tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85281809962380446682024-02-24T20:46:37.600+00:00Si's Sights And SoundsSimon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-2604187547083910372015-08-27T18:14:00.003+01:002015-08-27T18:40:11.005+01:00FILM REVIEW: Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">The latest entry in the long running film series is a taut, tantalising cocktail of numerous identities, kinetic thrills and visual theatrics </span></h3><br />
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At their best, the <i>Mission: Impossible</i> movies have slickly channelled the tone and tempo of Alfred Hitchcock and James Bond, tales of ordinary people in extraordinary situations to go with the locations, action, gadgets and girls we so often expect in the spy genre. When not drowned in directorial ego (see: the second film), style overtaking substance (the second film again) or the look of over-budgeted television (see: the all-too-Alias third film), the series spreads its wings and soars high and true with a uniquely satisfying edge. <br />
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In the fifth entry, <i>Rogue Nation</i>, the intimate intensity of the first movie and tongue-in-cheek excitement of the fourth movie are retained, if not enhanced. But this may be the first time the series has really flexed its visual and theatrical muscles; and it works brilliantly.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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It's no coincidence, for me, that the U2 line of Vienna's underground railway plays an important part in our heroes meeting up for the traditionally effective night-at-the-opera set piece. Through transportation, both the undercover nature of spy work and the history of this film series are referenced: remember when Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen's turbulent adaptation of Lalo Schifrin's immortal theme tune re-raised the <i>Mission: Impossible</i> curtain in 1996, a mere year after Bono and the Edge penned the theme tune that saw Pierce Brosnan open the door on a brand new era for another famous spy? <br />
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Two decades later, James Bond and Tom Cruise's Ethan Hunt have come full circle, finding themselves in an old and new world where none can sleep: how fitting is it that Turandot's Nessun Dorma - "None Shall Sleep" - is both the operatic and thematic centrepiece of this film? To put it another way, U2 reminds us of what was then, and what is now, while Nessun Dorma is fully reflective of the film's mood. It's also pretty reflective of the state of the Impossible Missions Force in <i>Rogue Nation</i>.<br />
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Faced with an unexpected death and a shocking revelation, Ethan Hunt must go on the run and into hiding when he and the IMF are deemed surplus to requirements and dissolved into the CIA after one too many brushes with danger. Once relied upon, they are now viewed as a hindrance. Such is the nature of the film's bureaucrats, who disregard the need for vigilantism, and will later seek to justify using it themselves when they believe they have no other choice.<br />
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Except perhaps they do. This universally established message, that of people forever seeking to rationalise their actions for the sake of either maintaining an image of control or achieving their personal goals, runs throughout the course of the movie, and reaches its apex when the quietly yet deceptively unassuming Attlee (Simon McBurney) remarks that there are no allies in statecraft, only common interest. Is his manner, for better or worse, relating to the underestimated, enigmatic prime minister of the same name who was renowned for substance over style? Judging by his character, it's quite possible.<br />
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What's definite is that the whole IMF have no choice to be fugitives. Or at least Hunt has to be hunted down. And what happens from there on in delights both body and brain. Pace, after all, is key when your protagonist both is and is played by the perpetual “man on the run”. Ethan Hunt is the prototypical Tom Cruise role: cool, calm and collected with sporadic, well-timed quips or emotional outbursts. It's a polarizing persona, either the perfect fit or an incompetent irritation, depending on Cruise's choice of collaborator.<br />
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Fortunately, Cruise has worked with a series of high profile and top notch directors, and Christopher McQuarrie is no exception. McQuarrie's <i>Usual Suspects</i> screenplay set a relatively recent benchmark for talky thrillers about conning and being conned, with an indelible mistaken identity twist. That is essentially what the <i>M:I</i> series is about; usual suspects in unusual situations, with Ethan Hunt and the film's requisite girl or femme fatale in the most unusual situations of them all. Here, we have the none-too-subtly named Ilsa Faust, played by the alluring Rebecca Ferguson: it's not revealing much to say that a key part of her personality is unveiled in Casablanca, and she's symbolically made a deal with the devil. <br />
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But in the hands of McQuarrie and producer JJ Abrams, such on-the-nose character naming is crafty rather than clunky. Knowing his actors' strengths, Abrams gives them plenty of time and space to be expressive and effective amongst nifty visuals and tense action. Be he a slacker, policeman, overgrown child or skilled engineer, Simon Pegg's characters are often defined by energetic loyalty, and his Benji Dunn is no different, while Jeremy Renner continues to wittily and affably evolve beyond his Daniel Craig-lite image. <i>Rogue Nation</i> has the ideal amount of heart, soul and drive for its cast, script and even locales, being flippant, yet fierce, silly, yet suspenseful, and improbable, yet irresistible. It's deceptively simple, tantalisingly swift and - thanks to ace DP Robert Elswit - strikingly beautiful. I loved it.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-12029438097685000062015-08-19T12:46:00.001+01:002015-08-19T12:46:34.491+01:00FILM REVIEW: Inside Out<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Pixar's latest seems like a routine animated romp, but it may well be the most important film of the summer </span></h3>
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At its core, <i>Inside Out</i> is really nothing new: the Typical Pixar tale of a mismatched pair forced to bond on an adventure of inner and outer discovery, with a supporting cast of literally colourful characters. But <i>Inside Out</i> may also be the first Pixar film where the plot itself, appealing though it is, generally takes a back seat. By nature, the popular animated film company's features have been a mixture of postmodern neuroticisms and coming-of-age stories, and while <i>Inside Out</i> is no different in that regard, it offers far more than you might expect. Think of it as a story of character development inside and outside the human head packed with thrills, laughs and plenty of food for the brain.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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It's not so much brain food as brain fuel that is the central focus of <i>Inside Out</i>. Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Disgust (Mindy Kaling), Fear (Bill Hader) and Anger (Lewis Black) are the five living, breathing parts of the emotional spectrum inside the mental "headquarters" of the soon-to-be-teenage Riley Anderson (Kaitlyn Dias). Imagine a variation on Beano's Numskulls comic except with more colour, vibrance and depth: these headquarters house Riley's core memories, which in turn constitute five “islands of personality”, including one for friendship and one for family. <br />
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When Riley is forced to relocate from her happy home in Minnesota to San Francisco after her father gets a new job, Joy begins working overtime to ensure that Riley remains happy, with neither she nor the other emotions understanding the relevance of Sadness. That lack of understanding will get both Joy and Sadness into trouble and force them to go on a Pixarian adventure of discovery throughout the entire body: an exciting, eye-opening and even horrifying quest. <br />
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For Joy, while well-intentioned, is not all that far removed from a self-help Manic Pixie Dream Girl. She primarily believes that it is solely her responsibility to keep Riley happy while unfortunately forgetting, or even ignoring, that part that conflicting emotions play in building and sustaining character.<br />
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Appealingly simple though it would seem to separate one's primary emotions into five separate colours and one's personalities into a series of islands, it would also be reductive to think it can always remain this way. You cannot pigeon hole a human being into a solitary emotion, or even five: we are far more mixed up and uncertain of ourselves, as the film eventually proves. <br />
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It is painful to learn that in striving to make others happy, we forget that what we perceive will make them happy is not what will actually make them happy. Pete Docter has grasped this, in the form of a children's adventure, and skilfully dramatised it without losing sight of the plot-driven excitement and humour that Pixar are so good at. <br />
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Riley's "brain people" are in for a rude awakening as their host grows up fast and they are forced into circumstances beyond their control. Joy learns that her lack of pragmatism is a stumbling block, and arguably more troubling than Sadness's desire for attention. Believing that anything is possible is one thing, not being realistic is another, and Joy's inability to listen is more detrimental to her, headquarters and Riley than she thinks. Similarly, the other emotions are cursed by pigeon holed narrow mindedness: Disgust is the prototypical deadpan snarker, Fear is your average pre-punch George McFly, and Anger is the Biff, he who is only too keen to lay physical and emotional biffs through Riley's psyche until he learns the error of his ways.<br />
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<b><br />(Spoiler alert.)</b> The "death" of an exceptionally colourful imaginary friend makes <i>Inside Out</i> richly cathartic. His "sacrifice", the epitome of letting go childish playthings and opening one's eyes to the complications of teenage years, seems to contradict the film's message in the closing credits, that we should stay children forever. That is, until you view it from Joy's perspective: while she will continue her mission of making Riley happy, she will now do so with a newly sober outlook that retains the memory of childhood lost without using it as a crutch. Everyone is shaped by their upbringing: the challenge is to reflect on it for the better and not dwell on it for the worse, as the elderly protagonist of Docter's <i>Up</i> finds when he eventually lets go of the past and embraces his new found future.<br />
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The grim resonance of <i>Inside Out</i> arises from the initial idea itself, the horror that emotions can not only be minimised but reduced to a series of systematic technicalities as opposed to the human spontaneities they ought to be. It is a frightening reflection of societal planning, how often luck and adventure appear to be forgotten because we like to believe we're in control. Everything in <i>Inside Out</i> is symbolic, and everything has a message, which may well make it the most thematically ambitious movie that Pixar have ever produced. Just as well, then, that it's a thoroughly enjoyable one too.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-67740886308705182482015-07-23T16:34:00.000+01:002015-07-23T16:34:06.966+01:00FILM REVIEW: Song Of The Sea<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">The price of putting the needs of the many ahead of the needs of the few is exquisitely illustrated in Tomm Moore's spectacular animated film</span></h3>
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An intimately affecting <i>Close Encounter</i> beneath and above the ocean waves, Tomm Moore's spectacular <i>Song Of The Sea</i> is not so much about the mysterious and interesting creatures within it, but rather how people of all ages adapt, or attempt to adapt, in the presence of the unexpected. It's another undisputed triumph for Newry-born Moore, whose Kilkenny-based Cartoon Saloon earned an Oscar nomination for attuning their hand-drawn talents to the secret of the legendary Book Of Kells in the late noughties.<br />
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They are equally, if not more, at home with the look, feel and most importantly the heart of their characters in this scenario; the results, which secured another Oscar nomination, are simply astounding, touching on the real world-fantasy world parallels of a <i>Pan's Labyrinth</i> and the soulful, sensitive exploratory themes of a <i>Where The Wild Things Are</i>, while always ringing fresh and true.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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It's late 1980s Ireland, and lighthouse keeper Conor (voiced by Brendan Gleeson) is still reeling from the disappearance of his wife Bronach (voiced by Lisa Hannigan) who strangely vanished after giving birth to their now mute, six-year-old daughter Saoirse. Her brother Ben (voiced by David Rawle), cannot cope with the attention his little sister is receiving, and Moore does a fine job of highlighting why Ben is unwilling and unable to accept Saoirse as part of the family. Because her arrival coincided with their mother's departure and took the focus away from Ben, he has become consumed by bitterness.<br />
