WHAT THE BUTLER SAW
Sun, 25 Sept 2005, 08:12 amBass Guy38 posts in thread
WHAT THE BUTLER SAW
Sun, 25 Sept 2005, 08:12 amWho: GRADS
Where: Dolphin Theatre, UWA
When: 8pm 23/9/2005
What: Sordid farce from the soon-to-be-bludgeoned-to-death Joe Orton
Why: Threats of conjugal favours being withheld if I failed to attend. (Not entirely true)
Well, if the butler saw what I saw on Friday last, he needs his eyes checked or his head read. I thought IÂ’d indulge a little too firmly in the house convivialities prior to the show, but IÂ’m led to believe I wasnÂ’t the only one to suffer the demented visions this play provokes, so I canÂ’t blame it on the unwitting ingestion of psychedelics. I can, however, blame it on the crazed imagination of Stephen Lee and his cast of lunatic stooges.
Orton’s farce apparently flopped at the time of its premiere- and I think I know why. There’s not much “whoops, matron my trousers fell through the pantry. More tea, vicar?” in WTBS. Well, check out the poster- there’s more emphasis on the PHWOOAAR! Factor. As evidenced by the opening five minutes, which sees the heroine on the piece reduced to her underwear, and being subtly drooled over by the hero. It’s like Carry On Without Any Inhibitions. Of course, this is precisely the highbrow entertainment demanded by Generation Zzzzz today, so the choice is apt.
The cast rollicked through the opening night production, with only pause for the occasional hiccup with miscreant props and recalcitrant business. Paul Treasure starts as a bear-like figure, but is soon reduced to a sympathetic putty-like creature by the idiocy of his circumstance. The elfin Jessyca Hutchens not only spends most of the play near naked (I couldnÂ’t afford tickets to WTBS Uncut- Jarrod Buttery had bought them all and was scalping them cruelly) but a good deal of it sedated and/or screaming. Not easy to do both at the same time. Scott Sheridan attacks his role with gusto giving us something akin to Norman Wisdom on crack- which is what the show requires. Tony Petani sets new records for the achievement of those born without gorm. His Sgt Match is bizarre in the way he falls into the mania of the situation without blinking or pause. Jenny McCannÂ’s portrayal as the nymphomaniac harridan was too close to home for me to consider it acting- but by God itÂ’s convincing.
The most FRIGHTENING portrayal in recent history belongs not to that Welsh pretender Hopkins, but the demented Grant Malcolm as Dr Rance. His Murnau-esque take on the character (eyes a-twitch, shoulders a-hunch, voice a-boom) is hysterically funny and unnerving at the same time- and consequently does little to counter my lack of faith in the Western Health System.
Bravura doesnÂ’t begin to describe the efforts of cast and crew for this show. And if opening night had hiccups, these will be ironed out and the show will become unfathomably slick. This is a play that will reward a repeated viewing- theyÂ’re getting more risque as the season progresses. Well, thatÂ’s the rumour IÂ’m going to be spreadingÂ….
El
Where: Dolphin Theatre, UWA
When: 8pm 23/9/2005
What: Sordid farce from the soon-to-be-bludgeoned-to-death Joe Orton
Why: Threats of conjugal favours being withheld if I failed to attend. (Not entirely true)
Well, if the butler saw what I saw on Friday last, he needs his eyes checked or his head read. I thought IÂ’d indulge a little too firmly in the house convivialities prior to the show, but IÂ’m led to believe I wasnÂ’t the only one to suffer the demented visions this play provokes, so I canÂ’t blame it on the unwitting ingestion of psychedelics. I can, however, blame it on the crazed imagination of Stephen Lee and his cast of lunatic stooges.
Orton’s farce apparently flopped at the time of its premiere- and I think I know why. There’s not much “whoops, matron my trousers fell through the pantry. More tea, vicar?” in WTBS. Well, check out the poster- there’s more emphasis on the PHWOOAAR! Factor. As evidenced by the opening five minutes, which sees the heroine on the piece reduced to her underwear, and being subtly drooled over by the hero. It’s like Carry On Without Any Inhibitions. Of course, this is precisely the highbrow entertainment demanded by Generation Zzzzz today, so the choice is apt.
The cast rollicked through the opening night production, with only pause for the occasional hiccup with miscreant props and recalcitrant business. Paul Treasure starts as a bear-like figure, but is soon reduced to a sympathetic putty-like creature by the idiocy of his circumstance. The elfin Jessyca Hutchens not only spends most of the play near naked (I couldnÂ’t afford tickets to WTBS Uncut- Jarrod Buttery had bought them all and was scalping them cruelly) but a good deal of it sedated and/or screaming. Not easy to do both at the same time. Scott Sheridan attacks his role with gusto giving us something akin to Norman Wisdom on crack- which is what the show requires. Tony Petani sets new records for the achievement of those born without gorm. His Sgt Match is bizarre in the way he falls into the mania of the situation without blinking or pause. Jenny McCannÂ’s portrayal as the nymphomaniac harridan was too close to home for me to consider it acting- but by God itÂ’s convincing.
