The Queen of Bingo by Jeanne Michels and Phyllis Murphy. The Australian premiere tour, directed by Helen Ellis, at Queanbeyan Performing Arts Centre, September 24-28, 8pm. Bookings: 6298 0290
Professional actors will do whatever it takes to make a weak script look good. Fortunately Evelyn Krape and Kelly Nash work very hard and succeed in making The Queen of Bingo watchable, if not nearly as funny as its review in Grand Rapids, USA, suggests. “Witty, wry and outrageous” it is not, despite every effort especially by Nash, as the larger of two sisters, to expand Babe’s rage at her failure to lose weight and so be able to accept the footie coach’s invitation to the Best and Fairest Ball. Krape, as the older and slimmer Sis, makes some remarkable gyrating movements to turn Babe’s self-loathing around, and to entertain us.
But in the end the writing depends too much on cheap jibes at invisible characters off-stage, who can’t answer back, and on artificial devices, like coming up with bingo, for which there can be no dramatic justification. It’s a neat way of bringing to an end a play which otherwise might have dragged on as long as a real bingo night.
A major fault was to translate this quintessentially American play into a broad Australian accent, including idiomatic phrases and iconic local references. The bingo calls like “under B, eleven”, for example, do not have the ring of the British-Australian tradition, which would be “Legs eleven”, with all the sexual innuendo which could make the script smuttier and probably funnier. I’m not sure, either, that “housie” as it was played here in the Catholic church context is as dominant as it once was when it was the butt of jokes about Catholics by the straight-laced Protestants. It might have been better to have played the text in its original American accents, allowing us at least to laugh at Americans rather than at Catholics and fat people.
Oddly enough, the most engaging part was played by Keith Hutton, who, as the Irish-accented Father Mac, played real bingo with us just before interval and someone won a real frozen turkey. I think the New York Village Voice got it right, calling The Queen of Bingo “silliness and a frozen turkey....”
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Wednesday 24 September 2008
2008: Dora the Explorer Live! - Dora’s Pirate Adventure by Chris Gifford
Dora the Explorer Live! - Dora’s Pirate Adventure by Chris Gifford. SVP Live Theatricals for Nickelodeon (US pay TV), at Australian Institute of Sport, Tuesday September 24.
At the risk of seeming as curmudgeonly as Ian Warden, this very conventional, superficial and non-educational entertainment reminded me most closely of the recent Democrat Convention at which hero Barack Obama was nominated for president, while foxy H. Clinton, crying “Oh Man!”, tried desperately to pretend she didn’t mind being beaten. It’s nice that the roles are reversed with Dora the heroine, played sweetly by Sheena Ortiz, and Swiper the dastardly fox played forlornly by David Taylor, but this is not enough.
Even 3 and 4 year-olds deserve better real-politick and common sense. Swiper is the clown of the show and therefore the most interesting character. His technology - his motor bike and motor boat - fail him, but Dora makes him happy by giving him a pirate jacket and allowing him to dance at her party. Map tells us how to get to the treasure at the very beginning, so no mental effort required here. The pigs, who control the treasure chest, are surprisingly compliant. When everyone (all 2,800 of them at the session I went to) yells “Give us our treasure” (which isn’t exactly theirs in the first place), the pigs say, “OK, then” and all on stage have a dance party. I suppose it could be seen as a parallel to the Wall Street show, but I don’t think it’s teaching children quite what Nickelodeon claim.
Parents tell me that in the cartoon form on a TV screen, their children do the colouring in, call out the answers to solve problems, dance along and learn some Spanish, but the claim of the original writers Chris Gifford and Valerie Walsh that “Problem-solving strategies like stopping to think, asking for help, and using what you know are modelled in every Dora show” were hardly fulfilled in Dora’s Pirate Adventure. To high energy rock-latin music, in an atmosphere of constant excitement, children’s responses were never more than repetition of slogans to encourage the hero on to win. For the only real problem - how to fix the sail on the pirate ship - children were offered a multiple choice question, beginning “Can we use a cricket bat?” (No!) with the correct answer being “Can we use sticky tape?”, which didn’t get a definite response, but the show went on anyway. How American can you get?