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When he pushes Saoirse's face into her birthday cake before she has even had a chance to blow out the candles, it is a painful reminder of how jealousy and rigidity can damage one's childhood. And Ben's rigidity will be tested to the full when he and Saoirse are forced to move to Dublin with their not-very-fun-loving grandmother (voiced by Fionnula Flanagan) whose appearance and presence are a very clear reflection of what's to come.<br />
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For Saoirse, like her mother, is a white Selkie: a human over water but a seal under it. Her discovery of a white sealskin coat, and her initial dive into the sea, allows her to realise her true self and opens up numerous narrative and thematic strands. Prior to her find, Ben has frightened her by telling her a scary, if true, story: yet the very moment he sees how terrified Saoirse is, he immediately apologises. He must surely realise by this stage that the silent Saoirse cares for him, but he doesn't want to admit any hint of a connection, lest he be seen as weak. Because he is so young the true value of family hood has not yet dawned on him, although it will.<br />
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It already weighs heavily on Conor, and that is why he is so willing to discard the magical coat and singing shell bequeathed to his children by their mother. Never mind the excitement that these items may bring; Conor has already lost one woman in his life to the sea, and he's not going to lose another. Hence his reluctant decision to separate Ben and Saoirse from the lighthouse and the family dog, Cu. But the shell remains in Ben's hand, and it is here where the adventure truly begins.<br />
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<br />Without going into too many specifics, <i>Song Of The Sea</i> follows the tried and trusted path of the best family movies, but in a unique manner. Ben learns to accept Saoirse, Conor finally lays the memory of his lost love to rest, and Granny learns not to be so set in her ways. At its core, the film centres around the restoration of a family; beyond that, it is about characters battling their inner and outer demons and accepting new cultures and challenges. It is told with grace, with skill, without melodrama, and within a beautifully animated backdrop which I haven't even mentioned yet! How powerful must a film be if story and character dwarf the visuals themselves?<br />
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And it is not as if these visuals aren't fascinating in their own right. Moore's seemingly two-dimensional strokes are full of life and invention, giving the art a Celtic and childlike lilt that is fully in line with the tone and the music of the film. When the journey from the family home to Dublin is briefly depicted on a childlike "map", the gap between the child's and the adult's perception of the real world is signified. When Saoirse puts on her little white coat, we feel the effect. It's hardly heresy to state that Moore's work feels more three-dimensional than anything recently put out by Pixar or Disney.<br />
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I still don't believe I've wholly done justice to Moore's filmmaking here. I love that he set the film during the 1980s, where technology was not so capable of intervening as a means of communication. I love that the crux of the film happens on Hallowe'en, where macabre sights, real or fake, are commonplace, allowing Ben and Saoirse's adventure to blend in with their surroundings. And then there's the metaphor of stone, both as a loss of emotion and a way of handling pain; in the wrong hands, it could feel hugely unsubtle, but here, it is exquisitely illustrated.<br />
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But it is arguably <i>Song Of The Sea</i>'s denouement <b>(spoiler warning)</b> which raises the most interesting and troubling issue: is one's desire to reunite a family at the expense of another's desires selfless, or selfish? It is arguably a bit of both. How easy it is for we fantasy loving viewers to encourage little Saoirse to don her white coat and continue to swim around a magical, mystical undersea world of happy seals, dancing fairies and beautiful music. Adventure, excitement and spectacular visuals cannot help but tantalise the audience.<br />
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Yet there is a marked difference between what one wants and what must be. And with that in mind, Bronach's final course of action is both the logical and human thing to do: she remains a Selkie while choosing not to deny the no-longer-silent Saoirse the upbringing that she now wants and the rest of her on shore family have clearly earned. (No coincidence that Saoirse's first word is "Ben".) That, to me, is what <i>Song Of The Sea</i> truly highlights: the price of putting the needs of the many ahead of the needs of the few, regardless of who is the real "many" and who is the real "few".<br />
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The late Leonard Nimoy would be proud.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-48313726335538458652015-07-02T16:26:00.001+01:002015-07-02T16:26:43.394+01:00THEATRE REVIEWS: Walking To The Ark & Reservoir Dogs<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">A pair of recent Derry-Londonderry productions set their sights on real history and reel history respectively</span></h3><br />
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<br />If you told me that the theatrical landscape in the still very recent City Of Culture felt a little bit barren nowadays, I'd say you wouldn't be far wrong. The city's theatre goers were frankly spoiled for choice in the years leading up to and the closing months of 2013, if not slightly beyond that. Back then, it was not uncommon to take theatrical spectaculars for granted, considering the apparent richness of the cultural landscape in the North West. <br /><br />But while the money may no longer be available, at least not to the same extent, the area continues to thrive artistically, with talent both established and burgeoning keen to exhibit their skills on and off stage. Nowhere is this more visible than in a pair of recent plays performed inside and outside the city's walls. One sets its sights on real history; the other has fun with reel history.<span class="fullpost"><br /><br />The set design in Carlo Gebler's <b>Walking To The Ark</b>, directed by Kieran Griffiths, is symbolic of both history and the present day, the bumpy wooden path which separates a stately living room and a prison cell metaphorically representing the rocky travails between the bottom and top rungs of society. This is the gap between those in comfort outside the walls and those entrapped within them during the Siege Of Derry in 1689, Gebler's source of information and inspiration for the script. <br /><br /><i>Walking To The Ark</i>'s historical background revolves around the story of Williamite Colonel Thomas Whitney (Peter Hudson), his mistress Martha Darcy (Tara Breathnach) and their imprisoned, illegitimate son, the Jacobite Captain Nicholas Darcy (Dermott Hickson), giving additional resonance to a thoughtful, edgy and verbose play. The narrative, non-linear, torturous but tightly-paced, is guided humanely by Griffiths to a powerful conclusion.<br /><br />Gebler's vocabulary and Griffiths' direction are ideal for Tara Breathnach, who utterly excels as Martha. At first, she is an excitable, nonsensical, even flirty mess, but Breathnach compellingly unveils the enslaved and frustrated soul within, mastering the character and capturing our attention. When she tears a Bible to shreds and hides the pages away, reflecting absorption of all guilt and regret, it is the epitome of the role and her performance, spectacularly mirroring Martha's fury and despair. Even when Peter Hudson's Thomas undresses her, she gives no quarter, her vulnerability only exposing itself once her son's situation is unveiled before our eyes. <br /><br />The heart of the production lies in and emerges from the general confines of Nicholas Darcy's prison cell, watched over by Pat Lynch's creepily amusing Turnkey. While Nicholas's frustrations mirror Martha's, Turnkey, as the middle man between authority and prisoner, gradually develops from stereotypically wisecracking to the voice of reason he initially purports himself to be. The roles and positions of the colonel and captain change, Martha's agony intensifies, and Turnkey's wisdom grows, in a society that literally and fundamentally hangs by a red thread of clothing. Once again, it's metaphorical, of the ever-thinning bloodline that strains to connect a mother, father and son searching for both family and liberty. And you can't help but hope that this particular thread strengthens rather than snaps.<br /><br />Blood - of the fake kind, thankfully - is everywhere to be found when the North West Regional College travel back in time to take on Quentin Tarantino's <b>Reservoir Dogs</b>. The difference between film and play is simple, yet effective; newcomers have the chance of enjoying the 1991 classic, generally adapted word-for-word, from a more youthful angle and intimate point-of-view. Like <i>Walking To The Ark</i>, you need not be familiar with the source material or the inspiration to fully appreciate it.<br /><br />The NWRC theatre is converted into a direct replica of the film's abandoned warehouse hideout. A table & chairs, live band and pre-recorded film & audio are also used as every single one of the film's iconic scenes are brought to life, if not necessarily in the order and manner you may expect. <br /><br />For here, every single one of the coded gangsters are played by women. Amy McLaughlin, Jessica Shaw, Kristian Logan, Andrea Nic Eimeid and Clare Sweeney step into the shoes of Blue, Brown, Blonde, White and Pink respectively alongside Oisin McCool's Joe Cabot and Ryan McGlinchey's Nice Guy Eddie, while Mary Crossan & Niamh Gaffney do double duty as the partly all-action, partly heavily wounded Orange.<br /><br />The solid directorial hands and heads of Liam Craig & Michael Poole point the young cast in the right direction, Sweeney, Nic Eimeid and Logan especially impressing. On the whole, Tarantino's ability to indelibly, excitably merge everyday nothings with potentially stomach-turning violence is efficiently and effectively embodied. Needless to say, these Reservoir Dogs have plenty of bite.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-72398223143732327712015-06-29T11:49:00.001+01:002015-07-31T16:22:48.943+01:00THEATRE REVIEW: EXiT<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">A one-man rock music play achieves pointed resonance through passionate performance</span></h3>
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A winsome one-man spin on a popular formula, Eaman Craig's <i>EXiT</i>, directed by Colm S. Herron, hits the spot by opening up every beat in the book of the washed up, conflicted rocker in a tried, trusted but effective manner.<br />
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As the symbolically named Jonah Walker – someone trapped in a big, bloated whale of an industry who also looks tempted to walk away from it all – Craig is the personification of relatably restrained acceptance with occasional outbursts. Walker is part flamboyant, part ruffian, defined by his unshaven, unkempt, burnt out yet white suited appearance. Like a cross between Freddie Mercury at his peak and a young, hungover Roger Daltrey.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Patiently, and worryingly, Walker pours out his heart and his thoughts to the audience on a quest to find his bearings and recover his sanity. In a quest for freedom, creatively and relatively, he initially struggles to distinguish objects from humans, talking to a Henry hoover as if it is a real person and likening past girlfriends to record companies. He is wrestling with the decision to join a record company or stay independent, and Craig delivers Walker's words with a cutting, direct precision, getting to the heart of his character's dilemma and state of mind.<br />
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The varying paths of a musician, both as a person and an artist, are concisely documented and well expressed through numerous moods, memories and musings, which you almost certainly suspect will result in new lyrics if not a new deal for the mixed-up Walker.<br />
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<i>EXiT</i> contains plenty of wry humour, mainly arising from Walker's mimicry of others and his mockery of what people perceive him to be. It's just one part of the frustrated pressure cooker building inside Walker, which near the end, leads to his biggest rant of all: a scathing swipe at the prominence of reality shows, where contestants' dreams amount to little more than half decent cover versions. It's common sense, of course, but Craig is so passionate that he achieves the pointed resonance that we seek and Walker is searching for.<br />
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Perhaps more, too, as Craig's mere references to these supposedly star-making shows prompt a timely and necessary warning about becoming drenched in nostalgia. Unless, that is, something is done about it. And perhaps, if Walker finds his way again, he may well be able to do something about it. At least in his own life.<br />
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<b><i>Rating: **** (out of *****)</i></b><br />
