My Newest Favourite Thing: FC Barcelona

Obviously I would rather it were Liverpool waving that trophy aloft, but as that was never going to happen this season, it couldn't happen to a better club than Barcelona FC.

Their play in winning the Champions League Final 3-1 was superlative. Mesmerising football and spectacular precision passing by the likes of Pedro, Villa, Iniesta and Xavi Hernandez made for sumptuous viewing. Mascherano was marshalled into mid field/ defence but most of the action was taking place in the attacking third.

En passant I must say that Wayne Rooney's goal came with an excellent finish, but Giggs was off-side when he received the ball that led to the pass that set up the goal that Wayne scored. 

Barcelona played like a team that knew each other's moves so well they could have executed those tricks blindfolded. It was magical, artistic, fantastic craftsmanship with no diving for penalties, rolling around on the floor, Hollywood tactics or scything tackles (from either side, to be fair).

And then there was Lionel Messi. There is very little that can be said about him that hasn't already been said. He is masterful and quite simply the best footballer on the planet. He and his fellow Catalan genii split the Manchester United midfield like Zorro's rapier through crumbly Lancashire. It was a joy to watch.

It's always fun to see Fergie and his show ponies annihilated, although to his credit he knew and respected it, saying afterwards, "They play the right way and they enjoy their football. They do mesmerise you with their passing and we never really did control Messi. In my time as manager, it's the best team I've faced."

The Weevil asked me what she should tell my nephew - 'Do we want Manchester United to win because they are English?' No. If it were any other English club (even The Arse), then yes, I would probably want them to succeed. But I already have to hear Red Shite fans bleat on about how they have now won more titles than Liverpool, they are the best team ever in England; at least we are still the best English team ever in Europe.

Juke Box Jury

All Shook Up, Showbiz Queenstown
Memorial Hall, Queenstown
19 - 28 May, 2011

Does the world of entertainment really need another juke box musical, or have they become a dime a dozen? Your response to that question will determine your reaction to Showbiz Queenstown’s latest offering; All Shook Up.

Their marketing trumpeted, ‘The story’s all new; the songs are all Elvis’, which is wrong on both counts. The story is pretty much all Shakespeare – a haphazard mix of the more basic elements of Twelfth Night and As You Like It. Girl (Natalie) likes boy (Chad) but he likes someone (Miss Sandra) else so she dresses as boy to get his attention and he falls for her/him resulting in much confusion and hilarity. Subplots involve misdirected letters (in this case a Shakespearean sonnet), forbidden love, and discovering love that was beneath your nose the whole time. And it’s all set in 1950s bubblegum, small-town, Middle America without the racial tension; it really is all white here.

Elvis wrote very few of his own songs – in fact out of the 26 songs in the show, he only wrote two; Heartbreak Hotel and Don’t Be Cruel. Although they were all popularised by him, the fact that they were penned by others works in his favour. Musical arrangements by Stephen Oremus have transferred the numbers into something new and different, from the show-stopping Can’t Help Falling in Love in fabulous four-part harmony, to the spectacular Devil in Disguise as Mayor Matilda Hyde (Jo Blick) admonishes the hip swivelling roustabout Chad (James Stephenson) in a rocking country/gospel number, complete with angelic host and restrained demons.

Emily Burns as Natalie Haller (the female mechanic who attempts to fix Chad’s broken motorbike and then become his side-kick; trying to sidle her way into his affections) has a great vocal range, and her rendition of Love Me Tender in her deeper ‘male’ register is excellent. The singing is of a uniformly superb standard, and Julie Anne Molloy as Sylvia delivers the stand-out vocal performance with There’s Always Me, which blends emotion and technique to perfection.

A huge plaudit must go to the band (under the musical direction of Cheryl Collie), which performs on stage hidden behind a curtain for most of the show, and keeps the tempo cracking along. As is typical of this style of musical, the songs do nothing to further the action but they are entertaining – a couple behind me were playing ‘guess the song’, which with the standard of dialogue really wasn’t hard. At times the show drags a little as the songs are shoehorned into the script and, although the choreography (Tiffany Menzies) is excellent, the dancing is often lacklustre. Some of the best physicality came from Jim Haller (Chris MacKenzie) who displays some great wobbly legs and bad jelly shaking, as Chad teaches him to dance in yet another of the Footloose moments.

