Better Man – biopic full of symbolism and panache, even if it is drowning in self-reflection (UK cinemas from 26 December)

Better Man is like a giant apology to the people who were important to Robbie Williams’ life and career but suffered from him treating them shabbily. For much of the film, it also looks like it will be a giant reproach to his father, a figure of great if not sustained influence and profound disappointment.

The people Williams disappointed the most are shown the greatest kindness and remorse: particularly band mate Gary Barlow (played by Jake Simmance) and fiancée Nicole Appleton (Raechelle Banno).

No love is lost towards Take That’s creator and manager Nigel Martin-Smith (Damon Herriman), though what’s said and portrayed is tempered by Williams’ history of losing money to him in legal cases. Tom Budge enjoys some great scenes as the song-writer Guy Chambers who is perhaps the only person in the period covered by the film to ‘tame’ Williams (it stops around 2003).

That Williams is portrayed on-screen as a hairy chimpanzee is almost unnoticeable after a few minutes. While a reference to his self-proclaimed stunted evolution, the novel design decision succeeds on making the central figure recognisable on screen, whether dancing with Take That, or seen in a crowd of people. Yet the audience aren’t asked to process a child actor handing the role onto a teenager. The chimp simply gets larger and older. We’re not asked to compare an actor’s facial features (Jonno Davies) with the original: there’s enough of that going on with the other members of Take That, All Saints, producers, Michael Aspel and the Gallagher brothers. Another side effect of the chimp persona is that it keeps a focus on the actor’s eyes: bright, tearful, scared, high.

Director Michael Gracey adds his trademark panache to the movie, creating a vibrant and voluminous dance scene in Regent Street around the song Rock DJ, a beautifully choreographed dance between Williams and Appleton accompanied by She’s The One, a melancholic introduction to Angels that coincides with the funeral of his much-loved Nan (Alison Steadman), and a performance of Let Me Entertain You at Knebworth that morphs into a fantasy battle scene fighting his demons that could be from a Marvel movie or a gory video game.

Having once subjected a youth fellowship group to an evening picking out theological insights from the lyrics of songs on Williams’ second solo album I’ve Been Expecting You, including the now deleted Jesus in a Camper Van track – a copy of the handout lurks in a cardboard box somewhere in the flat – I was always likely to enjoy this film.

I love the storytelling, the sense of symbolism, the reflection (albeit tempered by the knowledge that the central character’s involvement means that there could be a lot of historical revisionism and some ego-stroking at play), the arc of redemption (even if it is overplayed) and the last four lines of dialogue could have been helpfully dropped from the 145-minute-long bladder-busting film. (I should admit that I haven’t yet enjoyed/endured the four hours of Robbie Williams documentary on Netflix… which might sate my appetite for any further regurgitation of the cabaret artist’s self-loathing and self-reflection. Will the artist’s strong vocals throughout the film lead to an appearance on the ‘legends’ slot at Glastonbury over the next year or two?)

Better Man is about dreams and ambition, tempered and undermined by self-doubt, addiction and depression. The artist has plenty to say, and definitely takes the opportunity to frame his story.

 

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The Magician’s Nephew – a fantasy tale of world-jumping and witnessing the creation of Narnia (Sanctuary Theatre until Saturday 4 January)

Truth be told, The Magician’s Nephew is a rather odd prequel, almost an afterthought to the better known The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe which was published five years earlier and forms most people’s gateway to CS Lewis’ Narnia chronicles.

Digory and Polly (who lives next door) have been exploring the shared attic that runs above their terraced houses. A miscalculation of distance means that they find themselves popping up in Uncle Andrew’s normally locked study. The magician (of sorts) tricks Polly into touching a ring with a yellow jewel which transports her to another place. Digory ends up following her, with a pair of green rings in his pocket to help them home. They discover a multiverse of places, awaken an evil queen, who follows them home to Earth from where she goes off in search of jewels and meets the long arm of the law. The process of getting her home sets of a chain of events and discoveries that will change Digory and Polly’s lives forever.

Glyn Robbins’ 1988 stage adaption stays true to the novel’s structure and story. The Sanctuary Theatre’s stage is nearly unrecognisable, covered in a lush forest. Uncle Andrew’s first entrance – played by Fra Gunn (The Safety Catch) – is a glorious jump scare. The malign inventor is played as a selfish coward who lets the children take on the risk of travelling through new worlds using the rings he has created. Nephew Digory (Dylan Breen) is a likeable lad – much less irritating than the character I remember from Lewis’ novel – who quickly overcomes his fear to pursue Polly and bring her hope of rescue.

Polly (Bernadette McKeating) is sparky and full of joy. Elaine Duncan plays a range of roles including Aunt Letitia (who cares for Digory’s sick mother) and a cab driver who gets dragged into the madness after the interval. Colette Lennon Dougal is Queen Jadis, an implacably impatient monarch who has previously wielded absolute power (by uttering the ‘deplorable word’) and brings humour to the scenes when the children return home to Earth and she comes face to face with the ‘magician’ and a chariot that looks awfully like a horse and carriage.

If the opening 45 minutes set up the portal travelling (with rings and puddle-jumping) and establish the motivation of the characters in an orderly fashion, the second half throws so many other ingredients into the mix that the scenes resemble a hard-to-discern-quite-what-you’re-eating hash. There is a lot to process.

Lewis uses The Magician’s Nephew to tell the genesis story of Narnia, created by the lion Aslan. Queen Jadis brings evil into the pristine world. (She’ll ultimately become the White Witch.) Her early encounter with Aslan brings about the lamppost that will become crucial to later chronicles.

On stage, this means that the talking lion – interestingly voiced as a chorus of cast voices – is soon joined by other talking animals: the cabby’s horse Strawberry, a beaver, a rabbit, … but disappointingly never the guinea pig that Uncle Andrew first sent into the portal with a yellow ring strapped to its back.

The shifting between human and animal roles is messy (and two switched-off mics on stands don’t help with the differentiation of roles). If this was your first and only encounter with Narnia, then a weakness in Robbins’ script – never mind Lewis’ original novel – is that the powerful majesty of Aslan is lost, and the standalone coherence and significance of the animals, the lamppost, Jadis, and the newly crowned human King and Queen is somewhat bewildering.)

