaboration is the heart of theatre and as writer/director Ian McGlynn says, the best thing for a writer is when something comes out of the script that you didn't know was there. Most impassioned topic was Rosie's query about imbalanced female:male ratios in theatre ~ hard to dispute, since Equity wrote to 43 artistic directors of subsidised theatres drawing their attention to the fact that they consistently offer work to many more men than women actors and show many more male than female characters. The A.M. of the group tried denial, Shakespeare, and girly topics being less popular themes than war, but a substantial body of research suggests this is a social and cultural issue rather than whining women and weak writing.  As long as airbrushing is considered routine dressage by the media, it's hard to talk convincingly of gender parity in any walk of life.

All of which leads me to another perennial writerly issue ~ Why blog? ~ raised at an excellent digital marketing session at the Silk Mill last week led by Becca Braithwaite.  To practice shaping ideas, as a kind of halfway house between free-flow and submission, I suggested. I use mine to explore thoughts on productions before the formal review ~ and to big-up the vibrance of Frome. Looking back to when I'd just started blogging I found a quote from journalist Kate Kellaway: For me it is like placing a rock in a stream, a way of interrupting the flow of time, diverting it - having the comforting illusion that it has not escaped forever. My comment then was: A virtual pod-cast of thoughts and impressions, made by a magic damn. I like that. Back then my blog was more true to its frivolous mission statement 'all the goss from a writer's life', with quips and snippets and pictures of writer friends. Social media, of course, is where jokes and quotes go now, and most of the images too, but there's a subtler social change too: we've all become more cautious about our virtual existence, and I'm more wary around others' privacy. I gave up candid photography way back when I first noticed people getting anxious around a stranger with a telephoto lens, and when friends started asking is this for the blog?, I stopped posting casual encounters. I think overall this chronicle is the poorer for that, but people aren't for the entertainment of their friends ~ except of course on facebook where there's more immediate control and veto. Which is why I probably spend more time there now than blogging...
And to return to women writers... the Pride & Prejudice readathon is on line now! Muriel Rosie and I are all in part 3  ~ my read starts after 2.39 hours. Since you ask!