<br /></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-88904457861077847202015-06-24T19:23:00.001+01:002015-06-24T19:32:09.239+01:00FILM REVIEW: Shooting For Socrates<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">This "football film" tries to be topical and timely but sells its cast terribly short</span></h3>
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In analysing James Erskine's <i>Shooting For Socrates</i>, one has to look beyond what the film tries to do and ask why they even tried to do it to begin with. What we have here is a distinctly lightweight "historical" drama that strives for social relevance but ends up striking the wrong note on four accounts. It's a rags to riches, father and son, football and Troubles casserole that leaves either a bland or bad after taste, with a poorly thought through plot that does no justice to the cast's quality.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Set in mid-1980s Belfast and Mexico - although you wouldn't think it, given the sightings of the Hilton hotel and BT tower in the film - <i>Shooting For Socrates</i> tells the story of nine-year-old Tommy (Art Parkinson) growing up in a troubled neighbourhood with only his burgeoning football fandom and his wise father, Arthur (Richard Dormer), to guide and enlighten him amidst violence. Meanwhile, the Northern Ireland national team, under Billy Bingham (John Hannah), have qualified for the World Cup in Mexico, and are facing the prospect of taking on the world's best, among them a Brazil side featuring the philosophical Socrates (Sergio Mur).<br />
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Arguably, <i>Shooting For Socrates</i> could be much about a group of football players gunning for Socrates on the pitch as a group of terrorists focusing their lives on what they perceive Socrates' words to mean. But the film never develops this theme. Instead, the strand of young David Campbell (Nico Mirallegro, just about mastering the accent) trying to make his mark in the Northern Ireland squad is thrown in, leaving us with a film that demands more than its consciously undemanding script is willing to deal with.<br />
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While I am all for films that don't suppress their actors into their plots, that don't squeeze the life out of characters for the sake of narrative advancement and give their casts time to breathe, one should not encourage stories that give the actors almost nothing to work with. Erskine's screenplay, co-written with playwright Marie Jones, is not packed with unreasonable or ridiculous developments, but as an alternative, it offers nothing that we haven't seen before, or no one that we can care about. It comes across as clichéd, platitudinous and heavy-handed (even the death of team captain Sammy McIlroy's mother feels like a Dead Relative Ex Machina rather than the poignant moment it should be), with unconvincing recreations of football matches that capture neither the intimacy of drama nor the epic spectacle of a sporting showcase.<br />
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With the human touch of a Ken Loach or a pre-<b><a href="http://sis-sightsandsounds.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/film-review-les-miserables-2012.html">Les Misérables</a></b> Tom Hooper, Erskine could have given us compelling drama in the mould of <i>Looking For Eric</i> or <i>The Damned United</i>, both of which are miles better than this hodgepodge. Instead, he skims over character in a narrative that already sells its talented cast short - and that's not merely troublesome. It's fatal. The brilliant Richard Dormer is utterly wasted, as is Bronagh Gallagher as his stereotypically stressed out wife. Fine actor though John Hannah is, his Billy Bingham is a blank slate with the wrong accent, and Nico Mirallegro fares little better, despite his best efforts. Fortunately Conleth Hill (<i>Game Of Thrones</i>) and Paul Kennedy (<i>Made In Belfast</i>) are on hand to lend humour and humanity to Jackie Fullerton and Pat Jennings respectively, at least as often as the film will let them.<br />
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<i><br />Shooting For Socrates</i> wants to be about the unifying effect of The Beautiful Game in not-so-beautiful times, but doesn't feel like it's about anything. Except, that is, a cynically calculated attempt to capitalise on the goodwill emerging from Northern Ireland's almost certain qualification for a major tournament again, exactly three decades later.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-23985556970855583592015-06-20T13:39:00.002+01:002015-06-20T13:39:25.515+01:00Mamma Mia! Highlights The Cynicism And Necessity Of The Jukebox Musical<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">The success of Mamma Mia! has proved that the jukebox musical is alive and well. But is that a good thing?</span></h3>
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To get to the point, the latest production of <i>Mamma Mia!</i>, premiered at Belfast's Odyssey Arena on Tuesday June 16, was a delight.<br />
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The choreography was first rate, the sets were economical yet effective, the spot effects, when called upon, were stellar, and the acting was, as to be expected, superb, with Niamh Perry's commandingly cheery chirpiness the highlight.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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The Bangor girl, once of BBC's <i>I'd Do Anything</i>, took to the role of Sophie like a duck to water, thriving on being the centre of attention in a choral cascade of chaos.<br />
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Once the audience lost themselves in the oh-so-familiar ABBA tunes, there was no looking back. I found myself singing along to "Take A Chance On Me", "Super Trouper" and "Knowing Me, Knowing You", and I'm not even an ABBA fan.<br />
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Like <i>Grease</i>, literally and figuratively, ABBA stick to you whether you like it or not, and the all too brief buzz gained from watching this musical was equally effective. It was a hugely pleasurable evening.<br />
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But. But. But.<br />
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If jukebox musicals give us so much momentary joy and excitement, what else is there to think about? Their plots feel entirely irrelevant. No one who goes to a jukebox musical seems to even consider plot, which is arguably why it's a generally reviled genre amongst the most highbrow of critics. (And one that <i>Birdman</i>'s Riggan Thompson wouldn't even consider.)<br />
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Those who attend the <i>Mamma Mia</i>s, <i>We Will Rock You</i>s and <i>Tonight's The Night</i>s of this world get most pleasure from singing the songs they know so well, which are carefully, calculatedly wrapped around a narrative thread that doesn't appear to matter at all. Popular tunes sell, and you sense the producers know it, in the sort of production that feels less about art and more about business.<br />
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A jukebox musical comes across as not so much a theatrical experience as a lively recreation of a rock concert or disco. That was never more apparent than during the excitable yet uneasy encore, where a slickly choreographed Waterloo awaited us: an ABBA song that had absolutely nothing to do with the show itself.<br />
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What its presence did was ensure that every single track on the <b>ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits</b> compilation featured on the night. (It's true: you can check the track listing for yourself after you've seen the show.) <br />
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Hence it was, and is, hard not to feel cynical about every single well known ABBA tune being shoehorned into the script for the sake of instant, easy joy and happy clapping.<br />
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As an aside, I should point out that my favourite musical is 1999's <i>South Park: Bigger, Longer And Uncut</i>, which was both a parody and a great piece of musical film in itself. It's always a delight to come across a musical that marries a genuinely humorous plot to original tunes, and South Park did just that, Marc Shaiman's songs paying homage to and satirising the classic musicals of the past in addition to maintaining their edge. ("La Resistance" was, and still is, a fantastic take on <i>Les Miserables</i>' "One Day More".)<br />
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Having said that, not every musical needs to have edge, or depth. And when done right (<i>Teenage Kicks</i>: you should have taken note!), jukebox musicals can really elevate your spirits, even going so far as to reawaken your passion for a band you once liked but tired of.<br />
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And as refreshing as South Park and its ilk may seem, the “know what you'll get” feel of jukebox musicals can be equally refreshing. We might not wish for them to be the norm – I, personally, fear that <i>Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic: The Musical</i> will be in the West End before we know it – but the odd jukebox musical never hurts. In fact, it helps.<br />
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So hats off to everyone involved in <i>Mamma Mia!</i> You put on a great show. But let it not be the be all and end all of musical theatre. This genre has much more to offer than even its supporters may think.<br />
<i><br /></i>Mamma Mia!<i> runs at the Odyssey Arena until tonight, June 20, before playing at Bord Gais Energy Theatre, Dublin from June 23 to July 4, and the Millennium Forum, Derry-Londonderry, from July 7 to 11. For details and booking links, visit <a href="http://www.aikenpromotions.com/">www.aikenpromotions.com</a>.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-43556096304055381282015-05-28T00:04:00.002+01:002015-05-28T00:05:11.418+01:00MUSIC REVIEW: City Of Derry Jazz And Big Band Festival 2015<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Reviews of two events at this year's jazz extravaganza in the former City Of Culture</span></h3><br />
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<b>DANA MASTERS, MILLENNIUM FORUM, MAY 3 2015</b></div>
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When South Carolina-born, Lisburn-based songstress Dana Masters first emerged on stage, we already sense we're in for an evening as cheery, warm and welcoming as the smile on her face.<br />
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That is most definitely the case at Derry-Londonderry's Millennium Forum, briefly transformed into an electrically soulful and eclectically jazzy arena by Masters' spine-tingling, spirit-lifting vocals. Assisted by top notch NI trumpeter Linley Hamilton, a committed ensemble of keys, guitar, brass and rhythm, and a series of humorous interludes, this is a powerful and passionate display of musical virtuosity.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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The evening is a positive vocal workout for the central performer, her early elegance paving the way for a confident thunderousness that, by concert's end, ensures that feet are stamping, hands are clapping and heads are nodding.<br />
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To pardon the pun, this Dana really is all kinds of everything.<br />
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<b>JAMIE CULLUM, MILLENNIUM FORUM, MAY 4 2015</b></div>
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Jamie Cullum and Derry-Londonderry have a special relationship. Jamming with a school choir and filming a radio documentary in these parts had previously endeared the versatile jazz-pop musician to the locals. Now Cullum returns for his first ever live show in Derry-Londonderry.<br />
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It begins with one-time Cullum collaborators the St. Mary's College choir asserting themselves triumphantly with a literal cabaret of pop, opera and show tunes.<br />
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Then, the pint-sized Rochford dynamo delectably transcends the "piano man" image, his confidence spreading to both his backing band and the audience themselves. It is hard to imagine a performer more in sync with the City Of Derry Jazz And Big Band Festival in its recent history. Cullum's anecdotes, in-crowd solos and general charisma go down a treat, as do his seamless, nimble switching between tempos, genres, instruments and performing styles. He is equally at home as a pianist, drummer, singer or human beatbox.<br />
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This is a performance for the ages. Let's hope it's not too long before Cullum once again adorns this cultured city with his presence.<br />
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<b><i>(The original versions of these reviews were published in the North West edition of the Belfast Telegraph on May 4-5, 2015.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-8470145819694288822015-05-12T23:51:00.001+01:002015-05-12T23:51:50.094+01:00CAPSULE REVIEW: Far From The Madding Crowd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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When watching Thomas Vinterberg's <i>Far From The Madding Crowd</i>, adapted by David "<i>Starter For 10</i>" Nicholls from Thomas Hardy's novel, I recalled Sunday Times critic Camilla Long's term "The Downtonisation Of Period Drama" and realised the film fitted it to a tee.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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For this <i> <i>Far From The Madding Crowd </i></i>feels as stately as<i><i> </i>Downton Abbey</i>. It's also well mannered, well shot, well acted, well plotted and sometimes funny. Which makes it worth a look. But it doesn't quite have the emotional connectivity that separates good films from very good, or great ones. <br />