The minimalist nature of the set worked well, allowing for some interpretative staging. The moving statues were eye-catching (makeup by Ella Chaney), while the mimed bus in It’s Now or Never, and the Mayor’s ‘car on roller-skates’ (‘driven’ by the comically taciturn Sheriff Earl – Paul Halsted) drew appreciative applause from audience. The space (and even bare stage at times) should afford the characters room to develop, but there is nowhere for them to go.

Nowhere is this more evident than the story of Dean (Samuel Farr) and Lorraine (Nicole Graham). The role of the buttoned-up conformist aching to break free is perfect for the meerkat-like Sam, and Lorraine has a great and powerful voice with a hint of country grunt, but the story under-sells their talents. Half-way through Act One they have already paired up to the disapproval of their parents, and that’s pretty much it.

In the original, Lorraine is African-American, which adds a whole new dimension to the Mayor’s reluctance for her son, Dean, to form a mixed race relationship – remember the Civil Rights Act wasn’t passed for another ten years. She is more than just a snob, as she is portrayed here; she has serious issues to consider. When Lorraine, Dean and Chad sing If I Can Dream (with lyrics such as 'If I can dream of a better land, where all my brothers walk hand in hand, tell me why oh why oh why can't my dream come true?') the Martin Luther King echoes would be deafening. 

The racial aspect also tempers Jim's feeling for her mother, Sylvia - he has so far overlooked her for romance although he is happy enough with friendship. Director Bryan Aitken has had to work around this (presumably due to the performers who presented at auditions) which he does very smoothly, although the absence of this tension leaves the musical a touch flat.

The character of Chad is equally one dimensional. He rides into town to touch the juke box (positioned on the side of the stage throughout) to make it play, and he infects the town with music and passion. And then what? James Stephenson struggles with the role; trying to make a shallow, image-obsessed philistine seem appealing to a gaggle of women is no mean feat, and he over-uses hand gestures to declare emphasis. He finds some subtlety with the duet You’ve Got to Follow That Dream; sung with Natalie, this is touching and inspiring duet on the first night, but it turned into a Showbiz Idol sing-off later in the season.

His rival, Dennis (Caleb Dawson-Swale) has delightful timing when he focuses, and his geeky, twitching nervousness belies a soulful centre. Although vocally a little weak, he proves his acting ability with a completely different role from last year’s (equally competent) the Artful Dodger in Oliver! Miss Sandra (Caroline Pegna) delivers the songs that suit her range well (One Night With You and Hound Dog do; Let Yourself Go patently doesn’t). She has the best line of the show – “You marry your cousins don’t you?” – and is the only character other than Natalie who is permitted any development. Her conversion to prim museum curator to flirtatious seductress is obvious but well executed.

One further bouquet must go to Emma Newell who designed the programme to look like a record (half of the cast have probably never seen one before). This sets the scene before the first chord is strummed. It’s a fun, bright, rollicking, toe-tapping, dispensable, candy-floss show; unimaginative and not particularly demanding for actors and viewers alike, although the singing can be challenging. It features a predominantly young cast and will probably be a favourite among high schools. It’s child’s play and boy, do they have fun at play-time!

Welly Wouldn't!

I loathe the idea of the 'Wellywood' sign. For those of you who have matters of importance to worry about, this will probably have passed you by, so let me explain. The owners of Wellington Airport (Infratil: 66% and Wellington City Council: 34%) have decided that it is a good idea to spell 'Wellywood' out on the hillside approaching the airport in big white letters, a la Hollywood. Many Wellingtonians disapprove.

For a start, it seems like a waste of money. We are told that it is not really for Wellingtons but for national and international visitors alike to admire when they fly into the capital city. Apparently fixing a 3.5 meter high steel word to a hill turns a place into an item on people's bucket list. I have never felt an urge to visit Hollywood, sign or no sign, and Mosgiel hasn't exactly got them flocking. Besides, most passengers who arrive at Wellington airport are too busy clinging onto the seat in front of them, utilising the sick bag or praying to the gods of wild weather, to notice anything other than a safe landing.

Yes, it is extremely derivative. Wellington has a thriving arts culture, comprised of theatre, dance, music, literature, film and television. Actually, scrap that last one, seeing as that is what is happening to Avalon studios. Just because Peter Jackson and Warner Brothers can over-ride the rights of the workers in this country with a snap of their fingers, should Wellington rent out prime advertising space to them as well? And when I say rent, I mean give for free, because of all the so-called benefits they will bring the economy regardless of the draconian and dictatorial changes to employment law.

