The Lincoln Center Theater’s lavish production of this absolute classic is a great fit for the Hippodrome stage. A huge company of performers and a whopper of a set all have room to cohabit. There is certainly no stinting on production values here.
Phonetics professor Henry Higgins encounters Cockerney flower seller Eliza Doolittle and their lives are changed forever. He diagnoses her with Irritable Vowel Syndrome and embarks on a project to get her speaking like a lady and accepted into high society within six months. And so we get a series of comic scenes where vowels are strangled until Eliza is finally able to impersonate her oppressors in the ruling class.
Higgins is a tough man to like. His views are problematic, even misogynistic, but Michael D Xavier imbues him with a kind of charm and enthusiasm that make us warm to him despite his Chauvinistic remarks. Charlotte Kennedy positively shines as Eliza, although I prefer her gorblimey stage to her more ‘refined’ moments. What snobs like Higgins fail to realise is that the beauty of the English language lies in its rich diversity of regional accents and dialects. There is no one way to ‘talk proper’. Be that as it may, Kennedy’s songs are to be relished. She looks and sounds the part, whatever the requirements of the scene.
Emmerdale’s John Middleton makes a sprightly Colonel Pickering, while EastEnders’s Adam Woodyatt brings the house down as Eliza’s gorblimey father, Alfred. Get Me To The ChurchOn Time is a real showstopper, staged here with all-out gusto. Lesley Garrett provides a nice spot of character acting as housekeeper Mrs Pearce, and you can hear her famous soprano ringing out in the chorus numbers. Tom Liggins, playing Eliza’s suitor Freddy, gets the best song of the show, the gloriously romantic On The Street Where You Live, and he sings it superbly.
Michael Yeargan’s impressive set never overshadows the action and director Bartlett Shaw has the characters moving through and around it fluidly. The sheer scale of the production knocks your socks off. And then there’s the sumptuous score by Frederick Loewe – such melodies! – and the evocative lyrics by Alan J Lerner. And you’re reminded why this is a prime example from the golden age of Musical Theatre.
Shaw (Bartlett) acknowledges Shaw’s (George Bernard) social commentary by restoring the starker final moment of original play Pygmalion – so don’t expect a cut-and-dried musical theatre happy ending.
A splendid old-school evening at the theatre combining Shavian class critiques with soaring romance.
Luvverly!
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Michael D Xavier and Charlotte Kennedy (Photo: Marc Brenner)
Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham, Wednesday 1st March 2023
There is no king on the poster, only the I, selling the show on its female lead, Call The Midwife’s Helen George. Unfortunately, for this press night performance, Ms George is indisposed (perhaps a midwife crisis) and so there are more than a few disgruntled childbirth fans in the auditorium tonight. To my mind, the show is the star. A Rodgers & Hammerstein classic? It hardly matters who is in it.
Taking the role of Anna Leonowens tonight is Maria Coyne, and she is fabulous. We are not being short-changed in any way. She may not portray a midwife but she certainly delivers.
The plot centres around the widowed Anna arriving in Bangkok with her young son. She has found employment at the palace, as a Julie Andrews figure to the King’s many, many children. There follows a clash of cultures and a growing respect and indeed friendship between the schoolmistress and the monarch. As I’ve said, Maria Coyne is splendid in the part, forthright in her opinions and wryly amused by the King’s mangling of the English language. Her voice suits this old-school kind of musical extremely well.
Old-school? I mean, classic. Director Bartlett Sher doesn’t tamper with the material, emphasising what makes the show an all-time great, while playing down stereotypical representations. There’s enough to give us a taste of Siam in the gorgeous set by Michael Yeargan and the graceful choreography by Christopher Gattelli, combining traditional Siamese and balletic movements.
Darren Lee rules as the King of Siam, bombastic at first and overbearing, but with insecurities and vulnerabilities, and especially, a playfulness in his dealings with the unruly teacher. He and Coyne are a dream pairing. The mutual affection and frustration between the characters sparkles. Lee definitely deserves to be on the poster.
At this performance, the role of Tuptim is played by Amelia Kinu Muus, who is a strong and emotive soprano. Her duets with Dean John Wilson are definite highlights, as they power through some of Richard Rodgers’s most romantic melodies and Oscar Hammerstein II’s most searing lyrics. Another belter of a moment comes from Cezarah Bonner’s Lady Thiang, whose solo gives me shivers. Truly, ‘something wonderful’.