The soundscape is rich and detailed and brings a lot of warmth and atmosphere to the production, though could have usefully been looped at a low volume under some scenes to establish an aural signature for the different worlds as an add-on to the thematic lighting. Only Digory’s accent seems cemented in Belfast (that’s where Uncle Andrew’s home has been reset in this production) leaving the others sounding too posh and English for the setting.

Director Patsy Montgomery-Hughes uses the available space well, with under-stage action, short scenes in the raised tech area at the back of the theatre, and an elevated level at the back of the main stage for Aslan’s first entrance.

The line “Can you feel the wind on your cheeks?” made me laugh and I inwardly heckled back “it’s just the draughty theatre”. It’s good to see the architect’s plans for how the theatre space will be refashioned and improved displayed in the foyer. Do wrap up well if you’re attending a show.

The Magician’s Nephew is a quirky choice for an end of year production. It is child-friendly, but quite serious and very old-fashioned, without the seasonal jollity that families might expect to find in a theatre. Glyn Robbins adapted another three of the chronicles – The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Horse and His Boy, and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader – so perhaps Bright Umbrella Drama Company will revisit the Belfast-born writer and theologian over the next few years.

The Magician’s Nephew continues in the east Belfast Sanctuary Theatre until Saturday 4 January.

Photo credit: Melissa Gordon, Gorgeous Photography

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Elvis Yourself A Merry Little Christmas – the cruelty of mortality cuts through, laced with levity and tied up in a festive bow (CCurran Productions at The MAC until Tuesday 31 December)

It’s the eve of Christmas Day and Frankie’s big birthday. Played by Rhodri Lewis, Frankie is trying to forget about his troubles while waiting to board a delayed flight from Barra Best Regional Airport to Las Vegas on a pilgrimage to meet ‘the King’. Younger cousin Marty (Patrick Buchanan) is travelling with him, but he’s preoccupied, expecting to hear back about a recent job interview.

As the pair pass the time drinking in the Keep Er Lit lounge – resplendent with Christmas trees, a handy guitar, and benches that look like they were last seen in Great Victoria Street station – a raft of other colourful hallions wander through. Welcome to Elvis Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

Caroline Curran’s skilful character acting brings to life a creepy airport cleaner with a wandering eye and a squeaky mop bucket (the best prop of the night), along with members of a giddy party heading stateside to celebrate Joanne’s recent divorce. There are wigs galore, and mannerisms to match. And let’s not forget the puntastic but somewhat wobbly reindeer who has lost his stressed Santa.

The audience giggle away at the characterisations and the whizzing one-liners. The Elvis fans quickly identify themselves when Frankie/Lewis begins to croon. While there’s a discernible build-up, hinting at Frankie’s in-depth knowledge of Presley’s back catalogue, the first proper song comes quite late in the one-hour show, and I’d have appreciated a burst of the King to snack on in the first half hour.

Health, happiness, employment, relationships, travel. Caroline Curran’s festival show touches on universal issues and stressors that will be familiar to everyone in the audience. So many will know about living with or caring for someone who has OCD or dementia. While laced with levity, the cruelty of mortality cuts through the script and the performances.

The finale features a trio of impersonators with combed back black hair, sunglasses, outlandish outfits, and clap-along hits. The show is a fond reminder of the importance of extended family and friendships, people who can be relied upon when times are tight.

Elvis Yourself A Merry Little Christmas is a CCurran Production and directed by Dominic Montague. The show runs at the MAC until Tuesday 31 December.

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Sleeping Beauty – quality pantomime that packs a punch without burning a hole in your pocket (Brassneck at St Comgall’s until Sunday 22 December)

Brassneck Theatre Company are back with their ‘People’s Panto’ after the success of Cinderella at The Devenish Hotel last year. Ticket prices have remained the same (£8 children/£12 adults) but the venue has switched to St Comgall’s off Divis Street.

Fairy Up-Liquid waves her magic bubble wand and transports us back to The Felons nearly 16 years ago when her niece Our Ora (‘Aurora’) was christened. Horrible sister Mallory put a curse on the wain and a finger prick will lead to death on her 16th birthday unless she’s kissed by her true love. So for more than a decade, Our Ora has been hiding out in Lisburn (well, Poleglass). But now, her potentially fatal birthday party is only around the corner.

Writer Neil Keery has once again rustled up a script that is packed with panto punch and this year tells the story of Sleeping Beauty. Early on we get a sense of the updated tone of the show when the audience are reminded that barely any of them has seen a spinning wheel so that can hardly be the cause of the titular character’s misfortune.

Keery also stars as the dame, barracking the audience to their utter delight. The evil, cackling, catfishing sister Mallory – “like a dirty cold sore, always turning up when you’re not wanted” – is brought to life by an animated Rosie McClelland (who also designed the costumes). Vicky Allen plays a crow, a spaced-out apprentice baddie called Wingnut who gets a lovely second act duet with Ora. Darren Franklin is cast as hunky Sailor Twift, a big pop sensation who Ora (Sharon Duffy) duets with online and later gets to meet.

Directors Fionnuala Kennedy and Tony Devlin have the cast of five bouncing around the stage, popping out of nowhere to emphasise regular moments of political commentary, and singing and dancing their way through Katie Richardson’s boppy playlist of original music and TikTok hits. Adults will pick up on the jokes that sail over the children’s heads (like the new recipe website, OnlyFlans). Youngsters will regularly break loose from their parents’ grip and gather at the front of the stage in awe at the colourful goings on. While chaotic, it’s a sign that the show is reaching its audience.

I attended a Saturday matinee and the audience was full of families, grandparents, residents from a local centre, and there was even a shoutout for 96 year old Rose who got a special chorus of Happy Birthday.

The harsh acoustic properties of the St Comgall’s enclosed courtyard venue, on top of the raucous audience, work against lyrical clarity during the songs, but the dialogue is very clear.