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Carey Mulligan, for example, lovely though she is, is merely an actor on screen portraying Bathsheba Everdene. She does not embody her. Ditto Matthias Schoenarts as Gabriel Oak, and the generally excellent Michael Sheen as William Boldwood. The true humanity of the film rests in Juno Temple's all too brief appearances and Tom Sturridge's turn as Sergeant Troy. Sturridge, the original William Carlisle in Simon Stephens' <b><a href="http://sis-sightsandsounds.blogspot.co.uk/2014/08/theatre-review-punk-rock.html">Punk Rock</a></b>, transcends Troy's playful cockiness and becomes an unexpected force of nature.<br />
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Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-59557933536490725072015-04-02T22:19:00.001+01:002015-04-02T22:19:24.765+01:00THEATRE REVIEW: One Sandwich Short Of A Genius<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">NI's Big Telly Theatre Company bring another collection of oddballs and eccentricities to the stage, to sublime effect</span></h3><br />
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One cannot consider the work of Northern Ireland's Big Telly Theatre Company linearly. Linearly, their productions are as coherent as a malapropism, as bumpy as a dusty country road and as unsettling as the most enduring horror movies. But it is precisely because of these qualities that everything they do achieves a sort of timelessness. Three years ago they amused and bemused us with the baffling, off-the-wall yet unforgettably brilliant <i>Melmoth The Wanderer</i>, and their <i>One Sandwich Short Of A Genius</i> – hereafter <i>One Sandwich</i> – is no different: the title is as nonsensical as the narrative appears, but the overall effect is memorable, even sublime.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Central to <i>One Sandwich</i> is the nuclear family gone wrong, the typical dysfunctional family found in The Simpsons, Family Guy and just about every modern day sitcom imaginable, presented to the viewer through a fresh and unexpected prism. All at once, <i>One Sandwich</i> is melodramatic, comedic, reflective, self-reflexive, frightening and musical, a melange of genres sprung in our faces haphazardly yet hilariously. Five, strong-willed, expressive actors – co-writer Shelley Atkinson, Patrick J. O'Reilly, Claire Lamont, Michael Diana and Conor Grimes – give it absolutely everything they have, taking their respective archetypes – the manipulative mother, the sporty son, the highly-strung daughter, the father figure and the mystery man – and peeling away their layers delectably and deliriously.<br />
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<br />This tale, about a family who allegedly have nothing to lose but in reality have plenty, is the kind that keeps everyone in the theatre on their toes. Most fascinating of all is the matriarch herself, June Evelyn Talbot. As portrayed by the simply fantastic Shelley Atkinson, June is a mother of outlandish questions, reprehensible actions and literally keeping up appearances: in other words, Hyacinth Bucket gone haywire. Atkinson's stately, pronounced and sometimes shrill line delivery goes hand in hand with consistently creepy expressions, resulting in a revelatory comic creation. She's the sort of person you wouldn't want in charge of anything, let alone the biggest day of your life. Yet that's exactly what June<i>'</i>s son and daughter have to deal with when their mother tries to organise their life and marriage respectively!<br />
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Little wonder, then, that <i>One Sandwich</i> is so chaotic. Yet it is also rather relatable. When watching these individuals, audiences will surely sympathise with anyone who attempts to maintain their sanity amongst the collection of oddballs in front of them. Classic pop songs feature extremely randomly, both fourth walls and characters' hearts are broken, literally and figuratively, and when the theatre lights switch on and the final bows have taken place, one is left contemplating a play that riskily straddles the line between serious theatre and prim pantomime... and, thanks to the dedication of director Zoe Seaton and the cast, gets away with it. For all of its confused comedy, for all its intelligent, idiosyncratic incoherence, <i>One Sandwich Short Of A Genius</i> could well be the ultimate and most ultimately rewarding statement on the trials and tribulations of the nuclear family.<br /><br /><i>One Sandwich Short Of A Genius will be performed at Armagh's Market Place Theatre on April 4. For more information, click <a href="http://www.marketplacearmagh.com/whats-on/one-sandwich-short-of-a-genius-apr-2015/">here</a>.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-11821014143922192682015-03-26T13:17:00.000+00:002015-03-26T13:17:06.184+00:00THEATRE REVIEW: The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">The Londonderry Musical Society push boundaries and thrill audiences in their latest production</span></h3>
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It's the LMS, Jim, but not as we know them. For more than half a century, the Londonderry Musical Society have taken pride in both matching and exceeding the expectations of musical theatre lovers everywhere. But most recently, they’ve gone further and subverted them. Last year, the intimately theatrical, partially horrifying and dramatically moving <b><a href="http://sis-sightsandsounds.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/capsule-review-jekyll-hyde.html">Jekyll & Hyde</a></b> cemented the LMS as a new kind of force: experimental and adaptable, without abandoning their usually high standards of entertainment. With <i>The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas</i> – a suggestively dubious title in itself – they've taken subversion all the way, yet remained true to their proud history. It's a remarkable production.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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<i>The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas</i> is based on the true story of a legendary Texas brothel known as The Chicken Ranch, which thrived under the unofficial blessing of the local authorities until a Houston television commentator set out to expose it and shut it down. It's as close as the LMS has ever gotten to adult humour and downright raunchiness, with push-up bras, thrusting and swear words seen and heard. If director Deigh Reid's intention is to make you feel like you're in the titular “whorehouse”, he's done just that, with suggestive, knowing poses and a cascade of colourful costumes (and sometimes language) raining down on the audience throughout the entirety of the first act. Not everyone might know what to make of it, but it is guaranteed to linger long in the minds of the watchers.<br />
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As are more than a handful of the show tunes. 24 Hours Of Lovin' is performed with a decidedly Aretha Franklin-esque air by the calmly sassy Penny McGonagle, the brilliant Katie Patton gets her moment in the spotlight with the Doatsey Mae song (even if her character has not yet been fully established), The Aggie Song is hilariously choreographed, The Sidestep is delightfully catchy, and every single one of Mona's songs are performed confidently and soulfully by the leading lady and her girls. Mona herself, Muire McCallion, is the clear standout in a superb cast, her mannerisms and singing voice tying in perfectly with the character's nature. That's to be expected.<br />
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What's not so expected, without going into specifics, is the grim turn the show takes in the second act, unveiling humanity in characters that we wish we’d gotten to know better. A fun, risqué romp becomes darkly devastating (and eerily timely with arts cuts everywhere, every when), unveiling <i>The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas</i> to be about the pros and consequences of "letting your hair down" in a society and atmosphere that is more conservative than you'd like it to be.<br />
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<i>The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas runs until Saturday March 28 at Derry-Londonderry's Millennium Forum. Book tickets <a href="http://www.millenniumforum.co.uk/content/lms-presents-best-little-whorehouse-texas">here</a>.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-87377332063569564402015-01-01T22:59:00.002+00:002015-03-20T15:19:30.535+00:00THEATRE REVIEW: Jack And The Beanstalk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For their 14th annual Christmas panto, Derry/Londonderry's Millennium Forum has concocted something of a comic and musical cabaret.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Writer and producer David McLaughlin has tied the classic Jack and the Beanstalk narrative to a succession of popular tunes, situational sketches, topical humour and accidental (surely?) innuendos.<br />
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On paper, it could pan out as predictable, but on stage, it works tremendously well. Helga Wood’s designs are colourful and inventive, the ideal backdrop and accompaniment for costumed giant Blunderbore, costumed cow Daisy, and an energetic, interactive ensemble of dancers, singers, actors and comedians.<br />
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Above all, the cast elevate this production by consistently maintaining a warm-hearted, genially humorous and largely hyperactive tone.<br />
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The big production numbers do not disappoint. Orla Mullan's charmingly graceful Fairy Rose Petal raises the roof with "Skyfall"; Conor O’Kane’s Jack and Kathryn Rutherford’s Princess Jill delicately duet Duran Duran’s "Ordinary World"; and reliably pivotal Panto Dame William Caulfield enjoys a hilarious take on the "Scooby Doo" theme with Gerard McCabe’s Silly Billy and James Lecky's king.<br />
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Most inspired is the decision to give the giant a lieutenant: Keith Lynch's Flesh Creep. By sidestepping brooding intimidation for hammy comedy, Lynch creates a highly amusing, obstructive nuisance of a villain – the best thing in the show.<br />
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<b>Verdict:</b> Energy, charm and heart successfully combine for a highly enjoyable pantomime.<br />
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<b>This article was originally published in The Stage in December 2014.</b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-73048862304120393152014-12-31T21:58:00.003+00:002014-12-31T22:07:20.103+00:00FESTIVAL IN RETROSPECT: Stendhal 2014<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Si's Sights And Sounds wraps up 2014 with a look at this year's extravaganza at Ballymully Cottage Farm</span></h3><br />
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It is written that Stendhal Syndrome is an illness, a psychosomatic state that causes rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations when an individual is exposed to a particularly beautiful cornucopia of art in one place at any one time. Such is the advertised experience at the Stendhal Festival of Art, which brings Ballymully Cottage Farm, on the outskirts of Limavady, to life each summer in its own unique, all encompassing and above all artistic manner.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Being the home of Danny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling before we even arrive at the Main Stage, or at least the steady, folky, easy-going rock of <b>Pitcher Of The Moon</b> is. Becca Allen's determined, driven vocals counter the big back cloud that hovers over the tent and point to something sunnier in the distance and throughout the rest of the day. Meanwhile, <b>Bobbie Harvey</b> and her band gently ease the soul with a lilting, jazzy beat, matching the tone and feel if not the sound of a young Joni Mitchell.
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Passionate, yet predictable, the Snow Patrol-esque <b>In An Instant</b> have a sound worthy of grabbing any crowd, but their set gains only a limited attendance. Some other time for them, perhaps? Elsewhere, the drifty, hangdog <b>Malojian</b>, highly praised by Gary Lightbody, Lauren Laverne and Stuart Bailie, doesn't yet stand out as anything special, but his sweet, homely and sometimes catchy melodies are definitely pleasant to the ears.<br />
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Time for two doses of reliability. It so appears that <b>PØRTS</b>' leading man, Steven McCool, misses the name Little Bear so much that he's brought along a t-shirt with a bear on it. And changed the lyrics of I'd Let You Win to "I'll let you in... my cardigan". It's that time of night, so let there be that type of humour. Back at the Main Stage, <b>Bronagh Gallagher</b> (above) and her smoothly soulful rock are a communal medicine for the night, entrancing in the midst of misty lights and a chanting crowd. If PØRTS feel experimental, Gallagher feels wholly at home, each artist unifying and heartwarming their watchers.<br />
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Then along come The Thundertones. At least that's what everyone's favourite Perfect Cousins and Teenage Kickers (even today) try to be, with their material retaining the same punky, powerful thrust it has always had. When one isn't watching Paul McLoone play with his microphone stand and jump, one is jumping to the beat. Alas, they can't maintain such a pace, and The Thundertones teeter dangerously close to Going Undertones. Fortunately the set ends before that happens.
