Drag Seen

The drag act has always enjoyed a special place in the hearts of the British public. From the earliest days of music hall and pantomime to the  organised chaos of LIPSYNC1000 at The Glory, drag has been a thriving part of the working class entertainment scene and in recent decades a reflection of the socio-political climate in the UK. Drag can be Danny La Rue on Mother Kelly's Doorstep or it can be Panti Bliss eloquently campaigning for Marriage Equality. It can be a history of music with Hinge & Brackett or it can be Johnny Woo, subversive and wholly contemporary.  

I have to say that I was particularly pleased to eventually get to see La Voix at The Crazy Coqs last week. I have seen the artist several times on stage over the years in various guises. Enough to know that he is not only very talented, he is also extremely adaptable. Through pantos and drag shows, La Voix finally gained wider public recognition as a finalist on Britain's Got Talent.

So what is La Voix's schtick? What's her USP? That's very simple - talent. La Voix works the cabaret bar like a seasoned pro - frighteningly quick off the mark with lots of fresh, topical jokes. Believe me, I've seen drag queens using the same material ten years down the line and it shows. But it isn't La Voix's wicked sense of humour that defines this show, it the vocal talent. Live vocals, of course. Check out the wonderful Connie & Carla to see how unusual that is on the US drag scene. La Voix has a thrilling vocal technique that raises the bar for all other performers and an uncanny gift for vocal impersonation that is founded in respect and admiration for the artists he mimics. 

La Voix is an old-school talent with a cutting edge sense of humour. The act is hugely entertaining and fits comfortably into the stylish surroundings of The Crazy Coqs. I'm not totally sure of future dates, but judging by the healthy full house on the Wednesday evening that I caught the show, it's a guaranteed draw. 

A Question Of Attribution

One of the things that I am most proud of as a critic for The Stage is the publications commitment to credits. It is our job to supply a as full a list as is practical with every review that we write. All theatre is a collaborative process and while you may only remember the actors, or possibly the director or musical director of a show, there is usually a whole regiment of professionals who have enhanced your experience. If you can see and hear the actors, it's due, in part at least, to a lighting and sound designer. They haven't usually walked on stage in their daywear, so a costume designer was probably involved too - as was a set designer, sound operative, follow-spot operator, stage manager and possibly a wig mistress too.

Of course, this all depends on the size and shape of a production and particularly at festivals and on the fringe, the credits are more likely to be fewer in number and often doubled - the artist on stage may well have directed the piece and designed the lighting! I remember my first visit to Edinburgh, where The Stage doesn't let up its credit listing in the slightest, being shocked that not only was a programme unlikely, but it was rare to get even a list of credits. In Edinburgh, we usually have to harass the director/stage manager as they are struggling to strike the show. I have to say this did lead to a particularly embarrassing moment after one play left me utterly distraught - I was fighting a losing battle to hold back tears - while asking the director who had designed the lighting.

In a world where 'low-pay' and 'no-pay' are regular tag-lines and the market is flooded with talent, I can at least understand why people may work simply for the experience. Wrong or right, if it's a project you're passionate about and there's no sense of exploitation, then why not. What worries me is when there is no credit for your work.

At festivals like Edinburgh, I also understand the necessity of thrift and that even a photocopied credit list may be beyond the budget. Thankfully, at least the website or facebook page will carry a complete list of credits. Recently however I went to see a show that was touring the UK that told a rather different story. For want of a better description, it was a pop anthology show but it featured dialogue as well as the songs, a headline act, a support act, a dancing chorus, a set, lighting and sound. I wasn't surprised that there was no programme and the website seemed pretty thorough with credits for the star, producers and sound and lighting people.

What did disturb me was that the website failed to credit both the support act (three names) or the dancing chorus (eight names). Since when did this become acceptable? If nothing else, there should be a credit where a credit is due. A half-arsed acknowledgment on stage during the applause is not acceptable and the performers really need to speak to their agents. Ignoring a credit is unacceptable and while we may have grown immune a scarcity of technical credits on fringe productions, don't let this bad habit spread.

Best Laid Plans

The last blog post that I'd written never actually published. Having read through it, what surprised me the most was the ambition in it. I am still running, just about although it's a slow process for me as I'm constantly wary of damage to my foot. I am indeed back on my bike, thank god. Easily the shortest time to get from A to B in London. I'm not the worlds fastest cyclist but it's quicker than both train and bus to get to work. 

What's missing of course is the planned holiday in February. Fat chance. Sean has been talking about a weekend away, possibly to Edinburgh, but while its seems like a lovely idea, I'd rather invest in a week away somewhere hot. We used to go away at about the end of May each year. I know I definately need a break but it's sorting out the schedules to work. 

Stuck On A Train

For me, December has long been about travel. Not the exotic travel that some critics are afforded at this time of year, when high-brow goes out the window in favour of dodgy innuendo and outrageous costumes. For me, December is dominated by the pantomime schedules and negotiating where I can be and when. This year was always going to be different. This year I had a full-time job, which would occupy much of my energies through the day while my evenings remained entrenched in fairyland. 

Amid the flurry of purchase orders and deadlines, something had to give and that appears to be my waistline, which has expanded with all the ease of a butcher filling a sausage. I am however in the process of making a change to this. I am back on my bike, as my evenings are freeing up slightly and I've been back in the pool already, albeit there will have to be a pause over Christmas. Thankfully, the Better Organisation, who run my group of pools and gyms are only closed on the big day itself.

