Reviews written by Rob Marks

Here’s a trade secret for you, readers at home: reviewing comedy is the hardest part of this job. I know what you’re thinking; being paid to sit in a room with the funniest people in the country and then giving your opinions like we all do in the pub is a piece of cake. Well you’re wrong. Unless you’re a bad reviewer you try not to give away the jokes that the comedians have crafted and attempt to spin out a better way of saying ‘you had to be there’. And that’s only if you enjoyed it.

But nothing’s harder than reviewing improv comedy. First of all, your experience is entirely dependent on the audience that night, not to mention that whatever I saw, you won’t see. All you can do is talk about the energy and chemistry of the company and that rarely gives you, the punter, an indication of whether this particular show will make you laugh in an amount relative to the money you spent.

That’s why I hate improv comedy. Particularly at the Fringe, where every student from Aberdeen to Southampton seems to think that pretending to be a doctor who’s got Tourette’s whilst in a space station being attacked by Mothra is the FUNNIEST THING EVER. They even have a quote from their student newspaper saying so on their flyers.

But, like a solitary golden ray of light entering a long-forgotten and decrepit monastery, where rising dust particles seem to make the light sparkle with possibility, Birmingham University’s Watch This are coming to the Edinburgh Fringe this year to prove me wrong.

The show is principally made up of a Harold: a long form game where the audience offers a single word and the players create a 45 minute narrative of four unrelated narratives that slowly intertwine. At the preview I saw, the word was ‘Dictionary’. The characters were:

1. A man who garbled everything and needed to speak more diction-ry;
2. Google, who arrogantly claimed to be better, faster and smarter than the dictionary;
3. A professor from the University of Dudley who wanted to improve the institution’s credibility by releasing his own version of the dictionary;
4. And the letter ‘Y’ who had a persecution complex of Woody Allen-esque proportions.

From there, the characters found love, had their dreams crushed and, in the case of the letter Y, perpetrated a mass genocide of all the other letters thanks to his drinking the primordial soup – a tin of Alphabetti spaghetti.

I know, I know. And I warned you, you had to be there. But Watch This’ improve troupe have exactly what it takes to make it: they’re serious about their comedy, they get on fantastically and they’re clearly having a great time. But most importantly, they’re consistently and outrageously funny at a speed that makes you wonder whether or not the keyword was planted. There’s no doubt in my mind that they deserve a sell-out show with people queuing for returns round the theatre. You have to be there.

Where do you begin with A Clockwork Orange? Is it with Burgess’ 1962 novella? Or Kubrick’s 1971 film, whose style and invention is forever omnipresent? Or Burgess’ resulting stage version? Or the attendant controversies and misunderstandings of the work? Or the celebration of language and form? Or the underlying themes of the piece no matter its incarnation? Or the contentious 21st chapter? Approaching the piece can seem too much even for those of us who have treasured it for years. And so congratulations are in order for Fourth Monkey Youth Theatre’s cast and crew for taking an incredibly complicated work and trying to do something different with it. Whether or not this is successful is another matter.

The novella and film offer up worlds where the violence and rape are disturbingly entertaining. We are drawn in by Alex’s first person narration, his recognition of us as his brothers in crime, his charm and wit, his cunning and class, the pure pleasure he takes in Beethoven and rape. And then, mystifyingly, we find ourselves desperate to tear through the page and screen to help him when he becomes a helpless victim in the State’s ultraviolent plot against him and his kind. This world is one corrupted in particularly specific ways. Politicians and doctors make career decision heedless of the consequences, justice is synonymous with revenge, and any rules of conduct are beneath those who can see their attendant hypocrisies.

The world presented on the Theatro Technis stage is hardly the one depicted by Burgess or Kubrick. Firstly, the fourth wall is very much present and, given the intimate nature of the space, it serves to fully alienate us from Alex rather than endear us to him. We are voyeurs in the same way Alex reacts to Dr Brodsky’s films: it can only stir feelings of revulsion or boredom as opposed to empathy or pity. This is most clearly evident in the difference between the way the violence and rapes are choreographed. The blocking of the hand-to-hand combat feels stagey and under-rehearsed. The rape, however, seems specifically designed to disgust the audience. At one point a Alex rapes a woman with an umbrella for quite some time. This may be an allusion to the infamous ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ sequence from the film (that Burgess despised and redressed in his original version of the play by having Kubrick enter and play the song on a saxophone only to be booted off the stage) but it was, nonetheless very unpleasant to watch and unnecessary to the production.

