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The Age
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
A stirring Les Miserables serves up a late surprise
The story of redemption and revolution, based on Victor Hugo's epic novel, centres on former convict Jean Valjean and the prison guard Javert who's out to get him. Intertwined is a love story between Cosette, the orphan Valjean has raised, and a young insurgent, Marius. This is a sung-through musical with music by Claude-Michel Schonberg, lyrics by Alain Boublil and Jean-Marc Natel. Alfie Boe was magnificent as the lead Valjean, singing with great depth and range to his rich, operatic voice. His solo Bring Him Home was a showstopper. Michael Ball was a combative Javert, although felt less menacing than the character's vengeful nature suggests. Les Mis is a dark melodramatic tale of injustice, poverty and brutality in which some light relief is much needed. It comes in the form of Matt Lucas, best known for Little Britain, as villainous lowlife Thenardier. Lucas' vaudevillian Master of the House was a masterclass in comic precision. He was aided by a splendidly brassy Helen Walsh as Madame Thenardier, who stood in for an indisposed Marina Prior. Although women's roles feel slight in the piece – veering towards saintly martyrs - Rachelle Ann Go combined tenderness and strength in the prostitute Fantine's I Dreamed a Dream. Shan Ako as Eponine made On My Own the night's saddest song. Beatrice Penny-Toure's Cosette was a gentle counterpoint to fiery lover Marius (a passionate Jac Yarrow). Sebastian Sero won hearts as savvy urchin Gavroche. The ensemble's choral work was exhilarating, especially in the rallying cry, Do You Hear the People Sing? As the night concluded – or we thought it had – producer Cameron Mackintosh took to the stage with an ace up his sleeve. Members of previous Australian Les Mis productions – including Normie Rowe, Philip Quast, William Zappa, Nikki Webster, David Campbell and Simon Burke – joined the current cast for the grandest of finales to a show that still has a vital musical pulse. Who'd have thought laughing at Nazis would suddenly become so pertinent again? Mel Brooks' original film was made in 1967, when you could have fought in World War II, and still be in your 40s. Fifty-eight years later, the same blister still needs pricking, and The Producers still does it best, whether the original movie, the resultant musical, the film of the musical, or ongoing revivals like this dazzling production directed by Julia Robertson. Who'd have thought a huge centrepiece like Springtime for Hitler could be performed by a cast of just 14? Or that this cast of 14 could execute such scintillating choreography on the Hayes Theatre's baby stage (already housing an eight-piece band), without either bumping each other or spilling over into neighbouring countries? This is among the most polished pieces of musical theatre I've seen. The level of detail in each line, voice, gesture, costume, dance move, orchestration and design element is exhilarating. You could simply sit there and admire it all in terms of aesthetics and craft – except you're laughing too hard. 'The urge to merge can rob us of our senses,' sings Leo Bloom, and in humour terms, it's the show that keeps on giving, however often you see it. Brooks wasn't just a funny guy, he wrote roles for actors to relish, and Robertson has cast this so well you'd think she had a limitless budget and millions queuing to audition. Anton Berezin has played in a swag of musicals, all prepping him for being given Max Bialystock, the Broadway producer who, having left his moral compass in a cab, resorts to fleecing little old ladies who are short of sex and long on lolly. Berezin plays Max as though all the world's chutzpah has been confiscated and he alone has the key to where it's stored. For Bialystock's foil, Brooks gleefully borrowed the protagonist's name from James Joyce's Ulysses (plus sly references to that work) to create his male ingenue, Leo Bloom. Des Flanagan plays Bloom with more innocence than a two-year-old pretending he hasn't just wet his pants – until it dawns on him that the delicious Ulla is offering more than a life-long innuendo, and Alexandra Cashmere is a fabulous Ulla. Jordan Shea is consistently hilarious as Franz, the Hitler-loving writer and pigeon-fancier, and Blake Erickson arrives in a blaze of gowned glory as Roger de Bris, the director who's supposed to be so bad that Max's show is guaranteed to fail. Each ensemble member fashions every role into a fully fledged character and they perform Shannon Burns' choreography