ajhlovestheatre

by Yasmin Joseph

Directed by Rebekah Murrell as part of the Re:Emerge season

Harold Pinter Theatre – until 3 July

https://sfp-reemergeseason.com/the-plays/jouvert/jouvert-ticket-calendar/#/

Part celebration, part social document, part history lesson, total triumph, Yasmin Joseph’s gorgeous piece, in Rebekah Murrell’s rambunctious production, tears up the rule book for playwriting in much the same way that Sonia Friedman’s Re:Emerge season -of which this is the second glorious offering- changes up the rules on producing new writing in the West End. Exciting new voices given handsome productions in major playhouses…. this probably wouldn’t have happened pre-pandemic, but what a wonderful thing it is.

And what a wonderful thing J’Ouvert is: a full-throated, big-hearted, potty-mouthed bellow of joy that turns into a scream of pain before changing back again. We need more Black voices telling Black stories on major stages, and when the result is as uplifting and accomplished as this, it’s an enriching jolt of fresh blood and excitement to the art form.

Set during the Notting Hill Carnival of 2017, in the wake of the Grenfell Tower disaster, it features a live DJ (Zuyane Russell, also a tartly funny actress), an irresistible array of characters (there are only three other actresses but it feels like there are way more), a veritable flotilla of feathered costumes, enough sequins and ticker tape to choke a cart-horse, an abundance of music and dance, the spirit of the Carnival founder Claudia Jones, and some pithy, wise observations on cultural appropriation, sexual politics and embracing ones heritage.

Played out on Sandra Falase and Chloe Lamford’s rising circular set, like the bowl of a giant speaker, under an eye-catching hanging garden of Carnival-esque paraphernalia including street signs, traffic cones and yet more technicolour plumage, it’s a warm, vital collage of a script; messy yes but joyously so, as any play about something as chaotic but uplifting as Carnival has every right to be. Leading an all-female production team, director Rebekah Murrell’s masterfully nails the contrasting tones between the exhilaration and freedom of the dance (superb movement direction by Shelley Maxwell), the simmering undercurrent then explosion of violence when two frustrated young men perceive themselves disrespected, the heartwarming, superbly observed comedy of a pair of Notting Hill old timers who have seen it all, and the fantastical sequences that take place in the heroine’s head. There’s a lot going on here, and most of it is absolutely terrific.

None of this would probably coalesce without performers of the quality of Gabrielle Brooks as fierce dancing queen Nadine and Sapphire Joy as her even fiercer, politically aware sidekick Jade. Seldom off stage, working at full throttle throughout and each playing a plethora of characters -female and male- these magnetic, thrillingly talented women are shape-shifting knockouts. Annice Boparai is also a delight as well meaning, right-on Nisha, daughter of a phenomenally wealthy Spanish-Indian couple and slumming it from nearby Holland Park. Joseph’s writing is so good though that although Nisha starts out as the inevitable comic foil -her squeaky poshness forever at odds with her mates’s streetwise attitude- the character goes on a real journey into something credible and touching.

This is an ambitious work of infinite richness…. poetic, energised, essential, with wings on its feet and fire in its belly. J’Ouvert is ultimately about female friendships as much as it’s about a gigantic celebration, and it sends audiences out on a high but also with full hearts. I absolutely adored it.

.

Written and directed by Eugene O’Hare

Omnibus Theatre until 4 July 2021

https://www.omnibus-clapham.org/the-human-connection/

Eugene O’Hare is truly an actor’s writer, in that he creates richly textured, multi-layered characters that give his casts something to really get their thespian gnashers into: see Miriam Margolyes’s venomously nasty yet oddly haunting old lady in Sydney And The Old Girl or the desperate, damaged, Orton-esque losers that populated his human trafficking tragi-comedy The Weatherman (both of these premiered up at the Park Theatre before the pandemic). These are not people one would necessarily want to spend any time with in real life but they undeniably make compelling theatrical company.

His creations for this double bill of short plays, a monologue for a father and a duet for mother and son, sharing a common theme of dislocation and parental guilt, are more low-key than in his full length work but they still pierce the heart and trouble the mind. His capacity for finding the lyricism in everyday speech reminds a source of real pleasure and wonder.

The first playlet Larry Devlin Wants To Talk To You About Something is a mini-masterpiece of bleak perfection. Stephen Kennedy (to be replaced by Ed Hogg from 30 June) as Larry is delivering a confession: as a late middle aged man, he is still plagued by guilt from a time when he struck his own child. He goes on to relate how this same child now has an adult life of his own, the pair have a friendship of sorts, and yet still Larry frets. Why?

What follows is not even an especially original plot point (which I am not about to reveal, by the way) but what lifts it into something fine and extraordinary is the gritty, detailed melancholy of the writing, and a performance of such delicacy, precision and pathos by Kennedy that it’s almost unbearable to watch. The misery seeps out of every pore, and it’s there in the slouchy, hands-in-pockets stance, the querulous semi-smile under haunted, hopeless eyes: here is a man who has long forgotten what it’s like to be happy. It’s beautiful, detailed work….O’Hare himself directs, and he and his leading actor are alive to every nuance. This is spellbinding stuff, and Kennedy is nothing short of magnificent.

Child 786, the second piece, is arguably more ambitious, being a response to the pandemic, and specifically the UK’s response to it on both popular and political levels, refracted through an almost Pinter-esque prism as a mother (Ishia Bennison, hugely impressive) welcomes her grown-up son Lennox home from what might be some sort of recovery facility. In the meantime, Covid has happened and we watch both of them struggle with a changed world, her retreating into banal musings and buzzwords, he alternating between passivity and frustration, superbly handled by Joshua Williams who is astonishing at simultaneously projecting vulnerability and aggression.

The real dramatic meat of Child 786 lies in Lennox’s conviction that as a young child he was sent by his mother to be part of an unspecified, but highly sinister, vaccination programme. So convincing are both actors, and so unerring is the dialogue O’Hare gives them (apart from a slight tendency to have Lennox spout facts and figures at length, which gets a little wearisome) that it is never clear which, if either of them, is telling the truth. Or is it just a question of perception? The ambiguity is tantalising, and if it lacks the intensity and focus of its predecessor, Child 786 nevertheless succeeds in being an engaging, thought provoking meditation on the unreliability of memory, and a darkly humorous juxtaposition of the humdrum with something potentially much more alarming.

