The Alternate

Following the opening of Gone With The Wind at the end of April, the next big musical to grace a London stage will be the new collaboration between Michel Legrand, Alain Boublil, Claude-Michel Schönberg and Herbert Kretzmer, Marguerite.

The tale of a love triangle in Second World War occupied Paris is based on Alexandre Dumas’s La Dame Aux Camélias and has already begin previews at the Theatre Royal Haymarket ahead of its press night on 20 May.

Eager musical lovers who can’t wait to see the show can have a sneaky listen to the music on the show’s website and satisfy their eyes with these rehearsal shots, taken by Tristram Kenton, that were sent my way:

  Julian Ovenden and Ruthie Henshall get intimate

Ruthie Henshall and Alexander Hanson share an uncomfortable embrace

Ruthie enjoying rehearsals

I heard this week that Andrew Lloyd Webber and Cameron Mackintosh have invested in a new sound system for The Phantom Of The Opera. Apparently the singing, sewer-dwelling spectre wanted surround sound for his lair so he can listen to Bat Out Of Hell in luxury.

Of course he didn’t! The new sound kit was for the show, not the actual Phantom (which reminds me of a joke: What is The Phantom Of The Opera’s favourite disco-based musical? Daddy Ghoul). The new £400,000 system has brought the masquerading monster into the 21st century… yet he still uses candles instead of low energy light bulbs in his catacombic home.

I think the pair of impresarios have missed a trick here. Surely, instead of just picking sound systems willy nilly, they could have trialled say 10 on a Saturday evening television programme, playing different music through them each week while a voting public chooses the system that they like best. The show could have been called Music (player) Of The Night.

Audiences will get the first chance to hear the new equipment in action tonight (8 May), when Ramin Karimloo, who plays the Phantom, will use all three of his new microphones for the first time (greedy so-and-so).

The best thing about the new sound design, of course, is the stats. The new system uses 10 kilometres of cable and 120 speakers.

This means, of course, that if I were to run from one end of the cable to the other, plodding at my usual 10-minute-mile pace, it would take me just over an hour to get to complete the distance, possibly a little faster if I was being chased by a manic masked murderer.

If I was carrying 120 speakers at the same time: a) it would take me much longer and b) I’d probably end up as Phantom fodder fairly quickly. But c) I’d have a greatly enhanced listening experience before it all got messy.

Working in theatre is rife with interpersonal pitfalls.

Should you refer to someone as ‘darling’, ‘sweetie’ or ‘sugar dumplings’, for example? The latter option, apparently, is not acceptable and can result in a battering with a rolled up programme.

Or whether you should give performers your honest opinion when speaking to them, no matter what that opinion actually is. Is it better to nod, smile and move the subject on, or simply tell them they reminded you of that old-fashioned wardrobe in the corner of your bedroom, but with less polish?

Chief among these worries, though, is the air kiss, that glorious preserve of the entertainment industry in which people are greeted by your cheek being placed somewhere near theirs while you pretend to kiss the invisible companion loitering diagonally behind them like a sulky teenager dragged out with his parents.

While this, in itself, is not a hard task – though on occasion I have accidentally licked earlobes or inhaled particularly long hair – the question is quite how many of these air kisses on either of the recipient’s cheeks are appropriate.

I was brought up thinking one kiss was more than enough (love was rationed in our house). Yet the industry norm seems to be that two, one for each cheek, is accepted practice. I like to remember it with a rhyme: “A pair is fair, but one’s a shun”.

This is all fine until something goes wrong, as happened this week. Having planted one kiss somewhere in the vicinity of the receiver’s left ear, I went for the second only to find that they had already got bored with saying hello to me and moved on to someone far more interesting (I know, it’s hard to believe). At which point I was left hanging, neck outstretched, leaning forward with lips pursed, looking to the world like an amorous giraffe. Someone even tried to feed me some leaves!

My job is fairly West End-centric. Just crossing over to the south side of the Strand can induce a nose-bleed of unfamiliarity. So heading out to one of London’s fringe venues is always both a treat and an expedition.

I have to admit, being a relative youngster in this game, and being a consummate South Londoner when not doing my West End thing, my Monday trip to the Bush was the first time I’d travelled to the West London venue.

I take pleasure in quite simple things, so being at the very end of a tube line – not, as I imagined it, a remote outcrop of civilisation – when I hopped on the Hammersmith and City line at Hammersmith to take the short journey to Goldhawk Road, was a first. It seems silly to even register boarding a tube at the end of a line, but don’t knock simple pleasures – whatever keeps you smiling, that’s what I say. 

Attending a new production is always exciting – if it ever becomes humdrum it will be a sign that my career lies elsewhere – but visiting a new theatre adds a different layer of intrigue.

How will it be laid out? What treats will the seats provide for my experienced behind? What pleasures for the eye will the décor have in store? Will I find the theatre in time?

