Too Cool For School

Last night, I was invited along to the concert performance of Cool Rider at the Lyric on Shaftesbury Avenue. Cool Rider - for those who may not know - is the ‘stage name’ for Grease 2, the sequel to the blockbuster movie-musical, that failed both critically and financially. As it happens, whilst I was a huge fan of Grease when it opened in 1978, I have never actually seen Grease 2. I knew it was an early major role for Michelle Pfeiffer and that a few of the original cast had joined in but after this, I had no idea either of the songs or the plot.

When I heard that producers Christopher D Clegg and James DP Drury were mounting a concert performance of the movie, I simply wondered as to who would buy a ticket to see it? To my surprise, within less than a week the concert had sold out and another performance added on the same evening. I’d expected a quality cast, on-script, singing numbers from the show with little attempt at staging or story. I hadn’t expected so many cast members, vibrant choreography, simple but amusing staging and an audience who didn’t only know the plot but also the lyrics to each song.

The band led by Lee Freeman belted out a cache of catchy tunes, notoriously written by multiple composers and lyricists but specially arranged for this stage version. These are all complemented by Matt Krzan’s frenetic choreography, featuring some show-stopping moves from Michael Callum Evans and an adapted script from director Guy Unsworth and Mark Jones.  There are strong central performances from Ashleigh Gray as Stephanie (the Pfeiffer role) and Aaron Sidwell as Michael with support from Niall Sheehy as Johnny, Hannah Levane as Paulette and Reece Shearsmith as Mr Stuart.

Judging by the passion and vitality by which this concert has been presented, the creatives obviously have a huge fondness for the original movie. Cool Rider was a great night out but as to a future life, I have to be a little more pragmatic and question whether or not the show could sustain full production. Personally, I think it could have a longer life in its present format rather than laying on full-blown production values. There was a huge amount of energy and commitment on stage last night and that kind of thing can become infectious. The audience loved what was happening on stage and cheered every tongue-in-cheek, low-tech special effect as much as they did the lively musical numbers and corny dialogue.

Grease 2 may be classed as a flop but given the right marketing and suitable backing, Cool Rider could well become a huge hit for theatregoers in need of a fun night out. As for me, I have spent much of the day checking out Grease 2 on YouTube and trying to work out where they went wrong.

Naked And Gay In Vauxhall

Those lads down in Vauxhall really know how to throw a party although throughout January, I am not drinking and sticking to a rigorous health and fitness regime – or at least trying to. So far I have managed to lay off the booze but Dirty Burger was far too good to have been even the slightest bit healthy. I was in Vauxhall for The Gay Naked Play, the second production to take place at the brand new Above The Stag Theatre. An appropriate play for a theatre company that has spent the last four years developing a loyal and diverse audience by producing musicals, cabaret and plays on a gay theme.

The Gay Naked Play tells the story of the Integrity Players and the problems they have trying to establish an audience with a series of obscure but worthy dramas. Faced with bankruptcy they agree to allow an outsider to produce a musical version of The Passion of the Christ featuring a hard-core porn star as Jesus and a chorus of scantily clad chorus boys. David Bell’s remarkably short play is packed with laughs while verbalising a dilemma faced by many a small theatre company, namely artistic compromise.

Thankfully this production compromises nothing for laughs and director Andrew Beckett keeps the action pacey, the references broad (or at least Broadway!), the cheesecake at acceptable levels and the cast are full of surprises, particularly Stacey Sobieski as Amanda, the pregnant member of Integrity Players who is convinced to play the Virgin Mary and appear naked on stage singing Madonna classics. The Gay Naked Play may not be Chekhov but it’s perfectly suited to the Above The Stag audience and tickets are selling fast - almost as fast as those cheeseburgers on a Saturday night in Vauxhall after closing time at the RVT!

Pan-demic

I must say I never really got Peter Pan. I've not read the novel and although I have seen the play in several incarnations on stage and screen, I have never really bought into the sentiment of it all. It's world of nursery games, thimble kisses, Red Indians and pirates was never part of my childhood and while I appreciate the narrative, it has always struck me as a cloying, saccharine affair - a sentimental relic of the turn of the last century. 

When Lost Boyopened at the Finborough at the beginning of January, my eyes were opened somewhat. Phil Willmott’s take on the ‘Peter Pan’ legend looks at the idea that many of the novel’s first readers were slaughtered in World War I. Central to Willmott’s adaptation is George Llewelyn Davies, the young man on who JM Barrie based the character of Peter and who died leading his troops into battle in Flanders.