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There are no big black clouds on Stendhal's second day, just a lovely sunset and the dulcet, delicate tones of <b>Lisa O'Neill</b>. Draperstown's <b>Gemma Bradley</b> performs in the woods, her piercing vocals and steely gaze defy her slight, fragile frame and create a promising presence. It's quite a contrast to the friendly gospel folk of <b>The Henry Girls</b>, which spreads over the farm like a warm blanket.<br />
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By now, the rain is falling, but that doesn't prevent the atmosphere of a Jazz Festival and the light of Lumiere (well, something like that anyway) teeing up for a unique ambience at the Keady Corner. If only more were dancing to <b>Duke Special</b>'s Gramophone Set, and his blend of Ritz and Andrews Sisters. <br />
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Never mind, for the highlight of the whole weekend is just around the corner - the cheery, chirpy warm up of the wondrous <b>Wonder Villains</b>. Packed with youthful punk pop and retro grunge, and a fine leading lady to boot, they stagger the eyes and delight the ears with their spirited, spunky synchronicity, sparking both young and old into life. They are, in a word, awesome here - one hopes they can maintain this standard. To quote a certain Yasmin Evans, the only way is up.<br />
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Pleasurably paced reliability is key for <b>Paddy Casey</b>. Like his namesake Paul, and the Jive Aces, his set goes down a treat. Particularly when he performs "I Wanna Be Like You"; how can you not win with that song? In closing, headliners <b>Frightened Rabbit</b> take to the Main Stage - they are, in essence, four guitars, two keyboards, a consistent drum beat and a succession of singable refrains and tantalising riffs. <br />
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The dry wit of Neil Hannon has been foregone this year for something more upliftingly Scottish - and, to be fair, who really wants to think at this moment? And though the sound isn't the kindest to them, these killer Rabbits are the ideal tonic for closing time, raising everyone's spirits and cementing Stendhal's status, at least in my mind, as Northern Ireland's Electric Picnic. More of the same next year, please. <br />
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</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-73655576491102669492014-12-17T01:09:00.000+00:002014-12-17T01:09:53.855+00:00MUSIC REVIEW: Jingle Ball 2014<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the Jingle Bells comes the Jingle Ball, and, if you're ready to swing with the mood, jingle all the way. Following the obligatory warm up of disco and Chrimbo tunes, Cool FM's third annual "hip pop" extravaganza bursts into life, dazzling the eyes and ears of the screaming thousands in the Belfast Odyssey.<br />
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It's not so much a Christmas gig than a Christmas present for the predominantly youthful audience.<span class="fullpost"> Selfies, photos and flashing lights are all encouraged above, around and below the star filled stage.<br />
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And it is Labrinth's "We Will Rock You" claps that set just the right mood for deafening sound and beats. His pluck and power combo, sonic booms mixed in with piano balladry, are the ideal prologue for the light and liveliness of the night.<br />
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The equally plucky yet much lower key acoustics of Elyar Fox aren't quite as winning, but they're more than enough for an audience wholly keen on losing themselves in the steadily enhancing party atmospherics. Better is local girl Leah McFall of The Voice fame: her strong, piercingly clear and determinedly fresh vocals ring true in this cauldron of noise. With each act having no more than a handful of songs, tonight is as much about having fun as making it count: and McFall takes this fully on board.<br />
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As does Fuse ODG. His chantable refrains and easily clappable rhythms, adorned in spotlights of many colours, cement already high spirits. It is like MTV Crashes all over again.<br />
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A succession of significantly quieter boyband anthems from Hometown pave the way for the biggest surprise of the evening following the interval. Humble as a speaker, ebullient as a singer, the refreshingly contradictory Paloma Faith is a breath of fresh air, with enough charisma, jazz and soulfulness to all too briefly capture local hearts. By contrast, the meek yet charming Alexa Goddard struts teasingly like a little songbird, daring watchers to be sucked in. Hardly a dominant presence, she nonetheless gers by on goodwill, gumption and a dash of jollity.<br />
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The stage is then set for Neon Jungle to bring back the booms before Sigma and McBusted's grand finale bring the curtain down excitably. Like a selection box of popular chocolates, you mostly know what you're going to get at the Jingle Ball, but the event is no less enjoyable for it.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review was published in the Belfast Telegraph on Tuesday December 9, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/music/jingleball-review-paloma-faith-labrinth-elyar-fox-and-leah-mcfall-make-for-tasty-treat-30812108.html">here</a>.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-36998304410858000922014-12-15T23:51:00.000+00:002014-12-16T12:05:39.212+00:00THEATRE REVIEWS: NI Panto 2014<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Read reviews of three Northern Ireland pantomimes - a colourful, charming adventure, a "most amoosing" feast of fun, and a novel, playfully entertaining journey</span></h3>
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<b>ALADDIN (Grand Opera House, Belfast)</b></div>
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A curtain cast in glitter rests upon the eyes of a buzzing, chattering, excitable audience of all ages as John "May McFettridge" Linehan's 25th appearance in the Grand Opera House Christmas pantomime begins.<br />
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Accompanied by the likes of former Steps singer Faye Tozer, world renowned ventriloquist Jimmy Tamley and local actress Jayne "Sweeney Todd" Wisener, Aladdin promises a colourful cascade of gaudy theatricality for the whole family.<span class="fullpost"> On that count, it doesn't disappoint.<br />
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Of course, it's a nonsensical, anachronistic stew. How can it not be? But it is a rather enjoyable one. It opens on a perfect note, with self-titled "chosen one" Aladdin, played by Aaron Hayes Rodgers, leading a superbly choreographed take on Pharrell Williams' "Happy". Energetic, lively, vibrant and vivid, it's the ideal door opener for McFettridge to pull out all the stops on this occasion - his occasion.<br />
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Cheap and local situational humour of the verbal and physical kind are tossed into a casserole of sometimes charming and sometimes catastrophic charades, played to the hilt by McFettridge and her, or his, animatedly affable ensemble.<br />
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Predominantly doused in fluorescent light, and surrounded by commendably detailed set design, the cast and chorus pack in as much lightly lateral and all-too-obviously literal banter that the framework of the classic Aladdin story allows, some of it raising more laughs than others. This version of Aladdin is ultimately at its best when its stars are given the freedom to show off their not inconsiderable skills, which is relatively frequently.<br />
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Jimmy Tamley and his puppets are a hoot, while as enchantress Scheherazade, Faye Tozer keeps you on your toes, alternately pleasing with her engaging expressions and powerful pipes.<br />
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On stage, Tozer is a perfect counterpoint to Earl Carpenter's evil Abanazar. Like Ralph Fiennes or Alan Rickman with a clownish bent, Carpenter is intimidating yet inept, a true pantomime villain that the children can really enjoy booing or hissing at.<br />
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And while Carpenter and Tozer somewhat overshadow the antics of Aaron Hayes Rodgers' title character and Jayne Wisener's Princess Jasmine, Hayes Rodgers' schoolboyish enthusiasm and Wisener's sweetly mellow perkiness are strong enough to win the audience over.<br />
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Amidst all the comedy and choreography, there's also room for two more marvellous technical visuals - the sight of Aladdin "soaring into the air" on a magic carpet, and an animatronic King Kong-esque figure that leads to a highly amusing sketch involving apes and bananas. It's a worthy celebration for May McFettridge, and a pleasing reminder that all that's glitter can be some kind of gold in the right company and with the right personnel.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Wednesday December 3, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/theatre-arts/aladdin-serves-up-panto-gold-at-grand-opera-house-30794070.html">here</a>.) </i></b><br />
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<b>JACK AND THE BEANSTALK (Millennium Forum, Derry-Londonderry)</b></div>
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"Sit back, clap your hands, stamp your feet and let the show begin." So proclaims Panto Dame William Caulfield as the hitherto mild-mannered Derry-Londonderry audience prepare to be sucked into Jack And The Beanstalk, a passionately performed feast of fun and frolics which does not fail to impress.<br />
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The tempo is steady and true as Good Fairy Rose Petal, played by Orla Mullan, and Evil Flesh Creep, played by standout performer Keith Lynch, narrate the prologue in comic verse as a prelude to the first of many popular songs seamlessly integrated into this sketch show, love story and fairy tale rolled into one.<br />
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This tale of evil giant Blunderbore and hero Jack's quest to bring him down in the land of a bumbling king, a sweet princess, a snidely, snooty, buffoonish villain and a loveable cow named Daisy, is showered in a series of cracking choreography and charming comedy. The duets are strong and clear, not a bum note is hit during the dances, and Caulfield forms a good dynamic with everyone in the Forum, particularly Gerard McCabe's Silly Billy.<br />
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The sets are cartoonish and colourful, giving the feeling of being enveloped in a hyperactive comic book. Naturally, the faithfulness to the story means a little sap, but the overall tone is so winning that this is more than forgiveable. <br />
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And yes, the presence of the costumed cow is most amoosing and the cast milk it. With its experienced talent, winningly fresh faced youth and bunch of bumblers game for a laugh, this is a classically warm-hearted community panto, a real treat.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Friday December 5, 2014.)</i></b><br />
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<b>SLEEPING BEAUTY (Lyric Theatre, Belfast)</b></div>
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With all the big, brash pantomimes around, how about a warmer, more intimately theatrical alternative? That's what writer Derek O'Connor, director/choreographer Deborah Maguire and the cast and crew of Sleeping Beauty seemed to offer the wet, shivering yet spirited souls who trundled up the Lyric's stairs. They were not to be let down.<br />
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How, one wondered, could O'Connor set this well told fairy story apart from its previous incarnations? His modus operandi is to "(make) the journey as much fun as possible", and, true to his word, the first quarter of the play was an utter delight – no "getting to know you" period, just a surprisingly fast-paced, colourful "in your face" concoction of natural humour, post-modern irony, original tunes and deft dancing. It leaves viewers keen to see more of this "Lost Kingdom" and its king, prince, princess, evil witch, good fairy and rather dazzling special effects.<br />
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Complemented by a tuneful score, the never really frightening yet always playfully entertaining production - because isn't that what panto should be? - features three particularly striking performances. Richard Ashton is fun to watch as the king, the impressive Jo Donnelly booms and hollers her way out of Maleficent's shadow, and the cheery chirpiness of Kathryn Aiken's fairy Firefly pumps the production with life at the most timely of moments.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Thursday December 11, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/theatre-arts/sleeping-beauty-review-at-lyric-theatre-a-fun-playfully-entertaining-journey-30820644.html">here</a>.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-9681573627858186242014-12-01T19:07:00.000+00:002014-12-01T19:32:33.284+00:00FILM REVIEW: Night Will Fall/Electricity<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Movies about capturing and being captured stand out at Derry-Londonderry's Foyle Film Festival</span></h3>
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A Holocaust documentary about a Holocaust documentary, André Singer's <b>Night Will Fall</b> centres on the challenge of witnessing and experiencing atrocity from close range, and in doing so depicts the largest mass murder in history in a starkly unfamiliar manner.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Towards the end of World War II, trained cameramen amongst British, and later Russian and American, soldiers set out to capture footage of those captured for a Sidney Bernstein documentary, one that will ultimately take almost seven decades to see the light of day. They genuinely encounter sights no one should want to see, a horrifying yet enlightening sight for them back then and for us at this moment in time. <br />