Cobham Drive (the road down which nearly all traffic must drive as it leaves Wellington airport) already has plenty of original sculptures which interract with the one force Wellington doesn't lack - no, not bureaucracy; wind! Petty-minded people vandalise these on a regular basis. Do you really think they would leave those letters intact? You might as well write 'Steal Me' up on the cliff - I'm sure that a giant 'O' would become the latest in haute-decor for student flats in Newtown.

Actually the Hollywood sign is unsprisingly copyrighted, and the people who own the rights to it have threatened Wellington Airport with legal action if they persist with this quest for mediocrity. This potential crusade against the world's most litigious people isn't really worth fighting, is it?

One digital media agency, Skull and Bones have created their own sign generator with which techno-folk can mock-up their own copywood message. The responses are spectacularly uninspiring and unoriginal (with 'I'm a cliff'; 'Hamilton' and 'Help' being the best offerings) thus indicating that unoriginality isn't unique to the owners of the airport. Hardly anyone outside Wellington cares enough to notice, but those who do are defintely having a larff!

Our Man in London: All's Well That Ends Well

All’s Well That Ends Well at The Globe, London

First trip to The Globe of the year and probably not an obvious choice of play to go and see. All’s Well seems to be viewed as one of Shakespeare’s ‘problem plays’, but I am not sure I see the problem in the same way as I am meant to. The problem is meant to be that the main characters are a flawed bunch. While I agree that they are, another problem is the story. Some bits just don’t add up. Why would Diana give that lengthy performance in front of the King of France at the end and end up with being threatened with being thrown in jail? Is Bertram really so dim that he did not realise that the ring he is given was the one worn by Helena? How come he did not realise that the Italian he was in bed with had suddenly developed a French accent?

Putting aside my pedantry for a moment, this was a great performance. The only bad review I could find of it in the London press was from the Daily Telegraph. To me that means it is worth seeing, although worryingly the Daily Mail gave it a good review. I had no idea who any of the actors were in it, even though I should apparently know of Janie Dee who plays the Countess of Rousillon. I always think you are on safe ground with UK actors if you say you have seen them in The Bill or Casualty and move the conversation quickly on.

To me the star of the show was James Garnon’s Parolles. But with such great lines to deliver and playing the buffoon it’s probably hard to mess it up. Ellie Piercy as Helena was also great despite one reviewer calling her dull and drab. I might be biased though because I think I have a crush on her. I did have a bit of a problem with Sam Crane as Bertram. He looks very young and a bit like the Tory Chancellor George Osborne. Plus he was being very rude about the lovely Helena. I was tempted to ask him outside at one point but decided I would see him afterwards.

I feel a bit metrosexual about this next point but think I am going to make it anyway. The costumes were stunning. Usually when I watch Shakespeare acted out in Jacobean costumes, they are par for the course and unremarkable, but there really was something stunning about these ones. I could quite happily prance about in the King of France’s togs but doubt I would make it to the end of my street in one piece.

That’s all for now, I have a train to catch and work to pretend to do. Next up is Merchant of Venice at the revamped RSC theatre in Stratford.

Adieu... from Our Man in London

Caps off to the Lion Foundation!

I recently learned that The Lion Foundation is involved with an initiative to recycle the aluminium screw caps on wine bottles. This pleases me greatly, and appeals to my wombling mentality.

I like recycling. I like the feeling that I can contribute something to someone else. When we were kids the Scouts used to collect newspapers. It was my job to bundle them up in orderly piles, tie them up with string and leave them out on the front doorstep.

At school there was a collection of ‘silver paper’ which went to the guide dogs (not the blind dogs as I used to call them), although what they did with it I couldn’t imagine. There was one particular type of chocolate (was it a Penguin or a Kit-Kat?) that had silver paper backed with a greaseproof layer. You could waste hours in the warm kitchen peeling these wrappers apart rather than doing your homework upstairs.

The earnest presenters on Blue Peter were always collecting keys or stamps or foreign coins for various appeals. I can’t remember (if I ever knew) why or where they went – probably to the starving children in Africa; we were all very concerned about them in the early 80s I seem to recall. The motives were less important than the actions themselves. It was and is fun to collect things, and it’s even better that this aimless hoarding has a purpose, even if that purpose is obscure.

After all, we all like to do good deeds; it makes us feel better, and what’s wrong with that? No charity is entirely altruistic. If I can do good by eating chocolate or drinking wine, then so much the better. There’ll be a big box of wine bottle tops turning up at the Lion Foundation soon, and I’m sure we’ll both appreciate it!

