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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. |
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Noose brings doubt to verdict The Gioconda Smile Billesley Players Dovecote Theatre, Solihull *** THE interval –
not, I think, that anyone was waiting for it – came about 20 minutes
later than is usual for productions whose starting gun is fired at 7.30
pm. There was an inescapable reason: there's no way of whistling through
Aldous Huxley's philosophies, and this is a Huxley whodunit that is
liberally laden with them. So we find ourselves
contemplating – for example – the fascination of being ostracised and
whether it is possible to be happy while living a lie. Even the good Dr
Libbard, nicely judged by Iain Neville, becomes ensnared in
self-analysis. But although there are a lot of words and the
action is not over-hurried, this is an absorbing play that benefits from
Sheila Parkes's assured direction and a reliable cast.
The mystery that we wait to see resolved concerns the death of the wife of the wealthy Henry Hutton, which could have been either suicide or murder – or perhaps murder in the guise of euthanasia – in the days when Britain had a death penalty. And while we wait, we see Hutton, in a powerful
portrayal by Graham Mason, move from the fiery and declamatory to the
understandably terrified as he occupies a prison cell and awaits 8 am on
a pre-ordained day. The more we see of him, the less we are able to
decide whether or not we agree with the judgment of the court.
Sharing centre-stage with him is Tracey Bolt, as
the best friend of the late Mrs Hutton. Here again is a performance of
unswerving confidence that ranges from the gentle to the alarmingly
wild. Claire Davies gives a pleasing fragility to
Doris, the very young woman whom Henry Hutton leads to the altar
uncaringly quickly after the death of his wife; and Judy Taylor offers
an eye-catching account of Nurse Braddock, a no-nonsense tartar who is
all in favour of abolishing the male sex because none of them can be
trusted, not even the Archbishop of Canterbury. The programme describes Douglas Hart as a
longstanding member of the group – but this time around he finally gets
to sit down because he is playing a likeable general who is confined to
a wheelchair. Bob Gwynne, as the Warder, and Jo Wall, as Clara, are
reliably involved in this pleasing production. But it is just a little disconcerting when people
come in out of the rain without a spot of moisture on their shoulders.
And those double doors, stage left, leading elsewhere in the country
house, could gain believability if were not apparent that anyone passing
through them is moving into darkness, whatever the time of day. A
glimpse of, say, a picture hanging beyond them, even in just a little
light, would usefully enlarge Douglas Hart's setting. To 13-11-10. John Slim |
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