Cats - The Musical

The phenomenon that is Cats - The Musical is sweeping up and down the country this month. Based on Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, a collection of poems published in 1939 by TS Eliot, Cats is not so much a story as an exploration of feline mannerisms and sociological behaviour through music and dance. Cats has become one of the longest-running musicals in London's West End, on Broadway and around the world, with audience members considering themselves experts because they can sing a few lines from its most famous song, "Memory". It was one of many 1980s productions to cement Andrew Lloyd Webber's name as a legendary composer of musicals.

It was with much excitement that my two nephews and I headed out for their first musical experience on a busy Friday night in Wellington. Mr 11 and I had already shared the thrill of a live performance at the NZSO Christmas Pops in December. I knew it would be a gamble taking a 6-year-old out well past his bedtime. He tried his very best to stay awake but finally succumbed at the start of the second half, curling up in his seat and reportedly "dreaming of the show" performing in front of him.

Sadly, this performance of Cats fell short in so many ways. I've spent much of the weekend trying to pinpoint why. About half an hour into the show, I wondered what was going wrong. Lack of energy? No, the cast were giving it their all. The set design? No, although the giant paddle boat wheel was a little strange and out of context. (I'm not sure how it relates to the Christchurch earthquakes, which replaced the original junkyard setting.) The dancing? No. The choreography was good and some of the solo dances were spectacular.

On reflection, I think the show was poorly directed with little or no musical direction and weak orchestration. The chorus numbers were sloppy and the out-of-tune leads (Grizabella and Rum Tum Tugger especially) were painful to listen to. Like the dancers, some individuals shone but it seems like the cast were left to their own musical merits. If they could sing, great! If not ... never mind. Mr Mistoffelees' dance was show stopping but the score just ambled along afterwards, leaving him robbed of his much-deserved applause.

Lighting cues could have helped showcase the costumes, which looked dull and demure in the downlights, and a follow spot would have guided the action on stage, particularly for children trying to follow the plot and identify the characters. The whole performance came together like a school musical production - and I know first hand just how challenging it is to put on a show.

Also, no cats visited the audience during the show or before the second half began - a lost opportunity to encourage some much-needed audience interaction.

This review and its comments actually sums up the performance really well. Taking a risk by messing about with a tried and true formula just didn't work. It's too late now to say "save your money" and wait to see the show next time an international cast tours it, but I wish I had.

Bugsy Malone (1976)

Bugsy Malone (1976) was on tv tonight. Bugsy Malone! I couldn't say how many times my brother and I must have watched this musical movie as kids but I do know that the last time I saw it must have been at least 25 years ago. Could it possibly be as good as I remembered?

This all-child cast featured the very cute Scott Baio (who can believe he's now 54!), Jodie Foster as nightclub showgirl Tallulah, the tough talking Italian Fat Sam and the cleaner forever waiting for the tap dancing audition that never comes. These tap dancing gangster kids were the height of sophistication and cool, slinking around the back streets of 1920s Chicago at night with their pedal cars and splurge guns shooting gallons of whipped cream.

Even after all these years, I can vividly remember random lines of dialogue and musical numbers word for word. For example, here's what happened the first time Bugsy and Blousey met.

"What's your name, anyway?"
"Brown."
"Sounds like a loaf of bread!"
"Blousey Brown."
"Blousey Brown! Sounds like a stale loaf of bread!"

And then there's Tallulah's big nightclub act:

"My name is Tallulah, I live 'til I die.
I'll take what you give me and I don't ask why.
I've made a lot of friends in some exotic places.
I don't remember names but I remember faces."

It all came flooding back tonight as I rewatched Bugsy Malone, hoping my nostalgia for a childhood favourite wouldn't be tainted by a dated, badly acted movie. Thankfully, I sat through scene after scene with a cheesy grin on my face right until the gloriously messy, cream-pie filled finale.

"We could have been anything we wanted to be ..."

Here's the trailer - for nostalgia's sake.

Annie

The sun'll come out tomorrow

Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow ... there'll be sun!

You know how the song goes. It's hard not to smile when you sing (or hear) it. Annie and her fellow orphans have been charming audiences around the world since 1977. Although I'd never seen the show live on stage, Annie somehow managed to creep into heart of me and my friends a few decades ago. Set in 1933 at the Municipal Girls' Orphanage in New York, the story of a little girl rescued from an orphan's life by a dashing billionaire is the stuff that dreams are made of.

