Two London productions re-interpret literary classics: I only love one of them

If I were a real arts critic, paid to be an arbiter of good taste, I would no doubt tell you that the best theatre experience I’ve had in London in recent weeks was Player Kings, the mash-up of Henry IV parts one and two currently providing a star vehicle for Ian McKellen at the Noël Coward Theatre. But I’m not, and I won’t. Because though there was much that was worthy and thought-provoking in the Shakespearean offering, my heart belongs to an extension of Jane Austen’s universe brought to life on a tiny West End stage that even most of London’s theatre cognoscenti don’t know exists.

Being Mr. Wickham is a one-man, one-act show that drops us in to the study of Jane Austen’s most notorious villain on the evening of his 60th birthday. He’s had a spat with his wife Lydia, but he’s fired with the energy of the day and he wants to talk. Given the milestone of age, he’s in the mood to reminisce. What follows is a wildly entertaining conversation that updates us on how all of our favourite characters from Pride and Prejudice have evolved, makes us question the plot we thought we knew, and suggests some interesting parallels with our modern times.

I use the word “conversation” intentionally. No, you’re not talking back to the actor. But the 70-seat Jermyn Street Theatre is so intimate, and Adrian Lukis so adept at engaging the audience, that everyone else seems to disappear and you really do feel like you’re having an intimate tête-à-tête with one of literature’s most charismatic rogues. The fact that Lukis brings Wickham to such glorious, credible life is no surprise. He played the role in the BBC’s landmark 1995 adaptation, and though he’s been a busy actor in the three decades since, there’s a whole generation who will always imagine him as a Regency-era rake.  

He also wrote the play, thus brings an author’s intimate understanding to the words. And good words they are, too. Many writers have tried to extend Austen’s world, with varying levels of success. They usually get the language wrong, forgetting that Austen was remarkably sparse in her description, simple in her vocabulary, and deftly subtle in her characterisations. Lukis gets all of this spot on, as well as giving us plot evolutions that are entirely credible. His combined amazement and horror both at making it to 60 and evolving into a somewhat respectable member of society is so Wickham.

Austen never wrote scenes without women, because she insisted on writing only what she knew. So another delight of this show is getting a perspective that feels authentically Austen, but is also undeniably masculine. It goes places Jane could not, reminding us of a sexual licentiousness and an urban dynamism within the Regency that are alien to the novels, but would have been familiar to … if unspoken by … her male characters. Wickham’s anecdote about almost winning a night with one of the greatest courtesans of the age, only to by cut out by Byron, is thrilling.

Lukis originally wrote the one-act play for the 2019 Jane Austen festival in Bath, and I originally saw it during a broadcast production when the pandemic locked us all in. I liked it so much then that I jumped at the chance to see it live, and I’m so glad I did. The size of the theatre and Lukis’ electric presence made this a truly memorable theatrical experience.

Player Kings was equally memorable, even if I didn't enjoy it as much. There’s a reason that Ian McKellen is considered one of the greatest actors of his generation. He commands the stage with a presence few other human beings can muster. As expected, he delivers the best Falstaff I’ve ever seen. Remarkably complex. Villainous yet vulnerable. Unattractive yet compelling. Funny yet heartbreaking. Robert Icke’s editing of two plays into one has, naturally, left a lot on the cutting room floor. What remains might have just as well been called Falstaff.

The challenge of this approach for me is that Falstaff’s always been the character who irritates me most in these plays. Queen Elizabeth might have loved him so much she asked Shakespeare to give him his own play (giving us the Merry Wives of Windsor), but I would have asked The Bard to cut that role way back. I get the poignancy, and real-world relevance, of balancing the father Prince Hal has with the father figure he chooses to have fun with. But I want the plays to focus on Hal’s unexpected development from disappointing rebel to great king, and his changing relationship with his father. Falstaff is a necessary catalyst to those changes, but I prefer him in the background.

I wanted the Prince Hal focus even more from this production, since Prince Hal is being brought to life by Toheeb Jimoh, who gave us the delectable Sam Obisanya in Ted Lasso. Jimoh is fantastic. He probably did a better job than any other actor I’ve seen in the role at bringing out the teenage irresponsibility and madness of the young Hal. I think the prince’s character transformation is one of the hardest in literature to pull off … yes, I know Shakespeare is sacred but his plot makes the evolution pretty hard to believe … but Jimoh manages well. 

