Beowulf (The Panto) @ Rosemary Branch, Islington

Two great English traditions collide in the Charles Court Opera’s latest production. That mainstay of literature students’ reading lists, Beowulf, is given the ‘it’s behind you!’ treatment in a ‘boutique’ panto at The Rosemary Branch Theatre, Islington.

It’s an unlikely combination. Anglo-Saxon epic poem Beowulf is mainly about heroic deeds, warriors bragging about heroic deeds and lots of confusing business to do with the bequeathing of swords. Also the hero, Beowulf, dies. Which will never do in Panto-land.

However, this is a valiant attempt to translate Beowulf’s tale (or something loosely based on it) into an audience-participation-filled romp; cross-dressing, custard-pie-flinging and all. We start in the court of King Hrothgar (a hammy old drunk as done by Simon Masterton-Smith), where the monster Grendel is sneaking in and killing courtiers (but only to appease a dragon), which by all accounts is taking the edge off the party mood.

Muscle-bound Beowulf turns up to save the day and duly rips off Grendel’s arm, much to the chagrin of the monster’s long-suffering mother, who in turn vows her revenge on the court … but actually ends up joining Beowulf, along with his companion Wiglaf (Amy J Payne) and love-interest Hrothmund (Catrine Kirkman), on a quest to take down a dragon. Will there be a happy ending? I won’t spoil it.

Beowulf: The Panto suffers from a lack of a proper baddy. Grendel’s mother is played as the dame – albeit wonderfully so, with just enough smirking and eyebrow-wriggling from John Savournin, also the show’s director. Grendel (a perfectly petulant Philip Lee) is a hapless creature; misunderstood but ultimately placid. This leaves us with the evil dragon, characterised through a voice-over, and I, for one, missed the traditional cackling villain appearing in a puff of smoke to be duly booed and hissed.

What carries the show is its music. The cleverly adapted pop songs and musical numbers, arranged by James Young, performed by a classically-trained cast and helped along by actor-musicians on stage throughout, give extra polish. Charming puppets add yet another layer of musical wit.

And it looks almost as good as it sounds. James Perkins’s wooden-slatted design suggests both the Danish mead-hall and the mountainscape elegantly. Grendel’s costume is particularly fantastic: a scaly green cocoon knitted together with a liberal sprinkling of buttons and googly eyeballs.

Beowulf: The Panto is certainly an eye-catching gimmick in a season where you can’t move for Widow Twankey’s bloomers. And there are lovely clever touches harking back to the original material: audience participation in old English, for one. But I wonder if adapting an unwieldy piece of Anglo-Saxon literature to come up with a panto is a bit, well, unnecessary; particularly for a company as capable as this one. The script occasionally feels a little exposition-y and too light on jokes – and it’s hard not to blame the original subject matter for this.

The show is undoubtedly accomplished, yet my heart wasn’t entirely won over. It’s funny, but not uproarious, and perhaps not quite sharp enough for a grown-up panto.

A version of this review was originally published by playstosee.com

Orpheus in the Underworld @ Young Vic

Well, here’s a production to defenestrate the very little you thought you knew about opera. There’s no baffling Italian and definitely no Valkyries in this English adaptation of Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld, gleefully and smuttily done by Rory Bremner (yes, he of Bird and Fortune/ TV impressionist fame). Instead, we’re offered industrial-strength swearing and lots and lots of sex.

The show – a joint venture between Scottish Opera and Northern Ireland Opera – is Offenbach’s 19^th-century operetta, based on the myths of Orpheus and his wife Eurydice, transposed into a modern day scene of sleazy celebs, grubby bankers and grasping politicians, all set against a backdrop of screaming tabloid headlines.

We start with a clatter and the clack of sensible-heeled court shoes as our narrator of sorts, Public Opinion (Maire Flavin), bumbles from the back of theatre, and back out again, trying to find the stage. From the moment she finally appears front and centre to set out her position as the self-appointed guardian of public morality  – standing firm in news-print skirt-suit (the words ‘Hate’ ‘Ban’ ‘Sick’ and ‘Filth’ picked out prominently) Maggie Thatcher handbag in the crook of her arm –  it’s clear we’re in sly satirical hands.

The curtain  – a blown up OK magazine-style cover  showing a celeb ‘dream wedding’– opens on a Botoxed, fake-taloned ‘It’ girl  tottering and pouting in pink Lycra and platform heels. This is our estuarine Eurydice (Jane Harrington, giving good Essex swagger), she is married to composer Orpheus (Nicholas Sharratt), a hopeless prig in a Nehru collar. They loathe each other and when their extra-marital affairs collide, it sets up a string of events that will lead us to the underworld, via the Gods at Olympus (re-imagined as a Westminster champagne bar) and back.

Bremner’s re-worked libretto is an heroic piece of thoroughly modern silliness; surprising, rude, witty and laugh-out-loud funny.  Phone hacking, strikes, Berlusconi, Strictly Come Dancing, X Factor, Jeremy Kyle – it’s all here and duly lampooned. Neat visual gags strike just the right note of kitschy knowingness; from ‘Bacchus I’m worth it’ embroidered on the seat of Eurydice’s red satin panties to the ‘News of the (Under) World’ backdrop in Act II.

The English-language translation, a no-holds-barred commitment to bawdiness (gird your loins for Jupiter in bondage leather and a fly’s wings seducing Eurydice) and a frenetic pace make Offenbach’s original music commendably accessible.

And none of this is to the detriment of the vocal performances either.  The singing is uniformly powerful and pure, with playful twists in the delivery keeping trickier musical moments fresh. The choreography is tighter than Eurydice’s bandage dress and the attention to detail, slick ensemble work and physical comedy more than make up for the fairly simple staging.

It is, admittedly, about as deep as a teaspoon of champagne, but that’s hardly the point. A riotous carnival of modern grotesque such as it is, it succeeds in breaking down ideas of what is high art and what is not. The small stage crackles with energy and I came away giddy and grinning from ear to ear.

A version of this review was originally published by playstosee.com