Or was it? Despite the story inherently focussing on masculinity and depictions of men, Steven Green (Director) has assembled an almost entirely female cast with mixed results. The majority of the chorus and supporting roles are played by women and, quite controversially, so is Alex. Amy Brangwyn approaches the role with enthusiasm but there are some inherent problems casting a woman as Alex, rape by umbrella being only one. Green has sexualised Alex and over the course of the evening we see Alex and his second in command, Pete, kiss and grope each other and, eventually Alex himself/herself is raped. Whilst there is something to be said both for and against this as a decision eventually the question is, ‘What does it add to the themes or story or characters?’ And, regrettably, my answer is ‘Nothing’.

Brangwyn’s Alex falls down elsewhere. She comes across as a part of society that is bored by the rules around her when, in fact, Alex is an aberration of society who is above the rules. She is more like Harry Enfield’s Kevin, screaming ‘That’s not fair!’ and acting out in increasingly insincere and unforgivable ways to wheedle her way back to freedom. In truth, the pitch should be more towards a characterisation that is as diabolically charming as it is fiendish and terrifying. By the end we must believe that it is better to be able to choose evil over good than not to choose at all. Without this, Alex is no more than a thug, the same kind of person you would cross the street to get away from, but inherently ignore.

Despite these criticisms, Brangwyn comes into her own in the second half. Her reactions to the Ludovico Technique are genuinely distressing and she exercises far more control over her performance leading to some genuine concern for Alex’s welfare. If the same were to be applied to the first half, I have no doubt that her performance would be far more even and watchable.

The predominately female cast concept doesn’t work elsewhere. Mr Deltoid, Alex’s social worker, comes off as wet and resigned to the fact that people like Alex exist; whereas the real problem is that this is a black mark for his career. Gemma Barnett’s domineeringly sexual Governor is also a strange case opting for physically passive-aggressive sexual threats as opposed to using her charms to smooth things over with the public and press. There’s no need for this career politician to save face; everyone’s too scared of her. But that somehow misses the point.

It may surprise some to know that the play is, in part, a musical, or rather a play with music. Much of the singing is so-so but that wouldn’t matter as much if the balance of voices were more even – another problem with the predominantly female cast. Instead it is clearly high-pitched and this robs the words of their violence and aggression. On the point of the words, all of the actors tear through their lines at such a furious pace that much of Burgess teen-slang language ‘nadsat’ – a wonderful and curious confusion of English, American and Russian slang – is lost. Brangwyn, for example, is so loud and so volatile that her shouts are frequently indecipherable. And the fact that the sound levels over the PA are much too loud does not help.

The pacing of the play suffers from the same problems. The opening third plays more like Russian montage editing and, for the life of me, I have no idea how you are meant to follow what’s going on if you don’t already know the book or film. Indeed, Beethoven, the key to the whole story, is mentioned only twice before the Ludovico Technique ruins this for Alex. There’s no doubting the energy or commitment of the cast and crew but this is all at the expense of cohesion.

There are some very commendable things in this production. The opening and closing montages are punk-grunge mash-ups that convey the sense of the world and the effect of the 21st chapter/final scene in a different and particularly affecting way. And there are stand-out performances by Theo Ancient (the Prison Chaplain) and Ellen Rose (Dr Brodsky). Ancient’s moralising is a pleasure to watch and Rose’s mad scientist is a wonderful Hammer Horror creation that suffers only for the speed at which she speaks.

I understand that Fourth Monkey intend to take this to Edinburgh this Summer and so I want to finish the review by reminding them that this all constitutes constructive criticism. I fully believe that this cast and crew, with this production, can have a five-star Edinburgh success. In order for this to happen, however, I believe they must return to basics. Look carefully at the pacing of the play, make sure your fight scenes are better choreographed, actors start projecting and return to characterisations. And please, do invite me back when you’re up there. No doubt, I’ll viddy like a real horrowshow production that will be a real tolchock on the guliver. And all that cal.

Shakespeare’s classic tale of two warring households in fair Verona comes to the Finchley artsdepot on its national tour.