In his musical, Willmott draws parallels between the gay abandon by which Peter leads the Lost Boys into battle with the pirates and the gung-ho spirit by which young men signed up to certain death in the trenches. Willmott’s Pan is forced to grow up, just like all the other Lost Boys who have found jobs in the city but spend Friday nights carousing on the wrong side of Hyde Park until they valiantly sign up to protect King and country.

This new musical is the real deal, marred only by the restrictions of budget but still making the most of the space and talent on offer. Lost Boy is a musical of possibilities with a strong, cliché free score more reminiscent of Broadway than the West End and a riveting book – it’s always comes down to the book - that addresses issues from male bonding to revenge, all within the confines of characters created by JM Barrie.

Lost Boy has now transferred to the Charing Cross until February 15. I am looking forward to checking it out and seeing how it looks on a bigger stage.

My 2013

I take New Year - as I'm sure many people do - as a time of both reflection and anticipation. For me personally 2013 has been a year of great changes both personally and professionally. Sean asked me what the highlights to my year had been and aside from a few personal successes, each of my highlights have been theatrical ventures. With The Stage 100 List being published this week and The Offies hot on their tail celebrating theatre work Off-West End, I thought it might be an idea to fashion my own, purely personal list of theatre highlights this year.

I have seen a fair few new musicals this year but little compared to the ground-breaking Streets, which opened at the Cockpit in April. Like most musicals on the fringe Streetswas not perfect but writers Finn Anderson, Tori Allen-Martin, Sarah Henley and James Eyres-Kenward have created a fascinating amalgam of song, dance and touching drama that throws up a challenge to conventional musical theatre. Look out for further productions this year.

For my best musical theatre performance of 2013, nothing will beat John Barr’s turn as Ed Kleban in A Class Act at the Landor. Barr’s portrayal of the tortured, insecure, depressive lyricist, famous for his work on A Chorus Line, was a tour de force, the like of which is rarely seen on the Fringe and the show certainly deserved as further life.

When it comes to a best new play, then Gutted is an easy winner. Opening in May at the Theatre Royal Stratford East, Rikki Beadle-Blair’s play may have divided the critics but nobody could doubt the power of the performances or the passion of Beadle-Blair’s writing.

Broadway chansonnier KarenMason was a notable cabaret highlight, along with Stefan Bednarczyk reinventing Noel Coward and the indomitable Miss Hope Springs all of whom appeared at my favourite cabaret venue, the Crazy Coqs.

When it comes to revivals, Merrily We Roll Along has – thankfully – been preserved digitally and I consider myself very fortunate to have seen Maria Friedman’s revival on stage and on screen. I had never heard of Bare but the transfer from the Union to the Greenwich was a notable piece of rock musical theatre with a stunningly good set design.

And finally....

Thursday 26^th December – Boxing Day

Weight: 13.13 (Huh?!) Calories: 2,600 (chip shop was open today) Fags: 19 (nails looking a little better) Alcohol Units: 0 (well done!) No. Of Boyfriends: 0

6.30am  Am v. sleepy as I wearily walk around flat gathering self together for morning duties.  Maybe I could phone in sick?  Don’t be ridiculous!  It’s only eight hours and it won’t kill you.  Wore my best T-shirt today and made sure that I stank of my most expensive aftershave.  That way will not be mistaken for a guest again.

7.15am  Today Rosie is alone when she picks me up as it turns out that Tim and Claire have phoned in sick.  Suddenly I feel very pleased with myself.  Wish I’d worn a warmer T-shirt though as I am freezing.

7.45am  Bermondsey Christmas Shelter Project.  No stranger now,  I head straight for the coffee before heading off for my first duty - organising the breakfast queue. The main halls were still dark and most of the guests were still asleep.  Sonia, my partner for the shift and myself gaze across a room the size of two football pitches filled with sleeping bodies.  For some reason I felt like crying.

8.30am  The breakfast queue was pretty much the same as lunch yesterday except that not everybody is a morning person.  Still I talked and chatted to people I had met yesterday and to others who looked like they might not shout at me.  One young lad was particularly flirty and looked like he might be a regular at the Ghetto – all dreadlocks and baggy jeans.