Favourite moments include McClelland’s Scottish accent when Mallory pretends to be a mobile ear piercer from Clure’s Accessories and anytime Allen gets to dance like a crow. The modern take on the ancient tale calls out the ‘prince’ (in this case, pop idol) when he attempts to kiss a sleeping girl without her consent, and another more wholesome solution has to be found to wake narcoleptic Ora.

Sleeping Beauty continues at St Comgall’s until Sunday 22 December.

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The Marian Hotel – so much was unspoken, so much was suspected but not shared (Sole Purpose Productions at the Lyric Theatre)

Caitriona Cunningham’s play begins with the residents of the Marianvale Mother and Baby Home entering the set in shadow. It’s an appropriate visual metaphor for what is to come over the next few months of their lives, events and actions that will cast a shadow over the years and decades to come.

Kitty is from Derry, but she’s going to spend the next few months confined in the home in Newry. She’s introduced to life in the home by Sister Celeste (Maureen Wilkinson), a no-nonsense, standoffish nun, who gives a cursory explanation of the expected routine, before handing the 19-year-old off to existing residents to fill her in on the detail of what’s expected. The quieter Sister Rosanne (Maeve Connelly) stands to one side, distant but showing signs of actual humanity.

The notion of secrecy – not using their real first names and not discussing family details – is stressed from the start. Phone calls from the outside are allowed but discouraged. The idea that “we’re not in jail you know” does little to dispel the feeling that the young women have lost all control of their destiny: they’re now slaves to the home, expected to work in the laundry and follow the rules. It’s spartan: this is no hotel. There are no prenatal classes or preparation. And the only medication handed out is to make the women sleep at night and cause no trouble.

Aoibh Johnson gives Kitty a youthful optimism that never lapses into total naivety. She’s playing a version of the playwright who gave birth to her daughter in the home. Feisty Sarah (Shannon Wilkinson) sees herself fighting for Irish freedom: yet she’s been trapped by the church, the state and society. She wails with pain when she realises her newborn child has been removed without her knowledge or permission. Roma Harvey’s Sinead is a young widow. Now that she is pregnant again, she’s condemned as an unmarried mother who is beyond help and worthy of being shamed. Caroline (Una Morrison) is serious and fervent, almost modelled on wee Clare in Derry Girls. Multi-generational trauma is examined through a parallel story line featuring Jackie (Sorcha Shanahan) who is trying to find her birth mother.

The absence of men on set is startling, reinforcing how there were few to no consequences for the men involved in the babymaking, while the women were shamed, isolated, confined and then robbed of their offspring. Somehow these women are covering up other people’s sins, and being (further) abused in the process.

So much was unspoken. So much was suspected but not shared.

After a slightly unsteady and limbering start, the jigsaw pieces begin to fall into place firmly with the arrival of young pregnant Ellen. She’s not even a teenager. It’s the first moment when the characters step outside their own misery and the scales lift from their eyes. How is she pregnant? And why is someone so young being sent to live here? Rachel Harley injects Ellen with a tangible vulnerability and it’s distressing to realise that her character might be running back into the hands of an abuser. For all Caroline’s uptight manner, she’s the one that gets closest to befriending Ellen, with Una Morrison taking her character on a lovely journey of change.

Robert Attewell’s spartan set serves the touring production well. Two long wooden benches are shifted around the stage by the cast, and even stood up on their ends, to give shape to bedrooms, sitting rooms and a hospital ward. The scene changes are a physical task that echoes their work in the laundry and the lack of concern for the pregnant women.

One character proclaims with hope: “and then we have the whole of our lives in front of us”. But the final what-happens-next scene is beyond heartbreaking.

The Marian Hotel was produced by Sole Purpose Productions and produced and directed by Patricia Byrne. The play together with the associated exhibitions and talks have shone a light and opened up conversations on a shameful period of Irish social history. Hopefully they will form a line in the sand that will never be reached.

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A Christmas Carol – a joyous evening watching Scrooge face up to his demons (Lyric Theatre until Saturday 11 January)

My eyes normally roll when I discover a venue is planning to produce A Christmas Carol. It’s a beast of a book to adapt, with three ghostly visitations, each with numerous scenes to trudge through. Charles Dickens was being paid by the word, and he wrote his serialised stories for a newspaper audience who had to come back each week for another twist in the tale, much like modern day streaming audiences faced with a good show that doesn’t allow for binging.

Marie Jones’ adaptation zips through the story, touching Scrooge with each lesson without waiting around to ram it home. And thankfully the playwright also swerves the temptation to go full tilt and preach against all capitalists, making the story all the more powerful and personal. Switching the action to Belfast could have been a risk, but her skill with writing in the vernacular makes it feel natural rather than a gimmick. We appreciate the reflections that someone is “as dour as a deathwatch drummer”!

The Lyric’s production is framed through the lens that the audience have turned up to watch The Pottinger Players presenting their version of A Christmas Carol. So as we enter the auditorium, the cast are assembling, tying on their aprons, ‘lighting’ the footlights, tuning their instruments, joshing with audience. The two main minstrels engage us with a bit of cringe-free community singing, while another cast member rushes around the stalls and the balconies looking for a missing turkey. One gentleman admitted he didn’t like Christmas, rewarded with the retort that “we’ve got the perfect cure for you”!

Stuart Marshall’s intricate set uses a forced perspective to create a Dickensian space between Pottinger’s Entry and Joy’s Entry. The slim fronts of houses and businesses pivot around to create the internal spaces. Everything seems to glide effortlessly. Each element has two or three purposes. It’s rich, atmospheric and unfussy. Characters appear out of nowhere, peering around corners, squeezing through gaps, popping out of trapdoors.

As the action begins, a polyphonic humming of Silent Night hints that music will be important to the story with Garth McConaghie’s sound design blending recordings, effects and live playing. Katie Shortt (flute, accordion and lots of percussion) and Conor Hinds (a chest-mounted violincello) are joined by other cast members who bring a trumpet, tambourine and more into the mix. There’s even a little dancing (choreographer: Fleur Mellor).

