Author: Mike Whitton

FIGARO FOREVER Welsh National Opera at Bristol Hippodrome

THE BARBER OF SEVILLE – In this the first of the trilogy, as well as being the barber, Figaro is the fixer of romantic assignations between Count Almaviva and the beautiful Rosina, about which all else spins. This is comic opera in which flawed very human humans parade their frustrations and desires, flaunting whatever power and influence they can bring to bear. . .

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ALL THAT FALL at the Bristol Old Vic Paintshop

All That Fall originated as a radio play, but why adapt it for the theatre if not to let us see it? It might be thought that we are being short-changed, but in fact much is gained in the darkness. One reason is that this approach creates a kind of aural spaciousness, a vivid three-dimensionality of sound as the actors move around an audience that has to rely entirely upon what they are hearing. One’s imagination is set to work hard.

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THE TROJAN WOMEN at Bristol Old Vic Studio

This, thankfully, is a version which remains largely true to the spirit of the original while clearly having a direct relevance to our own troubled times. Writer Brendan Kennelly’s language is vigorously contemporary, employing rhythm and rhyme but often shockingly direct and free from poetic euphemism when describing the fate that awaits these women when the winners take the spoils of victory.

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THE GLENN MILLER STORY at the Bristol Hippodrome

Even by the shaky standards of show-biz biography this production pushes its luck, not least in the casting of its lead man. Glenn Miller’s plane disappeared over the English Channel in 1944, when he was 40; Tommy Steele is in his eightieth year. Miller was leader of the most successful of the great swing bands; Steele is a one-time rock and roller, now long- established as a song and dance man. How can that possibly work?

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PINK MIST at Bristol Old Vic

It tells the story of three young Bristol boys, friends since primary school, who enlist in the army to escape the banality and tick-tock drudgery of civilian life. Arthur has been driving cars off the container ships at Portbury docks: ‘… parking them in perfect lines, like headstones in a cemetery… Every day. Every week. Every month.’ Geraint – inevitably known as Taff – has been working as an apprentice, ‘on crap pay to a St Paul’s plumber’, and he is hungry for something different . . . I left the theatre feeling deeply grateful that neither of my boys followed the path taken by Arthur and his friends. Pink Mist is unmissable.

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