Culture, darlings, culture
This week has been ridiculously cultured.
To start off, Tuesday at the Peacock Theatre to see the Ballet de Trockadero de Monte Carlo (Trocks for short). Men in full drag doing Ballet Russes.
As usual, me and
gmh and
clanwilliam spent it alternately snickering, laughing so hard we couldn't breathe, or gawping and whimpering slightly at their technical skill.
To start off, we got the usual opening piece of strutting and chorus bitching at each other, going the wrong way, being a bit late, having to be restrained from thumping the leads after a few too many 'accidental' jostlings, etc, with a spectularly dim male lead. Then came, in no particular order, the Merce Cunningham bit, the Dying Swan, the technical jawdrop, some folk piece and Raymonda's Wedding. All of which are a joyous riot of giggles and skill.
Merce Cunningham : complete pisstake of avant garde where the dancers strutted about a bit in garishly coloured bodysuits while the audience pissed themselves at the terribly po-faced music makers on the side of the stage making 'music' with kitchen utensils, paper bags, you name it. Lots of anticipation of 'dear lord, what're they going to pull out now?'
Dying Swan : one dancer, made up to appear terribly aged with half a ton of slap in an attempt to disguise this, shedding feathers everywhere and hamming it up something chronic. Special mention to the final death/dying where she collapses on stage and then makes beckoning motions with her hands for more applause.
Technical jawdrop : one girls, one boy, both tiny (we think the girl dancer is their new principal, or at least being trained up - poor thing was visibly nervous at the beginning of this sequence). Fairly simple pair dance. Spins, lifts, etc, not telling any kind of story. Except this is the bit where it's played entirely straight just to show off that they really, really know their shit when it comes to skill. The spinning. Oh dear god the spinning. At one point we counted fifteen and that doesn't include how many of them were doubles and triples.
Folk piece : very silly. Little male dancer getting bullied by the female leads and being comforted by the chorus. d'awwww.
Raymonda's Wedding. HEE. Not only do we have the faintly ridiculous costumes and tiny male dancers getting paired with 6-foot females, but we get everyone hamming it up something chronic and several solos, all done in character (special mention to the one who always, always seems to have Tina Turner running through her head and doing sexy rolls.)
Next me and
jamjar off to see Noel Coward's Design for Living on thursday at the Old Vic. Slightly peeved since the Havana Bar was booked out so couldn't get food there, and it looks really interesting.
Anyway. Tom Burke from the History Boys, Lisa Dillon from Cranford, and Andrew Scott who you may clue as Jim Moriarty from Sherlock, who all love each other and've had relationships with each other throughout the years, charting moments and breakups from early impoverished Paris days to comfortable London flat to upper echelons of New York society and finally realising that they'll only be really happy as a threesome.
Stunning, gorgeous and terribly glamorous design. You could hear the audience sighing and dribbling any time a new set was revealed or cast strode on in new outfit.
The script is to die for, jokes coming thick and fast with the usual Noel Coward with and observation (sometimes delivered at break-neck speed), the cast are brilliant and have some very good chemistry, and the supporting cast (housekeeper and Ernest especially) elicit some brilliant laughs. Audience was cheering whenever the housekeeper came on. Audience reduced to helpless laughter throughout most of second and third acts. (it's that funny) Has one of the best drunk scenes ever, and some fabulous hysterical rants from Andrew Scott.
Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake post pubmeet at Wimbledon Theatre, where me and
cynicalcylon finally converted
miniosiris to the cult of Bourne. MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Pouted a wee bit on finding out that Richard Winsor wasn't playing the Swan, and none of the regulars were in it, but went 'oh well, let's see what the new cast can do' (whilst, of course, making mutterings about Brick Shithouse, and reassuring Cathy that he's available on the dvds of Car Man and Nutcracker).
As usual, very, very good. Simon Williams as the Prince was brilliant, and you wanted to hug him so much. Jonathan Ollivier was better as the Stranger than the Swan (he menaces/lounges very nicely in leather trousers and coat) - less lifts in Swan mode and no kiss, but then we're attributing that to Brick Shithouse's build and ability to sexually harass people from two rooms away. Shelby Williams as the girlfriend was adorable and very funny, with a wonderful gift for confused and out of her depth - you really believed it when she tries to nervously flirt with the Stranger and starts going 'oh shit'. Nina Goldman as the Queen is a glorious presence of grace, coldness, and regal majesty with an eye for soldier boys. Plus Cathy dribbling over her red ball dress.
Swans. Oh, boys, never stop being adorable and menacing and downright dangerous. Special mention to the Cygnet dance of giggles. (and the Wayne Rooney lookalike). The final pecking to death scene was a lot more aggressive than I remember it. Had one of the lads who's graduated to Medium Swan's parents in behind us, who pelted him with roses during the curtain call. Travis Clausen-Knight, who's tall and v lanky with a resemblance to the young Adam Cooper. Acquitted himself very well during the ball. And of course the girls during the ball flirting up a storm in glittery black. (oh, and Sam? One of the So You Think You Can Dance boys who'd gone all 'squee' on getting to do the Cygnet dance is now part of the company - Alistair Postlethwaite, the tall blond ballet dancer)
And now I have a ticket for War Horse tomorrow as someone dropped out...