We learn that Jacob Marley is “tatty bread” (dead) and that Ebeneezer Scrooge “carries his own cold with him”. Soon we’ve met bubbly nephew Fred (played by a joyful Richard Clements) whose fulsome invitation to Christmas dinner is not unexpectedly declined. Matthew Forsythe plays Bob Cratchit, loyal to the core, even in the face of his employer’s miserable thriftiness. Jayne Wisener’s Mrs Cratchit is much more cynical and unforgiving, running the household and tending to her three children on Bob’s pittance of a wage. Mary Moulds (wearing great pigtails) plays daughter Martha and Jonny Grogan is Peter. Ellen Whitehead is superb as Tiny Tim, a chip of the father’s block.

As you’d expect, Scrooge has a restless night. A mesmerising performance by Dan Gordon gives the central character a biting force of nature when grumpy (equally so when he turns generous) yet leaves him fearful and totally out of his controlling comfort zone when confronted by the three spirits. Marty Maguire is on top form playing Marley and numerous other roles, standing up to Scrooge and bringing a lot of mirth and physical humour to the production.

The plot of A Christmas Carol is  familiar to most people. Realistically, there can be very few surprises in the direction of travel the story will take with any new production. (Though heading to Rathlin and the appearance of Mummers was nearly a ‘trip’ too far for the lighthouse scene.)

Jones and director Matthew McElhinney manage to construct particularly moving moments each time the Cratchit parents consider whether their Tim will be alive to enjoy many more Christmas seasons. Tim’s pram-wheeled guider was a quare yoke. Jones’ script is helped along by the nearly instantaneous scene changes, removing the pauses that tend to niggle and slow down shows. The third spirit, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, is silent and faceless. By this point, Scrooge is in a position to lead himself through the lessons that need to be learnt.

Parents should note the Lyric’s 8+ age advisory for this production. It’s not aimed at young toddlers, and they’ll understandably soon be bored and distracted. For the older children and adults, there’s always something going on.

McElhinney uses the cast of ten to fill the stage with action. There are some great physical effects. Watch out for faces appearing at (or through) doors, and the neatly constructed sleight of hand near the end when Scrooge is almost in two places at once. Yet there are no deliberate pauses to encourage audience adulation: these are just part of the magical world that has been created for our pleasure.

(The repeated references to Willie Drennan hark back to the son of the First Presbyterian Church (Rosemary Street) manse, a short-lived physician, writer and political activist from the early 1800s, rather than the modern-day musician who is very much alive!)

By the end, Scrooge is bringing joy to the entry in which the action is set. A Christmas Carol is one of Marie Jones’ best scripts. It’s warm, well-paced, pleasingly architected with callbacks to earlier phrases tying the story up into a neat package. The humour is infectious. The cast inhabit the characters with confidence. And the musical elements bolster the playful atmosphere. The Lyric Theatre’s A Christmas Carol is a great festive treat, not to be missed, and continues its run until Saturday 11 January.

Photo credit: Carrie Davenport

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Cinderella – wholesome ‘Ella benefits from overhead eavesdropping on her cussed step-sisters (Yellow Jumper Productions at Theatre At The Mill until 30 December)

Cinderella lives in the shadow of her two self-identifying ‘ugly’ stepsisters, Pimple and Dimple. Having met the tall, lanky, prince of Antrim & Newtownabbey Borough at the town market, Cinderella fully intends to go to the lavish Christmas party he’s throwing to find a wife. Sour Bake Stepma ran off to the sun leaving her household of daughters to fend for themselves. She video calls her children to coach them through a depraved plan to deprive Cinderella of the opportunity, and of daylight, by luring her down to the cellar to make a TikTok dance video and then locking her up. But good buddy Zip – complete with audience callout and actions – is hanging around eavesdropping and overhears their plans. With his help and the guidance of Fairy G, maybe Cinderella’s dreams can come true?

An opening musical number introduces some of the important characters. Lennin McClure plays Zip as well as the prince’s advisor Mucker. He quickly wows us ‘peeps in the seats’ with his acrobatics, before shimmying up to hang above the action listening to the evil plans being concocted. McClure’s aerial antics on the silks are likely to be unique across Christmas pantos in Northern Ireland this year. Joe Springhall plays the cool royal, channelling his inner Prince Harry. Together with Mucker, the pair end up throwing a couple of very different big royal balls.

The show’s titular character tries hard to stand up for herself. Ellen Hasson makes Cinderella sweet and sassy, a modern girl who takes small steps and guards her privacy rather than being rash and needy. But is wholesome charm a match for the cussed evil stepsisters Pimple (Cheryl O’Dwyer) and Dimple (Eimear O’Neill who double roles as Fairy G with a beautiful singing voice that blends so well with Cinderella/Hasson).

The general atmosphere of this family-friendly show is one of relaxed pandemonium. The noisy stalls are matched by the histrionics on stage, although some of the lyrics get lost under the pumping backing tracks. It’s a pantomime, so the script and sound effects go heavy on crowd-pleasing fart jokes, and given the questions I could overhear during the show, I fully expect one child sitting behind me to finally demand a detailed answer to her question “What’s IBS?” on the way home!

There are some lovely touches. Cinderella’s coach to the ball is very neatly lit and constructed. Light up glasses provide a fun party effect. And it snows, a necessary part of any serious show set at Christmas! The opening of the second act brings the action right into the auditorium and neatly counteracts any disruption from punters returning late from the bar. Later, a few audience members get their feet sized up against the abandoned glittery slipper. The appearance of a bird on stage is momentarily important to the plot but still bewildereds me!

Well-sung cover versions add energy to proceedings, and Raining Tacos was a huge hit with the young audience joining in and singing out without needing to be asked. The kitchen utensil guests at the ball were somewhat surreal but fired up the imagination of junior brains. The script is peppered with lots of local references that delight citizens of the borough, particularly when the lonely prince seeks a relationship that will be full of sparks and fireworks “like Rathcoole on the Eleventh Night”!

The five principle cast members are joined by another three in the ensemble (from a nine-strong rotating community cast). And at my show, the actors were aided during the second act by a good-spirited John in the stalls. Olivia Nash regularly beams in as Sour Bake Stepma from her sunny hotspot.