These plays, whose impact is felt long after their short running times are over, were originally scheduled to be part of the Barbican Centre’s Ghost Light festival, which ended up being shelved due to the pandemic, and it is a considerable coup for the delightful Omnibus Theatre to get to premiere them. A brief but satisfying evening.

Written and performed by Amanda Wilkin

Directed by Elayce Ismail

Soho Theatre until 17 July

https://sohotheatre.com/shows/shedding-a-skin/

At a time when Black voices are joyously, if belatedly and still insufficiently, resounding throughout the theatrical community, it is befitting that this powerhouse of new writing reopens with Amanda Wilkin’s spiky but beguiling monologue, winner of the 2020 Verity Bargate Award, and with a press night during the week of the 73rd anniversary of the Windrush migration. The tale of Myah, a young mixed race woman rudderless in the big city after quitting a job and a relationship in quick succession, only to find herself forming an unexpected bond with the feisty, mysterious, older Black lady she lodges with, it’s a rather lovely piece that preaches the importance of never judging a book by its cover, and also of never underestimating or writing off ones elders.

Wilkin is a born storyteller, masterfully evoking vivid locations and situations with a command of language that is at once comic, relatable and concise. As a performer she combines a likeable stage presence, a clown’s goofy physicality and the lithe malleability of a dancer. The wired, coltish energy she brings to Myah is in striking contrast to the watchful stillness with which she invests the saturnine Mildred, who increasingly becomes the central figure as the play draws on, and more of her fascinating back story is revealed.

Running in counterpoint to the central story, and punctuating it at regular intervals, is a succession of snapshots of other, apparently unrelated lives transforming themselves -shedding skins, as it were- starting off nearly six hundred miles away but getting ever closer with each fragment, adding a soothing but urgent universality to Wilkin’s script. Rosanna Vize’s set provides another satisfying metaphor for the play’s title and principal theme, transforming from a soulless, roller blinded box to an organic, light-filled eyrie by the end of Elayce Ismail’s nicely judged, if occasionally over-busy staging.

If Shedding A Skin sometimes feels more like a dramatic storytelling rather than a true drama, only fully coming to powerful theatrical life in a sequence where a frustrated Myah rages at Mildred, it is a wonderfully engaging one, full of heart and humanity. The ending brought a real lump to my throat. This is vital, Black woman-centric writing, but it is absolutely for everybody. Enthusiastically recommended.

Photograph of Amanda Wilkin by Helen Murray

REASONS YOU SHOULD(N’T) LOVE ME

Written and performed by Amy Trigg

Directed by Charlotte Bennett

Kiln Theatre – until 12 June

https://kilntheatre.com/whats-on/reasons-you-shouldnt-love-me/#

Amy Trigg has already won the 2020 Women’s Prize for Playwrighting for this sparky, bracingly honest monologue (which she also performs, brilliantly), and I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if she garners a couple more. This is a captivating script, full of wit and pithy observations, sublimely directed by Charlotte Bennett.

Trigg plays Juno, a sassy, likeable Essex girl with a wicked sense of fun, not to mention a decent circle of mates, wonderfully supportive parents, if not actually a boyfriend then certainly a “friend with benefits” (even if it’s abundantly clear that she could do better), her own flat ….and a wheelchair, owing to the fact that she was born with spina bifida. Trigg’s script covers in some detail the surgeries and scars that Juno bears, and the practical challenges she regularly faces, but the real meat of the writing lies in the compelling, and occasionally very moving, depiction of the gulf between this young woman’s outward confidence and the inner fragility of a person who, through no fault of her own, has been marked out as ‘different’ from birth.

Not for a second does any of this become mawkish, indeed much of it is laugh-out-loud hilarious, but both writing and performance are deceptively clever. With her scarlet trouser suit, mass of curls knotted above a cherubic face, and some formidable comedy timing, Trigg presents a sunny, funny woman that is so easy to immediately warm to and root for. As a result, when she confides that she tried to hurl herself out of a window when she was eight, or she intimates how lonely she sometimes gets, the effect is pretty devastating…. the darkness very much throws the humour into stark relief, and words like “deformed” and “broken” drop like verbal hand grenades. Trigg’s ability to turn on a dime from wryly cheeky to utter despair is seriously impressive.

Juno’s journey as she searches for love and self acceptance, by way of uncomfortable hospital visits, some fairly mortifying sexual encounters, a couple of embarrassing drunken stories, a tribe of faith healers, and seventeen visits to the musical Cats (!), is one that it is emphatically worth going on with her. Ms Trigg is a talent to watch and rejoice in: there are SO many reasons to love both her and this thoroughly engaging piece of theatre.

WALDEN

by Amy Berryman

Directed by Ian Rickson as part of the Re:Emerge season

Harold Pinter Theatre – until 12 June

https://sfp-reemergeseason.com/the-plays/walden/walden-ticket-calendar/#/

Gotta hand it to Sonia Friedman, she doesn’t mess about. As the theatre industry slowly, carefully makes it’s way back into the light, one could completely understand producers playing it safe post-pandemic and only programming sure-fire hits and the sort of “timeless classics” that will have the moneyed classes reaching for their credit cards. Not so Ms Friedman however… Gawd bless her, she is presenting a trio of brand new plays by neophyte writers right in the West End. Frankly, if the other two are even half as good as Amy Berryman’s engrossing Walden, then we are in for a blazing theatrical summer.

High quality, challenging new drama was once a regular part of the West End landscape, but in recent decades the few instances that made it into the gilded playhouses of Shaftesbury Avenue were typically sold out transfers from critically approved powerhouses such as the Young Vic, the Royal Court or the Almeida. Many of these –The Inheritance, Jerusalem, The Ferryman, for example- were also Friedman productions. A notable and honourable anomaly is Jack Holden’s astonishing monologue-on-amphetamines Cruise, but that is the exception rather than the rule.

All the more joyous and remarkable then to welcome this quietly ambitious debut, and in a first class production by Ian Rickson with a trio of flawless performances to boot. It’s the sort of play, staging and casting that haunts you long after it’s 100 minute running time is over.

The play’s title comes from the 1854 memoir of transcendentalist writer Thoreau, chronicling his meditative two year spell living like a hermit amongst nature in a remote lakeside cabin in the woodland wilds of Massachusetts. Berryman places her heart-catching text in a similar such cabin, but this is some time in the future, although the environmental horrors and global unrest described by way of scene setting suggests that this is a year disturbingly close to our own. The overall feel is both bucolic and ominous.

