THEGAYUK

Tag: Soho Theatre

All the latest breaking news on the Soho Theatre. Browse THEGAYUK’s complete collection of news, articles and commentary on the Soho Theatre.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Penny Arcade, Longing Last Longer

    All hail Penny Arcade. Her latest, solo show – Longing Last Longer – knifes gentrification in the guts in a non-stop orgy of conceptual homicide.

    Deliciously stoked and provoked by the severe, outrageously queer Gospel of Quentin Crisp, she’s a multiple-orgasm messiah high on life, love and luxuriant language. Ah, but Quentin’s brilliant, misanthropic spite – an anguished, solitary voice of sanity in a worldwide disturbed ward – is only one voice in Penny’s polyphonic choir of existential fire. Frankly, she’s our Dante, Allan Ginsberg and Martin Luther King sex-changed to a post-indulgence, Mad Max Furiosa, a warrior poetess par excellence. All punk-rock poison to mass stupidity, and spitting incandescent, revelatory bile, she massacres cultural mediocrity on the spot.

    It’s a gorgeous execution. Pointless identity politics and thought-police Nazis – the PC shock-jocks – are ruthlessly dispatched with stunning erudition and torn limb from linguistic limb. So they should be. Why lobotomise ourselves with divisive labels that set one social faction against another? Don’t fascist police states do that already? And that’s where Penny’s sublime, sheer art-attack joyously weighs in. Forget theatre; Longing Lasts Longer is language as visionary music, words and concepts blown as intoxicating, be-bop virtuoso jazz solos.

    Utterly fearless, following no star but her own, outré contrariness and distrust of any authority – even her own! – Penny furiously asks the unsayable. Indiscriminately puking on taboos Labour, Tory and anarchist, she explodes orthodoxies cemented by dogma as utterly facile. And her most contentious target? Arguably, the mythic chimera of sexual freedom. Whatever labels our preening egos prefer – gay, bi, trans or straight – the physical reality is that females nurture and males take. ‘The biological imperative sees no difference between a c*** and an arsehole’, Penny declares with bravura crudity. How right she is. Guys will stick their dicks in anything; hello, glory holes? And even razor blades in prostitute pussies didn’t deter vets in Vietnam.

    But don’t get her wrong. No prude, Penny’s partied for 45 years, the show’s soundtrack brilliantly accenting her excesses with a sonic blizzard of Nirvana, The Doors, Prince and more. Free your mind and your ass will follow, indeed; this is culture cut loose from classrooms and set wildly free as hot, sweaty, erotic dance. ‘I haven’t watched TV for 40 years’ Penny says, and why would she? She’s too busy living, the only known antidote to bovine, terminally-addicted consumerism and online ennui.

    Impassioned, on a hugely physical and flame-haired roll, she decries the certifiably insane world of compulsory self-censorship and hair-trigger text warnings we’re sleepwalking into. ‘Mediocrity is the new black’ (as in fashion essential) Penny cries, and she’s so hilariously on the money it hurts. Apparently, even skimming textual trauma triggers the reality, so how vulnerable students approach American bestseller the Bible – crammed with sex and horror – beggars belief.

    Frighteningly, Penny explains, our very powers of expression – a Niagara Falls of nuances – are being systematically impoverished by corporate consensus. Terrified to even expect sustained attention spans, we Twitter ourselves en masse to gnomic vapidity. George Orwell’s novel 1984 termed the process ‘Doublespeak’; with complex language deliberately erased, even imagining abstract concepts is impossible. Which perfectly suits repressive regimes and aggressive capitalism; the more inarticulate, easily swayed and passive drones we become, the better

    ‘You can’t call yourself fierce and demand a safe space outside of a mental hospital’ Penny inarguably states, succinctly nailing the paradox of fake, lip-service rebellion. So what will you do when, not if, the state dictates your life, liberty and pursuit of happiness? Penny’s answer is taking brilliantly-argued responsibility for her entire life, completely owning each trauma and rapture, with not a single, squandered second. Will you do as much? Don’t delay; ‘The roses in the shops have lost their scent’, Penny bewails, a shockingly astute, contemporary human metaphor. The message is plain, and passionately perfect; either live your own life now, on your own terms, or have it lived for you. Choose life. Choose passion. Choose Penny Arcade. She’s perfect salvation in a soundbite.

