QUATSCH!! or faith renewed

After my disillusion of yesterday, I thought I might give the theatre a break for a bit. But, first, I had a date for tonight. My friend Thomas was presenting an English-language night at his famed Quatsch Comedy Club, and Paul and I were invited.

Ever since I first clapped eyes on the glorious little theatre that houses the Club, three years ago, I’ve longed to see it in action. It is the most perfect little ‘music hall’, complete with a lovely balcony with bar, tables and chairs, all in royal crimson and gold … I wish that I still sang when I see a salle like that! It makes you want to perform.

Well, we surely saw it in action last night! We arrived nicely early, to find a jam at the mini-boxoffice. The room was sold out, there were thirty hopefuls waiting for ‘returns’ and the woman in front of me would not take ‘nothing left’ for an answer! We finally moved her on, and were led to our table to be served by a delightful waitress … why are servers in Germany so much more agreeable than er elsewhere? …  I dared a glass of wine, Paul – in the spirit of the place --  ordered a Shirley Temple cocktail (alkoholfrei!) … shocking pink!

The stage entertainment for the night was Dylan Moran, an evidently well-known Irish comedian (he has telly credits on his poster), and ‘entertainment’ is exactly what he was. Gone – thank goodness -- are the days of Les Dawson and Jim Davidson and the joey joey joke, one punch line a minute. Mr Moran chats to you. Sure, he’s got little set pieces which he slips in when the moment suits, but it is mightily agreeable not be hectored by a stand-up comic. And most agreeable that he performs in nice 30-minute chunks, with a nice 30-minute interval for more drinks and loo stops and friend-meeting. It’s a bit like meeting a fun feller in a pub, and listening to him hold the room. Which he did. The audience were sniggering 5 seconds into his performance and still laughing flat out 90 minutes later.

After the show, we adjourned to the balcony bar, to join mein Host … and to give him a jolly good hug!  My entertainment-metre was back on ‘high’. My faith in the theatre restored. All it takes is a packed house of pleased people, enjoying a pleasant unpretentious evening … that’s entertainment!, as someone once said. And my gosh, was that somebody right!

THE CROCODILE WHO ROARED and gave birth to a mess of pottage

Peter Pan! Magical words. Bringing back wonderful childhood memories of J M Barrie’s unforgettable book and play. I acted in it sixty years ago. And again, fifty years ago, in a pre-allowed musical version. Such class, such style, such a classic. Peter Pan: words that mean so much…

Which is doubtless why the re-makers of today like to get their hands on it. And its hallowed title.

I’ve seen Peter Pan ‘adapted’, usually with music and songs, a good few times, especially since Parliament let the copyright run out. Most notably, there was an American musical version, which did well on Broadway, with Mary Martin and later Sandy Duncan, but was distinctly for Americans only (‘Oh Peeader..’). The animated film was better, and had the memorable ‘Never Smile at a Crocodile’ to offer.

The play had an original score of music, too, by John Crook, so it is not unfriendly to musicalisation. And I remember fondly our New Zealand amateur musical version… with the tunes taken from Tschaikowsky et al.

But. But but but. And here goes the rant. Today I went to the Theater am Schiffbauerdamm (Berliner Ensemble) to see a show entitled Peter Pan. OK, at that theatre (what a lovely building!) I know not to expect kosher work. So I didn’t flinch when I saw the director and a composer or songwriter with their names in above-the-title size. I flinched a bit, when I saw that the show was to be ‘nach J M Barrie’. But competent professionals can do something interesting with ‘nach’.

Right. I’m theorizing here. And anyone can correct me. WHY was this done. Why? I can live with director Robert Wilson doing his ‘take’ on Peter Pan. Apparently he’s famous for that sort of thing. What I can absolutely NOT live with is having his deconstructed version of the play decorated by loads and loads and sickening loads of muzak and semi-songs of the most amateurish kind. But involving Cocorosie (billed big) – the ‘composers’ -- in the production seems to have been its raison d’ëtre. Did they pay to get in?  No-one would pay them.

Cocorosie (who is apparently two women) can’t compose. And if they are responsible for the English (yes!) lyrics, they can’t write either. Oh God, they aren’t hoping to sell this trash to the US market!!! Haha!  Hahahahahahaha!  I can’t describe it: pastiches of everything that might be deemed fashionable,  … ohhhhhh! Back to the amdrams, girls!

OK. You get the picture. It’s the bones of Barrie’s story and lines, camped up, and with this really awful amateurish music and singing shoved in. It’s execrable.

What nice bits there were came solely from Mr Wilson. The triple Nana was fun, the roaring croc (ever heard a croc roar?) was fun, the triple Mermaid was great – I laughed outright for the only time when Mermaid 1 opened her mouth and out came, not ‘Non piu mesta’ but ariooigh!

The cast? Well, you can’t evaluate the cast. They would have done OK at the Christchurch amateurs. But they were totally submerged by their awful material and the direction. My pet hates were Mr Darling with his country (!) solo, Tinkerbell with his/her old-fashioned St Vitus Dance routine, and Wendy with her silly makeup and attitude.

To make up for my theatrically unpleasant afternoon, I was seated next to a very beautiful woman. I wanted to invite her to dinner, but she fled for a plane (argh! she was probably Cocorosie’s agent!). But I said to her: isn’t this production anti-women? And she agreed. One more unpleasantness.

There was something disagreeable, even nasty in the portrayal of the characters. Especially the women. Oh yawn, they’d probably say that’s what they were trying to do. Anyway, it wasn’t the real Peter Pan and Cocorosie are an amateurish joke.

So now I’m opening a bottle, because after one of the worst and most amateurish – oh! I said that before - shows I’ve ever seen in Germany, I need it!

YOU SAW IT HERE FIRST, or "Superhero"

Ever since I hit Europe, I seem to have been running. From one theatre and concert hall to another. I’m not complaining, after all, that’s largely what I’m here for. But after a month, I’ll be grateful for a few days rest from music and theatre.

So what happens on day one of my ‘holiday’:  I get handed a demo disc for a new musical. By people of consequence.

Now, they didn’t have CDs in the days when I sat behind a big desk in Mayfair’s Hill Street, charged with looking over the pile of unsolicited musical-theatre scripts and tapes that came into our office, in the hope of finding that elusive bit of gold. My late partner found Jesus Christ Superstar. In eight years – no, more! I found nothing. Not one piece worth investing in, not one piece worth producing.

And, judging from some of the shows I saw that were produced by other people, round that time, other producers were just as starved.

But am I wrong, or have things improved? I have seen in the last two years a couple of new scripts of which the authors actually can write. Have imagination, Humour. I don’t know quite how these shows and writers came my way, thoroughly retired from the theatre as I am. But they did.

I always made it my rule never to listen to a taped score until I’d read the libretto. I mean, if you’ve got no libretto: you’ve no show. And I can say pretty largely that I always stuck to that rule. But today – lazing at my Berlin desk, with the coffee ready and the correspondence answered – I broke it. I picked up yesterday’s CD and put it on.

I am exited.

Six numbers on a demo do not a show make. And I shouldn’t even put fingers to keyboard, until I’ve read the libretto. But, call it an old man’s vanity, I want to say ‘you saw it here first’.

So when SUPERHERO (P G Brown/A McCarten) hits the stage – in German or in English (it exists in both) -- and I’ve no idea whether it is already snapped up and/or scheduled – remember, Kurt Gänzl told you first.

When the song ‘Frozen Ground’ hits you between the breastbones – remember, I heard it first.

And watch this space. Where’s my phone…? Can I speak to Harold Fielding, please...?