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After entering the concentration camps blindfolded, for the first time, the soldiers' open their eyes on the doll-like corpses of typhus victims. To get too close would spook out any soldier to the point of insanity; it is wisely left for the interviewed survivors, among them <a href="http://sis-sightsandsounds.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/film-in-retrospect-schindlers-list.html"><b>Schindler's List</b></a> producer Branko Lustig, to document the near death experiences. When one survivor says, "You spend years preparing to die and somehow you're still here", everything about their God-like view of the Allied soldiers makes perfect sense.<br />
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From such quiet, matter-of-fact testimonies, and additional interviews with historians and those involved with Bernstein's film, <i>Night Will Fall</i> earns an emotional numbness to compliment its soberly frightening sights. The danger of present-day audiences becoming alienated from overexposure to the horrors is averted many times over: the sight of the SS's grave digging alone, for example, recalls the mistakes made from trying to bury the past instead of dealing with it, and the German apathy of the period harshly reflects that inaction can be even more damaging than action. <i>Night Will Fall</i> neither glosses over its horrors nor flatters its audience: it isn't a shocking wake up call followed by a comforting resolution, but instead strongly reminds viewers of, and draws viewers into, a cold and hellish landscape. The story of the film that didn't make it, too, gives invaluable heft to the production, extra beats to the once damaged and now healing hearts of the survivors and witnesses.<br />
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The documented oppression of the Holocaust victims finds a more individualised, closer-to-home metaphor in Lily O'Connor, the central character in Bryn Higgins' excellent <b>Electricity</b>. Opening with a depressing image of bodies floating in mid air, the film immediately recalls the HAL-esque "eye" that opens Matt Reeves' superb <i>Dawn Of The Planet Of The Apes</i>: emptiness and lack of direction amidst darkness. Lily, wonderfully played by Agyness Deyn, is all those things personified – she is an epilepsy sufferer who courageously refuses to be entrapped by either her illness or the stigma against epileptics, yet she genuinely feels she has nowhere to go. <br />
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Flashing lights make Lily ill at ease. The art in her family bedroom, at one point edgy and at other times colourful, matches her state of mind. Lily is the kind who feels suffocation in excessive confinement, a point emphasized brilliantly by extremely shaky hand-held close ups: she does not want to be a prisoner but accepts that she is a prisoner of sorts. In her world it feels like almost everyone will be there for you when you're in trouble, but your dependence on others holds you back from fully growing up. Lily has trained herself to deal with the abuse she received since her youth, but is unable to cope without support. Thus, she is alternately headstrong and helpless: attributes which come wholeheartedly to the fore when the death of her mother turns the lives of Lily and brother Barry upside down. <br />
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Once their mother's house is sold, Lily suggests that the proceeds should be split equally between herself, Barry and long-lost brother Mikey (Christian Cooke), and, despite Barry's warnings, goes on a quest to track Mikey down in London. Alas, for Lily it's a London as unforgiving as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wmYT79tPvLg"><b>another Lily's London</b></a> ("When you look with your eyes, everything seems nice, but when you look twice, you can see it's all lies") - a whirlwind of mistrust and superficiality. Relief is eventually forthcoming in the form of the equally alienated and warmly friendly Mel (<i>Being Human</i>'s Lenora Crichlow, right at home as a sympathetic ghost in this broken shell) and from here on in – save one unfortunate, heavy-handed plot strand about a street beggar – <i>Electricity</i> compellingly wraps themes of friendship, fear, the need for acceptance and survival around a tautly mannered narrative. It is frighteningly and disturbingly truthful both to its central illness and to its characters, making the heart-rending and heart-warming case that while superficial acceptance is common, true acceptance, much harder to find, is invaluable. If <i>Night Will Fall</i> is crucial as documentation, <i>Electricity</i> is up close and personal – a dark, despairing near-masterpiece.<br />
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<span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>Tristan & Isolde</i></span> meets Isaac Asimov in Dave Duggan's dystopian play</span></h3>
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"It's only chaos out there."<br />
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So speaks a confused looking girl in bleak surroundings that match the stiltedness of her speech. These are the words of Makaronik, portrayed superbly by Liz Fitzgibbon in Dave Duggan's equally superb play of the same name. Inspired by the words of George Orwell's <i>1984</i>, the themes of Isaac Asimov's <i>I, Robot</i> and the tone of the legendary tale of Tristan & Isolde, the power of Duggan's pen has passed from page to stage to create a multi-lingual, theatrical experience like few others of recent times.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Set in a degraded data centre, a refuge amidst the virtually insane backdrop of 2084 Belfast, Makaronik depicts a tale of two visitors to the title character: Diarmuid (Cillian O'Gairbhí) and Gráinne (Mary Conroy). Named in a reference to the love triangle between two identically named characters in a mythological Irish prose narrative, the obstacles this Tristan and Isolde face are more than just about love. <br />
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Diarmuid and Gráinne are officers in an Imperial Empire where language after language has been outlawed. Languages are seen as “threats to the Empire” at a time where Belfast is not a communal city but a soulless unit. It's a scenario as twisted as macaroni (naturally): individual identities ignored for the sake of replication in the form of neutered "drones". Makaronik is one of these, the last of her kind, assigned to take care of things until Diarmuid and Gráinne arrive to take every last shred of data, and Makaronik herself, back to the centre of the Empire.<br />
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Aspects of Irish, English and even Latin merge into the one language that can possibly be spoken in this wreckage: Empirish, a hodgepodge of gibberish as oppressive and restrictive as the setting. Restrictive not by way of communication, but by way of expression. To Makaronik, the data in the centre is her means of "breaking free" - Shakespeare, National Anthems and all other kinds of theatre, literature and music have seen her transcend the boundaries of any drone and emerge as an emotive, educated human being.<br />
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Deciding what to do about Makaronik is a problem for Gráinne and Diarmuid, who, while getting by solely on scraps of knowledge picked up from elsewhere, are also fearing for their own safety while pondering if they will ever be allowed to be together, as Tristan and Isolde never were. To Gráinne, completion of their duty will lead them to safety at the centre of the Empire. To Diarmuid, it seems apparent that this little centre will see them enjoy the only true companionship they will ever get. They feel stranded, yet safe. It is an abstract, serious yet passionately intricate situation, made decipherable to the audience by firstly, the acting, and secondly, by twin on stage screens that subtitle the on-going affairs of the three characters.<br />
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But nothing fascinates more in <i>Makaronik</i>, at least in my view, than the title character. It's impossible to ignore her android like tendencies: like any Asimov prototype, or, more famously, <i>Star Trek</i>'s Data, she appears to absorb every fact that she is exposed to. There is also a servile slant to her character in that, when Gráinne later makes a decision to remain at the data centre, she is confident that Makaronik will look after her: meaning that Makaronik shows no ill will towards the two officers. In that respect her behaviour is more human than that of her colder, more methodical guardians. Quite probably, both Diarmuid's and Grainne's moods have been deadened as much by the feelings they are not allowed to feel as by Makaronik. Her uniqueness drives a wedge between them: she is like a star child, one who can protect and must be protected. <br />
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And when Makaronik bursts into tears at the thought of leaving her centre, her superficially robotic facade is shattered and the heart of the play emerges in this mischievous, knowing, enigmatic soul. She is less Data and more Mrs. Spock without the pointed ears. We are absorbed by her absorbance and her remarkable ability to see the world in a way others do not. She is no android, nor is she an alien: she is just alienated in an alien nation, trapped in an empirical hub that she cannot, and surely we could not, adjust to.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-89948963663501322622014-11-21T14:23:00.001+00:002014-11-21T15:36:27.432+00:00FILM REVIEW: Testament Of Youth<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">The Foyle Film Festival in Derry-Londonderry opens with a torrential tapestry of turbulent events in a World War I setting</span></h3>
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The "based on a true story" narrative in films has been tinkered with, tempered with and downright violated with enough times for any experienced viewer to take such films with more than a pinch of salt. To that extent, such films must earn their believability by creating a plausible world of their own, via strong storytelling that captures the essence but more importantly the heart of the factual characters and setting. In that respect, James Kent's first feature film, <i>Testament Of Youth</i>, passes the test with flying colours, attaining its goals through atmospheric authenticity, calm visual expressionism and a lead performance for the ages.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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How reliable are one's memories? That's the first question director Kent appears to be asking as he and screenwriter Juliette Towhidi delve into the "Letters From A Lost Generation" that accompany the memoirs of main character Vera Brittain, played here by Swedish actress Alicia Vikander. It's a question central to the torrential tapestry of <i>Testament Of Youth</i>, a series of turbulent events that will shape the physical and memorial ideologies of every single character in the piece. <br />
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And when we begin, a shadow is already cast on Vera's fearful face: on Armistice Day, in November 1918. But Vera cannot join in the celebrations; she only wants peace. And she finds refuge in a painting of the Great Flood, a sharply metaphorical image that on one hand recalls loss of life in the First World War, and on the other hand, an alienated girl drowning in a sea of suffocation. <br />
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Flash back four years and Vera is emerging from a lake into a series of light-hearted sequences that reflect the idealistic dreaminess in pre-war 1910s Britain. (Britain, Brittain - surely not a coincidence?) The banter between Vera, her cheerful friend Victor (Colin Morgan) and her brother Edward (Taron Egerton) is pleasant and unaffected, sharply countering her slightly controlling father (Dominic West), a man fearful of losing his daughter to the Oxford education she so desires and, later, his son to the war. It's a clever, unforced illustration of freedom of expression vs. the status of the pater familias, and rings true to the time.<br />
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It is Vera's future fiancé Roland (Kit Harington), a bit of a poet himself, who convinces Vera's father to let her sit the entrance exam, and the contrasting moods throughout their courtship and Vera's path to university are explored elegantly. Blatant reaction shots are eschewed in favour of free-flowing if sometimes pointed interactivity. Vera tells Roland: "(Your poem) was a little dry, as if you were holding back. I couldn’t find you in it." Criticism hurts, whether the recipient deems it necessary or not, yet Roland takes it as a challenge, a means to improve his poetry - the very gift that the war will rob from him. It's painful to look upon the film in hindsight and recall Vera admitting to Roland, "I've never known where I fit". For later on, neither will he. <br />
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The dangers of the real tragedy being superseded by the fake one, that it will be more about a couple's fortunes, or one woman's fortunes, than those of everyone else during the war, are removed by a tight, thoughtful, sure handed approach to in which we experience absolutely everyone's suffering: on both sides. Put Kaiser Wilhelm II's immortally incorrect idiom in context ("You will be home before the leaves have fallen") and everything about the emotions before logic, feelings before consequences ideology of this <i>Testament Of Youth</i>, opportunism without oppression, breaks down and becomes clear. <br />