The cabin -exquisitely realised by designer Rae Smith- is inhabited by nervy, fragile Stella (Gemma Arterton, never better) and her big-hearted, apparently more straightforward partner Bryan (an equally magnificent Fehinti Balogun) who is a leading light of an environmental group called Earth Advocates. They bicker amiably if uneasily as they prepare for the arrival of Stella’s estranged sister Cassie (“short for Cassiopeia – a queen” as Stella tartly observes), an astronaut just returned from a space mission. Cassie and Stella’s late father, a brutal task master, was also an astronaut as it turns out.

In a performance of outstanding delicacy and detail (note the way she subtly recoils when Bryan points out that she underwent voluntary sterilisation to qualify for the space programme) Lydia Wilson fascinatingly, painstakingly suggests that Cassie is a brilliantly clever young woman stricken with the creeping realisation that the life she has carved out for herself may not be worth the sacrifices she has made. It turns out that Arterton’s distressed Stella is every bit as brilliant as her twin, having been an architect for NASA before walking away from it all, and the rivalry between the sisters is rivetingly conveyed both in the writing and the performances.

Some of the intellectual excitement of the play -and there is plenty- comes from Berryman pitting Bryan’s über-Green ideology against Cassie’s pragmatic, more dynamic approach to nature and the planet, and then confounding our expectations. I was reminded slightly of Pinter’s haunting, elliptical Old Times, where a female interloper goes into spiritual battle with a male adversary over another woman who they both have shared history with, but the emotional charge here is much stronger. If there is a weakness, it’s in the somewhat predictable suggestion of an attraction between Bryan and his beloved’s identical twin, but even there the resolution to that, insofar as there is one, isn’t necessarily what one would expect.

Nonetheless, this is a bewitching, tremendously rich piece, simultaneously as organic and earthy as the woods where the action plays out, and as ethereal and transporting as the heavens which so fascinate and vitiate the warring sisters. It’s very funny and even joyful at times, as the twins connect fitfully over shared memories, while an amusedly excluded Bryan looks on. I won’t spoil the final scene but suffice it to say that it is deeply moving -grief stricken even, although nobody has died, quite the opposite- and provokes a recalibration of the sisters relationship, and forces one to reconsider which is the more selfish of the two.

Emma Laxton’s moody, menacing soundscape runs in counterpoint to Berryman’s satisfying, accomplished script throughout, evocative but never distracting, and Azusa Ono’s shape-shifting lighting design adds another layer of excellence to this seriously fine production.

Even under normal circumstances, a debut play as strong and thought-provoking as this one would be something to applaud but at a time when every theatrical opening -well, alright, ALMOST every opening- feels like a little miracle, Walden is even more of a cause for celebration. Roll on both Ms Berryman’s next play and the rest of the Re:Emerge season: the bar has been set very very high.

HARM

by Phoebe Eclair-Powell

Directed by Atri Banerjee

Bush Theatre – until 26 June

https://www.bushtheatre.co.uk/event/harm/

I’m not sure what they’re putting in the water in Ennis, County Clare, Ireland, but it appears to have enabled the Gough family to produce not one but two extraordinary actresses. Denise Gough understandably became a critics darling and multiple award winner for her intense, enthralling work as a drug addict teetering on the brink of oblivion in the National Theatre smash hit People, Places And Things. If Phoebe Eclair-Powell’s punchy, gripping monologue Harm doesn’t quite end up having the same effect on Kelly Gough’s career that’s only because this is a less seismic and grandiose piece than Duncan Macmillan’s fierce, big-mouthed extravaganza, and not because Ms Gough Jr is any less exciting a talent than her older sister.

She holds the stage – otherwise populated only by an enormous stuffed toy which gets mounted, pounded and eviscerated during the course of the performance – for a riveting, often hilarious 70 minutes, not so much playing as embodying an unnamed London estate agent who develops an unhealthy online obsession with a social media influencer who she has been trying to sell a house to. The pitfalls of fake celebrity, and the massive gulf between ones online presence and real life, might feel like shooting fish in a barrel when it comes to creating a piece of contemporary drama, but Eclair-Powell’s ingenuity as a story teller coupled with Gough’s astonishing ability to come across as sinister, sympathetic and wildly, bitterly, funny, often all at the same time, make this into something unusual and compulsive.

Atri Banerjee’s focussed direction serves the two women’s work exceptionally well, providing a pared back, vaguely unsettling environment – enhanced by Lee Curran’s sulphuric lighting and a compellingly doom-laden sound score by Jasmin Kent Rodgman – for Gough to masterfully chart the principal character’s downward trajectory from cock-sure bantering to hollow-eyed desperation. Gough also sketches in a variety of other characters, including her quarry’s dismissive Aussie boyfriend and a fairly ghastly yoga-advocating influencer, with wit, economy and accuracy.

When we first encounter Woman, as she’s referred to in the playtext, she’s vivacious albeit with a slightly manic edge but over the course of the next hour or so, Gough devastatingly lays bare all the character’s loneliness, neediness and disconnectedness, yet crucially never quite loses our affection. Her body language is fascinating: at once languid and wired, like a physical manifestation of profound unhappiness, it’s a genuine tour de force. Even if the central performance is more remarkable than the play that houses it, it’ll still be essential to see what both Phoebe Eclair-Powell and Kelly Gough do next. Recommended.

Music and Lyrics by Neil Bartram

Book by Brian Hill

Directed by Matthew Rankcom for The Grey Area Theatre Company

Southwark Playhouse until 12 June 2021, live streamed 22 May

https://www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk/

We may be (hopefully) coming out of a global pandemic but there is -despite the one way systems, compulsory face masks, and perspex screens dividing groups of audience members- something comfortingly “business as usual” about this reopening offering at Southwark. YOU ARE HERE may be The Grey Area Theatre Company’s first time at this South London venue, but this frequently delightful chamber piece very much adheres to what feels like the Southwark Playhouse “house style” of quirky, new or seldom seen musicals in nicely inventive stagings with West End standard production values and casting.