I believe reviewing Shakespeare is as complicated as reviewing stand-up comedy: each individual has his own tastes, his own opinions and comes to the performance with his own understanding of the material. Take me for an example. I’m a rogue and peasant slave, not long from a good University with a meaningless English degree in my pocket and iambic pentameter in my head. On the other hand, take the 93 GCSE schoolgirls I watched the play with. I was informed by their teacher that the girls are all at different levels of understanding the text and, for some, this may have been one of the first times they had been to the theatre.

You see my dilemma. Love&Madness is a company dedicated to ‘bringing Classical Theatre to a younger and wider audience, presenting great theatre in fresh and accessible productions’. In this respect I am more than happy to declare the play a complete success. Director, Owen Horsley (whose work includes Cheek by Jowl’s Troilus & Cressida and Cymbeline) has used a well-edited text that focuses on the plot without sacrificing too much of character or the beauty of the language.

One of the real achievements of this production is the treatment of our young lovers. Romeo and Juliet are not the romantic heroes of the Baz Luhrman film, nor the doomed tragic icons of Zeffirelli’s. Instead, Jamie Morgan (Romeo) and Sarah-Jane Holt (Juliet) are completely believable young people. They are lusty, anxious, awkward, embarrassed teenagers, as caught up in this romance as you or I were with our first loves. I particularly enjoyed the balcony scene in which it was obvious how much fun Romeo was having in coming up with the verse that wins Juliet’s heart. This wasn’t something he had pre-written: he was trying to be cool to impress her.

The other cast members all offer strong performances. They each play multiple and often contradictory characters. Daniel Jennings (Capulet and Tybalt) and Wole Sawyerr (Mercutio, Nurse and Friar Lawrence) approach their roles with good humour, finding what makes them human and making them sympathetic. Sawyerr’s turn as an African Nurse in drag was greeted with much hilarity and Jennings’ Tybalt actually drew boos from the crowd. Jane Stanton’s Lady Capulet is a move away from the now canonised unfeeling witch and is here as a stern yet genuinely maternal figure.

The set is a wonderful minimalist framework that offers lots of opportunities for the actors to perform exciting feats and to use the levels in often-unexpected ways. It opens as a stand in for the Globe, given its similar shape and construction, and ends as a cage and a tomb, imprisoning the young lovers to their fate.


Given how much the girls seemed to enjoy this play – their very vocal reactions perfectly mimicked the end of Shakespeare in Love – I have complete confidence in saying that the groundlings were thoroughly entertained.

Unfortunately, I would have been Colin Firth with his seat up in the gallery, and so I have some significant criticisms. Holt’s Juliet is the weak link in the cast. You can always tell with Shakespeare when someone doesn’t know exactly what their lines mean. Holt’s performance was too rehearsed and too dry to be engaging enough to make the tragedy work. It skews the play: the comedy of the first half is handled well and is always welcome; but the tragic element doesn’t quite make it to the finishing line.

The set has any number of sightline issues which should really have been resolved by now. Also, parts of the set make no sense whatsoever: a static-snow television sits downstage right and does nothing else. As it so happens I sat directly in front of the television and found myself distracted by it and, later, had a bit of a headache from sitting so close for so long. The lighting cues that are supposed to highlight when the action is moving, or if someone speaks an aside, are made redundant by the fact that the actors are using the levels of the set so well. And the sound design failed to put over the pre-recorded speeches played through a radio-filter. Ultimately, these technical issues make the production feel a little amateur.

I was fortunate enough to speak to the girls after the performance and they gave their opinions honestly. We all enjoyed the performance and when I put it to them that this production was a good one to see for their studies, they agreed. And I think that’s right. If you have (or, perhaps, are) someone studying the play for GCSE, or want to see an exciting, well-paced production suitable for your children, then this is a great opportunity. Dry, boring academic types need not apply unless they can throw their pretensions out the window in favour of some fun.

In a little Russian town, cut off from the rest of the world, a rumour is brewing. It seems there’s a Government Inspector on his way. What does he want? When is he going to get there? And who is he? These are the problems facing the Police Governor and the mob of ridiculous provincials that he allows to run the town. One case of mistaken identity later and they’ve taken in a penniless self-important clerk from St Petersburg and his manservant… and, like the wine, the money soon begins to flow.