I was delighted to win tickets to see Annie at the St James Theatre last night. I imagined the audience to be overflowing with preening ballet mums and grand-ma'ams with their precious bairns in tow. Looking around, the audience was actually a much wider cross-section of ages and people-watching subjects, including groups of girls and women in their 20s and 30s no doubt reliving their childhood nostalgia like I was.

Much was made of the international cast in the lead-up to the show and there were a few standout performances. I really enjoyed David McAlister as Oliver Warbucks and Mig Ayesa as Rooster. Annie and the orphan girls' performances were really well polished and oh, so upbeat. It's easy to get lost in the mood when surrounded by a troupe of joy germs.

Sadly, the show was let down by dreadful sound quality. From where we were sitting (about seven rows from the front, slightly left of centre), the sound was very loud and trebly enough to be piercing, especially when being bombarded by nasal, fake American accents. I could barely make out the lyrics over the orchestra during the big numbers. AND THERE WAS SO MUCH SHOUTING! So, so much shouting in the show - and then a little girl was blowing a whistle and someone else was ringing a bell. Don't get me wrong; I've made a lot of noise myself performing on stage over the years but I shudder to think that we'd ever subjected an audience to sound that was bordering on painful to listen to. Two women a few rows ahead walked out during the first act. They missed a great show but I understand why they had to move.

Annie and her friends move to Auckland soon for the second half of their New Zealand tour. The show is enjoyable and well worth seeing. I just hope the crew at The Civic do a better job of the sound than their Wellington counterparts.

Easter guilty pleasures

Everyone has a guilty pleasure or three. Whether it is food, boy bands, rom coms or trashy magazines, there is always something that those around you secretly love but are hesitantly to openly admit - and the guilty pleasures often don't appear to 'match' the person hiding the secret.

Apart from chocolate, hot cross buns and other goodies, I have a couple of musical guilty pleasures that I only indulge at Easter. There are two albums in my music collection that otherwise never see daylight at any other time of the year and I listen to them both in their entirety over the Easter weekend. Michael Flatley's Lord of the Dance is currently blasting while my breadmaker is kneading dough for hot cross buns and the New Zealand cast version of Jesus Christ Superstar will have its turn while I bake cupcakes this afternoon. So very 1990s. So very good just once a year!

So, what guilty pleasures do you confess to? You can remain anonymous if you're not brave enough to come clean publicly ... ;-)

Grease - the singalong version

I think I might have discovered the ultimate girls' night out: Grease - the singalong version. I'd seen this event advertised and lamented the fact that my best friend, another huge Grease (1978) fan, lives in Auckland. I couldn't think of anyone else I'd ask to go with me (you can imagine what my sweetie's response would have been) so let it pass. Yesterday, I was chatting with a friend at work when she said, "I've got something really random to ask you, and don't take this the wrong way, but would you be interested in going to the singalong version of Grease at the Embassy tonight?" She saw my face light up and was relieved to realise she'd asked exactly the right person.

My friend had no clue what a die hard Grease fan I actually am. Others think they are, too, but they didn't measure up last night; out of a theatre full of wannabe Sandys and pink wigs, very few seemed to know the script, the songs playing on the jukebox, the dance moves ... am I being too fanatical? Perhaps, but that's what happens when you've watched your favourite movie several hundred times since you were 8. I didn't understand most of what was they were saying or doing for several years, even though I could recite almost every line, but loved every minute of it. Ahh, the age of innocence.

After about 15 minutes, I realised that I'd never actually seen Grease on the big screen, and here I was watching a karaoke version with hundreds of people swigging Pink Lady slushies (strawberry syrup, rum and lime) and T-Bird cocktails from plastic Martini glasses. The audience cheered loudly as each character appeared on screen for the first time and ohhed when they saw Kenickie, as Jeff Conaway died in May. They whooped and whistled every time Danny and Sandy kissed and booed disapprovingly when Cha Cha DiGregorio ransacked Danny to take out the dance off trophy at the prom.

One of my favourite songs from the movie is today's tune spinning on Café Chick's Jukebox - check out (and sing) the awesome Summer Nights.

Musical sacrilege

Being female and of a certain generation, there are a few musical movies that, as soon as their titles are mentioned, will garner a uniform reaction from my peers. (Females, that is; the guys just roll their eyes.) I wouldn’t go as far as saying they form the soundtrack to my childhood, but they were significant at the time and therefore eternally timeless.

