Tag Archives: Tracie Bennett

“Here We Are” at the National Theatre

It’s hard to imagine that there was a time when Stephen Sondheim’s work wasn’t revered. Not all his shows were hits the first time around and many divided opinion and generated parody. This last effort from the legend, who died in 2021, presented on the South Bank via New York’s The Shed, is such a mixed affair that it’s unlikely anyone will claim it as a Sondheim highlight. 

Sondheim used more sources to make musicals than most and this time, with David Ives’ book, he looks at Surrealist cineaste Luis Buñuel. We get not one but two films brought to the stage. It must be stressed that, unlike many a movie adaptation, Sondheim and Ives put their own stamp on the works. These are interpretations, updated and with the stage in mind. For once, the word ‘inspiration’ is apt.

Yet, while there are more than enough crazy moments, there isn’t the political power that’s found in Buñuel. Maybe this is down to the times? Our view of class has changed so much. Or is it Surrealism itself that’s the problem? You might suggest Surrealists tend to take self-referentiality seriously (there’s a topic for discussion). But musicals are whacky from the get-go.

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Tracie Bennett

It helps an awful lot to know what’s being referenced before going in. Of course, Sondheim fans are a clever bunch and their knowledge of European cinema extensive. But just in case you need reminding, the first act is based on 1972’s Le charme discret de la bourgeoisie, with a wealthy group trying to find a place to eat. Here the idea is a solid satire that’s laugh-out-loud funny, with great skits from various waiters (including Tracie Bennett, who is excellent). But updating the characters isn’t a happy affair. Instead of France, we are in LA. And, more than the bourgeoise, we have Ultra High Net Worth individuals who don’t quite convince, despite Rory Kinnear’s commendable efforts. A younger character, admirably performed by Chumisa Dornford-May, is written as some kind of revolutionary but is notably more soixante-huit than contemporary.

The second act disappoints further, not least because there is so little music in it. It’s a version of El ángel exterminador (the one with the characters mysteriously trapped in a room). Why they can’t leave and then eventually do is never explained but you’re going to have to live with that. The wit and intelligence are still clear (a dialogue about ontology and shoes is funny), but the references become oppressive. 

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Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Martha Plimpton

The potential legacy of the piece also weighs heavy. Yes, this material would be difficult for any cast. But director Joe Mantello fails to keep up a pace or embrace crazier moments so that (ape costumes aside) there are few surprises. While Richard Fleeshman and Paulo Szot manage to shine in simpler roles (as an unnamed soldier and a diplomat), the other characters are surely supposed to be more three-dimensional? Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Jane Krakowski and Martha Plimpton (all big talents) seem trapped in how we imagine performers in a Sondheim show should act. Metatheatricality or just a mistake? It proves tiresome and shortchanges the show. 

Until 28 June 2025

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photos by MARC BRENNER

“Mrs Henderson Presents” at the Noël Coward Theatre

Let’s not be prudish – for the West End it’s essential to put bums on seats. Taking a lesson from its real-life subject – a nude variety show presented by the eponymous producer during WWII – there’s plenty of flesh on display here and scope for good old-fashioned smutty humour. At least in 2016, Mrs Henderson’s girls are given a voice, although the exploitation of their naked bodies is glossed over as an opportunity for them to be extraordinary. And the show’s boast of bravely running throughout the Blitz provides predictable flag-waving sentimentality. Neither crowd-pleasing tactic is particularly edifying.

This is not, of course, the fault of the cast. And while Terry Johnson’s book is surprisingly leaden, his direction is good, as are a strong set from Tim Shortall and costumes by Paul Wills. Tracie Bennett and Ian Bartholomew are excellent leads as Mrs Henderson and her right-hand man, Vivian Van Damm. Entering the theatre business is a whim for her and he is Jewish – this seems to be all we need to know about them. There’s a sweet love story for Emma Williams, who leads a strong ensemble, but a general lack of emotional attachment to an assortment of quickly sketched characters. The biggest disappointment comes with a dreadful role for Jamie Foreman, a pointless narrator and comedian with dire jokes – a warm-up man who leaves you cold.

Indeed, Mrs Henderson Presents is a pretty frigid and calculated affair. Much could be forgiven if the songs were good but George Fenton and Simon Chamberlain’s tunes are mostly forgettable. The first half is particularly foggy and while things do pick up there’s really only one adventurous number – foolishly the only chance for Williams to show off a great voice. The real shock comes from Don Black’s lyrics, at times so banal that you start guessing which rhyme will come up next. Unforgivably, one song has lad, mad and bad in one verse. The performances on offer might mean the show should be a hit but the lyrics are merde.

Until 18 June 2016

www.mrshenderson.co.uk

Photo by Paul Coltas