as if their mothers were being held hostage. Osibi Akerejola has the band similarly honed, and Nick Fry's set, Ryan McDonald's lighting and especially Benedict Janeczko-Taylor's costumes ice a cake so near-perfectly baked that even the neo-Nazis might swallow it. With the Hayes season sold out, they'll need to invade Riverside Theatres, May 15 to May18. THEATRE THE LOTTO LINE Flow Studios 88, April 2 Until April 12 Reviewed by KATE PRENDERGAST ★★★ ½ You find Flow Studios through a narrow slot in a broad high brick wall in Camperdown. Inside is the simulacrum of a creative student rec room: a cosy jumble of lumpy sofas, pillaged books and odd furniture. It feels like you've walked into your undergrad arts uni days, hurtled back into that unhinged familiar. The Lotto Line, an absurdist and surreal fable by John Tsakiris, also emerges from that rare and precious penumbra of young creatives touched in their genius heads. Its theatre space is a repurposed warehouse out back, the audience cackling out of sync on tiered seats. In front of a large roller door on a concrete expanse is the square of a strange town, where The Lotto Master commands with diabolical governance. After collecting their tickets, a gaggle of misfits trap themselves in time by cheating the wait for the next day's draw. They had tried to make time go faster (by counting on their hands), but their plan backfired. Nonsense logic reigns in overwhelming and glittering stupidity, as we tumble through the events including body swaps and rebellion. As the characters fumble towards civil camaraderie and a possible tomorrow, a few messages about hope pop from the chaos like pennies. It's like dorm room Beckett tripping the light bodacious. The five misfits – or 'cuddlesome groundlings', as Tsakiris's exhilarating language offers – are an unforgettable lot. In their physical theatre clowning, their co-ordinated futilities, their clashing costumes and, against the relentless glare of the production's lighting, they appear as a cartoonist's fever dream. Jonathon Nicola is Mr Borvin, who I will ever see frozen as an idiot Icarus. Megan Heferen is Ms Atkins (also co-director, co-producer and co-creator of Studio 5 with Tsakiris), who struggles with leadership. James Thomasson is Mr Horner, a man with a Mormon beard and buccaneer-brimmed stetson, who had to temporarily surrender his words to the Lotto Master. Mr Horner must grunt his lines throughout; Mrs Cotter (Holly Mazzola), a gladsome housewife with a soprano squeak, helps to translate. One must not overlook the Lotto Master (Jess Spies), though her role only bookends the play. From her raised booth, in top hat and plum velvet coat, she is an imposing overseer of an arbitrary game. Perhaps most memorable though is Larissa Turton as Miss Dabbs. A mad woman heaving on a single crutch, two pigtails flying from cut holes in a flat cap, she doesn't so much speak as allow a string of low grunts to fall from wet lips. Cheeks bobbling with a palsy of unknown emotions, Turton shows her acting chops when the 'body swap' occurs. The lighting is a white blare and hanging lightbulb; the sound is just a few well-timed slaps of slapstick. But The Lotto Line is a feast of comic imagination and performance for those with an existential stake in the absurd. The third original production from Studio 5, it is a galvanising rubber-gun shot against the staid and self-serious, both in theatre and in life. THEATRE THE PLAYER KINGS Seymour Centre, March 29 Until April 5 Reviewed by JOHN SHAND ★★★★ The great wonder of history is that we continue to be surprised by it unfolding in our own lifetimes, as if it were something that only happened in the past. The corollary is that all that happened in the past is our tutor if we'll listen – hence part of the longevity of Shakespeare's eight history plays, despite only a couple of them being among his greatest works. Linking the eight – Richard II, the two parts of Henry IV, Henry V, the three parts of Henry VI and Richard III – into a chronological cycle is a fond project of 'bardologists', this being Sydney's third this century. Immediately setting The Player Kings apart from The War of the Roses (2009) and Rose Riot (2018) is its sheer scale. Including the intervals, this was 12 hours long: a monumental demand upon audiences, actors and technicians. Within that frame, the director and adaptor, Sport for Jove's Damien Ryan (who also did Rose Riot), has succeeded in emphasising narrative through-lines, intergenerational parallels, clarity of language and the plays' contrasting worlds. The show is presented in six chapters of towards 90 minutes