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ACT Theatre Company
(Dunstable Rep Theatre - July 2014)
Someone
said to me in the bar, I know not who but my concentration levels were flagging
by then, that Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Aspects of Love is a bit of a
marmite musical. You either love it or hate it, he says superfluously. I mused
on this, cerebral soul that I am. May be true for avid Webber fans but for the
rest of us, I am not so sure. I neither loved it nor hated it. I fell more into
the camp of absorbed and irritated. Absorbed by a storyline which flagged up
endless possibilities of the human condition and, ultimately, irritated by its
copping out of their resolve. I am not sure whose collar I should finger,
novelist, composer, or director but I do know, believe me, that if you have a
bloody great subtext clomping across the stage in hobnails boots it ain’t a bad
idea to hint at its presence. This Sondheim-lite musical, for all its
entertainment, never did. Or if it did, I missed it.
I
should think by now that I have completely lost you. If you did not see it. So
let me summarise, and I mean summarise, the complex permutated plot. Rose is a
struggling actress, Alex an avid teenage fan. They meet, they bonk, they part.
Two years later they meet and bonk again and, skipping over lots of peripheral
bits, Rose proposes to and marries Uncle George. Alex’s Uncle George, not hers.
There may be hints of incest in this play but not in that quarter. Many years
later Rose is now a celebrated actress and Alex has a moustache. Not much to
show for twelve years of soldiering but life is like that. Rose has a twelve
year old daughter, note the age, and incipient youthful yearnings herald a
reprise of earlier drama. Three years later the daughter, Jenny, throws herself
at cousin Alex and George dies. I think the two facts are related. Rewriting
the script, the plot lines and dates point you in that direction I says in my
defence, the demise of George could now release skeletons from numerous
cupboards. Is Jenny Alex’s daughter? Is such a thing possible? Does Alex
consider it? A rich stream of angst is sadly and tantalisingly left un-mined. Selfish
and self centred Rose wants a new lover; Alex declines and goes off with one of
those peripheral bits referred to earlier. The possibilities of an honourable
man sacrificing all is realised as a self centred shit finding an easier and
more accommodating lay. I said I was irritated.
So,
as the saying goes in such matters, how did they do? Pretty well actually,
given its challenge certainly worth four stars. The show is all music and
singing and, to Sarah Farrar’s splendid accompaniment, the performers trilled
exceptionally well. Jenna Ryder Oliver’s actress Rose was never less than
watchable and if I jibbed a bit at her funeral attire, that was my only caveat.
She sang this difficult piece with strength and style and her acting etched a
woman who, selfishly, used all around her. Jaymes Sygrove also sang his Alex
with style and passion and, whenever the script allowed, created hints of
subtle depth. His ‘Love Changes
Everything’ musical theme trotted on stage far too many times for my ear but
the fault for that lies firmly at the door of Mr Lloyd-Webber. Stuart Farrar
adopted a nice easy style to the lecherous Uncle George and his eyes signalled
many bedrooms and, late on, a look of fatherly protective hate at the hapless
Alex that could have stopped a train. He also, for good measure, gave us a
sincerely touching ‘Other Pleasures’ which pleased for its simplicity.
The
fourth main character in the musical chairs of sexual shenanigans is an Italian
sculptress with the splendid name of Giuletta Trapani. I assume she was Italian
as with her name and looks she would have certainly been out of place in
Grimsby. Her latent lesbianism was marginalised almost to the point of
extinction and this enigmatic character, lover of Uncle George and anyone else
who took her fancy, hovered on the edges of the central trio in true peripheral
bit style. I reckon his Lordship did not have a serious clue what to do with
her. But he gave her a couple of good numbers, ‘Hand me the Wine and the Dice’
being one of the musical highlights, and in the superb Anna Carter-Brown an
actress you could not take your eyes off. A beautiful performance, beautifully
judged, and expertly presented. I could have warmed my socks on her.
We
also got very pleasant Jennys from Rachel Ridout as the twelve year old with
fetching pigtails and from Charlotte Tabert as her more mature self. The
confusions of sexual awakenings were nicely conveyed in the latter and, whoever
was her dad, the drawing of metaphorical daggers did not surprise. Alan
Clarke’s Hugo was suitably decorative and useless, as all gigolos should be
except in the important department, and Paul Rogers fretted and flustered to
some effect as the almost equally useless actor-manager Marcel. In the even
smaller roles Frances Hall impressed for fine singing and the realism of her
homely housekeeper and ensemble player Reece Lawton scored numerous brownie
points for a variety of roles. His clown juggled his balls beautifully and
there aren’t many ways you can say that.
I
admire ACT Theatre Company, always have, and I ain’t going to knock Alan Clarke
for trying something different in the musical stakes. There are only so many Oklahamas and Guys and Dolls a feller can take. And for us non musical types a
play with music can have a lot going for it. But this one had more scene
changes than you could shake a stick at and, commendably quick as they were,
they underlined the longeurs of the evening for those with limited attention
spans. Thankfully to carry an interesting dramatic plot that ultimately
short-changed it had a pretty strong group of performers and beautiful, and
vital, piano accompaniment from maestro Sarah Farrar and her admirable
assistant Clare Hood. The whole knitted quite nicely for me even if, when I
left, the only tune I was humming was the one lamenting the loss of an
ultimately satisfying plot. Better than ‘Love
Changes Everything’ any day.
Roy Hall