Caleb Lagayan impresses as the young Crown Prince, with a powerful singing voice that belies the character’s self-doubts. His first entrance is a stark, dramatic contrast to the cutesy kowtowing of the King’s other children. Also strong is Charlie McGuire as Anna’s son Louis in an assured and mature performance.
There is drama, there is humour, there is something about gender roles and challenging the entrenched attitudes of the patriarch. There is something about European interference. There is the marvellous play-within-a-play: a staging of Uncle Tom’s Cabin through the prism of Siamese dance and theatrical conventions – an absolutely delightful piece of storytelling. Catherine Zuber’s beautiful costume designs allow for plenty of melodramatic swishing of fabric and add to the sense of another place in another time.
This no-nonsense production reminds us why the show is one of the greatest musicals and why Rodgers & Hammerstein are geniuses. Captivating, involving and powerful, this show will entertain and move you, and get you humming all those great tunes all the way home.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
We are Siamese if you please: The Small House of Uncle Thomas (Photo: Johan Persson)
Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham, Tuesday 7thFebruary 2023
Imagine Bob Dylan wrote Les Misérables but set it in 1930s dustbowl America à la Steinbeck. If you can do that, you’re some way to understanding what this show is like. Technically, a jukebox musical, raiding Dylan’s back catalogue and stringing songs together to tell a story, except it’s not, not really. The story, with script by the excellent Conor McPherson (of The Weir fame) could work as a straight play (Well, I’ll come to that later). The songs could stand alone without the story. And so instead of a conventional piece of musical theatre where the songs reveal character or develop the plot, what we have here is a straight play interrupted by concert-like performances of the musical numbers.
The setting is a guesthouse under threat of foreclosure by the bank. The proprietor Nick (Colin Connor) struggles with his estranged wife, Elizabeth, who has developed some kind of dementia, while cajoling his wannabe-writer and alcoholic son to get a job. Nick is waiting for his mistress’s ship to come in; she’s a widow waiting for probate and they have plans to set up a new guesthouse elsewhere… That American dream, you see. Meanwhile, Nick’s adopted black daughter is mysteriously pregnant, so he’s trying to marry her off to an elderly shoe repairer, for her own good. To top it off, there’s a storm brewing and two strangers arrive in the middle of the night, a former boxer and a bible salesman…
There’s more humour than you might expect in this tale of economic hardship, unemployment, racial prejudice, alcoholism, failed marriage, senility, learning difficulties, and just about every other miserable thing you can think of. In the first half, at least. But there are so many characters, there’s not really enough time for things to develop. It takes a narrator, Dr Walker (Chris McHallem) to provide exposition and to wrap things up at the end. There are some fine dramatic moments, well played, but apart from the general misery of it all, I’m not particularly moved. McPherson writes great scenes but, judging by this show, is not so hot when it comes to dramatic structure beyond these vignettes of misery.
And then there are the songs. Not Dylan’s greatest hits shoehorned in, but a careful curation of some of the more obscure tracks, rearranged to fit the period. The actors play instruments to augment the onstage band creating a rich sound, but it’s the singing that stands out. For example, songs like ‘Has Anyone Seen My Love?’, ‘Slow Train’ (wonderfully sung by Joshua C Jackson) and ‘I Want You’ (Gregor Milne) all knock your socks off. But it’s the ladies who really deliver the goods. Maria Omakinwa as the elegant widow Mrs Neilson is just about perfect, and so is Justina Kehinde’s pregnant Marianne. Surprisingly, perhaps, demented Elizabeth (Frances McNamee) almost steals the show with her vigorous dancing and superb vocals. I invariably prefer Dylan’s songs when performed by anyone other than the songwriter, so this score serves to remind me of Old Bob’s songsmithery.
It’s a show of two halves, then, beautifully presented, albeit on a dingy stage, and while I enjoy the drama and love the songs, the two halves don’t quite fit together. An excellent production, to be sure, but it’s a bit of a downer. You won’t be dancing in the aisles, but you might be uplifted a little by the gospel-style finale before the crushing bleakness of existence closes in.
Oh well. I’m off to write a show about the Cod War, using the music of The Smiths. Why not?
Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham, Wednesday 7th December, 2022
There are many shows that chart the highs and lows of the business we call show, detailing the rise and fall of musical artistes, often involving real-life dead singers. This one focusses on a fictional Motown-style girl group and adheres pretty much to the same storytelling formula, touching upon white exploitation of black music, and male exploitation of female performers.
Three young women meet a manager/con artist who gets them a gig as backing singers to an established star. Eventually, the group get to headline their own shows, make records, appear on television. Conflict arises when the manager changes the line-up so the ‘best-looking’ girl gets to front the group, while the one with the strongest voice is relegated to backing vocals. These machinations culminate in a blistering Act One closing number, delivered by Nicole Raquel Dennis as the side-lined Effie, whose rendition of And I Am Telling You I Am Not Going brings the house to its feet and is quite possibly the most impassioned performance you could ever hope to hear.
Dennis is a powerful presence throughout, exhibiting Effie’s diva behaviour and that searing, soaring voice. Playing the other two girls are Natalie Kassanga as Deena (the pretty one) and Paige Peddie as Lorrell (the funny one). They each get their moments to shine both musically and dramatically.
As the manipulative manager Curtis Taylor Jr, Matt Mills embodies the male attitudes of the time: the women are merely a product for him to package and sell. With his rich singing voice, he is a pleasure to hate. Brandon Lee Sears is a pleasure to like as womanising soul singer Jimmy Early; with all the moves and the vocal dynamics, Sears delivers a star turn.
Tim Hatley’s set evokes nightclubs, TV studios, Las Vegas, all through geometric patterns, while his costumes are glitzy and glamorous – especially the gowns worn by the girls.
The songs are credible pastiches, played live by a fantastic band under the baton of Simona Budd, but of course it’s the singers who command our attention. You can’t fault the production values or the performances, but for me the material is a little too formulaic, containing no surprises to lift it beyond the run-of-the-mill showbiz story.
All in all though, it’s a hugely impressive, entertaining evening in the company of Supremely talented performers who work hard to deserve their ovations.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Diverting divas: Paige Peddie, Natalie Kassanga, and Nicole Raquel Dennis
Back in 1992, Baz Luhrmann’s directorial debut took cinemas across the world by storm. So popular was the film that the BBC nicked half of its title for their reboot of popular ballroom show, Come Dancing (rendering the adverb meaningless, in the process!). Now, the musical stage adaptation is doing the rounds, directed by Strictly’s chief grouse, Craig Revel Horwood. As you might expect, the choreography (by Horwood and Jason Gilkison) is impeccable. The problem I have, unfortunately, is that too often the downstage area is in darkness, and characters who should be the focus of particular moments, disappear into shadow. I can’t work out if this is down to strange choices by lighting designer Richard G Jones, or whether it’s because the follow-spot operators fell asleep on the job.
The two leads are played by Strictly royalty, Kevin Clifton as Scott Hastings and Maisie Smith as Fran. Clifton is a wonderful mover and, as a singer, well, he’s a wonderful mover. Belting out non-descript ballads is not his forte, I’m afraid. Smith is a revelation, with a fine singing voice with an impressive range. Fran is the ugly duckling, Cinderella and Eliza Doolittle rolled into one, as she learns to dance to a standard fit for a tournament in just three weeks.
The score is a mix of original songs (which aren’t up to much) and jukebox classics of the era, and so standards like Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time are shoehorned in, with the hope that at least some of the lyrics will be pertinent to the situation.
The Australian accents add to the campness of the whole, contrasting with the elegance of the formal dance clothes and coiffured hair. Nikki Belsher is a prime example, as Clifford’s selfish mother, Shirley. Gary Davis cuts an overbearing, almost Trumpian figure, as the corrupt president of the dance federation, Barry Fife.
When Scott goes to meet Fran’s folks, he encounters Rico, who puts him in his place, choreographically speaking. Jose Agudo steals the show with a flaming flamenco that brings the house down, which brings the first act to a rousing finale. The show never recovers, never retains these dizzying heights again. Not even in the climactic dance tournament. Agudo is magnetic, drawing the eye, embodying elegance and masculinity in the stamp of a foot, the sweep of an arm. Tens across the board!
