Sunday 14 February 1999
Saturday 13 February 1999
Into The Woods
Narrator Frank Middlemass
Cinderella Jenna Russell
Jack Christopher Pizzey
Baker Nick Holder
Baker's wife Sophie Thompson
Stepmother Louise Davidson
Florinda Caroline Sheen
Lucinda Ceri Ann Gregory
Jack's mother Sheila Reid
Red Riding Hood Sheridan Smith
Witch Clare Burt
Cinderella's mother/Grandmother/Giant
Dilys Laye
Mysterious man Michael N. Harbour
Wolf/Cinderella's prince
Damian Lewis
Rapunzel Samantha Lavender
Rapunzel's prince Matt Rawle
Steward Tony Timberlake
Director John Crowley
Co-director/choreographer
Jonathan Butterell
Music director Mark Warman
The Donmar Warehouse winter music usually sells out fast. I'm sure this one will. It's still in previews (the first full-price performance is on Monday 16 November), and some of the performances are still coming together, but the production is fine, the orchestra is splendid, and the whole thing is
irresistable.
For some reason, I had a couple of attacks of incontinent memory this evening. First, a complicated but not particularly interesting episode involving a sink and Mozartkuegel, then Rheinhold Merkelbach sitting at a gate at Boston airport reading a Greek New Testament.
Merkelbach's 1960 book, Roman und Mysterium in der Antike, made the important conceptual link between the Greek romances and Cupid and Psyche (the only begetter of girl-and-prince fairy stories) and greco-roman cult and ritual, in particular the myth of Isis reassembling the scattered remnants of her dead husband, minus the phallus, and its associated rituals and images. This was well before the ideas of Freud, Bettelheim and Levi-Strauss crystallized into the structuralist received wisdom of the 1970s on fairy stories, and before Angela Carter exposed their humour and danger. (Merkelbach's thoughts on the gospels were less interesting, but I did get an ad hoc tutorial with the great man at Logan.)
Sondheim and Lapine, of course, take the basic thematic and narrative elements -- princes, pubescent girls, the quest for obscure objects of desire, killing monsters -- break them down further, put them back together in a crystalline structure then let it collapse under the weight of its emotional power, of the primal fear of violence and loneliness. If this production hasn't quite got all the timing right yet -- the giant's first footsteps should scare you rigid, and news that the Baker's wife is dead should be shocking -- it has a lot of energy which exhausts itself naturally into the wistfulness of the ending.
The cast consists entirely of actors, and some of the singing tonight was diabolical. Several performers really weren't projecting at all, including the non-singing narrator (who seemed to be wearing a mike, though I couldn't hear it). Although there was a payoff in the excellent delivery of the words, and the complete theatricality of the performance, I kept wishing (yes) for old-fashioned actors who could project a head voice even if they couldn't sing for toffees.
The lack of singing didn't ruin everything, by any means, but it did intrude. Particularly tuneless was Christopher Pizzey as Jack, though he more than made up for it with energy and gormlessness as required. Likewise Damian Lewis howled off-key as the wolf, especially, but was very funny as both slimy wolf and arrogant prince, variant sad bastards on the pull. He had a fine werewolf moment as well.
Nick Holder as the Baker seemed a bit understated, especially in his spoken passages, though his singing was reasonably secure. Perhaps he is still getting into things -- there were signs of a potentially moving performance of a confused man learning to be human. Sheridan Smith was theatrical in exactly the right way, and sang at least with a solid belt. Clare Burt was happier as the over-the-top ugly old witch (a very funny greens narrative) than the sophisticated new witch trying to be a parent, though she looked stunning in a low-backed dress with spiders' webs and a dead cat handbag.
The outstanding performance was Sophie Thompson as the Baker's wife, the character who engages with reality and makes choices from the start. She's very beautiful but not girly, managing to be tough and wistful at the same time, to deal with the matter in hand and yearn for the prince. Her singing didn't sound trained, but she has a good voice.
The production is workmanlike -- pine trees, a distant palace and Rapunzel's tower at the back, a moon that turns into a clock for the midnights, and a neat shadow puppet show for the wolf eating Red Riding Hood. There's no point in trying to find a new angle on Into the woods, and this one works fine.