To start off, Tuesday at the Peacock Theatre to see the Ballet de Trockadero de Monte Carlo (Trocks for short). Men in full drag doing Ballet Russes.
As usual, me and
gmh and
clanwilliam spent it alternately snickering, laughing so hard we couldn't breathe, or gawping and whimpering slightly at their technical skill.
To start off, we got the usual opening piece of strutting and chorus bitching at each other, going the wrong way, being a bit late, having to be restrained from thumping the leads after a few too many 'accidental' jostlings, etc, with a spectularly dim male lead. Then came, in no particular order, the Merce Cunningham bit, the Dying Swan, the technical jawdrop, some folk piece and Raymonda's Wedding. All of which are a joyous riot of giggles and skill.
Merce Cunningham : complete pisstake of avant garde where the dancers strutted about a bit in garishly coloured bodysuits while the audience pissed themselves at the terribly po-faced music makers on the side of the stage making 'music' with kitchen utensils, paper bags, you name it. Lots of anticipation of 'dear lord, what're they going to pull out now?'
Dying Swan : one dancer, made up to appear terribly aged with half a ton of slap in an attempt to disguise this, shedding feathers everywhere and hamming it up something chronic. Special mention to the final death/dying where she collapses on stage and then makes beckoning motions with her hands for more applause.
Technical jawdrop : one girls, one boy, both tiny (we think the girl dancer is their new principal, or at least being trained up - poor thing was visibly nervous at the beginning of this sequence). Fairly simple pair dance. Spins, lifts, etc, not telling any kind of story. Except this is the bit where it's played entirely straight just to show off that they really, really know their shit when it comes to skill. The spinning. Oh dear god the spinning. At one point we counted fifteen and that doesn't include how many of them were doubles and triples.
Folk piece : very silly. Little male dancer getting bullied by the female leads and being comforted by the chorus. d'awwww.
Raymonda's Wedding. HEE. Not only do we have the faintly ridiculous costumes and tiny male dancers getting paired with 6-foot females, but we get everyone hamming it up something chronic and several solos, all done in character (special mention to the one who always, always seems to have Tina Turner running through her head and doing sexy rolls.)
Next me and
jamjar off to see Noel Coward's Design for Living on thursday at the Old Vic. Slightly peeved since the Havana Bar was booked out so couldn't get food there, and it looks really interesting.
Anyway. Tom Burke from the History Boys, Lisa Dillon from Cranford, and Andrew Scott who you may clue as Jim Moriarty from Sherlock, who all love each other and've had relationships with each other throughout the years, charting moments and breakups from early impoverished Paris days to comfortable London flat to upper echelons of New York society and finally realising that they'll only be really happy as a threesome.
Stunning, gorgeous and terribly glamorous design. You could hear the audience sighing and dribbling any time a new set was revealed or cast strode on in new outfit.
The script is to die for, jokes coming thick and fast with the usual Noel Coward with and observation (sometimes delivered at break-neck speed), the cast are brilliant and have some very good chemistry, and the supporting cast (housekeeper and Ernest especially) elicit some brilliant laughs. Audience was cheering whenever the housekeeper came on. Audience reduced to helpless laughter throughout most of second and third acts. (it's that funny) Has one of the best drunk scenes ever, and some fabulous hysterical rants from Andrew Scott.
Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake post pubmeet at Wimbledon Theatre, where me and
cynicalcylon finally converted
miniosiris to the cult of Bourne. MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Pouted a wee bit on finding out that Richard Winsor wasn't playing the Swan, and none of the regulars were in it, but went 'oh well, let's see what the new cast can do' (whilst, of course, making mutterings about Brick Shithouse, and reassuring Cathy that he's available on the dvds of Car Man and Nutcracker).
As usual, very, very good. Simon Williams as the Prince was brilliant, and you wanted to hug him so much. Jonathan Ollivier was better as the Stranger than the Swan (he menaces/lounges very nicely in leather trousers and coat) - less lifts in Swan mode and no kiss, but then we're attributing that to Brick Shithouse's build and ability to sexually harass people from two rooms away. Shelby Williams as the girlfriend was adorable and very funny, with a wonderful gift for confused and out of her depth - you really believed it when she tries to nervously flirt with the Stranger and starts going 'oh shit'. Nina Goldman as the Queen is a glorious presence of grace, coldness, and regal majesty with an eye for soldier boys. Plus Cathy dribbling over her red ball dress.
Swans. Oh, boys, never stop being adorable and menacing and downright dangerous. Special mention to the Cygnet dance of giggles. (and the Wayne Rooney lookalike). The final pecking to death scene was a lot more aggressive than I remember it. Had one of the lads who's graduated to Medium Swan's parents in behind us, who pelted him with roses during the curtain call. Travis Clausen-Knight, who's tall and v lanky with a resemblance to the young Adam Cooper. Acquitted himself very well during the ball. And of course the girls during the ball flirting up a storm in glittery black. (oh, and Sam? One of the So You Think You Can Dance boys who'd gone all 'squee' on getting to do the Cygnet dance is now part of the company - Alistair Postlethwaite, the tall blond ballet dancer)
And now I have a ticket for War Horse tomorrow as someone dropped out...