Blood Brothers, by Willy Russell, was on my list of shows to see the last time I was living in London, 6 years ago. Miraculously, it is still playing in the West End. The show is in it’s 17th year, having won it’s first Olivier Awards in 1983. I assumed a show that’s been around so long would feel stale and dated. While some of the music sounds ever so slightly 1980s-ish (synthesizers), the production itself is a timeless, brilliant, heartbreaking story. I was moved to tears. I laughed. I was riveted through every scene. I was amazed by this show.

The story begins with a lower-class woman with many, many children who’s husband has just left her. She learns she is to bear twins. On the other side of town, the rich woman she cleans house for is desperate to have a child. The poor woman agrees to give up one of her sons because she cannot afford to care for both. We learn right away that these children are doomed from birth. Forces beyond anyone’s control dictate that these boys will both enter and leave the world on the same fateful day.

The show is bleak, sad, and tragic. More so because these actors are so genius, you become deeply involved in their lives. Even though you know from the beginning that they are doomed, you grow to care for them all so much that you are still shocked and upset when bad things happen. This is a testament to the excellent writing and excellent actors. In particular, the actors playing the two brothers (especially Mickey) are incredible. They have the difficult task of playing their roles from the age of 7, all the way through adulthood. We see them grow and change, scene by scene, over the course of the play. As one child prospers, the other disintegrates. I wonder if, over the past 17 years, every cast has been this good, or if I happened to see a particularly gifted cast. Something tells me that the material is just so juicy that it can make a good actor look like a great one.

The music suits the action well. It’s not the most memorable score in the world, but the songs serve a purpose - a character is able to express his or her emotions clearly and passionately. Some songs are catchy. But the music is not the highlight of the show; it’s the story. The actors they cast are clearly all actors first, and then singers. None of the music if particularly vocally challenging. Not to say that the singing was bad; it is all quite good. But this isn’t a show you do with mega-diva-belter types. Or dancers. There is no dancing in the entire show. This makes it feel Sondheimian in a sense - more realism based, rather than fantasy.

It makes me happy that such a tragedy has run for so long here. I also understand why Blood Brothers has never run on Broadway. It’s too sad. American audiences like a cheezeball happy ending. The British seem to not mind when the story ends sadly. This show is a truly devastating story about a family. But what it is really about is class divisions. It’s set in England but it could have happened in any country. Not to say the whole thing is gloomy. There are moments of amazing comedy, particulary when the boys are quite young. These scenes are hilarious and adorable. There are also several very uplifting songs and scenes. So the gloom is well balanced out so that you don’t feel overwhelmed by it.

If you are in London, and you appreciate musical theatre, this is an absolute must-see show.

Mary Poppins, the film, is a classic for all ages. Mary Poppins, the West End Musical, is really just for the very young and the very old. This was the overwhelming feeling as I left the show. There are no jokes just for the adults; the brief moments of humor are simplistic enough for the smallest children to understand. There is no campy, fun, musical theatrey zaniness that is the prevailing tone in the film. This musical takes itself extremely seriously. It is one of the most conservative shows I’ve ever seen, appropriate for right wing traditionalist grandparents and their grandchildren. Ironically, the show is three hours long; far too long for the attention spans of it’s intended audience.

There is so much about the film that they couldn’t and didn’t include in the show. The “Jolly Holiday with Mary” sequence in which they cavort with cartoon animals in the the film, is replaced by a scene in which all the statues in the park come to life and dance. It’s a lovely thing to watch, but you can’t stop thinking about how much better that scene is in the film. And Dick Van Dyke’s performance as Mr. Banks’s boss in the film is skipped. They could have at least had the actor playing Burt double in that role, but they gloss over this scene.

The characters of Mr and Mrs. Banks are oversimplified and dumbed down for the young audience. In this version, he’s downright mean, completely cold, and unavailable to the kids. She is so obsessed with being a supportive wife that she has no time for parenting. At least in the film, she’s out campaigning for women’s rights. Here, she has no character of her own; she is just the supportive wife in a very old-fashioned nuclear family model.

Mary Poppins in this version is portrayed more as a witch than in the film, especially in the scene where she rids the house of the other, mean and evil nanny. Mary imprisons her in a giant birdcage which disappears down into the stage: plummeting into hell, perhaps? Mary’s powers are almost scary here. But the character retains all her original charm and wit.

Burt is played by a strong comedian/singer (Gavin Lee), and I feel he was underused. In fact, all the acting is eclipsed by the hugeness of the production. Visually, it is a sight to see. The set, lighting, costumes, sound, and choreography are all top-notch. The dance to Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious is a work of genius. The Step-in-Time sequence — with all the chimney sweeps dancing across the rooftops — is remarkable as well. But the glossiness of the production cannot hide the poor writing. The long, unimportant dialogue scenes, particularly in act 1, are painfully long at times. They spent far too much time and money on the production values of the show, and not enough on the writing. And it falls flat. Not even when Mary flies over the audience. Not even when Burt walks up the side of the proscenium arch, upside down across the ceiling, and back down the other side. Not even when she pulls the hat rack and potted plant out of her handbag. All the magic tricks come off as large and impersonal, and lose their magic.