Cinderella was penned, produced, directed (and more) by Sarah Lyle, whose fingers may also have sewn some of the costumes. It’s a real labour of love, and audience members young and old had a blast when I was there for Saturday’s matinee. Cinderella is a panto with all the trimmings. The Yellow Jumper Productions’ show continues at Theatre at the Mill until Monday 30 December.

Photo credit: Gorgeous Photography (Melissa Gordon)

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The Adventures of Red Riding Hood – familiar fairy story characters lose their identity in a vivid forest (The MAC until 1 January)

There’s a wealth of creative talent on show at the MAC this Christmas: on the stage, in the wings, and behind-the-scenes. The Adventures of Red Riding Hood is the culmination of an array of disciplines working together to craft a distinctive Christmas show.

School’s out for Christmas and rather than picking up her daughter at the gate and whisking her home, Mama Hood sends Red off on a three-day trek to deliver a hamper to her Granny deep in the forest. She implores Red to follow the ‘Right Path’ not the ‘Wrong Path’. However, despite her best efforts to follow her smart phone directions, outside interference from a jealous Goldilocks disrupts her journey, and soon both Red and Granny Hood are in serious trouble.

Naoimh Morgan is a bundle of breathtaking energy in the title role, with her bubbly character capable of splurging out a volcano of ideas. With or without her trademark cape, Morgan commands attention from the audience. Mama Hood and Granny Hood are both played by a versatile and acrobatic Ash Ashton who shows off all manner of accents and even throws in some circus skills.

Writer and director Patrick J O’Reilly merges together different fairy tales and imagines what would happen if normally evil characters lost their well-established identities. What if they got in touch with their sensitive side and became more kind and mindful? Or maybe these sinister figures can’t really change?

What if the Wolf from Little Riding Hood was the same one who blew down the Little Pig’s Dwellings? Albeit he’s now the Well-Toned Wolf (Jay Hutchinson) who has been working on his anger management. What if Little Jack Horner – the pie-loving lad (played by Jack Watson) who pulled out a plum on the end of his thumb – was a serial entrepreneur who’d fleece anyone to make a quick buck?

And what if the homewrecking brat Goldilocks (a sparky Catriona McFeely) got a second chance? Ultimately trust is elusive (and illusive); friendships are slippery in the depths of the forest.

Diana Ennis’s beautifully simple set allows O’Reilly to play with how actors enter and leave the stage (for the second show in a row). Her white arches and doorways also offer a crisp blank canvas onto which Gavin Peden projects beautifully rich designs, delivering an object lesson on how video can enhance a theatre production. Not content with great vivid imagery, Peden bravely introduces live video into scenes, with selfies and live-streaming captured from Red’s smartphone incorporated into the projections. The cast and crew disguise the care needed to accurately position the moveable set, and make the whole enterprise look incredibly simple.

Composer and sound designer Garth McConaghie summons up a raft of character themes and songs to the show. Goldilocks/McFeely has fun with Listen Up Buckaroo/That’s My Story, while Red/Morgan’s Hey Mummy Hood I’m Doing What I Can had small children in the row in front of me picking up and mimicking Paula O’ Reilly’s choreography. I’m Warning You enjoyed a video game vibe with Peden adding mini-Timmy’s (a cyber security officer) dancing along the top of the arch. Not to mention the keychangetastic In The Belly Of The Wolf. The cast are all vocally able for the score, and everything is neatly reprised in snack-sized bites in the finale’s megamix.

The Adventures of Red Riding Hood is ambitious. It takes familiar characters and splices them together in a novel situation. The youngest audience members seem to recognise enough to follow the story – the ones sitting near me thoroughly enjoyed the cartoonish physicality – while the TikTok slang landed better with teenagers and seemed to sail over the older heads. Just shy of two hours long, the MAC has wisely programmed a lot of matinee and teatime performances. The production’s ambition also extends to the technology innovations that bring the show to life. And it’s incredibly pleasing to witness the cast bringing so much of their background and skills to the storytelling: their own identity is never lost.

Produced by the MAC, The Adventures of Red Riding Hood continues its run until Wednesday 1 January 2025.

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Belfast Actually – a festive rom com with three couples battling against the pull of their heart strings (Theatre At The Mill until 30 December)

Fancy a festive rom com? Then head down to Theatre At The Mill for Belfast Actually, written by Leesa Harker and directed by Andrea Montgomery.

In the run up to Christmas, you’ll meet country singer Gareth and his single and pregnant manager Minnie. He’s searching for a number one hit, but will he twig that he’s supporting the personal life of his number one fan as much as she’s building his musical career? Patrick McBrearty lets the accent rip and struts around the stage stumming his guitar, winking at the audience, and playing the crowd like a Gibson Hummingbird. If he was a chocolate bar, Gareth would eat himself. Christine Clark plays Minnie – with a gorgeous mellow solo in the second act, where has she been hiding that singing voice for all these years! – as well as a somnolent widow with a penchant for biscuits.

Then there’s Jill and Joe, both young and widowed. He pours his energy into running a grief support group, while she’s happy go lucky about everything except finding love again. Debra Hill goes full ditzy and works magic with the physical comedy opportunities in her roles, while Stefan Dunbar plays Joe as more hunky than vulnerable, much to the delight of the audience.

The final couple-in-waiting are a pair of political opposites on the campaign trail. Both MLAs, Molly’s a nationalist, while Billy’s a unionist. Will their ideologies nip in the bud the strong attraction they both feel. Can love really blossom across the Assembly chamber? It’s Rosie Barry’s third year in a row appearing in a Theatre At The Mill Christmas production. Her vocal talent is used to good effect throughout the show, with musical covers capturing the mood and decision points of the key characters.

David Craig’s set consists of a pile of oversized wrapped present boxes and a long steep ramp that the cast thankfully navigate without incident. Lucie Corcoran’s costumes are suitably brash for the season. Adam Gillian’s bright orange tie is a constant reminder of his political leanings and only a hint of a later costumer change. The flow between the scenes should tighten up as the run continues, and remove some of the jerkiness.