I quite like Hero Obama as much as Ortiz’s Dora, but investing in either show is a short-sell in my view.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
At the risk of seeming as curmudgeonly as Ian Warden, this very conventional, superficial and non-educational entertainment reminded me most closely of the recent Democrat Convention at which hero Barack Obama was nominated for president, while foxy H. Clinton, crying “Oh Man!”, tried desperately to pretend she didn’t mind being beaten. It’s nice that the roles are reversed with Dora the heroine, played sweetly by Sheena Ortiz, and Swiper the dastardly fox played forlornly by David Taylor, but this is not enough.
Even 3 and 4 year-olds deserve better real-politick and common sense. Swiper is the clown of the show and therefore the most interesting character. His technology - his motor bike and motor boat - fail him, but Dora makes him happy by giving him a pirate jacket and allowing him to dance at her party. Map tells us how to get to the treasure at the very beginning, so no mental effort required here. The pigs, who control the treasure chest, are surprisingly compliant. When everyone (all 2,800 of them at the session I went to) yells “Give us our treasure” (which isn’t exactly theirs in the first place), the pigs say, “OK, then” and all on stage have a dance party. I suppose it could be seen as a parallel to the Wall Street show, but I don’t think it’s teaching children quite what Nickelodeon claim.
Parents tell me that in the cartoon form on a TV screen, their children do the colouring in, call out the answers to solve problems, dance along and learn some Spanish, but the claim of the original writers Chris Gifford and Valerie Walsh that “Problem-solving strategies like stopping to think, asking for help, and using what you know are modelled in every Dora show” were hardly fulfilled in Dora’s Pirate Adventure. To high energy rock-latin music, in an atmosphere of constant excitement, children’s responses were never more than repetition of slogans to encourage the hero on to win. For the only real problem - how to fix the sail on the pirate ship - children were offered a multiple choice question, beginning “Can we use a cricket bat?” (No!) with the correct answer being “Can we use sticky tape?”, which didn’t get a definite response, but the show went on anyway. How American can you get?
I quite like Hero Obama as much as Ortiz’s Dora, but investing in either show is a short-sell in my view.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Friday 12 September 2008
2008: Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw, directed by Tony Turner. Canberra Repertory Society, Theatre 3, September 12 to October 4, 8pm. Bookings 6257 1950.
The aura of My Fair Lady might have made staging the original play, Pygmalion, seem dull. Not a bit of it. The intensity of the characters’ relationships, the clarity of Shaw’s ideas, and the quality of the comedy are far better, and Rep’s production does the play justice.
Jessica Brent looks and sounds as Eliza should, and shows her growing towards true independence. She may have overplayed the “guttersnipe” a little, but received justified applause for the meeting Mrs Higgins scene and the presentation to the Ambassador, where she looked stunning. On this point, costumes and sets thoughout the production were terrific.
Jerry Hearn’s Higgins is even true to the original actor’s personality defects. Shaw himself directed Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree who “was so completely preoccupied with himself that he was always surprised when anyone else spoke”. Though Tree had no idea of acting by Shaw’s standards, he naturally appeared just as Shaw imagined Higgins. Hearn’s unbelieving scorn overlaying Higgins’ inability to deal with his loss in the final line “Nonsense: she’s going to marry Freddy. Ha ha! Freddy! Freddy!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!” captured both the comedy and the darker undertones that Turner mentioned in his Director’s Notes.
Each of the other key actors - John Honey as Pickering, Ian Croker as Eliza’s father Alfred Doolittle, Helen Vaughan-Roberts as Mrs Higgins - matched the central roles, with strong support from Liz Bradley (Mrs Pearce) and the Eynsford-Hill family of Judi Crane, Jodi McAlister and Nicholas Tranter.
There was some nervousness on opening night, with a few lines dropped and some pacing a bit slow in the second half. But confidence will soon grow in this well directed and designed production. It is a great joy to see the real George Bernard Shaw as it should be done on stage.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
The aura of My Fair Lady might have made staging the original play, Pygmalion, seem dull. Not a bit of it. The intensity of the characters’ relationships, the clarity of Shaw’s ideas, and the quality of the comedy are far better, and Rep’s production does the play justice.
Jessica Brent looks and sounds as Eliza should, and shows her growing towards true independence. She may have overplayed the “guttersnipe” a little, but received justified applause for the meeting Mrs Higgins scene and the presentation to the Ambassador, where she looked stunning. On this point, costumes and sets thoughout the production were terrific.