My Newest Favourite Thing: Downton Abbey

As the nights draw in and the temperatures plummet, it makes sense to snuggle up to a warm fire and some period drama on television. As I don't watch reality TV or trite American sitcoms, there isn't much for me on terrestrial TV (and now the Premier League has all but concluded, even SKY is looking rather drab), so I anticipated the arrival of Downton Abbey with excitment. Sad, I know, but it was very aggressively marketed with swooning maidens, scheming footmen and a choir singing Every Breath You Take at a thrillingly trippy tempo.

Created, written, and executive-produced by Julian Fellowes, the corset capers have all the typical hallmarks of the genre. Upstairs Downstairs meets Gosford Park (even with some of the same actors), holding hands and skipping merrily through the gamut of impeccable manners, class distinctions, lavish locations, sumptuous costumes, simple housemaids, plotting butlers, and all manner of skulduggery in tails.

The time is April 1912 and the Edwardian era is ending. When the date scrolled onto the screen, Him Outdoors said, 'Titanic's about to go down', and so it did. (I don't want to give the impression that he was instrumental in this maritime disaster, or that he prefixed his pronouncement with 'Lo' - it's fairly standard knowledge, after all), resulting in loss of life and complications of inheritence.

Lord of the manor/ Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville - scrupulously charming) is in a bit of pickle as he only has three daughters and, therefore, no heir, so it looks as though the estate might be farmed out. Shark-finned, sharp-suited suitors arrive instantly until they realise there is another contender; some long-lost relation from (shudder) Manchester.

Naturally the rich American wife/ Countess of Grantham  (Elizabeth McGovern - a breath of fresh air without being a traumatic tornado) wants to keep it in the family, as does the Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith - divine delivery as ever). With nothing in common apart from the desire to prevent Downton from falling into the hands of 'a man who can barely hold his knife properly' these two team up to take on all-comers and also-rans. I'm guessing they'll prove pretty formidable.

Meanwhile alliances and divisions are being brokered and dissolved beneath stairs as well. Added to the drama is the fun of playing spot-the-former-street-actor: Liam Connor (Rob James-Collier) is the roguishly handsome Thomas the footman, while Joanne Froggart's character of Anna the housemaid (these people don't have surnames you see) is much more sympathetic than her conniving counterpart of Zoe Tattersall.

Of course things will never be the same up at the Big House, but the changes will be exquisitely captured on the small screen. From tracking shots down corridors to the intricate details of ironing the newspapers, it will look fantastic. It may feature obvious villains, crude characterisation, semaphored plot and heavy-handed exposition, but it is aimed at the ADD generation, and produced for ITV rather than BBC. Despite that, it is all wrapped up in a cloak of faux-gentility and classic acting, and I love it.

Cribbies: Act Two

As the second act of Cribbies begins, Mrs Smith, Mrs Brown and Mrs Evans each bring a plate to the New Year's Eve party.

"There's an old piano and they play it hot, behind the Green Door" - the cast get into the dance moves. L-r: Caitlin Sexton; Marlene Polson; Trish White; Marion Patton

Alf and Rob stagger back from the pub, which "closed up at 6 o' clock."

Cynthia and Norman Smith listen to one of Rob's terrible jokes.

The ladies are equally unimpressed...

Mrs Tobin (Shirley Armitage) asks Alf if he has a variety of drinks, including a cold duck - he's got one "hanging in the wash house".



Mrs Tobin leads the cast in a dance to Shake, Rattle and Roll.

Mrs Brown is delighted with the news that Princess Margaret is engaged, "I'm so glad for the poor thing... I'll just have a little sherry to celebrate."

The ladies of the cast sing that Everybody Loves a Lover.

It appears that they're right - even Wendy and Davey (Nick Foley) get in on the act, dancing to Oh, Boy!

Constable Ogilvie breaks up the party with a jar of Gran's plum jam, which may conceal a nugget of gold.

Gran is concerned that she may be in trouble - "I haven't done anything wrong have I?"

Wendy and Sophie get into the Hoki Toki ' "that's what it's all about".

Mrs Tobin asks Merve (Thomas Brinsley) whether he has tractor oil in his hair. - apparently not; "It's Brylcream. Elvis uses it you know."

Merve shows Mrs Tobin some dance moves to The Twist and soon everybody joins in.

Everybody celebrates New Year as the piper plays Auld Lang Syne.

Rob leads the cast as they farewell the decade with The Fifties, They Are Over.

The cast are ready to do it all over again as they perform the encore - Rock Around the Clock