Belfast Actually is all about the entertainment, so Cupid’s elves making an appearance to help bind a dithering couple together doesn’t jar for a second. Leesa Harker throws in lots of one liners and sausage jokes that the cast ably deliver. “You can’t dander through Ikea hand in hand with a Turkey baster” will probably be the most unlikely piece of dialogue to feature in a local Christmas show this year.

If McBrearty has fun playing country star Gareth, he’s even more excitable as older widow Alison who is grieving the loss of her cat. Despite the levity, her reaction to a Secret Santa gift has emotional punch.

As you head back to the car or the train station, you’ll either be humming Potato Farl Heart or one of the Christmas hits the cast covered. The tuneful cast of six are clearly enjoying the show, and their verve infects the audience. Belfast Actually runs until Monday 30 December.

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On Becoming a Guinea Fowl – sporadic surrealism spoils this analysis of gaslighting, victim shaming and abuse cover-up (Queen’s Film Theatre from Friday 6 December)

When Shula discovers her uncle’s dead body in the middle of the road, his Zambian family gather to mourn the loss of a man who was seen as a father figure to many. Close relatives of a similar age begin to share with Shula about their less than positive experiences with Uncle Fred. Soon Shula soon realises that a clutch of Aunties have long been aware of his predatory behaviour and sexual abuse. But they swept the sin under the carpet and are now preparing to bury the sinner without confronting the demon who was in their midst.

While billed as a black comedy and a film with absurdist tendencies, Rungano Nyoni On Becoming a Guinea Fowl doesn’t fully commit to either genre. Shula is interrupted by ‘ghostly’ apparitions – a spot of magic realism perhaps – and the recurring flooding does suggest that much tea is being spilt. Yet, the lens through which we watch a woman come to terms with the actions of her uncle and her wider family’s inaction is mostly dark with little light.

“Don’t worry, he’s dead now, it’s okay” says one victim. “It’s not important, he’s dead” suggests his brother. The aunties sing about how they love their children in a moment of musical gaslighting and emotional abuse. Familiar stuff in so many contexts at home and around the world.

Without going into the full details, having exposed Uncle Fred as a serial abuser, the final scene explores how his family victim shame his wife, seek to financially penalise her, and add much further insult to injury. (That’s after insisting that some mourners pee outside and sleep in an empty outdoor swimming pool.)

Then Shula appears over the horizon with further evidence of who the focus needs to be on and who will need the family’s support. But the film unfortunately concludes without allowing us to see whether Shula will have the backbone to challenge her aunties and reset the power imbalance.

On Becoming a Guinea Fowl was disappointing. Important universal and cultural issues are raised. But the narrative framework is very baggy, and the stylised surrealist elements of the storytelling seemed too sporadic. The film is being screened in Queen’s Film Theatre from Friday 6 December.

 

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NOW That’s What I Call A Musical – spandex and solidarity, friendship and forgiveness (Grand Opera House until Saturday 23 November)

NOW That’s What I Call Music compilation tapes began 41 years ago this month. Released two or three times a year, they collected together – ‘curated’ seems too strong a word – the big hits onto cassettes, then CDs, MiniDiscs (all too briefly), and even vinyl. NOW That’s What I Call Music #119 was released last week, bringing together tracks from Chappell Roan, Kylie Minogue, Coldplay, The Weekend, Jordan Adetunji, Ariana Grande, Katy Perry, Pet Shop Boys Sting, and Snow Patrol. A musical feast.

The cultural phenomenon has now been translated into a jukebox musical, though NOW That’s What I Call A Musical is too classy to feature an actual jukebox and instead uses a Karaoke/DJ to introduce some of the tracks into Pippa Evans’ story.

The show revolves around school friends Gemma and April who were thick as thieves as they stepped out into adulthood in 1989. Twenty years later, Gemma attends her class reunion in the local pub and the memories – and the songs – come flooding back. Gemma was rooted to Birmingham and dreamed of staying there, becoming a nurse, and starting a family. Two out of three ain’t bad as Meat Loaf was prone to sing. We see romance blossom: but life hasn’t all been roses over the two decades. Meanwhile, April wanted to be a Hollywood star, and in pursuit of her dreams, lost touch with Gemma. Will the pair be reunited? Or is it time to realise that time and distance have severed their ‘forever friendship’ permanently?

We flit between 1989 and 2009, with older and younger versions of key cast members (“the same but saggy”). Nikita Johal and Maia Hawkins are full of verve and naivety as school-aged Gemma and April. Nina Wadia and Melissa Jacques play the adult roles. All four have superb voices for their many solos and duets. Jacques’ rendition of Sisters Are Doin’ It for Themselves is glorious.

Director Craig Revel Horwood is also in charge of the choreography, creating visually interesting routines for the large ensemble who pick up the roles of the minor characters. The knowingly kitsch rendition of Video Killed the Radio Star (a 1979 hit) will be hard to forget. There’s an air of body positivity in the casting – ie, all shapes and sizes are seen to dance and exist – which is abnormal for theatre but a welcome decision.

The show is stuffed full of tracks from the 80s and early 90s. Musical director Georgia Rawlins, along with just four other musicians in the pit, pump out superb covers that drive the whole vibe of the story. Girls Just Want To Have Fun Relax, Tainted Love, Every Breath You Take, I Gonna Be (500 Miles), Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), Flashdance…What A Feeling, I'll Stand by You, Gold (Spandau Ballet), Walking on Sunshine, St. Elmo’s Fire (Man in Motion), Relight My Fire, and more.

Some of the most beautiful moments come when recognisable melodies are slowed right down, stripped back, and allowed to linger in a minor key (like Blondie’s Heart of Glass). The all-singing, all-dancing cast have the voices and presence to pull off their own story-specific renditions of the tracks. And it all adds up to something quite special.

Truth be told, you come for the music but end up buying into the story. The reveal at the end of the first act is heart-warming and genuinely emotional. Gemma’s husband Tim (Kieran Cooper with a youthful mullet, and Chris Grahamson in double-breasted jackets) is played as a philandering pantomime villain that the audience know to boo: his character arc is one of downwards motion, and keeps the tone light-hearted despite his coercive and troublesome behaviour.