I was immensely impressed with this production. But I can’t really say I enjoyed it. It’s hard to improve on the film here - why re-create something that is already “practically perfect in every way?”

Just because a show is favorably reviewed on the internet, that doesn’t make it worth seeing. The people writing these glowing reviews may in fact be the cast, crew, or playwrights themselves. Such is probably the case with this play. It tells the story of a dysfunctional family Christmas: a familiar tale. You’d think such a formulaic story model would be hard to screw up. Well, they managed. Russell Barr, playwright and cast member, exibits no real understanding of character, theme, or plot in this stomach-turning nightmare.

The action centers around Aunt Shona, an overweight, overbearing, trashy sort of horrible woman. The only real highlight of the show is Joanna Scanlan’s realistic portrayal of this completely unsympathetic antagonist. She is fully, undoubtedly committed to the character, and despite shortcomings in the writing, is captivating nonetheless. She lives with Uncle Douglas, her companion / brother who at first I thought was her husband because this is not made clear. He is creepy / withdrawn / probably gay / most likely a child molester, which again is never made clear. They live with a boy child, Alistair, played by Lisa Hammond, a female midget. They keep referring to her as a him, which is very confusing, as she is clearly a ’she.’ And you’re not sure just how old he/she is supposed to be - and you keep focusing on the fact that there’s a female midget playing a boy-child, and it’s very confusing. I didn’t mind her performance; she was really quite good, especially in the climactic nativity scene. It was just confusing.

Barr plays Doddie, a gay relative (?) who has come home for the holidays. That, and a cast of 16 dogs, portrayed on television screens (played on a loop throughout the show), completes the cast.

I didn’t understand why the story was being told. It was a terrible story about terrible, pathetic people. There’s dog shit all over the stage for the whole show to add to the filth. There’s animal murder, which I cannot abide. There’s child abuse. There’s genital shaving. There’s full-frontal female nudity. There’s sadness and patheticness. Every so often, there’s a moment of real connection between the actors on stage, or a really funny line. But these are few and far between. The only really engaging scene was the family re-enactment of the nativity, which seemed like a comedy sketch sloppily thrown into a bleak play.

And then there’s an angel from above singing Christmas music, interspersed with the dialogue. I suppose she’s supposed to be an angelic commentator, but her existence within the world of the play is really awkward, makes little sense at all, and is never linked to anything tangible. An interesting concept, bad execution. Denise Leigh is a glorious singer, and the acoustics of Wiltons Music Hall (which advertises itself as the oldest music hall left in the world - in the middle of nowhere London and badly in need of repair) really made her voice ring beautifully. She can get better work than this.

I’m sorry for anyone who has to visit this house of Christmas misery. At the very least, it made me happy for the things I have in my life. Perhaps that’s the point.

This is my first, and long overdue, review of a play since coming back to London. We’ve been very busy, so three weeks into my life here and this is the first play I’ve had time for. We chose to see this particular play because it had gotten good reviews (or “notices,” here), as well as the fact that the theatre is a 3 minute walk from our flat. The show is good, well executed, but not great. I kept thinking, why are we learning this story about this particular character; what makes it special? And I’m still not sure.

The Alice Trilogy, by Tom Murphy, is three acts centered around a woman named Alice. First, we see her alone in her attic at age 25. She is drinking, and communicating with a being that isn’t truly there. The being exists mostly as a sounding board for her own thoughts. Alice is married with three children, but utterly alone and losing her grip on reality. We see her talk about her life and her struggle with depression.

Act two is more than a decade later. She seems to be in a better place in her life, and has stopped drinking. But still, there is something missing. She has summoned an old lover from 20 years ago who reminds her of a time when “she was perfect.” Their love was unadulterated and pure. He is a successful news anchor, married, also with three kids, and he admits there is something missing in his life as well. The relationship starts with warm affection, then we realize there is something he wants or needs from her, emotionally, and when she pulls away, he becomes violent and threatening.

Act three is present day, and Alice is middle-aged. We finally see Alice’s absent husband, who remains mostly silent, eating a meal of fish and chips. They are at an airport restaurant, waiting to bring their son’s corpse back home. He’s recently died in a freak accident. We see Alice trying to come to terms with what has happened, as well as how she has come to this place in her life. She is stiffer, older, and rambling in incoherent and listless phrases. She cannot communicate with her husband. Only when the poor waitress comes and sits with her and tells her a tragic story of her own, can Alice truly let go emotionally. She is grateful to the waitress for allowing her to feel the “power” of her grief. She discusses why the pain is bearable, and her pain becomes a metaphor for her entire life; it has been painful, yet bearable, and she’s not sure why.

Alice is gorgeously played by Juliet Stevenson, who brings the full spectrum of emotions to this well rounded character. The role is especially difficult since it takes place over the course of 30 or more years, but she does a great job moving from pain in a naive, vulnerable sort of way, to a more solid, seasoned, mature sort of way.

But as mentioned, what makes her special? I’m not sure. She’s a bit of an everywoman; we both sympathize and empathize with her. As a portrayal of a woman’s life, it’s saddeningly accurate and well written. It seems more like a living portrait of a human being than a well-made play, due to the lack of plot. Worth seeing however, just for Stevenson’s gut-wrenchingly sad performance.