     

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Dina Martina “Sitting Ovations”

    Would you willingly embrace artistic schizophrenia?

    Even fiercely kiss your inner, self-hating, subconscious bigot? Join the club. It’s a deliberate, artistic strategy stunningly deployed by stellar gay stars Penny Arcade and Franko B, the spectacular collision of two opposing points of view.

    Arguably first expressed in literature by Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘Imp Of The Perverse’ and refined as ‘DoubleSpeak’ by George Orwell’s 1984, it’s contrarianism writ large as art. Which is where manic, barely-sane comic Dina Martina – the probable incest brat of Family Guy’s Stewie Griffin and Ronald McDonald – comes storming in.

    Hailing from Seattle, USA, she’s 301 pounds of deeply skewed fun, a human CGI ball of deeply silly putty.

    So why mention her size? Because it’s the raw material of her art, darlings, Dina’s comic rocket-fuel, like Jack Dee’s trademark misery. ‘I stick to a high-sodium diet for that lush, larger-than-life look’, she giggles, her huge, plus-size clown’s mouth dilating like a gynaecologist’s nightmare.

    Think Heath Ledger’s Joker squeezed in a ball-gown cursed with Michael Jackson’s falsetto, and you too might run screaming for the exit. But wait; this funky assassin in a fright-wig only has one, single target, her own, all-too-willing self. Zoning in on personal pain with the exquisite virtuosity of the Saw torture-flick franchise, Dina masterfully misleads us from moment one.

    ‘I live a life without purpose’ she sadly observes, but who could possibly take this cosy, human cupcake seriously? And that’s precisely the point; we’re being taken for a brilliantly contrary ride by a Wizard of Oz Munchkin with the super-shrewd crowd perception of Sigmund Freud.

    But even with hindsight, it’s hard to adequately conjure Dina’s utterly demented stage entrance. Grinning like a slaughtered, Hallowe’en pumpkin, all Sergeant Pepper frock-coat and ballooning flesh, she pipes out inane, disco lyrics like a hooker on helium.

    How do we take her? At face value? Not quite. See, no matter how twisted you are, there’s always someone more extreme. Take dog poo; amateurs eat it dumped and stale, but dedicated gourmets suck it straight out. Just like comedy, in fact, and Dina’s surgically precise freak-show.

    And I’m in awe. Frankly, she’s attempting – and pulling off – a knife-edge balance of audience sympathies, by deliberately playing gay public poison Number One, the mincing, often self-loathing cliché. Never met one? Then check out John Inman and Larry Grayson on vintage TV. Still guaranteed to give gay rights activists instant heart attacks, Inman, Grayson and company were the utterly bland, acceptable face of homosexuality for heterosexuals.

    Try that now, and you’ll be as ostracised as white actors in blackface playing to Afro-Caribbean audiences. But remarkably, Dina embodies that fluffy, yucky stereotype – the target of mass straight derision – and still melts modern-day gay heartstrings.

    And mercifully, Dina’s Sitting Ovations is utterly removed from the vile, exploitative voyeurism of Soho’s deeply morally dubious Box club. Instead, she’s conceptually elegant, a drag Noel Coward of devastating double-takes and exquisitely dry, social dissections. ‘I am currently single’ she quips, ‘due to an unspoken agreement between me and men’.

    Okay, so the subtlety’s often swamped in a pell-mell parade of costume changes and video clips of spoof 1980s pop tunes, but it bites. Dina’s cracked, sectioned-on-glee-pills voice sweetly trills of infants raised on booze-filled pacifiers, and middle-aged housewives memorably disfigured by ‘Necrospheres’, facial fillers harvested from spoiled corpses. In other words, USA today through a gorgeously dark, twisted gay looking-glass Oscar Wilde would’ve killed to glance at.

    But there’s far more to ‘Sitting Ovations’ than faux-naive vignettes of the grotesque, distasteful and gaggingly twee. Arguably most memorable is a moody, extended reminiscence of an encounter with a (frustratingly unnamed) vintage Hollywood legend. Young, gauche and dumb, Dina’s fabulously dismissed by the aged, but still super-chic madam stabbing a prawn in her cocktail and holding it aloft.