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In all of this, Vera is our focal point: if Alicia Vikander may not be the most experienced or even gifted actor in a parade of stars (Dominic West, Emily Watson, Miranda Richardson), she is pivotal. Vikander is the heart, the fulcrum, the quietly intimate and determinedly deep soul that paints growing, gripping tableaux of terror before our eyes. Moments of relief are few as Vera and Roland lose sight of their dreams, the horrors of war damaging their formerly wistful hearts and minds in different ways: Roland to protect both Vera and his masculinity, Vera to protect others by becoming a nurse. If Roland's damaged head overtakes his heart, Vera's wounded heart overtakes her head. It is a staggering dichotomy with shattering outcomes for both of them, and many more.<br />
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By war's end, populations have been pierced and priorities skewed as Vera resembles the broken shell we saw at the start of a journey we have felt every single minute of. As Vera's future colleague and friend Winifred Holtby will tell her: "All of us are surrounded by ghosts. Now we have to learn how to live with them." This defines <i>Testament Of Youth</i> as a sort of lost paradise - a <i>Paradise Lost</i>, perhaps? - for the current, commemorative generation, a burden it shoulders with admirable grace and remarkable skill.<br />
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<i>The Foyle Film Festival runs until Sunday November 23 in Derry-Londonderry. Check out <a href="http://www.foylefilmfestival.org/">www.foylefilmfestival.org</a> for more information.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-79956406788019061942014-11-11T17:08:00.003+00:002014-11-13T10:51:51.223+00:00DANCE REVIEW: Ludo Lusi Lusum<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Derry-Londonderry's Echo Echo Dance troupe present an educational and interactive feast of fun for adults and children</span></h3><br />
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<br />In the very centre of Derry-Londonderry on a cold, wet and windy November night, there's a brick building not far away, right on the city wall, where dancing girls will strut their stuff and edify us all.<br />
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With apologies to Cecil Frances Alexander, the second half of that sentence may well be the motto of the Echo Echo Dance Ensemble, a collection of nimble and expressive young ladies who are embarking on their second annual Festival Of Dance And Movement.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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Opening night sees the first of two performances of <i>Ludo Lusi Lusum</i>, a composition for children and adults directed by Ayesha Mailey and performed by Esther Alleyne, Janie Doherty, Kelly Quigley, Zoe Ramsey and Tonya Sheina. The title of three Latin words translates as "play, imitate, deceive" or "sport, banter, delude", depending on your preference, and this is exactly what we're going to see: a play on words and pictorial expressions through deceptively simple imitation of other forms of life. In other words, impressionist animalistic charades.<br />
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The first two thirds of the piece are a panorama of choreography and mimicry, an interactive game of Pictionary for both cast and audience. Ramsey stands out as a part-feline, part-canine werewolf, her whines, pants and growls the response to disciplined, direct orders from two other cast members. She's also called upon to pose as fruits, including a grape and a banana, but takes the dragon fruit posture a little too literally. Cue rather raucous laughter, especially from the children watching.<br />
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Soon afterwards, Alleyne's dead bluebottle must somehow be "resurrected" by doctors, nurses and a defibrillator (!) before we are treated to Ramsey's runaway bride owl and her "tour around the world". Locations as varied as Paris, Egypt and Madagascar are all visited, but best remembered are the owl's encounter with a snake charmer in India (which all goes wrong), and, for pop cultural enthusiasts, an ice bucket challenge in Antarctica. It's lively, overactive and haphazard - but it's also quite immersive and extremely educational.<br />
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The final third of the piece is, in general, more subtle and graceful, the Echo Echo Ensemble presenting an African-themed slinkathon of venomous moves and viperish poses that transform into a karate cum ninja ballet and later a vibrant circus dance. It would be the ideal conclusion to this patchwork of fantasies, but there's still another visit from the bluebottle (and a fly swatter!) to come.<br />
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In a mere half an hour, Mailey and the five participants have produced the sort of show worthy of their continuously improving standing in their cultural city. Here's to more of the same, if not better.<br />
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<i>The Echo Echo Festival Of Dance And Movement runs until November 15 2014. For more information, visit <a href="http://www.echoechodance.com/">www.echoechodance.com</a>.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-67192474085255639922014-11-06T17:40:00.001+00:002014-12-16T00:24:13.616+00:00FESTIVAL REVIEW: Belfast Festival At Queen's<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">Two events from this year's Belfast Festival are reviewed - a magical concoction of dance, music and poetry, and a bubbly merging of musical backgrounds</span></h3>
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<b>NEITHER EITHER, THE MAC THEATRE</b></div>
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Neither. Either. Words of similar sound yet opposite meaning, separated on one hand by a mere consonant, and on the other hand, by their interpretation. An interpretation rich in possibility for artistic expression is brought to life superbly by the inspiration of Seamus Heaney, the choreography of Liz Roche, the music of Neil Martin and four immensely talented dancers at Belfast's MAC Theatre.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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The four dancers – Philip Connaughton, Katherine O'Malley, David Ogle and Vasiliki Stasinaki – communicate the beliefs, identities, aspirations and emotions of Roche's piece between themselves and to the watchers through perceptive poise, balletic grace and a compendium of physical and facial poses.<br />
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Neil Martin's piano score is efficient, eclectic and emblematic, reflecting and synchronising with the moodiness and movements of the on-stage quartet. The dancers presented theatrical alter egos divided by gender and the colour of their clothing, yet united by the need for connection and understanding. In doing so, they successfully and poignantly project the exploratory themes of Roche's work – of the self, of others, and of bonding.<br />
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<br />Fluctuating on-stage emotionalism and intermittent off-stage narration mirror the similarities and differences between the titular words and the characters – subsumed by undeniable differences, yet united by means of expression. From two words and the inspiration of a legendary poet arises a kaleidoscopic spectrum of industrial light and human magic.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Thursday October 30, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/belfast-festival/neither-either-review-magical-show-sparked-by-two-words-30703991.html">here</a>.)</i></b><br />
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<b>TAMIKREST, ELMWOOD HALL</b></div>
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A decidedly and deceptively old school setting greets the eyes of those who take their seats for the arrival of Malian musicians Tamikrest. A large curtain draped over the back of the hall, percussion and guitars of all kinds scattered around the stage, a keyboard and... a gramophone?<br />
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But this isn't vaudeville. Rather, it is a hint of the vibrant and virtuous on stage antics that have come from abroad to raise the spirits in Belfast's Elmwood Hall.<br />
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Fronted by Ousamane Ag Mossa, Tamikrest are men – and a woman – on a mission. Literally and figuratively, they are a blend, an alliance at a junction of harmonic and melodic messages, on a quest to provide chords of conviction that would delight, resonate with and enlighten onlookers of all persuasions. And, on their first ever visit to Ireland, they certainly achieve that.<br />
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A trio of cultures descend upon the Elmwood Hall stage – the Middle Eastern, Western and West African garb will match the tone and feel of the vocals, guitars and percussion respectively throughout the entirety of the evening. Opening with a steady, funky beat that alternately echoes both Jimi Hendrix and Bob Marley, this soon ascends into a cocktail of passionate vocals, booming bass lines and very catchy drum beats that primes and powers up everyone in the hall.<br />
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It is a winning combination, tunes that reference the past and respect the traditions of the band while highlighting positivity, filling the performers and the crowd with unity and belief. Musical genres switch effortlessly and effervescently, calm contemplative vocals a welcome breather in the midst of up tempo makeovers for country and blues music, and thunderous drums in a sea of soul.<br />
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By set's end, the audience no longer need prompting to clap along and dance to this admirable, amiable and highly memorable merging of musical backgrounds.<br />
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<b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Friday October 31, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/belfast-festival/tamikrest-review-bubbly-merging-of-musical-traditions-30706634.html">here</a>.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-75732167425520986202014-11-05T11:38:00.000+00:002014-11-06T11:10:01.484+00:00THEATRE REVIEW: Sive<h3><span style="color: #990000;">The predictable becomes penetrative and poetic in the Abbey Theatre's compelling production of John B. Keane's play</span><i> </i></h3><br />
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<i><br />Sive</i>, originally penned by Co. Kerry playwright John B. Keane in 1959, and brought back to life by Dublin's Abbey Theatre and director Conall "<b><a href="http://sis-sightsandsounds.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/theatre-review-re-energize.html">Re-Energize</a></b>" Morrison, is a masterful theatrical work. It is miraculous in how it could so easily fall into a plethora of clichéd narrative traps, yet doesn't merely sidestep them, but evades them.<span class="fullpost"><br /><br /> The key to Sive's success is not solely in its storyline but in something that I call "moody expressionism": in actuality, the difference between <i>Sive</i> and a prototypical <i>Cinderella</i> meets <i>Romeo & Juliet</i> strand that runs throughout the play is extremely minute. Yet a remarkable, atmospheric set, a strong directorial hand and, most importantly, perfect casting make it unique: the predictable becomes penetrating and poetic in a soundly balanced, deeply nuanced and sometimes blackly comic play. It's not stretching things for me to say that this is the best play I have seen in my years of arts reviewing, and it is likely to remain so.<br />
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Róisín O'Neill's winningly fresh-faced title character is an illegitimate teenage schoolgirl living under the roof of her late mother's brother, Mike Glavin (Barry Barnes) and his wife Mena (standout performer Deirdre Molloy). Mike's mother Nanna (Bríd Ní Neachtain) is also resident, but she and Mena are at each other's throats, creating a channel of disturbing rage to go with an already dysfunctional familial setting. The cracks in the rocky wall of this dwelling only scratch the surface of the turbulence within. <br />
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The inquisitive, energetic Sive is both pivotal and a human being, a troubled soul and the fulcrum of the disturbance surrounding her. Her function initially appears to be no more than a surrogate child for an aunt who was unable to have a child of her own. But it's worse for Sive than that: said aunt is an unkind, hard-hearted figure who repeatedly seeks to keep Sive in constant fear of her elders. Yet one does not view Mena as a monster, but instead somebody who has been warped, twisted and damaged by her own testing upbringing. Having been forced into an arranged marriage herself, she appears envious of Sive's qualities, and is keen to ensure that the girl does not have the chance to live the life that Mena almost certainly once dreamed of – even if it means denying her an education.<br />
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Enter local matchmaker Thomasheen Seán Rua (an unsettlingly funny Simon O'Gorman), whose gruffly humorous facade unconvincingly hides bullish and not-very-bright tendencies. Thomasheen, Mike and Mena plan to marry Sive off to wealthy septuagenarian Seán Dóta (Derry Power), a creepy hybrid of <i>Father Ted</i>’s Bishop Brennan and <i>Fiddler On The Roof</i>'s Lazar Wolf. <br />
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Seán unsurprisingly makes Sive wince: furthermore, she has a love of her own in Gavin Drea's Liam Scuab, a suitor who Nanna thinks ideal for Sive. But, of course, this cuts no ice with Mena's prejudices and financial needs, while Mike holds a serious grudge against Liam for his cousin’s actions. For Liam’s cousin, Sive's biological father, died before his promised marriage to Sive’s mother could be realised.<br /><br />