Jerry Hearn’s Higgins is even true to the original actor’s personality defects. Shaw himself directed Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree who “was so completely preoccupied with himself that he was always surprised when anyone else spoke”. Though Tree had no idea of acting by Shaw’s standards, he naturally appeared just as Shaw imagined Higgins. Hearn’s unbelieving scorn overlaying Higgins’ inability to deal with his loss in the final line “Nonsense: she’s going to marry Freddy. Ha ha! Freddy! Freddy!! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!” captured both the comedy and the darker undertones that Turner mentioned in his Director’s Notes.
Each of the other key actors - John Honey as Pickering, Ian Croker as Eliza’s father Alfred Doolittle, Helen Vaughan-Roberts as Mrs Higgins - matched the central roles, with strong support from Liz Bradley (Mrs Pearce) and the Eynsford-Hill family of Judi Crane, Jodi McAlister and Nicholas Tranter.
There was some nervousness on opening night, with a few lines dropped and some pacing a bit slow in the second half. But confidence will soon grow in this well directed and designed production. It is a great joy to see the real George Bernard Shaw as it should be done on stage.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Saturday 6 September 2008
2008: Princess Pissy Pants The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch by Joanne Brookfield. Review Version 2
Princess Pissy Pants The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch written and performed by Joanne Brookfield. Canberra Theatre Courtyard Studio, September 6.
Joanne Brookfield has made her name since the 2005 Melbourne Comedy Festival telling the story of the 12-year life of her Alsation, Murphy, around Australia and New Zealand. This is not a stand-up comedy act of one-liners, but a cleverly constructed, very funny story as much about being a strong, independent woman as it is about her dog.
We can imagine life from Murphy’s point of view.
“Arf! Arf! Arf! This is me, Murphy, bounding up the hallway to the front door, because I can hear Joanne’s key turning in the lock. She thinks I’m doing this out of doggie loyalty and unconditional love, but I just want to see if there’s a chance I can charge outside, do a big poo right in the middle of the footpath that will really embarrass her because of the rule about picking up my poos. As she said, she wouldn’t pick up yours, not even her own. She comes from Frankston, which she thought was a bit like Gungahlin in Canberra, but in the end the poo-poohing by all those women who think they are ladies who come from Mt Eliza (which has to be said the Queen-like way they say it) where she takes me for walks because she would rather I mess up Mt Eliza than her street in Frankston, got to her and she started taking a plastic bag. Then she could walk with me on the lead and my poo in the bag, and make a kind of statement about the nature of society.”
Murphy once ate a whole cheese, hence that part of the show’s title, but might have gone on to say “I don’t think Princess Pissy Pants was really fair. After all I was really old, had arthritis, could hardly walk or control my bodily functions. And I didn’t know Joanne thought it was great to tell me to ‘Stay’ after I was dead, because that was the only time I did what I was told. You should have seen her telling all those people about it at the theatre, except I was dead by then.”
And indeed, you should have. A full house laughed, groaned and squirmed at Brookfield’s story, brought along photos of their own pets, and supported the charity, ARF, which stands for ACT Rescue & Foster, who rescue healthy abandoned dogs from euthanasia. Look up www.fosterdogs.org if you would like one.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Joanne Brookfield has made her name since the 2005 Melbourne Comedy Festival telling the story of the 12-year life of her Alsation, Murphy, around Australia and New Zealand. This is not a stand-up comedy act of one-liners, but a cleverly constructed, very funny story as much about being a strong, independent woman as it is about her dog.
We can imagine life from Murphy’s point of view.
“Arf! Arf! Arf! This is me, Murphy, bounding up the hallway to the front door, because I can hear Joanne’s key turning in the lock. She thinks I’m doing this out of doggie loyalty and unconditional love, but I just want to see if there’s a chance I can charge outside, do a big poo right in the middle of the footpath that will really embarrass her because of the rule about picking up my poos. As she said, she wouldn’t pick up yours, not even her own. She comes from Frankston, which she thought was a bit like Gungahlin in Canberra, but in the end the poo-poohing by all those women who think they are ladies who come from Mt Eliza (which has to be said the Queen-like way they say it) where she takes me for walks because she would rather I mess up Mt Eliza than her street in Frankston, got to her and she started taking a plastic bag. Then she could walk with me on the lead and my poo in the bag, and make a kind of statement about the nature of society.”
Murphy once ate a whole cheese, hence that part of the show’s title, but might have gone on to say “I don’t think Princess Pissy Pants was really fair. After all I was really old, had arthritis, could hardly walk or control my bodily functions. And I didn’t know Joanne thought it was great to tell me to ‘Stay’ after I was dead, because that was the only time I did what I was told. You should have seen her telling all those people about it at the theatre, except I was dead by then.”