each, knitted by such devices as having Falstaff, beloved joint protagonist of Henry IV, cheekily appear before the preceding Richard II is done. Ryan cunningly fiddles with the order of events and placement of speeches, without doing any particular disservice to Shakespeare. Yet, despite the care with which the plays have been edited and the general excellence of the performance, it's simply too long, and the problem, as ever, is Henry VI. The young Shakespeare contributed to these three plays rather being their primary creator (who probably was Christopher Marlowe), and consequently much of the verse is inferior, the characterisations are thin and the storylines mere bloody melodramas. Henry VI essentially consumed two Player Kings chapters: a massive edit of three full-length plays, but still a drag upon the whole because it's too burdened with the tiresome bickering of the ruling class – or what we now call politics. We tumble into the concluding Richard III, therefore, with some relief, and it's fully worth the wait because Liam Gamble is as good a Richard as I've seen. Having cerebral palsy, and therefore not fully able-bodied himself, Gamble evades the cartoonish Richards that have predominated. Any good performance of Richard charms us, as he smirkingly confides in us his wicked plans, but Gamble makes our emotional response to Richard more complex; draws us towards him in a way that changes the dynamics of the play. We aren't just charmed by his Richard in a sly, winking sense; we're charmed to the point of being won – until, of course, his outrageous bloodlust snaps our new-found tolerance. Steve Rodgers presents a memorably likable rogue of a Falstaff. The prodigious Sir John has been portrayed as more intelligent or sadder, but seldom as more fun, amid which Rodgers still mines the deep truths of his speech about the speciousness of honour. He later returns as the rabid Jack Cade in Henry VI, and all 17 performers take many roles, other than composer Jack Mitsch primarily realising his own score on drums, guitar or keyboard; a score that makes the most dramatic episodes thunder, delicately shades others, and never tramples on the language. Inevitably, with people playing multiple roles, there's some unevenness, although veterans Peter Carroll and John Gaden are uniformly good, including when playing Silence and Shallow to Rodgers' Falstaff. Gaden is a noble John of Gaunt in Richard II, and Carroll clowns his way through the put-upon waiter Francis in a lively Henry IV scene. A hallmark of Ryan's directing is the never-laboured, yeast-like visual humour he adds to his brew, whether as the merest grace notes or as fizzing embellishments from his arsenal of surprises. His son, Max Ryan, excels as a swaggering, live-wire Harry Hotspur in Henry IV, while Max's brother Oliver plays Harry's counterpoint, Prince Hal, and their fraternal swordfight sees sparks flying from their blades. Ryan's direction crafts countless moments of magic, such as Hal looking in a mirror where the reflection is enacted by Andrew Cutcliffe, who then becomes Hal as he's crowned Henry V, encapsulating the change in personality. Cutcliffe's Henry is defined by a lighter, more intimate and slightly comedic St Crispin's Day speech. Another piece of magic comes when Ryan has a troop of English soldiers undergoing a medical examination become the members of the French court in a sauna via a sudden flourish of towels. That said, there are also moments when the French characters seem inclined to the Monty Python school of accents. A hallmark of Damien Ryan's directing is the never-laboured, yeast-like visual humour he adds to his brew. Katrina Retallick shines as a wildly loyal and impassioned Isabel, wife to Richard II, played by Sean O'Shea, who leads us on that character's agonising journey from royal petulance to confronting his mortality and what would be his ordinariness, were he not a poet whose exquisite lyricism intensifies as his power drains away. Gareth Davies, Emma Palmer (a hilarious Doll Tearsheet), the stentorian-voiced Christopher Stollery, Marty Alix, Lulu Howes, Leilani Loau and Ruby Henaway all have their moments in the sun, with the latter playing Joan of Arc, the most intriguing creation in Henry VI. The crackles of the flames when she burns are created by the actors clapping out of synch. Immeasurably aided by Kate Beere's set (with 20th-century costumes) and Matt Cox's lighting, much of the production is so enthralling that at one point in I was momentarily stunned to see other audience members in the light. We all stood and cheered at the end, knowing the