11.00am  Am now in charge of stopping people from getting into the medical area without seeing the receptionist.  There are lots of things on offer here including Doctors, Opticians, Massage, Acupuncture, a Pharmacy, Chiropodists and a Dentist.  It is wonderful how all these people have given their time to help others.  I begin to feel a bit useless, not being particularly skilled at anything.  Well, I do mix a bloody good martini but alcohol isn’t allowed in here.

1.00pm  Lunch consisted of a pork pie and a packet of crisps – not my record 12 turkey sandwiches from last year.  Surely this has been one of the healthiest Boxing Day’s of my career. 

2.15pm  Cleaning duties in the shower block.  One of the guests had been very sick in the showers.  Somehow I don’t think I could have coped with this after twelve turkey sandwiches.  My duty partner added to the whole fun and games by throwing up himself which for some reason I found very funny.  Perhaps I am a little more used to such sights after working in the entertainment industry for so long.

5.00pm  Home again with fish and chips and a large mug of tea.  It has been a very odd Christmas one way or another.  I am looking forward to the New Year as one of the guests, who said she had gypsy blood, had read my palm and told me I would be meeting a handsome stranger who would whisk me away from all my problems.  To be quite honest he wouldn’t have to be handsome, just nice, kind and honest.  And as for my problems?  The past couple of days made me realise that quite frankly, I don’t really have any worth moaning about.  Still I gave her all my fags and tried to get the strangers initials.

More Festive Dylan Jones

Wednesday 25^th December – Christmas Day

Weight: 13.13 (Not quite what was planned) Calories: 2,600 (junk food was only food available) Fags: 5 (have no nails left) Alcohol Units: 0 (excellent) No. Of Boyfriends: 0 

7.00am  Merry Christmas!  Hurrah!  Am wide-awake and perfectly ready to venture out into the dark morning ready to help the needy.  Am amazed at the amount of people around at this time of the morning.  A gentleman comes to meet me at the Station where I am being picked up and I steel myself for a hearty Yuletide greeting.

‘Are you with Securicor?’

‘Ummm, no.’

‘Just what I fucking need this time of the morning!’  And off he goes.  Perhaps I am too romantic when it comes to Christmas.

7.15am  Rosie turns up in her car to give me a lift to the shelter.  Her car is full of people and I wish them all a Merry Christmas and fortunately they return my greeting with good cheer.  This is more like it.  It turns out that the gentleman is a reformed alcoholic on his fifth and Rosie is helping at the Women Only centre for the tenth year.  Claire, like myself, is a ‘shelter virgin’ and works for The Guardian.

7.45am  Bermondsey Christmas Shelter Project.  The converted, disused warehouse is heaving with merry volunteers most of whom seem to know each other.  Naturally my killer instincts are sharply on the lookout for three things.  Potential boyfriends, caffeine and the smoking area.  I must say there are some very tasty looking men around including Jason, our Team Leader, who looks very snazzy in his sweat shirt, jeans, Timberland boots and a Santa hat.  Everything seems very organised and warm as we are given our lecture on the ‘Rules’ in the guest’s area.  Jason takes off ten of us to the main hall where we are given our duties for the first two hours.  I am paired up with a talkative woman called Mary and we are seated in a corner of the large hall.  Around us bodies are beginning to stir.

8.40am  Am having very interesting conversation with a man named Doug who has been on the streets for four years.  It is very difficult because his Scottish accent is very thick and I have difficulty trying to decipher it.  His pal Chris, a chirpy Londoner has brought back a huge breakfast for the two of them and I begin to feel v. hungry.  Chris goes off to the on-site hairdressers to have his head shaved.

9.50am Mary and I are still sat chatting to Chris and Doug.  Sally, a Welsh alcoholic has joined us and against one of the main rules Mary starts to talk about politics, ‘Gee Double-Ya’ and the possibility of war.  Sally, Chris and Doug all seem to have well informed views on the matter and I pray that nobody asks me about it.  When Sally does ask my opinion I offer everybody a fag, which works well as a ploy for changing the subject.

11.40am  Much as I like our three new friends and am enjoying our conversation I am now out of fags.  I really ought to read the papers more.  We have been here for four hours now.  Surely there must be something else we can do.  Volunteers seem to be moving around all the time.

12.35pm  Mary finally asks a Team Leader whether or not we are supposed to be here.  Finally we are relieved.  Jason comes up to us and apologises.  Looking as dishy as he does I could forgive him anything.