And indeed, you should have. A full house laughed, groaned and squirmed at Brookfield’s story, brought along photos of their own pets, and supported the charity, ARF, which stands for ACT Rescue & Foster, who rescue healthy abandoned dogs from euthanasia. Look up www.fosterdogs.org if you would like one.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
2008: Princess Pissy Pants The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch by Joanne Brookfield. Review Version 1
Princess Pissy Pants The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch written and performed by Joanne Brookfield. Canberra Theatre Courtyard Studio, September 6.
Arf! Arf! Arf! This is me, Murphy, bounding up the hallway to the front door, because I can hear Joanne’s key turning in the lock. Of course, she thinks I’m doing this out of doggie loyalty and unconditional love, but I just want to see if there’s a chance I can charge outside, do a big poo right in the middle of the footpath that will really embarrass her and maybe attack a small WFD (white fluffy dog) instead of having to endure WFDs attacking me because I’m kept on a lead because I’m a middle-size dog and people who have small WFDs think they don’t have to be bothered obeying the rules that Joanne doesn’t really think she should have to either, except that she gets to feel guilty if she doesn’t.
Especially the one about picking up my poos. As she said, she wouldn’t pick up yours, not even her own, but she comes from Frankston, which she thought was a bit like Gungahlin in Canberra, and in the end the poo-poohing by all those women who think they are ladies who come from Mt Eliza (which has to be said the Queen-like way they say it) where she takes me for walks because she would rather I mess up Mt Eliza than her street in Frankston, in the end it got to her and she started taking a plastic bag. Then she could walk with me on the lead and my poo in the bag, and make a kind of statement about the nature of society.
It wasn’t her that called me The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch. That was one of her flatmates, not the one who left the terrific Vietnamese takeaway on the coffee table, I don’t remember him calling me any repeatable name.
I don’t think Princess Pissy Pants was really fair. After all I was really old, had arthritis and could hardly walk. And I didn’t know Joanne thought it was great to tell me to “Stay” after I was dead, because that was the only time I did what I was told. But she also thought I was great when I kept licking her tears from her eyes when she was crying until she stopped being angry with me and we had a growling and giggling game. The salt tasted nice, and I like playing growling. Of course, when those burglars tried to get in the back door with the key they’d hidden after the time they broke in when I wasn’t there, I wasn’t playing when I growled, and Joanne was really pleased with me for defending my house. You should have seen her telling all those people about it at the theatre, except I was dead by then.
By the way ARF stands for ACT Rescue & Foster who rescue healthy dogs from euthanasia. Look up www.fosterdogs.org if you want one.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Arf! Arf! Arf! This is me, Murphy, bounding up the hallway to the front door, because I can hear Joanne’s key turning in the lock. Of course, she thinks I’m doing this out of doggie loyalty and unconditional love, but I just want to see if there’s a chance I can charge outside, do a big poo right in the middle of the footpath that will really embarrass her and maybe attack a small WFD (white fluffy dog) instead of having to endure WFDs attacking me because I’m kept on a lead because I’m a middle-size dog and people who have small WFDs think they don’t have to be bothered obeying the rules that Joanne doesn’t really think she should have to either, except that she gets to feel guilty if she doesn’t.
Especially the one about picking up my poos. As she said, she wouldn’t pick up yours, not even her own, but she comes from Frankston, which she thought was a bit like Gungahlin in Canberra, and in the end the poo-poohing by all those women who think they are ladies who come from Mt Eliza (which has to be said the Queen-like way they say it) where she takes me for walks because she would rather I mess up Mt Eliza than her street in Frankston, in the end it got to her and she started taking a plastic bag. Then she could walk with me on the lead and my poo in the bag, and make a kind of statement about the nature of society.
It wasn’t her that called me The Greedy Cheese Eating Bitch. That was one of her flatmates, not the one who left the terrific Vietnamese takeaway on the coffee table, I don’t remember him calling me any repeatable name.
I don’t think Princess Pissy Pants was really fair. After all I was really old, had arthritis and could hardly walk. And I didn’t know Joanne thought it was great to tell me to “Stay” after I was dead, because that was the only time I did what I was told. But she also thought I was great when I kept licking her tears from her eyes when she was crying until she stopped being angry with me and we had a growling and giggling game. The salt tasted nice, and I like playing growling. Of course, when those burglars tried to get in the back door with the key they’d hidden after the time they broke in when I wasn’t there, I wasn’t playing when I growled, and Joanne was really pleased with me for defending my house. You should have seen her telling all those people about it at the theatre, except I was dead by then.
