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The Frontline
Last time I went into the Globe Theatre it was still being built. All very fascinating and there was a certain amount of “I’ve been there” when Doctor Who visited for the Shakespeare Code the other year, but I always vaguely regretted not having seen a production there.
But last night I accompanied the flatmate and a few of his Credit Suisse colleagues to a production of The Frontline in order, more than anything else, to put this right.
It was a shame, in many respects, that the weather took the decision to plunge itself rapidly towards zero over the course of the evening, but I have to say it was a rather enjoyable event. The Globe is beautiful, and a quite mesmerising performance space – albeit considerably smaller than it looked on telly and certainly smaller than I remember (although it was, naturally, when I was a mere child last time).
That said, I would advise anyone going to shell out a quid for cushion hire. I wasn’t, it must be said at all comfy without a seatback (my poor back!) but without a cushion I really wouldn’t have made it to the second act.
Which would have been a shame. I wasn’t entirely sold on the production from the website, and had misgivings having heard some reviews, but found myself leaving with a satisfied appetite for theatre, and a reasonable sense of bewilderment.
It’s a shocking and violent piece at times, full of profanity, and drugs, and sexuality, but it’s also very funny and as philosophical and heart-warming as it is harrowing. The parallel-running of various sub-plots on the stage was cannily managed so that you were able to follow two or three things happening at once with little difficulty.
There were a few niggles in that the songs I didn’t feel were universally strong, and a couple of the plot threads seemed to be left dangling somewhat, but given the overall standard of acting (and a wonderful monologue on the wonders of Marmite) it seems churlish to complain. I was left reeling and can heartily recommend it.
(And amazingly, I had no idea that the God-botherer with the beard and the guitar was the staggeringly beautiful Jonathan Kerrigan who I’ve had a crush on for years. But then that’s probably just as well. I’d probably have yanked him off the stage if I’d known.)
Posted on May 12, 2009 | Filed Under Film, TV, Theatre
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