    ‘This empty husk of a formerly vital creature’ she hisses to a suddenly tomb-silent room, ‘reminds me of you’. Just like anyone rash enough to risk Dina’s quick, eviscerating, Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde wit, in fact. Me, I’m shrewd enough to stay way out the firing line; Dina’s an ongoing, monster talent steam-rolling any unwary opposition, and sometimes – like many reluctant celibates – it’s best to just say yes.

    At the Soho Theatre until 24th October 2015

  • Transformer: A Night With Lou Reed At Soho Theatre, Polymorphous Perversity

    Does gay culture have Alzheimer’s or rather, collective amnesia? Sure, for straight, non-artistic philistines Jonny Woo seems ground-breaking, but truthfully, he’s one rich link in a historically brilliant chain. ★★★★

    The once-signature beard, teamed with trowelled-on make-up? Straight from the Cockettes, the 1960s, San Franciscan performance art troupe, via David Hoyle’s car-crash Liza Minelli make-over. Ditto the confrontational rants, identity politics and shot-gun conflation of trash and fine art – uh, hello, John Waters and Divine, anyone?

    And let’s not forget gorgeous lifestyle peacocks Quentin Crisp and Colin Swift (don’t know them? Do a Google), the epitomes of waspishly debonair decadence. ‘I love watching ballet’, Crisp hissed, ‘You never know when the dancers will slip and break their necks’.

    And something of that same, devilish relish instantly curdles easy, audience enjoyment tonight. Because, if ever a show demanded snarling contempt for punters, it’s this. See, Lou Reed – the ragingly gay, rock ‘n’ roll beast so timidly evoked tonight – wasn’t even borderline polite. Screw social graces – he brutally massacred finesse with the aplomb of a fresh, human turd served at a Buckingham Palace banquet. Sure, Woo serves up a live, Reed songbook and patter, but it’s a pale, disappointing Xerox of Warhol sleaze, venom and spunk, West End Wendies doing a Lou Reed-Lite karaoke.

    Let’s get specific. The biggest, howlingly apparent problem is a skewed, dramatic spine, all Hunchback of Notre Dame excess but no pay-off. It’s the sin of pride. perhaps, or, less religiously, King Midas Syndrome, the belief that sexually diverse mind-sets turn everything they touch to pure gold.

    Not here. Unshakeably sure of his own cachet, Woo simply assumes, limpet-like, that his blessed touch automatically annexes and glorifies all things queer in his own image. If only, if only, as Tennessee Williams should’ve said to Salvador Dali. Full points to Jonny for even trying, but I deeply missed Lou’s clinically insane, live-gig frazzled mania, nowhere evident tonight.

    It’s unfair, perhaps, to compare Transformer to the utterly deranged, swamp-rock transvestism of The Christeene Machine, another Soho Theatre stand-out. But frankly, Jonny, bless his surely rock ‘n’ roll heart, just pussyfoots, and merely apes, but never memorably embraces, piss-stained leather pants dementia.

    Still – as with the filthiest, most depraved sinner – there are points of brilliant redemption. Breaking London drag superstar Pretty Miss Cairo is an outstanding Candy Darling, even though that transsexual, Warhol luminary would rather cut her bashful, self-effacing dick off than get naked on stage. And better still is Fi McCluskey’s jaw-droppingly stunning Valerie Solanas, the militant feminist who shot Warhol nearly point-blank in ’68. Reciting still-incendiary verses from the SCUM manifesto – the Society for Cutting Up Men – McClusky gives every ounce of witchy, confrontational venom a sublime, poison perfection.

    So should you see Transformer, and part with your hard-earned, precious shekels? Oh god, yes, even for just the memory of that glorious, unrepeatable era when the streets of early 70s Soho were awash with drugs, pansexuality and promise – a time, we hope, might soon come again.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Radiant Vermin, Soho Theatre, London

    ★★★★ | Radiant Vermin, Soho Theatre, London

    “I want this house. Oh, yes, I know there’ll be problems. But at least we’ll have the hope of things getting better. Isn’t that the least we owe our child? Hope.”