The last of these questions proved most testing for me, caught, as I was, at that end of the line Hammersmith station waiting for the tube as it warmed to the idea of moving inexplicably slowly.

As a newby, I was unable to fully appreciate the new layout of the Bush’s auditorium, not having anything to compare it to. Yet I gather that the proscenium arch stage and raked auditorium seating is not the norm for this particular theatre.

I scraped in – thanks to that ‘little engine that couldn’t’ at Hammersmith – just before curtain up, and displaced an entire row of people as I snuck to a seat at the back. No preferential treatment for press here – good for them, it was my own fault.

Having read Mark Shenton’s blog earlier today, I am slightly disappointed. Not at the production – Tinderbox – but at not having experienced the Bush’s previous, less conformist seating arrangement. The good news is that these new seats can be moved aruond to suit a director’s whims and wishes.

I guess it’s a lesson to me about getting caught in the static, grand auditoria of the West End a touch too much. I think I might have to brave the nose-bleeds and start travelling a little further a field as well from now on.

I heard a rumour this week about a gift that was taken to the stage door of the New London theatre to be delivered to one of the female cast members of Gone With The Wind. The besotted audience member, who was a dab hand at cookery, had made some thick cut orange marmalade as a token of his affection.

When the actress in question, whose anonymity shall be preserved (do you see what I did there?) came to collect the gift, she was somewhat bemused by the toast adornment with which she was presented. To make matters worse, she was allergic to all things citrus.

Not wanting to seem rude, the flattered actress enquired as to whether he had made anything else of a more fruity persuasion, possibly of strawberries, raspberries or even plum.

The admiring audience member was taken aback by the whole thing, shocked that his marmalade was not good enough. His face got redder and redder until he could no longer control his feelings and burst out angrily: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a jam!”

All the talk in Theatreland’s corridors of power (which are labyrinthine and easy to get lost in – a former Official London Theatre editor wandered into them without a map two years ago and hasn’t been seen since) this week has been about a lengthy first preview of new musical Gone With The Wind. Apparently the performance lasted over four hours – that’s longer than I spend awake some days!

It was, of course, only the first preview, and by earlier this week a considerable chunk of time had already been lopped off like a layer of unwanted fat on a prime steak (if the steak were set during the American Civil War and somehow told a timeless love story).

Philosophically speaking (which involves mumbling a lot so that no-one actually understands what you are saying), it is not entirely possibly to remove time, what with it being a metaphysical theory invented by man to aid the ordering of everyday life (and ensure we all get to the theatre at the start of a show), but that’s beside the point. The show had been shortened.

In fact, if awards were given for shows losing time in the same way that they are for, I don’t know, weight loss, I would wager no small amount of money on Gone With The Wind being Slimmer Of The Year by the time it reaches its press night. At the rate it is currently going, it could end up finishing before it has started.

This is, though, the whole point of previews, to take a presentable form of a show and hone it over a period of weeks, gauging audience reaction and judging how the piece looks in a theatrical setting. Over time, the bits that don’t work or aren’t good enough are disregarded and thrown to the wayside until, at the end of the process, you have a winner.

It is like reality television, just without the public voting, panel of judges, mildly annoying host and the television.

So now it’s all over. Like Christmas as a child, the big day comes and goes in the blink of an eye and somehow the entire process feels akin to a slightly surreal dream.

How did it go? Well, I spent the day before the show investing in some time for me as a singer, which is always difficult to find when you’re performing and directing and therefore have everyone else to worry about as well. I spent most of the day in silence to rest my voice and to save all my energy for the onslaught early the next morning.

I’d been shopping for the last bits that I needed for the day itself. Final touches to outfits, toiletries and comfort items that help you along the way such as tea and honey. Glycerine sweets from Boots are also quite handy to keep your vocal chords moist. All items checked off the list and then it was home to work on the score.

I read through my score and it had settled well inside my head. I always find it helps to have the most solid basis with which to work with musically so that other red herrings can’t throw you off track. Last minute problems are inevitable with a one night show, but that’s all part of the fun! For example, David called me from the theatre that morning to inform me of an exit and entrance hitch we’d have to tackle. It hits you for a second, then you work the problem and away it flies.

So music cemented, I tried on my new outfit, which I was rather pleased with… until the moment I realised my cerise cardigan had moulted all over my new crisp, white shirt and turned it pale pink! So I then spent fifteen minutes with Sellotape removing the offending colouration. Such are the joys of having no wardrobe department.

Me, in ‘that cardigan’, performing with Julie Atherton

Oh and why is it that when you need quiet time and an early night, the normally non-existent downstairs neighbours decide to have a party? Fun. I was also packing to go on holiday, so what with trying to track down every must have item for the show, I was also rooting around to find my long lost summer wardrobe. Even more fun.