actors, guided by Ryan's vision, had just pulled off a triumph of endurance as well as of their art, and we, the audience had been just been part of a tiny slice of history. Nonetheless, see it over two days rather than one. During his extraordinarily busy life as Cantor in Leipzig, Bach still found time to be Director of the Collegium Musicum in that city, which held weekly concerts in the Café Zimmermann. The concerts took place outside in the summer and inside in the winter and were free except for the price of a cup of coffee and Bach scholar Christoph Wolf suggests this as a likely context for performances of Bach's Orchestral Suites. In playing all four of Bach's Orchestral Suites on a modern concert platform and in a single sitting, the Australian Brandenburg Orchestra shone light on this group of instrumental works, and also on the very different challenges of instrumental balance the works pose. At one end of the spectrum are the Suites Nos 3 (which was played first) and 4 (which concluded the concert), both in D. In these works, probably written for outdoor performance, trumpets, oboes, bassoons and timpani join the string ensemble. Under the theatrical gestures of leader Paul Dyer, who encouraged them leaping to his feet with outstretched arms, the trumpets dominated while playing, sometimes thrillingly and sometimes at the expense of the details of the violin line. The first section of the Overture has elaborate arabesques of notes that lead into the next downbeat like courtly hand gestures preceding a bow. In the Suite No. 3, the slow tempo prevented these from falling with complete naturalness, but in the Suite No. 4 at the close, the ABO achieved a stately and majestic effect. Dyer took the well-known second movement, Air, of Suite No. 3 at a restrained pace, although the tradition of playing this work at a slow tempo arises from a nineteenth century transcription to be played entirely on the G string of the violin (hence its nickname) rather than any indication by Bach. At the other end of the balance spectrum is the Orchestral Suite No. 2 in B minor for strings and flauto traverso, played by Melissa Farrow. This was likely a work for indoor performance and Farrow's delicate tone blended discreetly in the Overture. The passage work flowed mellifluously, and cutting the strings back to single instruments during solos allowed the flute to be heard. Farrow flitted lightly in the virtuosic final movement, Badinerie. The happiest medium, in terms of balance came in the Orchestral Suite No. 1 in C blending strings with oboes and bassoon, especially in moments like the Gavotte, where Dyer quietened the sound on return for contrast. MUSIC Daniil Trifonov performs Rachmaninov Sydney Symphony Orchestra, March 28 Reviewed by PETER MCCALLUM ★★★★★ Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No 4 has never enjoyed among audiences the celebrity of his second and third concertos but has found champions among some notable pianists. Daniil Trifonov inhabited the piece with demonic brilliance, exploring its emotional range with Dostoyevskian darkness and tempestuous intensity.' After the exultant opening theme, Trifonov created a texture of wiry expressiveness in the quieter second theme, while elsewhere energising the finger work as though brewing a spell. After starting the slow movement with insouciant disregard, he sat motionless while the main theme shaped itself with ominous simplicity under his fingers. In the last movement, his playing flashed fiercely against the orchestra like lightning cracks, in a virtuosic display of tensile strength. Trifonov's last appearance in Sydney in 2017 (playing, among other things, Rachmaninov's equally neglected First Piano Concerto) showed him as a pianist of precocious technical mastery. He returns as an artist of distinctive stature, fiery depth and complexity. The other welcome returning guest was Asher Fisch, who conducted a beautifully hushed reading of Liadov's short gem The Enchanted Lake, Op. 62 to start, and whose astute leadership drew out the Sydney Symphony at its very best – and that is very good indeed – in Berlioz's Symphonie fantastique, Op. 14. The latter is a work of huge imagination, orchestral refinement and innovative structural organisation. Yet it can become sprawling, Romantically overblown and inchoate without careful guidance. The first movement, Daydreams – Passions was discreetly balanced, with each floating idea given space and light around it to flow freely with the strange logic of a vivid dream. For the second movement, A Ball, the whirring energy of the strings, with trumpet moved to a position