He’s hindered by Icke’s interpretation however, which makes some odd choices. I’ll avoid spoilers but say the way this production delivers the duel between Hal and Hotspur bothered me so much I pulled out the play as soon as I got home to check the author’s stage instructions. While Icke isn’t specifically countering anything written by Shakespeare, he’s introducing stuff that brings Hal’s whole character development … and thus the traditional meaning of the whole play … into question. No matter how good the acting, “the play’s the thing”, and I’m not a fan of what this production did to this one.

Of course, I’m not the target market. Player Kings, like the current production of Romeo and Juliet with Tom Holland playing just down the street, has been designed to bring in a younger audience that isn’t naturally drawn to Shakespeare. Thus the present day East End gangland setting, the mixed race casting, the modern music. Being Mr. Wickham, on the other hand, was clearly developed for a generation of people … mostly female … for whom that 1995 television production was transformative. It’s no surprise that we meet Wickham on turning 60; I suspect his frustrations at reaching an age he doesn’t feel parallel a great many in the audience. Including me in a few months. So while I’m glad I made the effort to see McKellen and Jimoh live on stage, it’s Lukis who gave me the greatest joy.

Both shows have very short London runs closing on 22 June, so if you’re interested in either get booking now.

Reality may be over-rated. Abba Voyage suggests technology and creativity can do even better.

The next time I'm in a conversation with someone fretting over the death of creativity in the face of modern technology, I'll meet them with two words: Abba Voyage.

Much has been written about this blockbuster show in London's East End, which has been reliably selling out the 3,000 places in its arena (1,650 seats and 1,350 packed onto a dance floor) since it launched in May of 2022. It's as good as everyone says.

Show veterans talks about the stunning realism, and I have to join that chorus. These aren't just four avatars (here called ABBAtars) performing music. Everything has been calculated to reinforce the feel of a live show. Giant video screens offer close ups of the performers you're watching at a distance. A live band with backup singers adds to the rich musical soundscape and interacts with the digital stars. There are breaks for costume changes and pauses while each band member talks to you. Not only is it the real Agnetha, Bjorn, Benny and Anni-Frid coming up with and delivering the words, but they acknowledge with wry humour the technology that allows them to be here and look so good. 

They're in on the joke.

It's their personal involvement, I suspect, that hammers home the authenticity. They drove all the creative decisions. Spoke the words. Sang the songs. Wore the motion capture suits to ensure the movements were theirs. (Except for one dance routine that ... as fit as she's remained ... would have been well past the capabilities of the now 78-year-old Anna-Frid.) Could you deploy this technology to bring The Rat Pack, Prince or Maria Callas? Sure. But I suspect you'd never approach the authenticity that hands-on involvement brings here. 

In every way that matters, this is an ABBA concert. Which is something that a great many of their fans have never seen, given that the band broke up in 1982 and hasn't performed live together since. That's despite the fact that the Mamma Mia franchise has made them a greater phenomenon now than they were the first time around, especially in the States, where they were never that big in my youth. 

Another realistic touch is the inclusion of a few songs only superfans are likely to know (The Visitors, Eagle), and the latest stuff that's not been accepted into the canon yet (I Still Have Faith in You). That last one was very poignant, as was the final touch of the show which clearly counts as a spoiler. I won't blow it for you, but it's the icing on this very sweet and moreish cake.

Reviews have underplayed the incredible lighting design, which is worth a visit even if you're not a fan of the music. Those of you who go into raptures over Yayoi Kusamana's light installations need to get to this show, which is clearly influenced by that artist's work. In the arrangement most like her Infinity Mirror Rooms currently on at Tate Modern, strings of lights rise, fall and alternate colours in the open space before you, reflected to infinity on giant screens around you and behind the band. It's breathtaking. In other noteable pieces circular baffles drop from the ceiling to dip, sway and swirl with lights zipping around their edges. At other times strips of light zoom continuously around the whole arena. These effects make you part of the show, whether you're in the seats or shaking your stuff on the dance floor. 

At other times the lights combine with the high-resolution screens wrapping around the stage to create some staggering illusions, particularly one where the band, in Tron-style costumes, seems to be singing in outer space. The graphic design is so perfect that comets wink in and out as they cross behind the rings of a planet. It comes as no surprise to discover that the production comes from Industrial Light and Magic, the Star Wars people.  