Premiered at Connecticut’s Goodspeed Opera House in the USA back in 2018, Neil Bartram and Brian Hill’s ninety minute musical takes as its starting point the first men on the moon in 1969 and the effect that a whole new universe of possibilities suddenly opening up has on Diana, a suburban Chicago housewife. From Shirley Valentine to Flowers For Mrs Harris and The Bridges of Madison County, centring on an apparently “ordinary” woman transforming her life into something rather more exciting, is not particularly original, but Hill’s book has a couple of twists up its sleeve -one of which colours the way you’ll perceive the rest of the evening- that render You Are Here a particularly absorbing and haunting example of that storytelling trope.

With it’s attractive blend of ‘legit’ MT and 1960s pop idioms, Bartram’s music is occasionally reminiscent of Jason Robert Brown’s Broadway score for The Bridges of Madison County (seen over here at the Menier in 2019) and also of Jeanine Tesori’s exquisite work on Caroline (Or Change) and Fun Home; if it never quite hits the delirious heights of brilliance that this trio of musicals achieves, it provides a witty, evocative and dramatic aural landscape. The rhyme-heavy lyrics are less successful overall but only occasionally descend into triteness. Some of the songs really are lovely, and they sound fresh as paint in Laura Bangay’s small-but-perfectly-formed orchestrations, played by an accomplished all-female trio led by Bangay herself.

Matthew Rankcom’s production flows effortlessly, melding together with considerable skill the more fanciful elements of the story with some unsettling moments of harsh reality. Libby Todd’s deceptively clever set design simultaneously evokes the kitschy, wood-and-stone decor of 1960s Middle America and the sometimes smooth, sometimes cratered, always bewitching surface of the moon itself.

Wendi Peters sympathetically plays Diana with a compelling, entirely convincing combination of anxiety, hyper-vigilance shading into wide-eyed wonder, and sheer heartbreak. She also finds a welcome leavening of mischief in the role and sings with a rangy, medium-sized belt that can flip from sweet to shrill within one bar of music. It’s a very fine performance.

Her three supporting players -providing a sort of watchful, sardonic musical Greek Chorus when not playing a variety of roles- are no less impressive. Rebecca McKinnis invests Diana’s more sophisticated friend with a brittle elegance and humour, and Phil Adèle brings real weight to a traumatised drifter Diana encounters, and satisfying warmth to an unexpected potential love interest. Jordan Frazier displays genuine star quality as a hotel maid with hidden depths who befriends our heroine, she’s a real find.

Ultimately, You Are Here is a bittersweet confection, beautifully presented: at first, it perhaps seems rather slight but as it gathers pace it becomes a genuinely affecting exploration of loneliness and disillusion, and a gently uplifting paean to the spark of the extraordinary in everybody. I rather loved it.

VERY BITTERSWEET RE-READING IN 2021 ….

As the London production of HAMILTON goes on sale amid much fanfare, garnering extensive interest far beyond the usual circle of musical theatre enthusiasts, let’s take a look at some other recent or prospective transatlantic transfers.

Although it feels like they have been in the West End forever, The Lion King, Wicked and The Book Of Mormon all originated on Broadway -where they are still playing- as did more recent successful imports Beautiful, School Of Rock, Kinky Boots, Aladdin and Motown, while Jersey Boys is about to complete near enough decade-long runs on both sides of the Atlantic.

Not every show has fared as well as these however: Memphis won the 2010 Tony for Best Musical but struggled to fill the Shaftesbury for even a year despite excellent reviews and a much praised star turn from Beverley Knight.

The Drowsy Chaperone was even more of a disappointment, financially speaking. This quirky musical-within-a-musical had been an acclaimed hit on Broadway and arrived in London in 2007 with original star and co-creator Bob Martin as well as Queen of British Musical Theatre Elaine Paige, for once revealing her comedy chops as the permanently plastered title character. It had fabulous word-of-mouth, some terrific reviews…and it lasted two months. A notably lavish production, the show had clearly been expected to run -Lulu was reportedly lined up to take over as the chaperone after the first six months-, and in her book Memories, even Paige admits she had no idea why it failed.

Spring Awakening, an alt-rock take on the 1891 German expressionist drama about teen angst and suicide, was the talk of the 2006/7 Broadway season, winning eight Tony awards and launching many of its young cast, which included Jonathan Groff and Lea Michele, to stardom. In an usual move, the London production didn’t open in the West End but over at the Lyric Hammersmith for a limited run, where it proved a hot ticket. The London company included Aneurin Barnard and rising star Natasha J Barnes. The show transferred almost immediately to the West End’s Novello Theatre and folded after a mere two months. The advertising campaign may have been a contributory factor: the posters, featuring the enviously photogenic and attitude-y young cast, were everywhere but looked more like advertisements for a trendy vintage clothes shop than a stage musical. Plus the ticket prices in town may have been prohibitively high for the late teen crowd that would seem to be the core audience of this audacious, exciting piece. Even now when West End musical geeks talk about shows that didn’t make it, Spring Awakening is at the top of the list of “should-have-been hits”.

With Caroline, Or Change and Fela, the National hosted a pair of acclaimed New York musicals that probably wouldn’t have stood much of chance had they opened cold in the West End. The former had only actually lasted three months on Broadway despite an astonishing central performance by Tonya Pinkins -who reprised her role in London- as a disempowered black housemaid living through a time of seismic social and political change in 1960s America. Jeanine (Fun Home) Tesori’s eclectic score -with shades of blues, gospel, Motown, even Jewish klezmer music- is undeniably challenging, as was the spiky, politically potent book by Tony Kushner, whose Angels In America will be receiving a keenly anticipated all star revival at the National this spring. Intellectually and emotionally, Caroline, Or Change was very much an evening “on” -as opposed to a night off- but that didn’t stop it from winning the 2007 Olivier award for Best Musical, beating two other, rather more commercially obvious, Broadway imports in Avenue Q and Spamalot.

Fela was a rollicking, confrontational stage biography of Afrobeat pioneer and activist Fela Kuti that did such great business at the National for the winter of 2010/1 that it was brought back for a return season at Sadlers Wells the following year. As with Caroline, Or Change, the original Broadway star transferred with the production, and Sahr Ngaujah proved a force of nature as the eponymous Kuti.

In recent years, Once -based on the Irish indie film- enjoyed a decent London run to rival its New York success, while Legally Blonde was actually a bigger hit here than on Broadway, although that was undoubtedly much to do with the casting of audience favourite Sheridan Smith in the lead role of Elle Woods. On the other hand, Disney’s Newsies -a solid 2012 success in New York, based on a beloved but commercially disappointing live action film- was rumoured for a London outing that never materialised, even holding preliminary rounds of open auditions over here. Of course, it may still happen one day…after all, we were due to get Dreamgirls back in the early 80s when it was tearing up the Great White Way. That didn’t pan out at the time, but they’re sure here now.