The most FRIGHTENING portrayal in recent history belongs not to that Welsh pretender Hopkins, but the demented Grant Malcolm as Dr Rance. His Murnau-esque take on the character (eyes a-twitch, shoulders a-hunch, voice a-boom) is hysterically funny and unnerving at the same time- and consequently does little to counter my lack of faith in the Western Health System.
Bravura doesnÂ’t begin to describe the efforts of cast and crew for this show. And if opening night had hiccups, these will be ironed out and the show will become unfathomably slick. This is a play that will reward a repeated viewing- theyÂ’re getting more risque as the season progresses. Well, thatÂ’s the rumour IÂ’m going to be spreadingÂ….
El
Re: WHAT THE GUARDIAN SAW
Fri, 30 Sept 2005, 05:04 pmWalter Plinge
The Hampstead Theatre in London has just concluded its run of Butler. Here is what the Guardian said about the production:
What the Butler Saw
**** Hampstead, London
Michael Billington
Friday July 22, 2005
The Guardian
What the Butler Saw, Hampstead Theatre, London
Joe Orton's play famously scandalised the bourgeoisie back in 1969. Watching David Grindley's highly enjoyable Hampstead revival, however, I was as much struck by Orton's technical skill as his subversive vision: he combines the classic structure of farce with a running commentary on a swiftly changing Britain.
All good farce starts from a plausible premise: a randy shrink seeks to divest a would-be secretary of her clothes in order to seduce her. With impeccable logic Orton then shows how this situation leads to orchestrated panic. But he uses the dementia of farce to explore a late-1960s society in which the distinction between madness and sanity is blurred and the rigidity of gender constantly eroded. When the shrink, accused of molesting boys, vainly protests "I'm a heterosexual", the visiting government commissioner replies: "I wish you wouldn't use those Chaucerian words."
Dr Rance, who represents Her Majesty's Government, "your immediate superiors in madness", is in fact the key to the play. Like Inspector Truscott in Loot, he is, for Orton, an embodiment of the crazed corruption of power, and is here memorably played by Malcolm Sinclair. With his poker-backed stance, toothbrush moustache and clipped consonants, Sinclair seems the incarnation of official rectitude. But gradually he lets you see that Rance's rationality is a mask for lust, violence and controlfreakery. It's a brilliant performance that reminds you Orton had a Euripidean distrust of repressive authority that envied the vices it condemned.
At times the farcical machinery strains to contain Orton's epigrammatic density. But the play offers a persuasive portrait of a 1960s society in which anarchy was at war with order. And, even if the actors occasionally play over the laughs, Grindley's production is intelligently paced. Jonathan Coy as the lecherous psychiatrist also effectively suggests a mantrapped in a nightmare of his own devising. And there is good support from Belinda Lang as his nymphomaniac spouse, Geoff Breton as a sexually obliging bellhop, and Joanna Page as the assiduously defrocked secretary. We may no longer be shocked by Orton's suggestion that gender is provisional and madness ubiquitous. But the play is an icon of modern drama in that it shows, like Wilde's Importance Of Being Earnest, that farce can be a well-oiled vehicle for satirical social comment.
What the Butler Saw
**** Hampstead, London
Michael Billington
Friday July 22, 2005
The Guardian
What the Butler Saw, Hampstead Theatre, London
Joe Orton's play famously scandalised the bourgeoisie back in 1969. Watching David Grindley's highly enjoyable Hampstead revival, however, I was as much struck by Orton's technical skill as his subversive vision: he combines the classic structure of farce with a running commentary on a swiftly changing Britain.
All good farce starts from a plausible premise: a randy shrink seeks to divest a would-be secretary of her clothes in order to seduce her. With impeccable logic Orton then shows how this situation leads to orchestrated panic. But he uses the dementia of farce to explore a late-1960s society in which the distinction between madness and sanity is blurred and the rigidity of gender constantly eroded. When the shrink, accused of molesting boys, vainly protests "I'm a heterosexual", the visiting government commissioner replies: "I wish you wouldn't use those Chaucerian words."
Dr Rance, who represents Her Majesty's Government, "your immediate superiors in madness", is in fact the key to the play. Like Inspector Truscott in Loot, he is, for Orton, an embodiment of the crazed corruption of power, and is here memorably played by Malcolm Sinclair. With his poker-backed stance, toothbrush moustache and clipped consonants, Sinclair seems the incarnation of official rectitude. But gradually he lets you see that Rance's rationality is a mask for lust, violence and controlfreakery. It's a brilliant performance that reminds you Orton had a Euripidean distrust of repressive authority that envied the vices it condemned.
At times the farcical machinery strains to contain Orton's epigrammatic density. But the play offers a persuasive portrait of a 1960s society in which anarchy was at war with order. And, even if the actors occasionally play over the laughs, Grindley's production is intelligently paced. Jonathan Coy as the lecherous psychiatrist also effectively suggests a mantrapped in a nightmare of his own devising. And there is good support from Belinda Lang as his nymphomaniac spouse, Geoff Breton as a sexually obliging bellhop, and Joanna Page as the assiduously defrocked secretary. We may no longer be shocked by Orton's suggestion that gender is provisional and madness ubiquitous. But the play is an icon of modern drama in that it shows, like Wilde's Importance Of Being Earnest, that farce can be a well-oiled vehicle for satirical social comment.
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