It's all possible because the arena was purpose built, designed to accommodate the creative vision of the band for each song. And like a real concert, lights and video take over at points as the band retires to take a rest or change costumes. They're digitally generated so don't need to, obviously, but that's another small touch that adds to the reality. Another advantage of the digital production, of course, is that there's little need for a "backstage". Most of the arena's footprint is what you see, either in the entry concourse or the performance area. 

It is all, evidently, a bit like a giant flat-pack, designed to be quickly disassembled and moved somewhere else. Although with crowds streaming in, there seems little point to bother before their permission runs out and they're forced to give way to a housing development in 2026.

Given the enormous care with which this has all been crafted, I suspect there are plans for it to run and run. Three glaring omissions ... Take a Chance on Me, Super Trooper and Money, Money, Money ... suggest the ability to refresh the show so that returning fans get something a bit new, just like seeing a live act for a second time. Most professional reviewers have suggested those three numbers have been created and are sitting on the digital shelf just waiting for the point when ticket sales need an injection to be added in to an updated show.

A few additional logistics points:

• The arena has its own exit on the DLR, in between Canary Wharf and Stratford, called Pudding Mill. We backtracked through Stratford on the way home. Slightly longer but a better chance of a seat. 

• The prompt 7:45 start time with no warm up acts (now there's an improvement on a live concert!) and no intermission means that you're probably heading home before whatever is playing at the 02 lets out. We stayed up in town because we were worried about the commute home but we could have easily made it.

• The arena opens at 6 and promises a range of dining options. Don't believe them. It's one food stand with carb-heavy fast food options and no place to sit. We should have gone a bit earlier and headed over to the collection of street food vendors next door, where I suspect we would have gotten a much nicer dinner.

• They sell re-fillable water bottles for a much higher price than the regular plastic ones. Unless you're desperate to get a branded bottle, skip this. There are no obvious refill points, other than standing in the always-long bar and food stand queues, and once the show starts it's so compelling and goes so fast you're not going to want to leave for a refill anyway.

• The standing room dance floor was PACKED. If you don't like crowds, this is not the way to go. They all looked like they were having a blast but it definitely wasn't for me. 
  

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If ABBA is your thing, don't miss my review of the mad and wonderful ABBA Museum in Stockholm. Quite possibly good enough to plan a whole trip around.

"Bat Out Of Hell: The Musical": likeable, operatic fun falls short of greatness

I wanted so much to love Bat Out of Hell: The Musical.

Of all the so-called "Jukebox Musicals" that have been cobbled together from a group's existing songs, only this one was born to the genre. Songwriter Jim Steinman's original concept was a rock opera version of Peter Pan; finding Meatloaf to sing and releasing an album came to fruition first, and the opera got shelved for forty years underneath the juggernaut of the album's platinum (x14) success. With that start, it should have been better than its competition.

It also swept me into serious nostalgia territory. I was never a big Abba fan (Mamma Mia). I didn't really discover Queen (We Will Rock You) until moving to England. The Four Seasons (Jersey Boys) sang my mother's music. But Meatloaf had delivered the anthems of my high school years ... the soundtrack of sweltering, sticky nights of romantic yearning, illegally obtained beer and grand dreams of escaping small town America. What's more, it had a big production budget, used the cavernous stage space of English National Opera (at the London Coliseum) and was getting solid reviews. So I should have adored it, right?

I liked it. It was an entertaining night out, filled with impressive spectacle and great music. But it failed to connect with me emotionally. It might have been the over-wrought, preposterous plot, or the painfully awkward and graceless choreography, or the fact that two of lead Andrew Polec's sidekicks (Giovanni Spano and Dom Hartley-Harris) both had voices we thought were much more suited to the main role than his. Maybe it was the sting in the tail of tickets priced closer to grand opera than musical theatre. But our main emotion on leaving was not "wow, we were lucky to see that" or "must tell people to get tickets before this closes on", but rather ... "Damn, that music is incredible. I need to listen to those albums all the way through again."

If you're a Meatloaf fan, the music is the main reason to go. You'll find joy in those familiar tunes backed by a full orchestra, delivered with impressive spectacle and an enormous cast. There's nothing new about the plot ... Peter Pan mashed up with Romeo and Juliet, set in a dystopian future Manhattan ... but there is a logic to the song arrangement that furthers the story.