Cinderella Jenna Russell
Jack Christopher Pizzey
Baker Nick Holder
Baker's wife Sophie Thompson
Stepmother Louise Davidson
Florinda Caroline Sheen
Lucinda Ceri Ann Gregory
Jack's mother Sheila Reid
Red Riding Hood Sheridan Smith
Witch Clare Burt
Cinderella's mother/Grandmother/Giant
Dilys Laye
Mysterious man Michael N. Harbour
Wolf/Cinderella's prince
Damian Lewis
Rapunzel Samantha Lavender
Rapunzel's prince Matt Rawle
Steward Tony Timberlake
Director John Crowley
Co-director/choreographer
Jonathan Butterell
Music director Mark Warman
The Donmar Warehouse winter music usually sells out fast. I'm sure this one will. It's still in previews (the first full-price performance is on Monday 16 November), and some of the performances are still coming together, but the production is fine, the orchestra is splendid, and the whole thing is
irresistable.
For some reason, I had a couple of attacks of incontinent memory this evening. First, a complicated but not particularly interesting episode involving a sink and Mozartkuegel, then Rheinhold Merkelbach sitting at a gate at Boston airport reading a Greek New Testament.
Merkelbach's 1960 book, Roman und Mysterium in der Antike, made the important conceptual link between the Greek romances and Cupid and Psyche (the only begetter of girl-and-prince fairy stories) and greco-roman cult and ritual, in particular the myth of Isis reassembling the scattered remnants of her dead husband, minus the phallus, and its associated rituals and images. This was well before the ideas of Freud, Bettelheim and Levi-Strauss crystallized into the structuralist received wisdom of the 1970s on fairy stories, and before Angela Carter exposed their humour and danger. (Merkelbach's thoughts on the gospels were less interesting, but I did get an ad hoc tutorial with the great man at Logan.)
Sondheim and Lapine, of course, take the basic thematic and narrative elements -- princes, pubescent girls, the quest for obscure objects of desire, killing monsters -- break them down further, put them back together in a crystalline structure then let it collapse under the weight of its emotional power, of the primal fear of violence and loneliness. If this production hasn't quite got all the timing right yet -- the giant's first footsteps should scare you rigid, and news that the Baker's wife is dead should be shocking -- it has a lot of energy which exhausts itself naturally into the wistfulness of the ending.
The cast consists entirely of actors, and some of the singing tonight was diabolical. Several performers really weren't projecting at all, including the non-singing narrator (who seemed to be wearing a mike, though I couldn't hear it). Although there was a payoff in the excellent delivery of the words, and the complete theatricality of the performance, I kept wishing (yes) for old-fashioned actors who could project a head voice even if they couldn't sing for toffees.
The lack of singing didn't ruin everything, by any means, but it did intrude. Particularly tuneless was Christopher Pizzey as Jack, though he more than made up for it with energy and gormlessness as required. Likewise Damian Lewis howled off-key as the wolf, especially, but was very funny as both slimy wolf and arrogant prince, variant sad bastards on the pull. He had a fine werewolf moment as well.
Nick Holder as the Baker seemed a bit understated, especially in his spoken passages, though his singing was reasonably secure. Perhaps he is still getting into things -- there were signs of a potentially moving performance of a confused man learning to be human. Sheridan Smith was theatrical in exactly the right way, and sang at least with a solid belt. Clare Burt was happier as the over-the-top ugly old witch (a very funny greens narrative) than the sophisticated new witch trying to be a parent, though she looked stunning in a low-backed dress with spiders' webs and a dead cat handbag.
The outstanding performance was Sophie Thompson as the Baker's wife, the character who engages with reality and makes choices from the start. She's very beautiful but not girly, managing to be tough and wistful at the same time, to deal with the matter in hand and yearn for the prince. Her singing didn't sound trained, but she has a good voice.
The production is workmanlike -- pine trees, a distant palace and Rapunzel's tower at the back, a moon that turns into a clock for the midnights, and a neat shadow puppet show for the wolf eating Red Riding Hood. There's no point in trying to find a new angle on Into the woods, and this one works fine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)