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From: Ben
Category: Theatre
Date: 08 March 2001
The Man in the Moon theatre is pretty unexpected. King's Road is not really noted for its artistic bent; despite the art college and fashion links, the inclination is towards the label, the swagger, the style rather than the poetic creative repetitive toil of the cinema. Of course, semi-amateur dramatics does meet the histrionic and self-publicising need to the denens of this romatic but uncharming quarter. All the more worrying, therefore, to be attending what the Evening Standard describes as ..... What could be more ab fab glam dram, more Nedwin Sherrin, more.... awful? Well, in fact it is excellent. OK there are cliched characters by the bucketload, the insight into the human condition isn't exactly bllinding, and there is an occasional slip of accent. But what is remarkable is that the odd anachronism or moment of imperfect timing or embarrasment highlights the almost continuous professionalism - of the genuine rather than self-regarding variety. Backstage at a fictionalised 1950s royal variety performance, the aging old variety compere, young thrusting northern guitar kid, used-up post-breakdown pre-menopausal faded starlet, ratpack too big (and bi) for this pond celluloid star from over the pond, dumb blond essex girl dancers and the dudley-raised and dudley-bound quiintuple opportunity-knocks winning ventriloquist interact rewardingly with the eager cocky new young comedian and the inevitably cravated luvvie producer. Intricaely-researched and with a bewildering array of period costumes and props by the two fifties-obsessed writers, the intimate and relaxed srroundings of this back-room theatre suit the production that may yet outgrow such surroundings - certainly there cannot be much room backstage for such a large cast, yet the changes and sound and lighting are performed impeccably. The play is well paced (although rather long in the first half, with the fake door on stage marked 'WC' being a particular cruelty for those of us with weak bladders and a pnit of lager) and develops neatly with nice dialogue and interaction betwee the stereotypes, or possibly archetypes, that has the quality of a set-piece rather than a contraption. Some of the lines have a satisfyiing snap and tang and bite that can't be undermined by the overenthusiastic chortling of a friendly audience. Ned would be proud.
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