By the way ARF stands for ACT Rescue & Foster who rescue healthy dogs from euthanasia. Look up www.fosterdogs.org if you want one.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
Thursday 4 September 2008
2008: Annie
Annie. Music by Charles Strouse, lyrics by Martin Charnin, book by Thomas Meehan. Presented by Canberra Philharmonic Society directed by Jim McMullen, musical director Ian McLean, choreographer Lisa Buckley. Costumes by Jill De Rooy, set designer Brian Sudding. At Erindale Theatre 4-20 September, Wed-Sat 7.30pm., Sat 2pm. Bookings: 6247 4456 or ticketing@philo.org.au
This is a very successful production of an enduring musical. There are plenty of reasons for seeing it, and none that I can think of for staying away.
I tend to cringe when style does not match the demands of the writing, but McMullen, McLean and Buckley have produced just the right touch for what is in essence a warm-hearted social satire with a bit of an edge. Our attitude, watching the seriously angry little orphan girls in the opening scene, is immediately established. Madeline Barclay (Annie/Molly) and Shelby Frame (Molly/Annie) easily took on the roles which they alternate through the season, while the whole group clearly understood the mood, the music and choreography, a credit to all three directors working with such young performers.
Then Kate Tricks took command as Miss Hanigan, and the show never looked back. As the plot develops, class conflict and political power are brought to the fore through taking the musical forms of America in the 1920s and 30s into a cartoon style in singing, dance and costume which at times reminded me of the cut and thrust of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht. When the Hoovervillians living on the street turn on us, the audience, the point is made and the relevance of the billionaire Daddy Warbucks turning to the Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt and the New Deal is made clear. One could even find oneself thinking about this year’s upcoming US election.
But the good thing is that the style keeps the humour flowing, even through the second half, which is not as well written as the first. The sentimentality which could easily bubble up is kept in check, and the appropriate result on opening night was plenty of applause for a bravura show. Casting for singing and acting was excellent all round, with Daniel Wells as Warbucks particularly pleasing to my mind. Special praise too for set artist Ian Croker with Sudding and the construction team for using the fly-in sets so effectively. And it was great to see scene changes integrated into the action and done in time to the music. Smooth transitions like this are essential to keep the drama flying rather than flagging. Eclipse lighting and sound team got the design right too, and most technical things worked well on the big test of opening night.
The result was that I enjoyed Annie on many different levels, and can certainly recommend the show for young and old.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
This is a very successful production of an enduring musical. There are plenty of reasons for seeing it, and none that I can think of for staying away.
I tend to cringe when style does not match the demands of the writing, but McMullen, McLean and Buckley have produced just the right touch for what is in essence a warm-hearted social satire with a bit of an edge. Our attitude, watching the seriously angry little orphan girls in the opening scene, is immediately established. Madeline Barclay (Annie/Molly) and Shelby Frame (Molly/Annie) easily took on the roles which they alternate through the season, while the whole group clearly understood the mood, the music and choreography, a credit to all three directors working with such young performers.
Then Kate Tricks took command as Miss Hanigan, and the show never looked back. As the plot develops, class conflict and political power are brought to the fore through taking the musical forms of America in the 1920s and 30s into a cartoon style in singing, dance and costume which at times reminded me of the cut and thrust of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht. When the Hoovervillians living on the street turn on us, the audience, the point is made and the relevance of the billionaire Daddy Warbucks turning to the Democrat Franklin D. Roosevelt and the New Deal is made clear. One could even find oneself thinking about this year’s upcoming US election.
But the good thing is that the style keeps the humour flowing, even through the second half, which is not as well written as the first. The sentimentality which could easily bubble up is kept in check, and the appropriate result on opening night was plenty of applause for a bravura show. Casting for singing and acting was excellent all round, with Daniel Wells as Warbucks particularly pleasing to my mind. Special praise too for set artist Ian Croker with Sudding and the construction team for using the fly-in sets so effectively. And it was great to see scene changes integrated into the action and done in time to the music. Smooth transitions like this are essential to keep the drama flying rather than flagging. Eclipse lighting and sound team got the design right too, and most technical things worked well on the big test of opening night.
The result was that I enjoyed Annie on many different levels, and can certainly recommend the show for young and old.
©Frank McKone, Canberra
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