|
|
|
|
|
|
Stars explained: * A production of no real merit
with failings in all areas. ** A production showing evidence of not
enough time or effort, or even talent, and which never breathes any real
life into the piece – or a show lumbered with a terrible script. *** A
good enjoyable show which might have some small flaws but has largely
achieved what it set out to do.**** An excellent show which shows a
great deal of work and stage craft with no noticeable or major
flaws.***** A four star show which has found that extra bit of magic
which lifts theatre to another plane. |
|
|
A murder most . . . fun
Dead silence: Christine Gough, Helen Wood, Christian Jones, Catherine Sharkey, Vikki Reynolds and Harrison Bracewell – who has unfortunately been shot . . . with a carving knife in a not-very-good repertory production. A highly-charged moment from Murder in Play. Murder in Play
The Fentham Hall *** THE title offers a fair enough
indication that there is a play within a play and that there is dirty
work at the crossroads – but it does not say how much there is, or
prepare us for seeing people in the main play having to change
roles in the subsidiary one to cope with the murderous drain on
repertory resources. There is also the memorable moment when the
irascible director of the play – the play within the play, that is –
addresses the missing Patricia, the hard-pressed stage manager, in the
hope of discovering her whereabouts. “Where are you, you silly cow,
Pat?” he shouts. Not to put too fine a point on it, it's fun, even
if at its heart is death by paraquat. The writer is Simon Brett and here is a company
that does not let him down. The line-up of players sitting briefly in
three chairs with their backs to the audience at one point is somewhat
disconcerting, but it appears to be dictated by the script, so we must
not cavil. And the only grumble about Christian Jones's
beautifully-voiced Tim Fermor is that there comes a point where he is
required to turn his delivery into a squeak – which is a surprise and a
shame. Otherwise, he is the built-in expert on Equity regulations and he
carries a fine-toned authority that matches the smart scarlet uniform
jacket of his alter ego, Major Rodney Pirbright. MANY DECIBELS There's another voice that also tends to pin back
your ears – that of David Wootten, as Boris Smolensky, director of the
inner play. In his hands, Smolensky becomes a man of many decibels, one
of nature's shouters. Moreover, he is apt to arrive at his rehearsals
from the back of the hall and via the central gangway. He is
reassuringly confident and when he is not pleased he does not take any
prisoners – and he makes no secret of the fact that he is clearly not
pleased most of the time. Helen Wood has a lovely naturalness as Renée
Savage, wife of the ever-smouldering Smolensky – as indeed does Rebecca
Kear, who is Pat, the overwrought and long-suffering stage manager who
has to take up acting when foul play depletes the cast of an enterprise
that is living up to its description as a budget repertory production. Charlie Barker is Harrison Bracewell, the
Scotch-swigging actor who never tires of tiring his colleagues with his
name-dropping stories of his bygone work with the stars of his
profession. This is an agreeable portrayal, but the script makes
intermittent references to his being “old.” I'll say no more, but you
could have fooled me. Christine Gough, as Christa d'Amato, brings amusing moments as Sophie, otherwise known as Mrs Puttock, who is the maid in the inner play. And Vikki Reynolds – playing Ginette, who in turn
plays Lady Virginia Cholmondley – is another natural delight in her
unstinting admiration of Christian Jones (as Tim Fermor, who plays the
Major): “Oh, Wodney, you're so bwave. . .”). Catherine Sharkey (Sophie) overdoes the anguish a
little at one point but comes rib-ticklingly to the moment when she is
required to remark that it's not easy, going mad in a tee-shirt and
cycling shorts. Maureen George's production grabs its
opportunities and shakes them to within frothing point. It's a fun night
out. To 19.11.11. John Slim |
|
|
|