Before the phenomenon that is Hamilton arrives here this Autumn, the Broadway stage adaptation of An American In Paris arrives at the Dominion in March. Featuring the work of classical choreographer Christopher Wheedon, and with New York City Ballet’s Robert Fairchild and the Royal Ballet’s Leanne Cope reprising their Broadway performances in the roles immortalised on film by Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron, it will be interesting to see how Londoners take to this effortlessly classy, Gershwin-scored show. Such a dance-heavy, sophisticated piece would undoubtedly have sold out at, say, Sadlers Wells or the Peacock for a limited season, but the producers have taken the bold step of attempting to fill one of the largest houses in the West End for an open-ended run.

The casting process is just getting underway for the London production of Waitress, the Sara Bareilles musicalisation of an indie film about, guess what, a waitress trapped in a loveless marriage and a dead end job in a small town American diner. A solid success in New York, the show boasts a lovely, if not especially dynamic, score, a demanding central role -taken originally by Jessie Mueller who won a Tony for her Carole King in the Broadway staging of Beautiful- and a timely theme of female empowerment.

The two musicals which have received the most buzz so far in this Broadway season, and are consequently selling out on a regular basis, are Dear Evan Hansen and Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812. Both would seem likely candidates for a London transfer in the not-too-distant future: The Great Comet is a wildly imaginative, highly eccentric “electropop opera” based on a tiny section of War And Peace, for which the entire Imperial Theatre has been cleverly -and expensively- turned into a lavish pre-revolution Russian supper club with performance platforms and walkways all over the house, and huge swathes of audience onstage. It’s an exhilarating, slightly crazy immersive experience unlike anything else in the musical theatre canon, and a good fit for somewhere like the National in a future season.

Dear Evan Hansen is the biggest news of the current season -although there are still months to go before the Tony cut-off date- and is a very hot ticket indeed. Featuring a universally acclaimed central performance by Ben Platt, best known for the Pitch Perfect movie series, it’s a boldly contemporary, deeply moving look at adolescence, parenting, social media, bullying and the need to fit in. Often as hilarious as it is heartrending, the musical has a score by up-and-coming songwriting team Pasek and Paul, whose work is currently being heard in cinemas worldwide in the award-winning La La Land. Audiences and critics alike have embraced the show and Cameron Mackintosh is rumoured to be looking at it which means it could be on this side of the pond sooner rather than later. The staging is high-tech but not huge so it would be an excellent fit for the Noel Coward or the Gielgud.

It’s not entirely a one-way street of course: Matilda and Billy Elliot enjoyed hugely successful Broadway runs, and later this season Tim Minchin’s musical version of Groundhog Day -a complete sell out at the Old Vic last summer- arrives in New York, with the same leading man, Andy Karl, and British production team led by Matthew Warchus. Broadway will also see Charlie & The Chocolate Factory shortly, albeit in a drastically revised version from the one that just closed at Drury Lane.

Hamilton of course is the biggest news of all, and the ticket pre-sale is now on. The show already has a vociferous local fan base here, and there is additional demand for seats from the US as wealthy Americans realise that they have a better shot -pun intended- at getting tickets to the London production than either the New York or Chicago versions which are booked solid months in advance. A similar thing happened when the West End productions of Rent, Wicked and The Book Of Mormon went on sale, but Hamilton is more of a cultural juggernaut than any of those, and additionally the weak pound makes visiting London more appealing than ever. Unlike Lin-Manuel Miranda’s much loved other success, In The Heights which just concluded an extended run at Kings Cross in a smaller scale British production, Hamilton is arriving here in a replica of Thomas Kail’s magnificent, multi-award winning Broadway staging. By Autumn 2017 everybody will “want to be in the room where it happens.” Good luck with getting tickets!

Sent from my iPad

In a Broadway season stuffed to the gills with outstanding new musicals (unlike last year which was pretty much a one horse race thanks to Hamilton), Chazz Palminteri and Robert De Niro’s A BRONX TALE is unlikely to pick up many awards. However that won’t dent its appeal to locals and tourists alike, as it’s probably the most authentically “New York” homegrown hit since the about-to-finally-close Jersey Boys.

In fact, this show is hugely reminiscent of Jersey Boys in its recreation of 1950s/60s Americana and story of a good kid who gets mixed up with “The Mob”; there are elements of West Side Story, Hairspray, Memphis and even Saturday Night Fever in there too with its inter-racial love story and gang rivalries. The production features a number of JB B’way vets and even opens with a (wonderful) quartet of male singers harmonising under a street lamp. This show ticks all the boxes for a crowd pleasing night out, including a cute kid performer (who looked too uncomfortably like Pugsley Addams for my taste but the audience went mad for him.)

If the whole thing maybe feels a bit “by the numbers”, its biggest strength is Alan Menken’s rousing, ear-wormy(!) doo-wop score, I reckon easily his best since Little Shop à Of  Horrors. With the exception of Lin-Manuel Miranda, no other composer combines theatricality with pop as winningly as Menken does. I doubt that anybody who sees this won’t want the cast album. Song after song satisfyingly lands, so that any reservations about the cliche-ridden nature of the Book get pretty much swept away.

The cast are terrific too, and look like they stepped right off the lot of a 1950s gangster movie, ie all different shapes and sizes, and each one registering as a distinctive character. Plus the voices are thrillingly good. Richard H Blake as the hero’s honourable blue collar Dad, Nick Cordero as the local heavy and Ariana DeBose as the feisty but adorable love interest are all especially fine, but there genuinely is no weak link. The sheer energy of the ensemble is a wonder to behold. Sergio Trujillo’s choreography hits all the right notes, and Beowulf Boritt’s revolving tenement tower set -all fire escapes and metal balconies- is attractive, if maybe a little sanitised.

A BRONX TALE doesn’t reinvent the musical theatre wheel but then it isn’t trying to. A thoroughly enjoyable night out: in the words of one of the catchiest songs “I Like It” (very much actually). 

Meanwhile, any Broadway season that can boast either NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 or DEAR EVAN HANSEN is cause for rejoicing. The fact that 2016/7 features both is incredible, and will inevitably have Tony Awards voters scratching their heads. Both shows are fascinating, ambitious and highly original: musical theatre that pushes the boundaries of the art form. Seeing them back-to-back is almost an embarrassment of riches.