It's a story that would have worked better for me without the dystopian angle. We're introduced to a grim, industrial wasteland run by a wealthy despot named Falco who lives in a secure high rise. He and glamorous but distant wife Sloane are protective parents our Juliet type, called Raven. In the tunnels beneath the city a group of teenagers have somehow been genetically frozen at 18. They are the rebels against the state, staging daring graffiti raids on Falco properties from the backs of their enormous motorcycles. They're called The Lost, and the youngest of them is an impish mascot called Tink. No points for subtlety here. Amazing their leader isn't called Pete. He is, instead, Strat, and you know exactly where the love story will go as he slips through Raven's windows and entices her to adventure in the outside world.

The sub-plot of our heroine's parents is actually the more compelling storyline: the staging for Paradise by the Dashboard Light , where they relive the start of their relationship in flashback, is fantastic fun. "Paradise" is not the end of their relationship, but the set up for an emotionally complex, mature coupling where sparks still fire. There is a thin line between love and hate, which Rob Fowler and Sharon Sexton carry off with a fiery intensity. They add depth to the straightforward story of our young lovers, and make the most of some of Steinman's most soul-shredding lyrics. It's all coming back to me now ... not on either of the Bat Out of Hell albums, but a Steinman song made famous by Celine Dion ... was the emotional high point of the show for me.

The youth plot would have worked better for me if set in the real world, with demanding, university-pushing parents keeping their daughter away from the rebellious drop-out and his gang of idealistic slackers. Admittedly, that would have deprived us of the impressive, multi-level sets where Raven (played by Christina Bennington, who evokes Meatloaf's duet partners far better than Polec's Strat captures the singer himself) pines in her sky scraper bedroom while the Lost caper in the city's drains below. From speeding motorcycles to dank prisons to a car crashing into the orchestra pit, the show is high on visual spectacle.

None of this really matters by the time You Took The Words Right Out of My Mouth fires up for the grand finale. Perfectly calculated to get people on their feet and clapping along, it essentially ensured a standing ovation.

There were some raised eyebrows when Bat Out of Hell started its limited run in the home of English National Opera. In retrospect, it was totally appropriate. Vast, impressive sets. Showy effects. Bombastic, crowd-pleasing anchor tunes. Completely non-sensical plot. There's even a showy death or two. I think Verdi would have liked it.

It will take more than liking, however, to encourage the producers to find a new home for a longer run in London. Looking around last night's half-empty balcony, I'm sceptical there's demand for more. So if you're a Meatloaf fan, you'd better move fast. Bat Out of Hell is only on here until 5 August. After that, it crosses the Atlantic for a run in Toronto.

Joyous stage version of Aladdin delivers Disney delight

Cynicism is a fundamental trait of the English. I celebrate it when it makes satire so delightful, and political debate so practical. It gets tedious, however, when we get to the Disney argument.

A certain type of English cynic carries a strong anti-Disney argument in his soul. The loftier his education and class, the more likely he is to stick pins into the Disney balloon. For him, the company is an imperialist commercial juggernaut, destroying traditional European fairy tales with sugar-coated American endings and using film franchises to flog toys and accessories. He sees only trickery directed at small children, and can't grasp how any childless adult would willingly submit to a film, stage show or ... God forbid ... time in one of the theme parks.

While I know a few Americans who'd agree, most of us brought up in the comforting embrace of Uncle Walt's vision retain the wonder into our adulthood. Sometimes you want high culture, or an experience that pushes you to think about the contrasts and conflicts of the human condition.

And sometimes, you just want to be happy.

To feel the kind of pure, uncluttered, uncomplicated glee you touched when you were eight. Before jobs, taxes and responsibilities. Back when a fairy godmother appearing to send you to a ball, or a flying boy at your window inviting you to fight pirates, was completely credible.

If you want to re-capture that glee, and are free of Anglo-adult cynicism, book a ticket for Aladdin at London's Prince Edward Theatre. You don't even need a kid for cover. On the night we went, adults vastly outnumbered children. And many, bless them, were English.

