Lowland Hall, Royal Highland Centre 4 stars Don’t be fooled by the first half of the title of Christoph Marthaler’s musical and physical romp for Theatre Basel. Marthaler’s audacious production may give a nod to Lerner and Loewe’s showbiz reinvention of Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, but it too is a Frankenstein’s monster of a mash-up, with sources as diverse as Ravel, George Michael and Bryan Adams to give its characters voice. One shouldn’t look too hard for plot either among the 1970s retro geek-chic attired adult pupils of a language lab overseen by a dapper if increasingly drunk Henry Higgins type who oversees his charges with flamboyant disdain. As the shopping channel plays out on a flat-screen TV in the corner above a row of booths, words become increasingly meaningless as each pupil’s inner life blossoms through the international language of song. At times this resembles the sort of old-time Christmas variety shows that the likes of Glee have lampooned so well. At others it’s as verbally dextrous as a Two Ronnies sketch, with Graham F Valentine’s Higgins figure and his aging Eliza trapped in endless exchanges from years ago which are now the only words keeping them together. Meanwhile, the rest of the group take time out from a religious therapy session to sing solitary arias to invisible audiences. Such shenanigans are accompanied on Anna Viebrock’s ingeniously bright set that’s fit for a farce by a virtuoso pianist and an organist actually dressed as Frankenstein’s monster. Out of all of this, Marthaler has created a terribly witty melange that speaks volumes about how we communicate beyond words in the most playful manner imaginable. The Herald, August 15th 2012 ends
Edinburgh Playhouse Five stars A big National Coal Board sign looms large at the opening of Lee Hall and Elton John's decade-old musical stage version of Hall and director Stephen Daldry's hit turn of the century film. In a tale of one little boy's liberation as a dancer against the backdrop of the 1980s miners strike, however, the Durham Miners banner and the 'Save Our Community' sash held aloft matter more. It is this call to arms that forms the heart of Daldry's production, as Billy becomes a potty-mouthed beacon of hope in a situation where picket line, thin blue line and chorus line rub uneasily up against each other. Given such a context, there is bound to be some pretty grown-up stuff going on here, be it the institutionalised homophobia in Billy's village, the class war going on within it, or Billy's grieving for his dead mother that drives his every move. And, as so magnificently choreographed by Peter Darling, what moves they are. Watch...
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