    Jill and Ollie: a seemingly ordinary couple, trapped in poor housing on a rough estate, unable to get on the property ladder. They want to tell you about how they found their dream home and some of the things they did in order to get it. It’s a beautiful house. They know you might find some of the things they did shocking and horrible but they want to explain. They deserve that chance, at least. It may well be that you understand more than you initially think you do, too.

    Philip Ridley’s plays are often visceral and dark with skilful humour leading the viewer subtly down dark routes too often brutal and sharp conclusions. This play is no exception with a hilarious and seemingly light-hearted satire on consumerism and the lengths we’re willing to go to acquire things. That’s till things get nasty and the gruesome secrets come out with Jill and Ollie’s suburban niceties peeling away to reveal deadly secrets.

    The sublime Gemma Whelan, star of Ridley’s last play, “Dark Vanilla Jungle”, puts on another brilliant performance as the seemingly naïve and sweet, Jill. She’s ably supported by hapless and sweet Sean Michael Verey (Pramface) as wholesome Ollie and Amanda Daniels as the Mephistophelean Miss Dee.

    A stark white set supports the raw action in this play that is perhaps one of Ridley’s most accessible. It’s a piece that’ll make you laugh, squirm and shudder and ultimately question your own motivations and desires. What would you do for a rapid induction hob, a four-man Jacuzzi and a flat screen TV? The Soho Theatre has yet again managed to put on something truly original and contemporary that suits beautifully in our current cultural landscape.

    Radiant Vermin runs until the 12th of April 2015

    Buy tickets here: http://sohotheatre.com/whats-on/radiant-vermin

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Spine, Soho Theatre

    From fast-rising Channel 4 Playwright Clara Brennan comes a hilarious, pan-generational call to arms for our modern age.

    Spine charts the explosive friendship between a ferocious, wisecracking teenager and an elderly East End widow. Mischievous activist pensioner Glenda is hell-bent on leaving a political legacy and saving Amy from the Tory scrapheap because ‘there’s nothing more terrifying than a teenager with something to say’.

    In this era of damaging coalition cuts and disillusionment, has politics forgotten people? Can we really take the power back? Amy is about to be forced to find out.
    There’s something about a well scripted and performed monologue that can be immensely powerful and intense and Brennan’s play manages to be both of these things whilst also being incredibly funny. Rosie Wyatt’s Amy is initially an unsympathetic character with an accent and pattern of speech like nails on a blackboard and a strutting, angry demeanour. The skill in both the script and the acting lies in making the viewer warm to and believe in the changes that take place in Amy, in spite of her bad points.

    The Soho Theatre is a great space for this play with the small space crammed with teetering piles of books. I laughed a lot and almost didn’t notice that the play was delivering a message about apathy in an age when we’re challenged and tricked into thinking that we should be grateful for what we have. And keep quiet. There’s a touch of the 1970s classic film Harold and Maud about the play: eccentric pensioner and off the rails teenager learn from each other.

    Kudos to Rosie Wyatt too for telling an audience member off for using her phone during the play, whilst remaining in character. She’s a woman after my own heart.

    Spine runs until: Tue 21 Oct – Sun 2 Nov, 7.15pm. Matinees: Sat 2.30pm, Sun 5.30pm
    Buy tickets here: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/spine

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Fleabag, Soho Theatre, London

    ★★★★★ | Fleabag, Soho Theatre, London

    What happens when your life has descended into an endless round of masturbating to Internet porn, seeking casual pick-ups and having catastrophic career and relationship failures? How do we manage to live in a world where sex is ever present and the only way we can sometimes connect is through (not always satisfying) sex?

    Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s multi-award nominated, previous sell-out and critically acclaimed show is back at the Soho Theatre and it’s as twisted and as funny as ever. It’s a hilariously funny play with touches of pathos and enough gross out moments to make you wince and squirm. It’s great to see taboo subjects like female masturbation, pornography viewing and casual hook ups portrayed in a non-judgemental and achingly funny play.
    Waller-Bridge is a consummate performer, providing warmth to an unapologetic character that you want to alternately shake, nurture or go for a few cocktails with. In spite of her gauche demeanour and hapless nature the Fleabag has a dark psyche bursting full of issues and enough baggage to fill a carousel at Heathrow. It’s a testament to the power of the acting, production and script that the audience seems to warm to her so much and not want to boo her off the stage. The audience reaction was, in fact, ecstatic, the night I saw the show.