Nikolai Gogol’s satirical masterpiece was originally so savage, so biting, so incendiary that it forced him into exile for the rest of his life. Gravel Theatre’s production of it, unfortunately, is not only tame but, for the most part, it’s quite dull as well.

This is a heavily stylised production utilising a huge number of visual references from film and television. The cast have been made up to look like The Joker, they move like they’re in John Landis’ Thriller video and sound like they’ve wandered out of The League of Gentlemen. The Charity Commissioner is a carbon copy of Dr Stangelove, glove and all. I’m not sure what the effect was meant to achieve. Perhaps director, Owen Roberts, believed that it would be funny to have his cast gurn and make bizarre high-pitched squeals.

That’s definitely part of the problem here. The company know this play is funny. And maybe they believe that wildly over-the-top performances and X-Factor gags make their production funnier. But such is the Catch-22 with comedy: the second the actors know a play is funny, it ceases to be so. It’s an old joke: what’s my motivation? Here, the characters are trying to be so funny that there’s no reason for them to do what they do half the time and, worst of all, it makes the play’s story completely incomprehensible. I was left asking why do these people not work everything out much sooner?

The brilliance of the play lies in the speed of its speed and its satire of recognisable types of people usually found in power. This is why the play has survived for more than 150 years; it’s almost like The Wire of its time. Roberts has misunderstood that in the whole pitching of this production. If you’re going to dress people up like Dr Strangelove and make Louis Walsh jokes go do pantomime. This is a play about the problem with career politicians, the abundance of red-tape and hyper-bureaucracy. In a world where we have the politicians we do, the systems we do, the society we do this play would be so much more effective if it were played straight. This is a play about New Labour and its backbiting downfall. This is about the death of the Bush administration. This is about the absurdity of holding on to white knight politicians like Cameron and Obama. Unfortunately, none of this makes it into Gravel’s production.

There are some noteworthy performances. Daniel Curtis’ Governor is a frenetic, whirling dervish of a performance, made all the funnier for his looking like a British Michael J Fox. Although I can’t agree with the direction of the character Curtis throws himself into the performance brilliantly pulling off its difficult vocal and physical requirements. And, although not always engaging, Ciaran Dowd’s Khlestakov, the St Petersburg clerk, is often wryly underplayed thanks mainly to Dowd’s comic timing. The rest of the cast are not weak, by any means, but often their performances sit at odds with the text. Marya, for example, is the Governor’s 18 year old daughter. The play marks her out as a snotty, pretentious social climber. Here, however, she’s played like a 12 year old and, not only does it not work with the text, but it also makes parts of Act II quite uncomfortable to watch.

According to the programme note, Gravel is dedicated to making theatre that is entertaining first and challenging second. They then state, quite ominously, that this is their first production. There’s no doubt that The Government Inspector could have been the perfect play for them to use as a springboard. Unfortunately, Gravel aren’t there yet.

The sights, smells and sounds of eighteenth century London live on in the Gilded Balloon’s Debating Hall. The cast warmly welcome you into a smoky, straw-strewn room, clutching you by the hand and offering shots of gin. It’s Monday. It’s 2.15. It’s hanging time. In one hour’s time the fiendish barber of Fleet Street will be strung up for your viewing pleasure. But before the main event, this gruesome group of players want to show you how Sweeney came to be minutes away from the noose.

First things first: this is not the Sondheim musical. It is not based on the Sondheim musical. In fact, with the exception of part of the title, there is no correlation between the Sondheim musical and this show. Finger in the Pie have created a whole new take on the Sweeney story with its roots in Vaudeville, German expressionism and silent comedy. It’s a delightful, funny and macabre piece that boasts a dazzlingly alliterative script and professional technical wizardry well beyond the average Fringe show.

The ensemble cast is excellent. Made up like Heath Ledger’s Joker, they each play a number of roles, as well as a variety of musical instruments. The piece requires accomplished physical performances that the cast respond to gleefully. They’re like Gremlins: delighted by their wickedness, determined to involve the audience in their games and desperate to corrupt the virtuous. Which is where Frank Wurzinger’s Sweeny Todd comes in. Gone is the bass-rumble of a broken man wronged by a judge all those years ago. Instead, Sweeney is now a boyish mute, whose life takes the shape of a Harold Lloyd or Chaplin film. His tragedy is not his pride or rage, but merely being in the wrong place at the wrong time… occasionally with razor blades. It’s an excellent and very watchable performance, remarkable for how much it tugs on the audience’s heartstrings despite the fact he never utters a word.