Footloose (1984) was incredibly memorable for me, but not because it was a particularly great movie (it wasn't) nor because it spawned a few pop hits that you’ll hear on high rotate at certain Courtenay Place establishments on a Saturday night. Footloose was the first movie I was allowed to see at the cinema without parental supervision. A friend and I went with her elder sister and her friend; this was pretty radical back in those days. I remembered very little about the movie itself except for one girl trying to get out of one car window (while it was still moving) and into another moving car. Racy!

Then there was Grease (1977). This is my ultimate favourite movie and one of just four I own on DVD. There’s nothing that this movie doesn’t have: sassy characters, great music, fast cars, and fabulous 50s style cool. I know every line and lyric by heart but didn’t particular enjoy the stage show. I shudder at the thought of this movie ever being remade; Grease 2 (1982) was bad enough. Here's the cool opening theme:


I grew up watching the TV series Fame on Saturday afternoons. Admittedly, there wasn’t much on TV back in those days, but Leroy and the gang with their leotards and legwarmers were the ultimate in cool. I still get a bit choky when I hear Starmaker by Kids from Fame. Go on - indulge yourself:


However, while nostalgia is a fine thing, tampering with something that should have simply been left alone is disastrous. Even the trailer for the 'new' Fame (2009) movie leaves me cold. What do you think?

And then I read yesterday that Dirty Dancing (1987) is to be remade. I am outraged! Doesn’t anyone remember Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights (2004)? No, of course they don’t, and those that do simply grimace at the memory. Poor Patrick Swayze will be turning in his grave; no other actor could say, "nobody puts Baby in a corner" as cheesily as he did. Sure, they might cast a female lead who can actually act (or dance) this time, but it won't be the same. Here's the original trailer. Just hearing the soundtrack brings it all back.


Personally, I blame the truly puzzlesome Glee phenomenon for all this. So what do you think about remaking classic movies – special or sacrilege?

Starlight Express

Roller skates. Remember them? Back in the 1980s when they were all the fashion, I was desperate for a pair, just like everyone else in my neighbourhood. The other neighbourhood children all had trendy boot skates, just like the ones you see on tv, but parents could only afford to buy me skates that strapped on around my shoes. It's true that I could still skate (and fall over) just like everyone else, but it wasn't quite the same and I couldn't help wanting what they had.

There is a small cul-de-sac of about ten houses which slopes downhill just opposite my parents' house. The neighbourhood children would skate (slide?) down this street, try to jump up onto the footpath at the bottom of the hill, then stop ourselves by smacking into the fence at the end at high speed. We would then take off our skates, walk back up the hill, and start again. Finally, shoe skates were better; those with boot skates had to walk up the hill barefoot or with their socks on, whereas I still had my shoes. Also, when others grew out of their expensive boot skates, I could still wear mine. Part of me still wanted boot skates, though.

Then along came inline skates and rollerblading. Skates with wheels were definitely not cool; they weren't even retro yet! Apart from a couple of ice skating sessions, I haven't skated since the 80s and am not particularly keen to try. Still, I can reminisce about the days when we would go whizzing up and down our street with both grace and speed, while conveniently overlooking all the scrapes and bruises.

We went to see Starlight Express on Saturday. A rock musical composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber for his children in 1984, Starlight Express boasts being the only musical performed entirely on roller skates. (Yes, skates, not blades!) Loosely described as a Cinderella-style story about a boy's train set which comes to life. The characters (trains) race to become "the fastest engine in the world", setting up an epic battle between steam, diesel and electricity.

From start to end, Starlight Express is action packed, fast-paced and a dazzling display of lights, costumes, makeup, choreography and skating action. In 1992, the musical was revised and some songs were added and deleted, with a couple of characters also changed. (I was disappointed to see that the beautiful piece "There's Me" made the cutting room floor; I've played it for years on the piano.) The stunt skating was impressive, as was the set design, lighting and special effects. It would take a lot to get this show on the road!

It's not often that a Lloyd Webber production comes to town. Starlight Express is not so well known in New Zealand, and with ticket prices more expensive than most shows (and a less-than convincing advertising campaign) sales were probably slower than expected. However, with so much to take in, it's easy to forget how naff the plot is and simply get caught up in enjoying the overall show as a sum of all its contributing parts.