I am supplementing my exercise by running at the moment. Not great distances but enough to make a difference. It wasn't that long ago when I felt that I couldn't ever run as part of my exercise regime but now it's definitely doable. The thing is, losing weight is going to be a lot harder this time around. I am older and my working timetable is more erratic than it's ever been and food and wine are easy comforts for stress and fatigue. I'm going to claw it back though. I am away in mid-February (hopefully) for a holiday. Somewhere hot with a pool and a view worth painting. I intend to look the best I can on that holiday. I love having goals, with something to aim for. So I'm off on another journey - wave if you see me! 

Second Nature

I distinctly remember my first encounter with a regular mobile phone user. It was in 1999 in a cafe on the livelier side of Covent Garden. The actor I was having lunch with was bewailing some tragic dating crisis and I began to realise that every time he referred to the conversation with his date, his thumb mimicked a texting motion.  Of course, when I asked him if he realised he was doing it, he denied it but for me, it was the first instance of how communications technology was surreptitiously embedding itself into our natural lives.

 

When I moved to London in 1996, mobile phones were still fairly alien to me. Sitting on a bus and suddenly hearing the woman three seats behind burst into conversation still gave rise to universal tutting from other commuters. Oh how things have changed! And boy, have we changed with them? Smart phones are now ubiquitous and access to email and social-networks 24/7 has become an invaluable work-tool for any on-the-go professional. Can you imagine any one of your theatre colleagues - backstage or onstage -  not owning a mobile phone? 

 

And yet thankfully, some will say, the use of this device is still proscribed in theatres. Rightly so, perhaps, but the truth of the matter is that the use of mobile phones is rapidly becoming second nature. In a theatre interval, the rush for a quick fag has almost been superseded by the rush for a signal to check email or deliver an #intervaltweet.

 

If this is the case, how long will it be before an enterprising producer spots a gap in the market and creates theatre where use of mobile phones is allowed or even encouraged? Where people don't have to unplug from their social network in order to engage with others?

 

Kerry Michael over at TRSE pioneered a Twitter-zone in the venue, reserving seats specifically for those who wanted to tweet during a show. At the time, it was a brave move and whatever the results of such a practice, it had to be considered a step forward in the evolution of the theatre-goer. 

 

Some people will undoubtedly see this as a slippery slope, but every time I hear a story about mobile phone use in an auditorium, I think back to Edinburgh last year. During a particularly precarious piece of circus theatre, an usher surreptitiously stepped-up to stop a woman from filming the event on her phone. The woman was gripped and ignored the usher's hissed instruction to cease and desist. Suddenly she realised that the usher was trying to attract her attention and she turned to reveal not a mobile phone, but a glass of wine in her hand. 

 

More recently at the Theatre 2016 conference, Ian Strickland of Charcoalblue dared to stick his head above the parapet and suggest that Smartphones could be integrated into the theatregoing experience. Why not? Let's face it, there was a time when women actors, naturalistic acting, artificial light and perspective were all considered daring innovations in theatre production. Is there no way Smartphones could help people engage in theatre too? #justsaying

 

Paul Vale

The Landor

As is so often the way on the fringes of journalism, the news of the Landor's closure came as no surprise. Not because I am some economist with insight but because I'd heard reliable gossip, off the record, and digested the information accordingly. Amid the venues obituaries that have since sprung up over social media, I personally can't help but feel less than nostalgic about the building. It is, after all, a function room above a pub and if the brewery who run it lack the foresight to include a theatre in that space, then it's their loss. I refuse to mourn the space and shall loose no sleep over the fact that I'll probably never set foot in the over-priced boozer again in my life. I have no reason to and even less inclination. 

For me theatre has always been more about people than buildings. Had somebody told me that Rob McWhir, Rob Cook or Andrew Keates were retiring from theatre, that would be cause for misery and mourning. Had somebody asserted that Richard Lambert had decided not to produce his annual Lambco Festival, then that would be a shame. Good god, I had some wonderful times at the Landor but it had very little, if anything to do with the building.

What I witnessed there - laughter, tears and talent will continue to be provided by the same people who generated such emotions. I'll just experience them in a different environment. 

Grief and Support

It's been a busy time and in many ways very distressing. At an international level, the horrific events in Orlando almost seemed too surreal to comprehend. Homophobia and historic gun laws combining to devastate the lives of, not just the victims, but their families and loved ones. The outpouring of grief and support, not least from London, re-affirmed my belief in the human spirit. Anyone who opposes gun control legislation in the US has blood on their hands. End of. 

Then just as the world is reeling from these senseless deaths on the other side of the Atlantic, this ridiculous EU Referendum took an unexpected and mortifying turn, as MP Jo Cox was shot and stabbed by a right-wing extremist outside the library in Birstall, West Yorkshire. Amid one of the filthiest, scare-mongering, mud-slinging campaigns I have witnessed in my adult life, it left me and most of UK in shock. Never mind the suspects mental health, his comments have established a political motive for her murder, rendering the act an assassination. This is the sort of fuck-wit behaviour that happens in other countries, not in the UK. There are politicians out there with blood on their hands in the UK too, it seems.