    This is a very unique production and a well-deserved Olivier Award nominee. You’ll have to act fast if you want to catch a seat. It’s a not to be missed experience. Just don’t take your granny along unless she happens to be very open-minded.
    Fleabag runs until 25th of May 2014
    Book tickets here: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/fleabag/

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Dark Vanilla Jungle, Soho Theatre

    ★★★★★ | Dark Vanilla Jungle, Soho Theatre

    Andrea keeps getting asked if she’s ashamed.
    Ashamed of what she did to the soldier.
    Of what she did to the baby.
    But Andrea’s not ashamed at all.
    And she wants to tell you why…

    Dark Vanilla Jungle is a powerhouse of a play by award-winning playwright Philip Ridley and stars the amazing Gemma Whelan (Game of Thrones, One Man Two Guvnors).

    Andrea enters onto a bare stage and starts to interact with the audience telling them her story. Initially nervous and shy, she presents her tale with a naïve charm and gaucheness that is achingly funny but mildly alarming. As Andrea’s story progresses there are hints of what’s to come and her nervous shyness turns to an increasingly frenetic and angst-ridden tirade that is breath taking, heart breaking and lyrical. Ridley’s use of language and ability to tell a multi-layered story is pure genius, much like his previous works “Tender Napalm” and “The Fastest Clock in the Universe”. Ridley is a writer at his peak.

    It’s rare that theatre is this affecting and cathartic with the audience taken on a compelling roller-coaster journey that left them bemused, amused, horrified, shaken and perturbed. Viewing this play isn’t a light experience but nor is it one that feels turgid or heavy-handed, instead being fast paced and thrilling. Although dark themes lie at the heart of the play, there’s an uplifting quality to the frenetic pace too and Andrea’s horrific experiences become something that you accept and forgive, understanding just why she isn’t at all ashamed about what she did.

    A huge credit for the power of the piece lies with actress Gemma Whelan who gives a staggering performance that is a sight to behold. The audience are left wondering quite how one actress can give so much and feel exhausted for her.

    The Soho Theatre has proven once again that it is right at the heart of innovative new theatre after a string of recent hits. This is an absolutely brilliant experience not to be missed.
    Dark Vanilla Jungle is on at Soho Theatre until the 13th of April

    Book tickets here: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/dark-vanilla-jungle-2014/

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Lady Rizo, At Soho Theatre, London

    ★★★★ | Lady Rizo, At Soho Theatre, London

    We are so lucky to live in London. The sheer range of entertainment this city offers is absolutely astonishing. On any given night, we are offered a bewildering array of choices, opera, ballet, theatre, whether it be mainstream or fringe.

    There really is something for everyone. It is surely the sheer richness of London’s cultural life that attracts artists from all over the world here. So it is that self-styled New York entertainer, dream maker, chanteuse and superstar Lady Rizo is visiting London to take up residency in the Soho Theatre’s intimate downstairs cabaret space until January 4th.

    Taking in a wide range of material, Lady Rizo lends her powerhouse vocals to such classics as Cole Porter’s “Love For Sale” and the seasonal “The Christmas Song”, as well as contributing some of her own songs from her own album “Violet”. With a nod to the festive season, she even puts her inimitable stamp on a bluesy rendition of Adolphe Adam’s “O Holy Night.”

    Elegant, but engagingly wacky, she jokes with the audience between songs, at one point stuffing most of her fist into her mouth as she peels off her gloves in a comedy strip routine, though, like Rita Hayworth’s Gilda, the gloves are all that come off. Mid-way through the show, she entices an audience member on stage and gets him to help her change her dress behind a back lit screen, whilst he tells her the story of how he lost his virginity. It’s that kind of show. We soon feel like old friends. By the end of it, she has the audience eating out of her hand, and singing along with The Bee Gees’ “To Love Somebody”.

    Big on personality, big on voice, this is one lady you shouldn’t miss, but get there early, or, even better, book, Tuesday’s performance was completely sold out.