The technical elements of the production are as much characters in their own right as the excellent ensemble. Under a flickering amber candlelight that washes over the stage, we meet a young boy Sweeney puppet, who quakes in fear at the decadent world around him. Ingenious shadow puppetry and expressionistic short film sequences play onto a decaying yellowed screen. It’s a testament to Alexander Parsonage’s direction that these moments never feel gimmicky or gratuitous but instead act as another tool to depict the depravity of London in greater depth.

My only problem with this production is that it’s too short. I would have happily sat through another half-hour whilst this grisly gang told more of Sweeney’s story. The humour is pitch-black and wryly observed, the ensemble work tight and professional and the production is always surprising and genuinely enjoyable. A cut above the rest.

Oleanna is David Mamet’s unflinching and controversial portrayal of power relations as viewed through the prism of a potentially fraudulent allegation of sexual harassment. The play is a two-hander set solely in a small office room. John is a pompous, self-aggrandising and chauvinistic professor. Carol is a savvy, but not smart, radial student. And when Carol accuses John of harassment, the lines are drawn for a breathless battle of the sexes.

Kevin Hanssen’s John is wonderful to watch. His arrogance, condescension and rising desperation are perfectly rendered and tailored in their intensity for the intimacy of the Vault. It’s a performance that takes it cue from Rex Harrison’s Henry Higgins in its mixture of camp theatricality, likeability and cruelty. By contrast, Renee Mostert’s Carol is a thin, quiet and ill-defined character. There’s no variation in her performance other than her volume and speed. She is unable to meet Hanssen’s intensity nor rise to the challenges Mamet’s text sets her. Carol’s motives are never clear leaving it to the actress to import an agenda into her performance. Mostert, however, seems to be marking her time on the stage, curiously distant from Carol’s mental and emotional state which is devastating to the effect of this kind of psychological thriller.

The direction is inappropriate for the play. Heeten Bhagat seems to have made little effort to shape the piece. Dramatic beats pass unnoticed and the tension is left entirely to Hanssen’s performance. The blocking also undermines the realism of the text, with the actors breaking through the proscenium arch, hanging about just onstage of the wings and occasionally moving for no reason whatsoever. And the hyperrealism of Mametspeak is unfortunately lost due to artificial and poorly timed interruptions. One never feels truly engaged with the piece despite the fact it’s happening scarcely a few feet in front of you.

These problems resonate deeply. This production posits the suggestion that ‘which ever side you take, you’re wrong’. Unfortunately, the difference of the performances means that it’s John the audience feels for. He’s now a man greatly maligned by a vindictive and stupid student because she struggles with the difficulty of his degree classes. The escalation in his rage and conduct towards Carol becomes unbelievable and left me wondering why he didn’t just shoot this irritating child and be done with her.

It’s a genuine shame that this production of Oleanna doesn’t come together. The brilliance of the script and Hanssen’s strong performance are undercut by the weakness of Monstert’s Carol and Bhagat’s direction. In the same way that the struggle for power between John and Carol cannot be satisfactorily resolved, neither can the oppositions within this production.

It’s 10.30 on a Sunday morning and I’m here with a group of strangers whilst a man who bears more than a passing resemblance to Richard Simmons has us stretching to disco hits.

Andrew Foreman’s Richard Simms is delightful: a campy fitness instructor whose comedy is laden with suggestive but inoffensive innuendos, he had the audience eating (literally!) out of the palm of his hand. And it’s a tough piece of character comedy to pull off. The B’est restaurant is an intimate venue, seating no more than 30 people and everyone is involved on stage at one point or another. It became very clear to me during the show that Foreman must have hours and hours of material to hand that he tailors to each individual audience.

My only problem with the show is that, although you are given a two-course cooked breakfast, the £20 ticket price is a little steep. Then again, if you don’t enjoy this you must be a complete grouch. I should know; I hate mornings but this had me smiling and cheerful for the rest of my day. Highly recommended.