THE GREAT COMET is an exhilarating and intoxicating theatrical thrill ride in Rachel Chavkin’s immersive, endlessly inventive staging. Inspired by a small section of War & Peace, the production magically transforms the Imperial Theatre into a 19th Century Russian supper club, all red velvet and chandeliers, with walkways and performance platforms all over the house, plus a huge swathe of the audience on stage. The cast of actor-musicians redefine what musical theatre actors are now required to do: sing, dance, act, play instruments (“can you do the splits while playing the accordion? Marvellous, you’re in”), interact at close quarters with the audience, be sexy as hell, and generally exude a level of hipster coolness that would be annoying if they weren’t so damn adorable. 
Dave Malloy’s score (the show was billed in its original off-B’way run as an “electropop opera” and that is about as accurate as one can get, while still not really conveying the complex delight in store) matches the extraordinarily inventive staging: it’s playful, quirky, unexpected…. While it’s worth listening to a cast recording before seeing it, nothing prepares you for how astonishing it sounds ‘live’. There are moments of heart stopping beauty right up against rollicking ensemble numbers. Stunning.

In his Broadway debut, Josh Groban is a revelation as lovelorn, endlessly miserable Pierre. We all knew he could sing like an angel but he completely inhabits the role and more than holds his own even in a company this strong. Denee Benton as Natasha is terrific…..luminously beautiful, and with a soaring voice. Lucas Steele’s charismatic libertine and Amber Gray as his meddling, amoral sister also register very strongly in an insanely talented cast. Just when I feared the whole thing might be a slight case of style over substance (and blimey this show is stylish) the final ten minutes happened and I found myself weeping into my Playbill. The term “sensational” gets inaccurately bandied about a lot but in this instance the term could not be more accurate. I loved every minute of it, and actually couldn’t compare it to anything else that I’ve ever seen. A true original. I would see it again in a heartbeat.

That is also true of DEAR EVAN HANSEN, although I’m not sure I could emotionally cope with it for a week or two (oh who am I kidding, I would mug somebody for a ticket to today’s matinee). At one point in the second half I turned to Pamela McMahon Miller and said (sobbed) “I’m not sure I can cope with much more of this” and yet I never wanted it to end. This beautifully wrought, witty, emotionally devastating tale of family, belonging, peer pressure, the sheer bloody awfulness of growing up and not fitting in is a bona fide knockout.
Pasek and Paul’s soaring, pop-inflected score is as haunting as it is thrilling. Am literally counting down the days until the cast album comes out. Michael Greif’s masterly staging is appropriately high tech but never threatens to overwhelm the human elements at the core of this simple but compelling story. More than any musical I’ve ever seen, this one has a script (by Steven Levenson, and let’s just give him the damn Tony now shall we) that plays perfectly fine on its own without the songs. The characters are complex, relatable, real, in ways that you don’t necessarily see in musicals outside of Sondheim. I was on the edge of my seat for most of it and it was fascinating to note that there where moments when you could have heard a pin drop in a packed house, apart from a few stifled sobs (yes that might have been me. Shut up). The songs would feel superfluous if they weren’t so damn good, adding another dimension to an already extraordinarily rich and rewarding confection.

Ben Platt as Evan delivers one of the most stunning performances I have ever seen. He is lovable even as he is toe-curling: fully inhabiting the character’s neurosis, anxiety and desperation, so real as to be almost painful to watch. Vocally he is stunning too……the anthemic, galvanising ‘Waving Through A Window’ sounds even more terrific live than it does on the recording. Quite how he is doing this 8 times a week is beyond me. People will be talking about this star-making turn decades from now. Despite all that, the writing is so good that there are, I’m sure, other ways to play this complex, fascinating character which should ensure this piece’s longevity long after Platt has moved on. 

The rest of the company are at his level, which is no mean feat. Rachel Bay Jones as his stressed, over worked, bewildered mother is like a walking heart….you find yourself rooting for her even as you wince at some of her life choices. A beautiful performance. Equally fine is Laura Dreyfus as the object of Evan’s affection…she captures perfectly the unintentionally funny combination of stroppiness, bravado and uncertainty of a teenager. She’s a star-in-the-making. Every cast member is at the top of their game. Jennifer Laura Thompson is especially wonderful as Dreyfus’ heartbroken Mom. This may just be the best acted musical I have ever seen.

I haven’t uglycried like this at a show since the original Our House or possibly Blood Brothers, and I staggered out of the theatre an exhilarated, emotional mess. If you like wandering round Manhattan (or the West End, which I would hope is inevitable) looking like you’ve been punched in the face while pathetically grabbing at superlatives, then this is the show for you. Absolutely bloody wonderful. Worth the price of a transatlantic air fare alone, quite frankly.

Not a dry eye in the house either in the auditorium or on the stage at the final performance of William Finn’s FALSETTOS on January 8th and with good reason: this revival, directed magnificently by author James Lapine who also staged the long running original in the 90s, was utter perfection.

I don’t ever expect to see this shimmeringly gorgeous, heartcatchingly beautiful score as well performed as it was today. In the central role of bisexual Marvin -who leaves his wife and child for a (male) family friend and goes on to learn some hard lessons about love, family and who’s really there for you in life- Broadway favorite Christian Borle restrains his usual scenery chewing tendencies and delivers a performance of outstanding charm and delicacy. Even as his behaviour is frequently less than honourable you still find yourself caring about him. Andrew Rannells as boyfriend Whizzer is equally superb: all pretty boy posturing in the first half then deeply affecting in the second when struck down with AIDS. 
The real revelations here though are Stephanie J Block as Marvin’s hilariously but touchingly neurotic ex-wife, and Brandon Uranowitz, completely adorable as the less-screwed-up-than-he-initially-looks family psychiatrist who’s in love with her. Both roles could so easily descend into caricature but these fine actors ensure they are relatable human beings suddenly thrust into the middle of a familial crisis neither of them saw coming. If these two don’t get Tony nominations there’s no justice. Block has the comic highlight of the evening with her first act tour-de-force ‘I’m Breaking Down’ where she hysterically (and slightly alarmingly) does just that, ending the number waving a carving knife around while belting through a mouthful of banana. She got a mid-act standing O for that. Her rendition of the thrilling act two ballad ‘Holding To The Ground’ (“keeping up my head, as my heart falls out of sight”) is spine tingling, a memorable moment in a production full of them. Anthony Rosenthal is a wonder as Jason, Marvin and Trina’s precociously smart but unexpectedly kind young son. At times the most mature character on the stage, Jason needs to be a smart ass but you have to love him……Rosenthal gets it absolutely right. 
Although they have slightly less to work with, Tracy Thoms and Betsy Wolfe are glorious as “the lesbians from next door”, one a feisty doctor bewildered by the looming AIDS crisis and the other a daffy chef bewildered by pretty much everything. I adored them.