just behind them in front of the horns, created the sense that all this glitter was happening elsewhere while the protagonist's obsession, represented in the recurring idea or idée fixe that nags in each movement, forced its way to the forefront of consciousness. In the fields, with haunting cor anglais from Alexandre Oguey and a welcome guest return of oboist Diana Doherty in response, was a succession of delicately shaded colours right up to the ominous timpani chords like distant thunder at the close. Both the fourth and fifth movement were notable for tightly disciplined energy and rhythmic incisiveness. Olli Leppäniemi's clarinet playing introduced a tone of parody and the use of ophicleides (Nick Byrne and Bradley Lucas) as Berlioz specified (rather than modern tubas) gave the dies irae theme in the finale an aptly morose, sardonic bitterness. The concert was also a warm and heartfelt tribute by the orchestra to longtime SSO concertmaster Donald Hazelwood who led the orchestra with distinction from 1965 to 1998 and who sadly died earlier this month, aged 95.
ABC News
25-04-2025
- Entertainment
- ABC News
For 30 years RAW Comedy has platformed the likes of Josh Thomas and Hannah Gadsby
Peter Josip tried his hand at a few tricks before entering comedy — everything from musical theatre to mixed martial arts. He even came second in the national final of a singing competition — but doesn't tend to boast about that achievement. "In my section, I was the only competitor," the Melbourne local explains. "I hadn't practised in weeks, so I performed really bad, and they gave me second. "I was on a podium, standing on second, next to no-one on third, and no-one on first." His Les Misérables song choice didn't help the situation. "Coming second to no-one with a song titled 'Master of the House' was another slap in the face," he says. Peter Josip says "no matter how many views the RAW broadcast gets, it's not gonna get anywhere near as much engagement as my mum's Facebook friends". ( Supplied: MICF / T J Garvie ) A decade later, Josip's finally redeemed himself, beating a thousand other hopefuls to win the prestigious RAW Comedy National Grand Final. Part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival (MICF), the competition has been running for almost 30 years, and has propelled a wide array of up-and-coming Australian stand-ups to stardom, including The Daily Show's Ronny Chieng, Please Like Me's Josh Thomas, Fisk's Aaron Chen and Thank God You're Here's Celia Pacquola. 'It's pretty magic' Geraldine Hickey is another major Australian comedy figure who credits RAW with kickstarting her career. Geraldine Hickey is one of Australia's most prominent comics. ( Supplied: MICF ) As a 21-year-old in Albury, the comedy scene was essentially non-existent for Hickey. There were few opportunities to watch live comedy, so performing was out of the question. That is, until RAW came along. Hickey made it to the 2001 final, where she performed on national TV and was applauded as runner-up. "I don't think I would have gotten gigs if I hadn't done RAW," she says. As a young lesbian with a lack of 'boys club' connections in the big city, RAW gave Hickey the foot in the door she needed to get her start. More than two decades later, she's a regular across the TV and live-comedy circuit, and loves coming back to judge the RAW competition. "When you see someone on stage get their first laugh, and you see the look on their face, it's pretty magic." Coming running up at RAW comedy in 2001, a young Geraldine Hickey was sure she'd "made it". ( Supplied: MICF ) Susan Provan, the festival director of the MICF, has overseen RAW since its inception in 1996. For her, part of the competition's power is in platforming voices like Hickey's, that might not otherwise get heard. " Imagine if we hadn't had the opportunity to see Hannah Gadsby or Joel Creasey or people who don't immediately have that big, blokey pushy [confidence]. " Provan says RAW has always aimed to help fill the gap in regional centres and smaller cities, where there aren't always opportunities like open mic nights. The competition also prioritises creating a safe space for entrants, with heckling and misogynistic, racist or homophobic jokes banned. "For women, it's been really hard doing open mics," Provan says. "They've had to get up in some pub where everyone's drunk and they have to follow someone who thinks rape jokes are hilarious." 