Tucked away in the bowels of the Underbelly in an unfairly small room is the rarest of finds: an actual Fringe comedian. What do I mean by that? Well, this is Donnelly’s debut Edinburgh show that is, unassumingly, about him and the way he is. Coming out looking a little like Napoleon Dynamite, he takes the microphone and delivers a slick and confident hour of comedy that will have you laughing long after you’ve left the show. No gimmicks, no media hype, just one man and his microphone.

The material itself is very strong anecdotal comedy that segues professionally without seeming clumsy or prepared. Donnelly can do this because he is completely at ease with the audience. This isn’t a monologue but a conversation in which he can hold court whilst debating bizarre topics with complete strangers. His ability to drop in and out of his material allows him to deliver an electric performance that reveals him to be a natural and gifted comedian.

I thoroughly enjoyed my hour in the strange world of Carl Donnelly. And I have no doubt that in the Festivals to come he will be as much a Fringe headliner as Lucy Porter, Andrew Maxwell or Jason Byrne.

According to Anna and Katy there are two things a comedy double act need: chemistry and jokes.

There’s no doubt about their chemistry. Anna and Katy clearly have a deep understanding of their act and they clearly enjoy performing to each other as much as to the audience. When they start bantering with the crowd, they are likeable and funny, which is something that can only come from a position of strength and trust as performers.

Their jokes, on the other hand, are more problematic. The sketches are overly long and very hit and miss. There are some great moments (my favourite being a bigoted daytime TV quiz host) but they are diamonds in the rough.

It’s reviews like this that remind me of how subjective reviewing comedy can be. Leaving the theatre, I overheard some of the audience comparing Anna and Katy to French and Saunders. Some love French and Saunders, others don’t. I’m of the latter category but if they make you laugh then definitely go along and see the heiresses to the crown.

The most controversial musical of all time returns to its spiritual home in a production that is so vastly superior to the professional one that it is staggering.

Welcome to the Jerry Springer show. His audience of trailer-trash and sexual deviants reveal their guilty secrets on national television whilst Springer watches from the sidelines. But when he is shot by one of his guests, he imagines he is dragged to Hell to reconcile an argument that’s been running since the dawn of time: God and Satan.

This is an incredibly ambitious production for lots of reasons. Obviously, the show carries with it some danger for anybody brave enough to put it on. Secondly, the company are student-professionals from the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama tackling an incredibly demanding and complex score. And staging Springer is ridiculously complicated, let alone in a Fringe venue and on a Fringe budget.

But these are all challenges the company not only rise to but also vault over. Andrew Panton’s direction is astounding. He has created a marvellously chaotic production that is clearly based on an astonishing amount of rehearsal. His staging is simple but wonderfully effective, prompting gasps of amazement from the audience as the set’s secrets reveal themselves. This production owes nothing to the West-End run; everything here is original and masterfully executed.

Panton has also embraced the piece’s controversy. In a musical all about freedom of expression, he has responded to the show’s critics (you might even meet some outside the venue) with joyously inventive choreography that pushes those buttons even harder.

I would be remiss for not talking about the band. They are simply outstanding. The score is incredibly intricate and how they manage to bring the gravitas they do to the show is beyond me.

The cast are clearly having the time of their lives on that stage. The energy and excitement they bring to their roles, even as a chorus, is electrifying. Each and every one of them should be congratulated on their sublime and hilarious performances. They are, without doubt, the best ensemble cast I’ve seen in Edinburgh. Stand out performances include Alissa Keogh’s wannabe poledancer, Aaron Lee Lambert’s hilarious campy Jesus, Colette Neil’s Andrea, a sane woman trapped in an insane world, and Adrianne Salmon’s Baby Jane. And Jonathan Lum’s warm-up artist/Satan is a delightfully theatrical and exhilaratingly original creation.

I’ve run out of superlatives. If the job of a Fringe reviewer is to suggest where you should spend your money, then spend it here. If it’s to talk about the quality of a show, then this is sublime. If it’s just to enjoy himself on his free ticket then I had the best night out I’ve had in years. Even if the show is not your thing, there’s no way you won’t marvel at the direction, choreography and performances. It’s my wish that this production of Jerry Springer the Opera is immediately transferred to the West End so I can go every night. These people deserve more stars than I can hand out. So, go and see Jerry Jerry. Now.