I adored everything about the entire show actually. David Rockwell’s building blocks set (against a Manhattan skyline background complete with the WTC Twin Towers) commands the attention as the actors put together and then demolish the differing locales, as if suggesting that we remain playful but destructive children even into adulthood. The emotional pay off comes at the very end when a single block chillingly becomes Whizzer’s tombstone while the rest of the cast group hug weeping pitifully…..for a piece that is smart as a whip for the most part it sure isn’t afraid to wear it’s heart on its sleeve where necessary. It was devastating.
I do wonder if it might feel a bit too New York-centric for London, hence no production since the flop staging of March Of The Falsettos (basically the first act) back in the 1983. This delightful, deeply moving gem would play a treat at somewhere like the Menier Chocolate Factory or Southwark Playhouse, although I doubt any cast could match this one.
Although this limited run is now over, a cast album has been recorded and the production has been filmed. Do not miss either of them.

I was very moved indeed by Falsettos, if not quite the basket case I was after Evan Hansen. That may have been due in part to the woman sitting on the other side of Pam who wasn’t so much sobbing as convulsing in time to music, and not even at only the sad parts. As Pam so caringly put it at intermission “I think this woman needs a DOCTOR or something. At least YOU weren’t ANNOYING yesterday.” Always reassuring to hear 🙂

No, I’m not talking about things supernatural. I’m referring to performing artists moving from one area of the entertainment industry to another, specifically rock and pop stars becoming legitimate stage performers. There are two high profile examples of this on the London stage at the moment: Pixie Lott -best known as a peppy popster responsible for upbeat chart hits like “Mama Do” and “Boys And Girls”- is making her West End debut as Holly Golightly in Richard Greenberg’s adaptation of BREAKFAST AT TIFFANYS at the Haymarket. Meanwhile, across town at the Young Vic, Billie Piper has been garnering the kind of reviews that are a press agent’s wet dream in the title role of Simon Stone’s radical reinterpretation of the Lorca verse classic YERMA. 

Piper’s reinvention is a truly remarkable one: at 15, she was the youngest person ever to reach number one in the UK singles chart;  she then had a string of pop hits and became tabloid fodder for her somewhat unorthodox first marriage to DJ and presenter Chris Evans. Despite some creditable TV work including a stint as a beloved assistant to “Dr Who”, the announcement of her West End debut in a rare revival of Christopher Hampton’s emotionally charged play TREATS in 2007 was greeted with a certain amount of derision in theatrical circles. However, Billie’s raw, edgy, painfully vulnerable, impressively naturalistic performance -a precursor to her remarkable and possibly career-redefining current turn- silenced all critics and earmarked her as a stage talent to watch. There was a section near the end of the evening where her character, the lovelorn Ann, just sat centre stage alone crying in silence…..it was uncomfortable to watch and it was simultaneously utterly transfixing. Since then her acting cv has gone from strength to strength, including a starring role at the National in a role written for her by Richard Bean in GREAT BRITAIN, and she has now joined that rare band of players whose presence in the cast list ensures a sell out. If you doubt that, try getting a ticket at the Young Vic at the moment.

Pixie Lott has had a rougher ride in that her current play has opened to fairly ghastly reviews, although Lott herself has emerged from them with some positive feedback: for example, Holly Williams in The Independent referred to her “magnetism” and “distinctive charm”. However positive though, the mild compliments for Lott are not the kind of notices likely to keep Ms Piper or, say, Gemma Arterton awake at night. Wild horses wouldn’t drag from me what I thought of Pixie’s performance, although wine might.

Arguably less high profile but still noteworthy are the presences at the Arts Theatre of platinum-selling Newton Faulkner and X Factor alumna Amelia Lily in the cast of Green Day’s enthralling rock cantata AMERICAN IDIOT. However since that is fundamentally a rock show, I guess it is a lot less of a departure for its leading pair. Just up the road from them at the Dominion, Soul queen Beverley Knight is back in THE BODYGUARD, giving thrilling new voice to those Whitney Houston classics, although for me her acting is a touch lightweight; until she starts singing she doesn’t fully convince me as a demanding superstar diva. I was more of a fan of the stage role’s originator, Heather Headley. When she was on.

Looking back through theatre programmes I’ve collected in the last couple of decades I realise I’ve seen a large number of pop stars in theatre roles. Undoubtedly the most high profile was Madonna in an Americanised version of an Australian comedy about the duplicity of the art world entitled UP FOR GRABS which (unsurprisingly) did capacity business at the Wyndhams back in 2002. What was surprising -at least to me- was how uncharismatic and awkward the Material Girl turned out to be on stage. She couldn’t land a laugh to save her life, had a painfully thin speaking voice and delivered every line in a flat monotone as though sight reading the script for the very first time. As if acutely aware of the leading lady’s potential shortcomings, director Laurence Boswell surrounded her with a crackerjack supporting cast and a sumptuous physical production. Whenever Madonna was offstage, it was a very stylish evening in the theatre. It was somewhat disconcerting however trying to concentrate on the play when there was a suited, booted and sunglass-ed (!) burly bouncer on either side of the proscenium arch for the duration of the performance, presumably lest there be any acting coaches in the house who may have attempted to rush onto the stage and give Madge a few technical tips.

Maybe as somebody primarily known for her music (although I am aware she has been pretty terrible in a number of movies, Desperately Seeking Susan notwithstanding) she might have fared better in a musical. Certainly I remember Lulu being a delightful Miss Adelaide in the West End transfer of the National’s GUYS AND DOLLS back in the 80s, not as nuanced as Imelda Staunton nor as technically adroit as Jane Krakowski nor as quirkily off-the-wall as Sophie Thompson all in the same role, but still a sparky, funny and touching performance. 