On the whole, I think the show would work better as a play, with the songs reserved for the dance sequences. The quirky comedy of the original film is swamped here by the soul-searching ballads.
Kudos to the talented performers, who give their all, and to the excellent six-piece band under the baton of Dustin Conrad, but the material needs to be handled differently if the story is to delight and to move me as the film did thirty years ago.
☆ ☆ ☆
Kevin Clifton and Maisie Smith (Photo: Ellie Kurttz)
Jeg så produksjonen på norsk så prøver jeg å skrive anmeldelsen min på norsk også! Her går vi!
Roald Dahls roman først dukket opp på scenen i den RSC produksjonen i 2010. Det bevegde fort fra Stratford Upon Avon til Londons West End hvor det fortsetter å spille.
Nå har showet kommet til Oslo og jeg er gled å få muligheten til å se det igjen.
Historien handler om den kjempesmart jenta, det svarte fåret til hennes uvitende familie. Hun leser på en bok, gisper faren som kommer ikke å forstå hvorfor Matilda ikke vil se på TV hele dagen. Matilda kjemper tilbake med praktikaliske vitser. På skolen står hun opp mot urettferdighetene begått av den manndige rektor Miss Trunchbull.
I denne forestillingen spilles rollen som Matilda av Agnes Sulejewski Bjerck, og hun er veldig imponerende. Alle barna opptrer som skuespillere med mange års erfaring. De er betagende energiske, synger og danser med klarhet, presisjon og komisk timing.
Robert Stoltenberg er deilig grusom som Trunchbull i sterk kontrast til Maria Ovidias Miss Honey. Gode er også Haddy Njie som den entusiastiske bibliotekaren Mrs Phelps, Fridtjov Såheim som Matildas krasse far, Siren Jørgensen som Matildas glorete mor, og jeg liker spesielt godt Carl Martin Prebensen i den lille, men morsomme rollen som Rodolpho, den slangehippede ballroomdanseren.
Tim Minchins låter er like underholdende som alltid. When I Grow Up er rørende og lengselsfull, og jeg finner noe spennende i måten barna svever på huskene.
Det er en historie om å finne familien din, hvor du passer inn, når familien du er født inn i ikke vet hva de skal gjøre med deg.
Helt tilfredsstillende og underholdende med en balanse mellom det morsomme og det emosjonelle, er denne produksjonen en stor og fargerik suksess!
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Fantastiske barn i et skuespill om et fantastisk barn Photo: Fredrik Arff
The Alexandra Theatre, Birmingham, Wednesday 28th August, 2022
The Chichester Festival Theatre production of the Rodgers & Hammerstein classic comes to town and it’s an absolute must-see. The score reads like a Greatest Hits playlist. So many great numbers, many of which have become standards. Hearing them within the context of the drama renews their impact.
Set in World War II on an island outpost where the US Navy is itching for conflict with the Japanese, this is at heart a double love story, where both relationships are blighted by ingrained prejudice. We have firecracker hick Nellie Forbush falling for the urbane and educated plantation owner Emile de Becque, and handsome young lieutenant Joe Cable having his head turned by Liat, the beautiful daughter of camp follower Bloody Mary. Joe feels unable to marry the girl because of the way things are ‘back home’; Nellie is horrified to discover the late mother of Emile’s kids was, gulp, coloured. The revelation of Nellie’s racism comes as a real kicker at the end of Act One. This lively, perky girl, the life and soul of any gathering, who has entertained us and earned our affection is tainted by one of the most stupid attitudes going. It’s a real blow, like finding out someone you otherwise admire votes Tory.
Sad to say, the show’s message is just as relevant today. Cable’s song, You’ve Got To Be Carefully Taught gets to the root of a problem that still plagues society today.
As the suave Emile, Julian Ovenden oozes romance. Some Enchanted Evening has never sounded lovelier or more seductive. Gina Beck’s Nellie is irresistible, funny and perky, with her heart on her sleeve, her vocals both belting and nuanced. Rob Houchen’s Cable is spot on: the handsome young officer, dutiful and yet in love. Houchen’s voice is surely the finest working in musical theatre today. Sublime.
Joanna Ampil’s Bloody Mary brings plenty of comic relief, as does Douggie McMeekin’s Luther Billis. Ampil’s impassioned pleas to Cable to give her daughter a better life are heart-breaking, and her rendition of Bali Ha’i is bewitching.