'Much scarier financially' With a lack of paid opportunities, most emerging comedians either have day jobs or leave Australia for markets like the US or UK; either for a few years, or for good. "There are so many medium-sized cities overseas, you can be somewhere different every night of the year earning money, and there's just not that opportunity here," Provan says. Loading YouTube content On top of that, COVID, lockdowns and the cost-of-living crisis have all changed people's patterns for going out to see live comedy. "People definitely book later, they make decisions about spending money later, and Saturday night isn't what it was," Provan explains. "Particularly people working from home, they might come into the city just one night, rather than a few." She says these behaviour changes have made things "much scarier financially" for venues and comics alike. For Josip, one of the biggest industry changes has been that writing great jokes will no longer necessarily lead to success. "You kind of have to do everything as well as comedy," he says. "You have to be your own marketer, your own social media manager." 'A game changer' Social media, too, has shifted the path to success, and provided another entry point for up-and-coming comedians, including those who may not suit the pub crowds of open mic nights. "It's been a bit of a game changer in terms of enabling people to develop their audiences," Provan says. "But being able to do little jokes on TikTok is very different to being able to hold a crowd for an hour in a live environment, so that stage time is still really important." Photo shows Two men dressed as Margaret Pomeranz and David Stratton "Something that we've joked about a lot is that everyone is either a Margaret or a David." Despite audiences moving away from traditional media, and the struggles of the live arts industries, Provan insists RAW will keep going strong, even if its flow-on effects are less certain. "If I'd done this 20 years ago, it's like: 'Oh, you get to be on TV, that's crazy,'" Josip says. "Whereas now, it's like: 'Oh, you'll get a great clip out of it to post to social media.'" While Josip jokes his career end-goal is to be the mean judge on a Got Talent show, ultimately he says it's an industry in which you can't take anything for granted, "no matter how good or big you get". For Hickey, who's currently touring her show 'Meander' at comedy festivals across the country, the changing industry means there are more places than ever "to plug away at it". "It's about whatever avenue you can find to be successful and whatever success means to you. "Success might be getting a million followers on TikTok, or success might be doing a solo show at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. It's different for different people and nowadays, you can kind of do whatever you want to create your own success."
Yahoo
12-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Longtime Los Angeles Dodgers Organist Nancy Bea Hefley Dies
The Los Angeles Dodgers just lost one of their most beloved members. Nancy Bea Hefley, 89, passed away over the weekend. She had been with the organization for 27 years and retired after the 2015 season. The Dodgers' official account posted this tribute: It's a sad day in Los Angeles for the Hefley family and Dodgers fanbase. The team won the World Series when Hefley took over as the lead organist in 1988. Ever since that unforgettable season, she had provided the Dodgers with their soundtrack, which was woven into the club's fabric. Advertisement Much like legendary commentator Vin Scully, Hefley was integral to the game day experience and stadium allure. She could play over 2,000 songs from memory, and those mesmerizing organ notes echoed throughout the Chavez Ravine for generations. Los Angeles Dodgers organist Nancy Bea Hefley is embraced by center fielder Matt Kemp (27) after throwing out the ceremonial first pitch before the game against the San Diego Padres at Dodger Lee-Imagn Images Perhaps Hefley's most iconic song was 'Master of the House' from the musical Les Misérables. She would play this song when noted musical theater buff Orel Hershiser pitched. The master of the Dodgers' clubhouse went on to win his first and only Cy Young that year. Hefley's death reminds us of baseball's scope and the many special people in this sport. Advertisement The music may not be your top priority at a ballgame, but it is a crucial, complementary piece to the on-field action. It's part of the in-person spectacle to hear songs like 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game' and experience baseball in its purest form. Rest in peace to Nancy Bea Hefley, who gave countless fans world-class organ performances daily. Related: Roki Sasaki Offers Honest Analysis After Struggling Home Debut for Dodgers