Similarly, Bill Kenwright struck gold by repeatedly casting singers as Mrs Johnstone, the tragic lynchpin of Willy Russell’s long running, beloved musical melodrama BLOOD BROTHERS. Elton John’s old duet-partner and originator of a couple of well loved 70s chart hits Kiki Dee opened the revival back  in 1987; to be fair, her acting was perfunctory to say the least (you wouldn’t want to see her as Hedda Gabler, although she might have been convincing as the door Nora slams at the end of A Dolls House……yes she was that wooden) but when she launched into Russell’s mournful, folky, haunting songs she broke your heart and all was forgiven. Her replacements included a host of Nolan sisters, Aussie chanteuse Helen Reddy (genuinely very fine as both singer AND actress, although the constant references to the character as being “like Marilyn Monroe” really was pushing it with the matronly Reddy), Clodagh Rodgers, Spice Girl Mel C, and arguably best of all, former New Seeker Lyn Paul who displayed an extraordinary acting range, true gravitas as well as the expected vocal chops. The Broadway production fielded Petula Clark (who went on later to be a replacement Norma Desmond in the West End SUNSET BOULEVARD, a poignant performance that was perhaps surprising for being stronger dramatically than it was musically) and the great Carole King, now the subject of her very own musical of course.

Antony Costa, of the boyband Blue, also did a stint in the West End BLOOD BROTHERS, as the tragic twin Mickey, a role which has barely any singing, perhaps a surprising debut choice for somebody best known as a pop star. Actually, he was terrific: funny, charming and charismatic -his descent into crime and depression was one of the most moving I’d seen since the role’s originator Con O’Neill. In fact all of Costa’s band mates ended up in the West End, most conspicuously Duncan James who made an assured debut as a replacement Billy Flynn in CHICAGO and followed that up by a successful turn as the smarmy Warner opposite Sheridan Smith in LEGALLY BLONDE; he has since toured to considerable acclaim in PRISCILLA QUEEN OF THE DESERT. Simon Webbe did a brief stint in SISTER ACT at the Palladium (no, not as a nun), and Lee Ryan gave an uninspired performance in a painfully cliched little play about infidelity entitled THE PRETENDER AGENDA which I struggled through at the New Players (now Charing Cross) in 2001.

To be entirely fair, a pop or rock star at the very top of their game is unlikely to want to jettison the huge amounts of money to be made from arena tours and travelling internationally to promote their latest album, in order to turn up eight shows a week in a play or musical. Madonna is one of the few examples of a megastar who really DID have somewhere better, or at least more lucrative, to be. That might also be true of Latin heartthrob Ricky Martin who did nearly a year on Broadway as Che in the 2012 EVITA revival. I saw him in that and while he did look stunning of course, he didn’t bring much else to the table, lacking the vocal dexterity and dramatic edge of Matt Rawle in the London version, and only really seeming fully comfortable in the raucous, upbeat Act Two number “And The Money Kept Rolling In (And Out)”. Even there though one had the unmistakable  impression that Martin and indeed his legions of fans would have been so much happier had they been able to interpolate “Livin’ The Vida Loca” instead at this point in the evening. I did see American Idol winner Jordin Sparks during her engagement as Nina in IN THE HEIGHTS on Broadway and she was absolutely superb, a beguiling and convincing actress but with the soaring vocals you’d expect. It will be interesting to see how M-O-R darling Josh Groban fares this season in his B’way debut in the fascinating, quirky indie/electro pop opera NATASHA, PIERRE AND THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 (try ordering tickets for THAT after a couple of vodka shots). 

Marti Pellow and Alison Moyet both did runs in the West End CHICAGO -always a production up for a bit of stunt casting, however misguided- and acquitted themselves well, any minor shortcomings in the acting being compensated for by their richly distinctive voices. Pellow has since gone on to forge a second career for himself in musical theatre, having headlined tours of  THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK, JEKYLL AND HYDE and EVITA. Less successful, in my humble opinion, was Tina Arena looking forlorn in a lumpy wig and even lumpier frock as Esmeralda in the jaw-droppingly inept NOTRE-DÀME DE PARIS at the Dominion (one of her replacements was Danii Minogue in a bit of a career lull). At the same address in the mid 80s, Cliff Richard attempted to save the world from intergalactic destruction on a nightly basis in the deafening but banal space age extravanganza TIME. That was pretty hard to sit through and I think I’ve still got the tinnitus to prove I was there. Either way, the ‘Peter Pan Of Pop’ was a hilariously improbable planetary saviour. I giggled more at that than at many so-called Musical Comedies I’ve seen.

Then there was H from Steps –all teeth, pecs, questionable high notes and sheer smackability in the Kenwright version of JOSEPH. His former bandmate Faye Tozer however turned out to have an unexpected but joyous gift for camp comedy as the gloriously named Jubilee Climax in the first London revival of SAUCY JACKS AND THE SPACE VIXENS, although when you consider some of those old Steps routines and videos maybe the tongue-in-cheek humour should have been expected; anyway she was rather splendid.

Last but not least there are the examples of rock/pop stars taking over roles in their self-penned shows, usually in an attempt to boost flagging ticket sales. A fairly recent example of that occurred on Broadway a few years ago when Sting joined the cast of his well-intentioned but bottom-numbingly dull THE LAST SHIP. His presence did indeed keep the show afloat (pun intended) but the whole dreary enterprise foundered at the end of his stint. In London Boy George took over in his autobiographical TABOO, not playing himself but the outrageous 80s fashion icon Leigh Bowery. George was good value but nowhere near as edgily effective as his predecessor Matt Lucas; he did however put bums on seats although one suspects that if Lucas did the role now there wouldn’t be a seat to be had for love nor money (this was before Little Britain and Lucas’s film appearances.)  Madness frontman Suggs went into the frankly brilliant OUR HOUSE which seamlessly and ingenuously interpolated Madness  songs into an intricate Camden-set dual plot  to magical, moving and exhilarating effect. Not a particularly credible actor, Suggs had an innate warmth and likeability plus a winning way with those numbers that transcended any reservations one might have, in a show that received a mere fraction of the acclaim and success it deserved, although it did at least take home the Olivier Award for Best Musical of the 2002-3 season.

I guess the biggest coup of all would be to get Agnetha from ABBA in as Donna Sheridan in MAMMA MIA. Now that I would pay premium price for…. Who cares if she’s too old?! So was Meryl Streep. Bite me.