The big chorus numbers are stirring: There is Nothing Like a Dame, by the men, and I’m Going to Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair, by the women. This production goes all out to deliver the goods. Ann Yee’s choreography, especially for the marines, is energetic, hoe-down like without being camp, and there are plenty of exotic touches to evoke the island setting.
Romantic, thrilling and humorous, with a strong social comment, South Pacific reasserts itself as a pinnacle of musical theatre in this magnificent production that hits all the right notes, musically and emotionally.
☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
Cable guy Rob Houchen and hair-washer Gina Beck (Photo: Johan Persson)
Less of a musical and more of a revue, this show which has enjoyed one of the longest runs in American theatre history, charts, through unconnected scenes, songs and vignettes, the course of love (true, or otherwise) of heterosexual people. When theatre holds up a mirror to life, it either validates what it shows or poses questions. Many people (straight ones) will recognise something of themselves in the character types and cliched moments on view, but from a queer perspective, the show takes on a completely different meaning. This is what your lives are like, the show tells straight people, and you are living a narrow nightmare of convention, societal expectations and guilt trips. The laughter of recognition should be followed through by a cringe or two at the very least.
The cast of six (customarily the piece is performed by four) work hard to pull it off, and it requires a certain set of skills to swiftly establish characters and emotions at the drop of a hat. Every member of this sextet has the talent, the skill – and the considerable energy it takes! – to deliver this demanding cavalcade of songs and sketches.
Jimmy Roberts’s score is serviceable rather than memorable, containing a variety of styles. Some standout numbers include I Will Be Loved Tonight performed by Hannah Lyons, and Hey There, Single Gal/Guy in which a pair of disappointed parents lay a guilt trip on their son and his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.
Recognising the undiluted heteronormativity of the piece, directors Mark Shaun Walsh and Neve Lawler give one of the songs an LGBTQ+ twist, showing that the gays can have long-term relationships too, and have the same fears and doubts as everyone else. The number Shouldn’t I Be Less In Love With You, is beautifully sung by Walsh, and this feels like one of those moments of validation I talked about. This tweak broadens the scope of the material.
There is also some relief where single life is not depicted as a terrible condition that must be cured as soon as possible: the second act opener Always A Bridesmaid has the wonderful Kimberley Maynard revelling in her independence in a rousing countryfied number.
Some of the material is old hat (men not stopping to ask for directions) but some of it is acutely observant. The monologue of a divorced woman making a dating video is painfully funny and superbly delivered by Hannah Lyons. It also goes to show how the world has moved on from the world of the show, now that apps like Tinder dominate the dating experience. The libretto could do with an update to make it more directly relevant.
The cast take full advantage of this opportunity to showcase their skills: Jack Kirby as a husband and father who has transferred his affections to his car; Luke Plimmer and Anya McCutcheon Wells as a pair of elderly people meeting at a funeral, in the show’s most sentimental sequence. All in all, it’s flawlessly presented, with musical duo Chris Arnold (piano) and Lizi Toney (violin) giving virtuoso performances of the score’s diverse demands.
Given the almost relentless parodying of heterosexuality, I write in the notebook I keep on my knee, “Is the writer gay?”. At home I look up Joe DiPietro. He is. Ten points to me!
An enjoyable evening of laughter, with the occasional poignant moment. To sum up: I liked it, it’s imperfect, needs change.
Victor Hugo’s sprawling novel of post-revolutionary France (honestly, you could derail a train with that thing) has become more widely known due to this musical adaptation, which receives something of an upgrade after all these years. The staging is enhanced by video projections, mainly of gloomy watercolours (inspired by the daubs of Hugo himself), but these effects never overshadow the action. The lighting, by Paule Constable, is absolutely beautiful, giving scenes the richness of the Old Masters. The visuals match the quality of the music and the singing. The show feels both familiar and fresh.
Dean Chisnall is powerful as the upright Jean Valjean, a man seeking to rehabilitate himself after a 19-year stretch for stealing a loaf of bread. Valjean should try his luck in the supermarkets of today, where even the tubs of butter have security tags. Branded a criminal for the rest of his days, Valjean is the moral heart of the story, and Chisnall’s singing has a purity to it. His nemesis, the dogged Inspector Javert, is played by an imposing Nic Greenshields, towering over everyone else. Greenshields brings nuance to the putative villain of the piece, even displaying tenderness over the (Spoiler) corpse of plucky little Gavroche.