A dream sequence – used as a device to reset Gemma’s thinking and propel the story to its (for-once) justified megamix conclusion – allows a star from the period to join the cast to sing a number. Some weeks it’s Sinitta, Sonia or Jay Osmond. Fans in the Grand Opera House were beside themselves with excitement when the curtain at the back of the stage opened and T’Pau’s Carol Decker (her name is never mentioned without including the band!) stepped in to sing China in Your Hand. While Decker’s voice has lost some of its strength, she still has the power to control an audience and whip them into a frenzy. People rose to their feet and swayed in the boxes. Most of the stalls raised their arms and waved them. A four-minute concert in the middle of an already musically rich show. (Having some of the industry’s biggest record labels on board must help with the rights to the music.)

Tom Rogers and Toots Butcher designed the set which playfully unfolds to transform the pub (which sells Carol Deckor-i/daiquiri cocktails) into a school, bedrooms and bedsits, a video rental store, and Gemma’s family homes. Ben Cracknell neatly drops down lights and a disco ball to shift some scenes into disco mode.

NOW That’s What I Call A Musical is full of spandex and solidarity, friendship and forgiveness; a toe-tapping musical memorial to the cassette tape that must confuse some of the younger audience members. Performances continue at the Grand Opera House until Saturday 23 November.

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No Other Land – forced displacement captured from inside the West Bank and a friendship that defies stereotypes (Queen’s Film Theatre from Friday 22 November)

No Other Land is a haunting film that stayed with me over the four and a half months since I first watched it as part of Docs Ireland at the end of June. Basel’s family have long been documenting life in their West Bank village. Their precarious situation brought with it constant vigilance and activism to protect their home from demolition notices backed by the Israeli Army. When he was old enough, the camera passed to Basel Adra who hot foots it across the area, day or night, to witness and record the latest actions to force his community out of the area.

“I started to film when we began to end.”

When Tony Blair visited the rudimentary primary school that local children attended in 2009, the international attention – from a seven-minute stop – rescinded the threat. No Other Land picks up the story in 2020, when a court confirmed that the area was a military training ground and the dust from army jeeps, trucks and diggers on the road into the group of around twenty villages in Masafer Yatta would signify that another family was going to lose their house that day. Then a man only known as Ilan takes over control of the demolition. Ilan is very aware of the names of those who document the army’s actions.

More homes are torn down. A young friend of Basel’s is shot at close range. Paralysed from the chest down, Harun sleeps with his family in a cave, and is lifted out in an ad hoc stretcher made from a carpet rug to an above-ground tarpaulin tent during the day. The international media give his plight some attention, but nothing changes. His Mum is distraught at his condition and wishes he could be free from pain, even if that meant death.

Nighttime raids are added to daytime ones. Bare-chested men from nearby West Bank settlements come into the area with their faces disguised, carrying guns and clubs. They smash windows threaten the villagers with impunity while the army looks on. At a later date, armed settlers reappear, without any disguises, and shoot dead a young man. We watch Basel’s footage of the moment his cousin is killed. That’s the point that most villagers around Masafer Yatta give up what remains of their homes and land. After decades they leave.

Professional camerawork (Hamdan Balla and Rachel Szor) enhances older family archive and contemporary camcorder footage that Basel collects. A sympathetic Israeli journalist from outside the West Bank visits regularly. Yuval Abraham can travel through the checkpoints – his number plate is the right colour (yellow, not green) – and he becomes a close confidant of Basel. His impressions and the pair’s friendship and friction form one of the most important threads through the film. Yuval is mostly accepted into the community, albeit with moments of intolerance and tension. He is frustrated that his online storytelling about the destruction doesn’t get more traction. Basel cautions his “[enthusiasm] like you want to end occupation in 10 days” and says “you have to be patient” … Basel’s family have been living through this for decades. (Yuval is the fourth producer of the film alongside Basel, Hamdan and Rachel.)

The sight of families carrying bedding and white goods out of their homes in the moments before watching diggers knock over the walls is distressing. While there’s no version of these events that is going to be calm and peaceful, the terror is exacerbated by the animosity and foul language of the soldiers. The scenes bring back memories of people forced out of their homes in Northern Ireland: except the local form of a demolition notice would be graffiti on your wall or a knock on the door with a threat, and someone else would usually move into your home. But has the state stood by at times and cast a blind eye to intimidation?

The sight of children calmly gathering together their classroom resources and carrying them outside when the bulldozers arrive has no local parallels. Watching concrete being poured from a cement mixer into a local well to cut off the fresh water supply is a robust measure and totally inhumane. Seeing Ilan gleefully taking a chainsaw to the water pipework to put it beyond re-use emphasises the hatred behind the operation.

Having reached 2023, the film finishes with a pensive Yuval dreaming of a world where Basel will be free to come to visit him. Basel is not convinced. Harun dies. Official papers reveal that the heightened campaign of forced displacement was “to stop Arab villages expanding”. Soon after the documentary is edited and begins touring around festivals, the conflict in Gaza escalates: tensions and attacks rise in the West Bank.

No Other Land returns to the Queen’s Film Theatre from Friday 22 November. It’s an excellent companion piece to the fictionalised The Teacher, and is all the more potent because it is real.

 

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The Other Way Around – a couple’s attempt to celebrate ending well (Belfast Film Festival at Queen’s Film Theatre) #BFF24

Belfast Film Festival certainly had its fair share of surreal and absurd movies this year. The final screening I attended was Spanish director Jonás Trueba’s The Other Way Round.

An actor and a director have decided to part company after 14 years together. The decision is amicable. There’s no stated cause. And they want to end well. In fact, inspired by her father’s view that separation should be celebrated with a party, they talk themselves into organising a shindig to which they’ll invite their friends and maybe even their families to mark this pivotal moment in their lives.

In the home full of Billy bookcases, there are scenes of sorting through and boxing up books and CDs as the couple split their possessions. One may stay in their apartment while the other rents a small flat: a decision-making process that becomes another point of stress that must be overcome. Splitting up is also the theme of the dialogue in a self-tape audition that Alex asks Ale to film.