‘I’m terribly sorry about that.  Sat there, the supervisor thought you were guests.’  Bastard!  We had been encouraged to talk people.  And do I really look like a homeless person?  I grab a coffee and head for the smoking area to blag a ciggy.

1.10pm  Lunch duty is a little better.  I am stood in the middle of the queue chatting to guests as they queue up for food.  Some of them are wearing much better clothes than me it is true, but many of them do still smell of wee.  It is fun though and I make lots of new friends.  I only wish I could help them a little more so I don’t say anything when my new mates Doug, Chris and Sally sneak back in for seconds.  I will try to bring in more fags tomorrow.

5.00pm  Home at last.  V. tired.  Only shop open was Chicken Cottage at the end of the road, which I suspect is run by Muslims.  I suddenly remember that I had recorded Eastenders and I settled down to watch it with mug of tea. 

5.05pm  Gahhhhhhhhhhhh.  Set the wrong channel and have now recorded Slim Steven’s Christmas Cracker with special guests Atomic Kitten and Darius.  Am too tired to cry.  Will go to bed now.

A Blast From The Past

I wrote this the year before I met Sean, a homage if you will to Helen Fielding but a slightly different perspective and obviously seasonal. It's in three parts, so I shall post them consecutively before Christmas.

Tuesday 24^th December – Christmas Eve

Weight: 13.10 (De-hydration) Calories: 1,800 (most of it chocolate coated) Fags: 25 (am saving myself) Alcohol Units: 0 (excellent) No. Of Boyfriends: 0 

9.10am  Oh dear.  Have woken up on sofa with empty bottle of vodka and surrounded by pine needles.  For some reason I feel remarkably lucid although I am a little flummoxed as to why my Jesus Action Figure has a Radio Times picture of Brad Pitt stuck on it’s face at the top of the Christmas tree.  Am seriously troubled by what various psychiatrists may also make of this.  Fortunately none are expected for breakfast.

11.20am  After a long bath and refreshing breakfast of warm orange juice I decide I really ought to go to bed early tonight in order to be bright and breezy for my Christmas Day chores. 

12.50pm  Flat is looking particularly tidy at the moment and the tree makes the whole room smells of pine.  I decide that now may be a good time to set video for all the programmes I will miss over Christmas Day.  Ooo, a phone call.

1.15pm  That was Euan who has returned to his parent’s castle in Scotland.  Says he is bored already and did I want to fly up to meet him.  As tempting as that seemed I reminded him of my duties to the homeless of London.  He was very sweet and told me to fly up for New Year’s Eve.  I doubt whether I will though, as it tends to get pretty nippy up there and may seriously hamper my chances of pulling somebody who might be more than a one-night-stand.

5.50pm  Have spent the last hour trying to decide what to wear tomorrow. They suggest that you dress warmly and with layers that may be removed should you get too hot when working in the various areas of the hostel.  Eventually I settle for something that fits.  I had better check my e-mail for some last minute seasonal messages.

6.15pm  Gahhhhhhh.  I have an offer of a lift from a charming woman from Carlshalton who is passing through Streatham on her way to the centre.  She will pick me up, along with two others, at seven in the morning.  Bugger.  Now I will have to go outside in the rain and cancel the taxi.  Still think of the money I will save.  I grab my cigarettes and hurriedly run down the stairs as my mobile rings downstairs.

6.30pm  In hurry to get to mobile I fall arse over tit down the stairs.  Swearing, I answer to hear gunfire in the background.

‘Dylan?  Are you alright?’

‘Marsh?  Hello?  Where are you and what’s all that noise?

‘Oh, just fireworks.  I just wanted to say happy Christmas before the big day.’

‘I fell down the stairs.  You sound like you’re in a war zone.  Where are you?

‘Norwich, of course.  Have you been drinking again?’

I explain that I just slipped on the stairs and he says he has to dash.  Ohhhhh, I think I pulled something in my back.  Am v. suspicious of Marshall’s whereabouts over the holiday.  He says that he is in Norwich but I sense that he has been flown to sort out terrorists in anti-capitalist state.  Story about being football journalist reporting on Norwich City match simply doesn’t ring true.  What do gay men know about football apart from usual Beckham trivia? 

7.40pm Must sleep now as I have a really early start in the morning.