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It is a richly thematic and symbolic situation. Mena has a "mean" streak. Seán Dóta "dotes" on his betrothed, allegedly. And Sive has quite literally "scythed" a stake between her uncle and her aunt. Mike's marriage, the very thing keeping a roof over his head, is at risk, and Sive's love life is in the hands of a "matchmaker" who has no concern for the consequences of the match! As Thomasheen himself remarks, "What do the likes of us know about love?"<br />
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But <i>Sive</i> is as much, if not less, about a Cinderella figure trying to escape with her Prince Charming than an idiosyncratic insight into a frankly messed up community’s desire to assert, reassert, retain and maintain control and tradition. Short-term gain will likely amount to long-term pain for Thomasheen, Mena and even Seán Dóta, yet none of them appear to be aware of this. Only Mike is open to a change of heart, thanks mainly to Nanna's persuasive powers – but with Mena ruling him completely, will he really be able to change anything? <br />
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It is a scenario made compelling through stark, self-aware absurdity and irresistible intricacy, and is smoothed over by a pair of singing, meddling tinkers (Muiris Crowley and Frank O'Sullivan) whose tuneful revelations and decisive actions in the second act point towards a tragic outcome for everyone involved. Neither a comforting Kansas nor a colourful Oz rests at the end of the rainbow for <i>Sive</i>'s Dorothy: instead, all that awaits is a bitterly black hole.<br />
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<i>Sive runs at Belfast's Lyric Theatre until Saturday November 9 and will continue to tour Ireland until Saturday December 13. For more information, click <a href="http://www.abbeytheatre.ie/whats_on/event/abbey-theatre-on-tour-sive/">here</a>.</i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-81748956693744285372014-10-30T13:00:00.001+00:002014-10-30T13:00:44.068+00:00MUSIC REVIEW: Swingle Singers<h3>
<span style="color: #990000;">An eclectic, effervescent vocal tuneathon adorns the City Of Derry International Choral Festival</span></h3>
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As the third gala concert of Derry-Londonderry's second annual international choral extravaganza begins, a formal, chatty atmosphere, with green and blue lights bathing the rear of the St. Columbs' Hall stage, gives way to welcoming applause for the BBC's Sarah Brett and the seven striking souls that will follow her introduction – basses Edward Randell and Kevin Fox, tenors Oliver Griffiths and Christopher Jay, alto Clare Wheeler and sopranos Sara Brimer and Joanna Goldsmith-Eteson.<br />
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They are the Swingle Singers (hereafter the Swingles), four men and three women of remarkable vocal agility and ability who are set to raise the roof of this historic theatrical and musical arena like never before.<span class="fullpost"><br />
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We are promised a mixture of reworked classics and timeless old favourites to go with the Swingles' own material. And we begin auspiciously, with airily Celtic oohs, aahs, hums and whistles that tie neatly into a sweetly seductive mellow melody backed up by percussion. Except there are no instruments to speak of: all accompaniment comes from the singers themselves in a performance fully in line with the nature of the festival. Call it "cantata a cappella".<br />
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As the air fades away, the lights dim, briefly casting shadows before the spotlight bursts upon a high tempo power percussion with Brimer, Goldsmith-Eteson, Randell and Fox fully working out their voices. If the opening tune inspires claps, this one brings roars, paving the way for "Gemiler Gerisune" a Turkish love song about two young lovers destined to be separated forever. The shift in tone from frivolous to forlorn is not damaging at all: rather, one can only marvel at the clarity, pitch and versatility of the vocalists in this multi-levelled choral concoction. <br />
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It's apparent that the Swingles thrive on being playful with chords, back beats and chants, an approach that comes to fruition in a male vocal bebop swing duet that encourages, nay, demands, audience participation. Even if we can't repeat every line or beat, we are fully in the mood of this very Bobby McFerrin-esque turn. "Don't worry, be happy"? Almost certainly. <br />
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<br />Their broad, booming and quite brilliant take on Elbow's "Weather To Fly", which implies that the Swingles are having “the time of (their) lives” (and most, if not all, of the audience appear to be too) precedes a high-tempo, multi-layered jazzy take on Bach's “Two Sisters” that transcends the classic for a contemporary crowd. Loop recording comes in very handy here as up to 21 vocal strands are heard from the performers' voices. Impressive though it is, it's merely an appetizer for the breathtakingly beautiful rendition of John Martyn's "Couldn't Love You More" (listen above), arguably the highlight of the evening.<br />
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"Inspiration can come from anywhere", the group will later say, and they are right: they have already proven, and they will continue to prove, to be bittersweet romantics, children's storytellers and melodious musicians all at once. Eclectic entertainers. A reputation solidified by the very Toto-esque rock that soon follows along with a more quietly gloomy, yet soothing, approach to Bach.<br />
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They will later handle Debussy with the care and craft he deserves, their delicate, delectable Claire De Lune sandwiched in between the irresistible choral flourish that is "Piper", the catchy, uplifting "Burden", the neatly choreographed "Reservoir Kids" and, most impressively, a perfectly pitched, melancholic rendition of Mumford & Sons' "After The Storm". <br />
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<br />On the whole it is a rather breathtaking tuneathon, lyrically and musically, the perfect tonic for the stormy conditions outside. The Swingles are ultimately testament to the power of the voice, and the voice alone, to enrich, enlighten and entertain hearts, senses and minds: which they do, in the most effervescent, elucidating manner possible.</span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-36961609571317909272014-10-27T23:28:00.000+00:002014-12-16T00:34:30.225+00:00MUSIC REVIEW: DJ Snoopadelic<br />
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To be in the company of Snoop Dogg is to be in good company, usually: beyond the controversy and misogyny, the rapper, songwriter and, er, actor (everyone remember Starsky & Hutch?) has a rocking and rolling repertoire to go with a rather rocky reputation.<span class="fullpost"> Ideal for any musical city. <br /><br />What better time is there, then, for this temperamental tuneaholic, less glamorously known as Calvin Broadus, to descend upon Derry-Londonderry with his first DJ Snoopadelic set in Ireland?<br /><br />The flat and gravelly foundations where the giant tent named the Venue once stood are enveloped in cold winds, cloudy skies and damp drizzle. One could be forgiven for wishing the tent is still sheltering them as Type One, aka Christopher Ferry, does his utmost to warm the cockles with a steady set. The calm, concentrated Ferry lets his music, the screen lighting and occasional chants from a small but loyal band of air pumping punters do the talking.<br /><br />Further uplift is provided by the literal zen of Zenemy: a clown faced DJ, mildly colourful language and cheeky chappy cheerleader rappers that cheer up, chant to and charge the growing crowd animatedly. The unanimously, unexpectedly booming atmosphere is now ready for the unifyingly bouncy beat of the main man; the rain and cold are now much less relevant.<br /><br />Alarm bells and sirens are heard, and strobe lighting becomes prominent. Onto the stage steps Snoop Dogg, on a mission to deliver good time by playing every musical genre he likes for the people.<br /><br />And he does a rather fine job too. A deliciously jazzy hip hop beat elevates the mood, preceding a funky techno rap that emanates from an aura of cool behind the turntable. With shades donned, dreadlocks in place and arms wide opened, Snoop relaxes as Derry roars, his king-like demeanour projecting a newly found confidence to those watching.<br /><br />Techno and hip hop later merge with rap, rock and funk to create a suburban disco beat entirely in keeping with the surroundings. The on stage screen graphics, punctuated by shots of the clapping, singing crowd, are sometimes garish but never dull. Accompanied by tried, trusted and toneful tuneage, including Lady Gaga, Queen, James Brown and Los Lobos, it's a recipe for success.<br /><br />If Snoop is not overly talkative, he doesn't need to be: his modus operandi isn't centred around friendly interactivity, but rather a close encounter of vibrant visual video and animated audio. One that sends the young Derry populace to happy homes.<br /><br />
<i><b>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Friday October 24, 2014.)</b></i></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-2433723809184503352014-10-23T14:13:00.000+01:002014-12-16T00:24:02.104+00:00MUSIC REVIEW: A Musical Gathering (A Stór Mo Chroí)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<br />A successful celebration of the dedication and craft of eight Irish traditional musicians, the A Stór Mo Chroí collective's Musical Gathering is everything one can hope for an evening of folk music – inspiring, enriching, stirring, but, above all, heart-warming and genuine.<span class="fullpost"> The collective – four men and four women – come together to celebrate their love of story-telling with pipe, flute, string and vocal harmonies, and melodies of varying tone and tempo.<br /><br />At times feeling like an Irish dance hall, at other times a reassuring living room fireside, the packed MAC alternately crackles and cools with electric energy and effortless ease in an atmosphere rich in folky familiarity and familial unity.<br /><br />All four female vocalists shine alongside the entertaining and affable John Spillane and the skilled instrumentalism of Dónal O’Connor, Donagh Hennessy and John McSherry: in particular, Mary Dillon's determined, regretful but unmistakeably sweet vocals work superbly as a mellow counterpoint to the more dominant and booming, but no less impressive, vocals of Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh.<br /><br />As the band play on and the singers change tunes, confidence rises on and off stage: jocular chat and random Irish cultural references intersperse with melodious compositions and varyingly interpretative lyrics. It is all so easily accessible; one does not need to be a folk buff to find their spirits lifted, heads bobbing and feet tapping throughout.<br /><br /><b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Tuesday October 21, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/belfast-festival/reviews/musical-gathering-review-spirits-easily-lifted-at-packed-mac-by-folky-familiarity-at-the-fireside-30680042.html">here</a>.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8528180996238044668.post-77231584887648954352014-10-19T17:02:00.001+01:002014-12-16T00:23:51.330+00:00THEATRE REVIEW: Chateau Le Fear<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Derry-Londonderry's newest "nightmare" is a castle of confusion, chaos, creeps and creative characterisation.<span class="fullpost"> Inspired, in the words of creator Phil Ruddock, by "too many late night movies and a little communing with the dead", Chateau Le Fear gathers up a series of talented actors,
artists and technicians for a genuinely mysterious and naturally frightening haunted house this Hallowe'en. <br /><br />The setting is an old brick building in the corner of Ebrington. Screams can be heard even from outside the walls on this particular dark night: one half expects to hear thunder clap and see lightning flash directly above the musty house.<br /><br />When one finally walks through the Chateau doors, they are in for a highly memorable interactive walk-through show. Webbing dangles from ceilings and blood drips down walls in a dark maze where numerous ghosts, ghouls and zombies eagerly await your company.<br /><br />The sights and sounds here can reduce confident strides to tentative crawls in a matter of seconds: zombies who reach out but don’t quite touch your leg, deceptively innocuous girl ghouls, creepy hotel clerks and intestine eaters, to name but a handful. It's the sort of exhibition you really can't predict, and is cleverly structured so that horror film buffs – especially Romero and Hitchcock fans – can play along with the "undead". All that's missing are vampires.<br /><br />Chateau Le Fear is essentially a House Of Cheap Thrills And Shocks, but never pretends to be anything else, and the results are gut-wrenchingly, grippingly gruesome, guaranteed to give you chills. And when one walks away from those musty old bricks towards a relatively safe, well-lit city, they can tell themselves "it’s only theatre". Or is it?<br /><br /><b><i>(The original version of this review appeared in the Belfast Telegraph on Wednesday October 15, 2014. It can be read <a href="http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/derrys-horrifying-chateau-le-fear-review-a-gripplingly-gruesome-house-of-horrors-30665291.html">here</a>.)</i></b></span>Simon Fallahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03228255684696439623noreply@blogger.com0