    Lady Rizo is at the Soho Theatre Downstairs until January 4th 2014

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Blink, Soho Theatre

    ★★★★ | Blink, Soho Theatre

    Blink is the tale of Jonah and Sophie. It’s a love story, a very dysfunctional love story, but a love story all the same.

    The show was a sell-out hit at Soho Theatre and in Edinburgh in 2012 and sees a welcome return to this charming theatre on Dean Street.

    Harry McEntire and Rosie Wyatt give astounding performances as the two characters, both talking in short monologues, telling the audience the story of their unconventional romance. I won’t give any of the plot away but there are moments of gentle pathos mixed with quirky humour and dark reflections of modern life. The story is propelled forward by the intriguing storyline, which whilst bordering on the absurd, is made entirely real and believable by a fast paced and beautifully written script and strong line delivery from the two actors. The set is clever too, making use of a minimum of items to portray as variety of settings.

    Writer, Phil Porter, describes the piece as “A big, silly, serious, semi-ridiculous play.” He’s definitely mixed these elements well and this is a show well worth seeing

     

    Blink runs until 11/01/14 at The Soho Theatre

     

    Book tickets here: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/blink

     

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Bourgeois And Maurice At The Soho Theatre

    You know those occasions when you meet your mates in town for a drink after work. It gets to about 9 and you think it might be nice to round off the evening in some way.

    Well instead of heading to your local kebab house, why not nip down to the Soho Theatre for a bit of cabaret, where you can catch one of the final performances of Sugartits, by the award-winning duo Bourgeois and Maurice? It would be a great way to round off a convivial evening with friends.

    And convivial, for the most part, is what this cabaret is. The duo delivers a selection of self-penned songs, covering a range of contemporary topics, such as tax, internet junkies and the homogenisation of our town centres (an “improvised” song about Birmingham could be about any town in the UK, which is actually the point). However, though engaging and entertaining, it’s not quite as hard hitting as they’d like to think, pandering, as it does, to middle-class Liberal sensibilities. I felt it could have done with a set of sharper teeth.

    That said, I could hardly fault the performances of the duo, who are the perfect foil for each other. Bourgeois, looking rather like a cross between the Divine David and the MC from Cabare, (I loved the Putin decorated jumpsuit he changed into half way through) delivers his songs and linking dialogue with a sardonically laconic wit, whilst Maurice, sporting a 60’s beehive, which would be the envy of Marge Simpson, has an engaging goofiness, and a rare talent at the keyboard. I particularly enjoyed her surreal attempt to tell a joke, in the manner of Michael McIntyre.

    Certainly, worth a trip, you can catch the show at the Soho Theatre Downstairs until September 21st.

  • THEATRE REVIEW | Address Unknown, Soho Theatre

    ★★★★ | Address Unknown

    Is it possible to explain the incomprehensible? How can anyone begin to understand what would make a man abandon a deep friendship in favour of joining a radical political movement? ‘Address Unknown’ is a stunning play from 1938 in which Kathrine Kressman looks at just these issues.

    Max and Martin are close friends with strong bonds but when Martin moves back to his native Germany a rift grows between them; a rift that will eventually lead to rejection, betrayal and revenge. The problem being that Max is Jewish and Martin is beguiled by the emerging National Socialist Movement and becomes an official in the Nazi party.

    Max and Martin are close friends with strong bonds but when Martin moves back to his native Germany a rift grows between them; a rift that will eventually lead to rejection, betrayal and revenge. The problem being that Max is Jewish and Martin is beguiled by the emerging National Socialist Movement and becomes an official in the Nazi party.

    It’s a powerful piece, well staged and well acted by the two men and is much more than a dry political commentary. The story is a very human one which subtly unfolds in a well paced and intriguing manner and makes the audience both squirm in horror and laugh with glee.

    It’s a powerful piece, well staged and well acted by the two men and is much more than a dry political commentary. The story is a very human one which subtly unfolds in a well paced and intriguing manner and makes the audience both squirm in horror and laugh with glee.

    He has a good point. Essential viewing for our modern times.

    ‘Address Unknown’ runs at The Soho Theatre until the 27th of July 2013

    Book tickets here: http://www.sohotheatre.com/whats-on/address-unknown