Like The Lion King, this is an eye-poppingly lavish production with exquisite costumes and gorgeous sets. The golden cave in which Aladdin finds the lamp will drop your jaw. Agrabah's towers, palaces and markets come to glorious life. The flying carpet scene is truly magical. There are lavish, pull-out-all-the-stops song-and-dance numbers in the tradition of all the great musicals. But Aladdin is a good deal funnier, and faster paced, than The Lion King. (Which, let's face it, is dealing with some serious themes despite the hakuna matata.)

Dean John-Wilson, who comes to London from the Broadway production, solidly anchors the whole thing as the genie. He manages to remind us of the sheer brilliance of Robin Williams' original while making the role his own. The humour is wry, clever and quick, and the bromance between the genie and Aladdin is arguably more interesting than the central love story with the princess.

The writers have made several improvements on the film. Instead of Abu the monkey, Aladdin comes with a trio of mates who offer a hysterical sub-plot. Excess plot elements are pared out; we get to the cave of the lamp much faster and there's more action overall. The Sultan is less of a fool, more of an indulgent father ... which makes the plot more credible.

The only fly in the theatrical ointment is Jade Ewen's Princess Jasmin, whose singing voice isn't up to the rest of the cast and was routinely upstaged by her ladies-in-waiting. But that's easily forgotten in a rollicking evening that flies by faster than a magic rug.

Go ahead. Give in to your inner child. Book a ticket.

National Theatre's Amadeus revival is heart-stoppingly brilliant

The National Theatre's current production of Amadeus is one of the best things I have ever seen on stage. Definitely one of the top 10 theatrical experiences of my life. Probably in the top five. The whole run is sold out, but they're doing a live broadcast to cinemas on 2 February.

Clear your diary. Find your nearest venue. Book a ticket. Now.

Most readers will be familiar with the 1984 film version that won that year's Best Picture Academy Award and a host of other prizes. I love the film. But the play is much, much better. And very different.

The film is a fairly straightforward, fictionalised biography of Mozart's life. The play is more complex. It's  not only much more about Salieri, but explores more internal conflict. What happens when you work all your life to be good at the thing you love, and someone who hardly tries is better at that thing than you'll ever be? How does jealousy warp the soul? What happens to children when the parent (in this case, God) loves one more than the other? Much like the greatest of Shakespeare's plays, Amadeus uses this story to explore the mingled tragedy and joy of the human condition. The Salieri v. Mozart plot is a conduit to far deeper themes.

I love the film's opera scenes, which show us Mozart's great works in the lavish costumes and settings of his time. I assumed there wouldn't be as much music in the stage play. I was gloriously wrong. The Southbank Sinfonia is on stage most of the time, not just providing music but actively participating in the story. They walk as they play. They're the crowd on the streets and the guests at opulent parties. For the operas, they coalesce back into a traditional orchestra under Mozart's baton. Several top operatic soloists join the cast, so when we get the excerpts from Figaro, the Magic Flute et al, the sound is magnificent. (No matter how good your sound system is, nothing touches the soul like live music.)

The staging is remarkable. For the operas, the whole scene flips with the emperor and his court at the back of the stage, looking towards you. The orchestra is in the centre, in a pit that's sunk into the stage, while the operatic action takes place around an arc projecting into the audience. You find yourself backstage, very much a piece of the action. Later, when we get the musical climax of the requiem, the mingled cast and lights coming up from the horizon create a breathtaking, apocalyptic moment of which you are very much a part.

Lucian Msamati's Salieri is compelling and complex. Despite his evil behaviour, your empathy is all with him and you feel his pain. For the first time, the use of "Amadeus" as the title became clear to me, as Salieri wails the word heavenward. Ama Deus. Beloved of God. Why him and not me? It's a heart shattering moment. I was less enamoured of Adam Gillen's Mozart, who is played as such an obnoxious clown it's very difficult to like him for three quarters of the play. He does pull us in at the end, as we finally understand that he's a scared child, solidly on the autistic spectrum, unable to interact normally with others yet desperately wanting to be loved. Bring plenty of tissue for Mozart's death scene. This is a proper tragedy: nobody escapes unscathed.

Emotionally shattering. Visually beautiful. Soaring music. Remarkable acting. Spiced with witty comic relief and gorgeous costumes. Theatre like this doesn't come around very often. I suspect we might see a transfer to the West End. But don't take any chances. If you're at all intrigued, get to that cinema broadcast.