“I’ve always though it’s a good idea for a film … but in real life I don’t know.”

Itsaso Arana plays the Ale, a director who is in the final stages of editing her new film. The Other Way Round becomes quite meta with husband Alex (Vito Sanz) the lead actor, and his scenes – and the aspects of the storyline we see – impossible to distinguish from real life events.

Ale is examining the process of breaking up from both sides of the lens. The film-within-a-film device works to the film’s advantage, allowing lots of on-screen commentary about whether the narrative is linear or circular, and creating the opportunity for some fun editing techniques to play with the storytelling. Ale’s father also places a copy of Søren Kierkegaard book Repetition into the hands of his daughter. The concepts of recollection and repetition and reconnecting were already frequent responses from the couple’s friends upon being informed about their breakup: “sure you’ll soon be back together”.

The Other Way Round is a sweet and thoughtful consideration of separation. Ending well and doing so in an attitude of grace and amicability seems rare but is surely a worthy ambition. Oddly, the film is never moving, and doesn’t even seem to attempt to elicit that kind of reaction. There’s an irritating sense of inevitability about the conclusion. Yet the credits will keep you glued to your seat as you watch the montage of faces at the party, people that have been incredibly important to Ale and Alex over the years.

Screened in Queen’s Film Theatre as part of the 2024 Belfast Film Festival.

 

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Calamity Jane – mistaken identity, impersonation, guns, hats and a stagecoach full of whip-crack-away songs (St Agnes’ Choral Society at Grand Opera House until Saturday 16 November)

St Agnes’ Choral Society are performing the musical Calamity Jane all week in the Grand Opera House. The story was made famous by the 1953 film starring Doris Day, and eight years later (the chorale society was in its third year) it was adapted into a stage musical.

Saloon owner Henry Miller is trying to patch up relations with his rowdy clientele in a goldrush town. Sure hasn’t everyone booked a Frances only for a Francis to turn up?! So Calamity Jane – prone to a spot of exaggeration – promises that she’ll go to Chicago and bring back the pin-up performer Adelaide Adams to perform. But true to her nickname, Calamity returns with an actress who isn’t quite the real deal. However, in a town full of people who are searching for something they haven’t yet got (gold and riches), Katie Brown gets a second chance … until she captures the heart of the man her new best friend Calamity has her heart set on. What a calamity!

Musical director Andrew Robinson’s fine band of fifteen down in the pit have the audience clapping along with the overture that previews many of the show’s most important melodies. Then it’s straight into the Golden Garter saloon, complete with over-excitable owner Henry Miller (played by Kevin McReynolds), ten-gallon hats and dancing in gingham dresses. The Deadwood stagecoach rolls in – a marvellous feat of set building – and the show is underway. The ensemble choreography (designed by Amy Blackshaw) during Windy City impresses. Aideen Fox delivers a (deliberately) wonderfully out-of-tune and clumsy rendition of Keep It Under Your Hat pretending to be Adelaide Adams before reprising with confidence and style as Katie Brown. Gappy opening night timing slows down some scenes, particularly entrances, but that will tighten up as the week of performances bed in.

Despite being full of hummable tunes (Windy City, The Black Hills of Dakota, Secret Love), Calamity Jane isn’t often performed by amateur dramatic or chorale societies. (From the extensive list of St Agnes’ productions at the back of the programme, this seems like their first tilt at it in 67 years.) Like most musicals from the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s, it retains dated sensibilities. Native Americans are frequently referred to as “savages” who are shot on sight and whose death toll is celebrated. One line of non-ironic dialogue remarks: “no wonder them lnjuns fight so fierce-t'hang onto this country”. There’s also a very male lens, played for laughs but really just downright misogyny, with Calamity ridiculed for bring rugged and handy with a gun, but also scolded for being hysterical and “thinking like a woman”. Shows from the past can still speak to the present, asking how much has really changed. Pleasingly, last night’s Belfast audience noticed and tut tutted at some of the examples of sexism in the story!

The shorter second act contains the best songs. Leaving aside any misgivings over the sentiment, A Woman’s Touch is very enjoyable and Calamity (played brilliantly by Lorraine Jackson) still retains recognisable ‘tomboy’ mannerisms despite her transformation from hunting skins to a flattering dress. (The cabin set’s built-in surprises could be given more prominence.) While Jackson goes through a lot of wigs and costumes, she never loses the essence of what makes her character a force of nature, and her delivery of lines and lyrics is exemplary. Gareth McGreevy’s vocals as Lieutenant Danny are great, and Wild Bill’s voice is a revelation when swaggering Kyle Emerson switches from speaking to singing. The male ensemble doesn’t quite have the strength or sweetness of the female vocalists: perhaps a focus for future recruitment to boost the tenors and basses.

If the script was a stagecoach, there’d be a cloud of dust as the plot makes a handbrake turn and Calamity and Bill declare their real feelings for each other. The fighting-to-friendship switcheroo could do with a bit more obvious foreshadowing over the previous hour or more, but the powerful rendition of Secret Love makes up for the rush towards the final wedding extravaganza.

Director Laura Kerr has an abundance of acting and singing talent amongst the principal cast members, and a total company of more than 60 to manage. The stage is filled with the faces of cast members who exude such joy at being able to perform and entertain. They’re having a ball, and the Grand Opera House audience seemed to lap up the talent on display.

St Agnes’ Choral Society’s production of Calamity Jane continues in the Grand Opera House until Saturday 16 November. You can also catch the society up at the Queen’s Film Theatre singing carols before the screening of White Christmas on the afternoon of Saturday 14 December. And they’re back in the Grand Opera House in March along with Belfast Operatic Company, Ulster Operatic Company and the Grand Opera House Trust with the UK amateur première of Les Misérables, the first of 11 multi-company amateur theatre productions being staged across the UK to mark the musical’s 40th anniversary. (Because the musical is still running in the West End and professionally touring the UK, only school/youth productions are normally licensed.)

Photo credit: Nicola McKee

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