At this performance, the role of young lover Marius is played by Caleb Lagayan, who really shines in the heart-breaking Empty Chairs and Empty Tables. His voice blends marvellously with Paige Blankson’s soprano, and the trio, when the lovers are joined by go-between Eponine (Nathania Ong) is sublime. Also strong are Rachelle Ann Go as the doomed Fantine, Rick Zwart as the kindly bishop, Samuel Wyn-Morris as the rousing Enjolras, and of course Ian Hughes and Helen Walsh, who rapidly establish themselves as audience favourites, the ghastly Thernadiers.
The chorus scenes are stunning, whether squabbling in a dingy factory, beckoning outside a brothel, or manning the barricades – these latter scenes are almost immersive, thanks to Mick Potter’s sound design; you can almost feel the bullets whizz past your head.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen or listened to the show. I’d forgotten how repetitive the score can be, with tunes and phrases repeated and repeated. The big numbers are bangers, of course, but I find the recitatives a little wearing. (Incidentally, audience member seated directly behind me, it’s not really appropriate to whoop and holler to demonstrate your appreciation for someone’s tender death scene, no matter how well it’s performed. Glad you’re enjoying it, but not down my earhole, please!)
For me, the star of the show is the translation of the book and lyrics into English by Herbert Kretzmer, giving dignity to the undignified, wit to the wretched, and compassion to the tortured. It’s thrilling to see the show performed live with all the bells and whistles (no thank you, concert performance) and thank goodness you don’t need a degree in French history to derive an immense amount of pleasure from all this suffering.
The French have always been better at taking to the streets than we Brits. The show emphasises romance over social injustice, hitting us emotionally rather than politically, so don’t expect to leave the theatre in revolutionary mood.
Stirring stuff, in one respect, but the message seems to be, The poor are always with us, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Charting the life story of one Cherilyn Sarkisian, this show gives us not one, not two, but three Cher-alikes, depicting the diva at three stages of her career. There is Millie O’Connell as Babe, taking us from bullied schoolgirl to budding hippie popstar. There is Danielle Steers as Lady, showing us Cher in the Sonny Bono years. And there is Debbie Kurup as Star, giving us Cher post-Sonny and beyond. Each performer is phenomenal but I find when they’re all on stage together, I can’t help but compare them: this one looks most like the real thing… that one sounds most like the real thing… The other one can do the hair toss… When they’re all chatting in that characteristic and highly mannered way of speaking, it’s a bit weird. What starts as a narrative device becomes an alienation effect, and I can’t warm to any incarnation.
Rick Elice’s book contains some zingers but on the whole I get the impression that Cher has had a miserable life. The script focusses on the low points, the relationship break-ups, the unemployment, while successes (winning an Oscar) are glossed over. Some songs fit their moments better than others, but we get all the hits – and more.
With Arlene Phillips directing and Oti Mabuse choreographing, as you might expect, the staging of the musical numbers is top drawer, energetically executed by an excellent ensemble. Production values are high, although the set, which mainly consists of row upon row of costumes in bags suspended on rails, gives the impression that the main events of Cher’s life took place in a dry cleaner’s.
As well as the three Chers, we get Lucas Rush bringing moments of tension as Sonny Bono, Jake Mitchell camping it up as Bob Mackie, and the versatile Sam Ferriday playing a range of parts including 70s rock yeti Greg Allman. There is strong support from Tori Scott as Cher’s mum, although she does repeat the key line, “The song makes you strong” a little too often. One moment is splendidly touching: the recently deceased Sonny duetting with Cher one last time, before she realises she’s no longer got you, babe.
Danny Belton conducts a splendid band. The story might come across as a bit of a downer but the music is relentlessly uplifting, culminating in the inevitable megamix that gets everyone on their feet and enjoying the party atmosphere. And there is much to enjoy, in the performances, in the music, but I feel unengaged and distanced from the material, and I love Cher as much as any gay man.
☆ ☆ ☆
Three Chers! Hip hip hooray! Danielle Steers, flanked by Millie O’Connell and Debbie Kurup (Photo: Pamela Raith)
Bum on a Seat 