Clothes found and packed, I lowered my head over a bowl of hot water to steam my vocal chords. It’s important to let it all calm down before you speak again. When I’m singing daily and feeling tired steaming keeps me singing better for longer than normal. You want to be able to do your best on the night as it only happens once.

We’d all been feeling the usual nerves and excitement at the prospect of the show. I was chatting to Amy (Pemberton) in rehearsal about how being involved in Heels has been so refreshing for her because she sings the same show (Jersey Boys) every night. Stuart (Matthew Price) is a big ball of fantastic energy with a killer voice to boot, and Selina (Chilton) has been every bit the class act that I remember from our days at college together at Arts Ed.

Stuart and Amy

I somehow managed to sleep through the offending racket downstairs and then came the big day, which started with waking up to a blizzard of snow. Add to that the inevitable public transport chaos that ensues, a West End packed with police due to the Olympic Torch parade and its wealth of protesters and a bomb scare about half way through the afternoon, and you have an insight in the slightly crazy day we had off stage. In comparison what happened on stage seemed peculiarly plain sailing.

The day of tech and dress rehearsals was the smoothest we’ve ever had and the show itself gained a warm reception, after which we all headed straight for the bar, toasted the occasion with a glass in our hands and then headed off into the night to make our weary way home. I’m now in Gran Canaria. From theatre to beach in but one day.

Until next time…

Darius Danesh proves he is hot stuff as the suave Rhett Butler in Trevor Nunn’s new production of Gone With The Wind.

A new production image has been released which shows former pop star Darius getting a little hot under the collar as he carries his American co-star Jill Paice away from an all-consuming inferno.

The new musical begins previews this weekend, when sparks will start to fly at the New London.

I nipped down to the Lyric Hammersmith this week to catch a performance of Contains Violence. It’s an interesting piece where you use binoculars to watch what other people are doing in rooms across the street from you. Ah, how it took me back to my youth…

Though I may have more practice than most at such pastimes – I used to be a twitcher, you see, a bird watcher – I’m not sure I’ve ever sat with a big group of people illicitly spying on unsuspecting targets before. Honest officer, I haven’t.

The piece is a thriller, set in the mostly empty office blocks opposite the theatre, which you watch from the Lyric Hammersmith’s balcony. As the dark proceedings unfolded before me (they weren’t that dark, in fact they were quite well lit. How else would we see what was happening), at a couple of points I felt an icy chill run down my spine… but that might just have been drizzle.

From where I was sitting, the plot seemed a little thin too, as it revolved around a cleaner going about her business in the kitchen of a deserted office. There was a moment when she dropped a discarded mug and a look of panic spread across her face, but it all tapered off from there.

The really interesting events were taking place in different windows further up, where there seemed to be all manner of arguments and lack of clothing, before things started to get particularly physical. It was enough to draw my attention away from the cleaner. In fact I had no option but to leave the theatre and call the police. 

Well, imagine my embarrassment when the police explained I had got the two windows muddled up and I had been watching the wrong window the whole time…

Greetings from a slightly stressed out Paul, who is this week desperately cramming lyrics and melodies into every spare minute of each day as the week of the show is now upon us. Notes In Heels will be presented for one night only this Sunday 6 April.

This Sunday just gone, the whole team were ensconced in a rehearsal room as we threw the show onto its feet in full for the first time. I always make sure the cast know that this is playtime; a chance to try out your choices and to make your mistakes. Go for the high notes and really find your journey within the story.

Taking a break from rehearsals: Selina Chilton, Me, Julie Atherton, Stuart Matthew Price, Amy Pemberton

We make sure that every person on the stage knows what they are singing about and why, and we try our best to reflect that in the staging. Hopefully you will pick up on the subtle nuances that we do our best to weave into it. I always enjoy the different interpretations I hear from people in the bar after the show. Most make of it what they will and I prefer it that way. As long as you feel something I think we did our job.

This particular show has done exactly what I predicted. It’s grown steadily and evolved throughout the rehearsal process, which is definitely down to the cast dynamic. Not one of them will sing anything or move anywhere without knowing why. All of them have valid and interesting ideas and skills to bring to the table and it has been a joy to watch them work and explore. It always helps when the group gets on well too. That’s when the strange spells are cast.

Amy rehearses one of her numbers

We ran the show from top to bottom on Sunday, and I forget how draining they are. We tend to pick the songs that we know will have the greatest impact on the audience, but this also means they tend to be complete killers to sing, so by the end of the run we were all on our knees. Notes In Heels is emotionally draining as well and I’m really glad it is because I have so much to grab onto and squeeze out of the songs. It’s a pleasure to ride the rollercoaster and the strange thing is that you never know how you will feel at the end of it.

This week we tie up all the loose ends. We go into the Duchess and go through the lighting plot with the resident operator on Buddy. We decide how the show will be costumed and how it will look and we smooth over the clunky parts and solidify our harmonies. We also do one final publicity push in order to maximise ticket sales and make sure as many people as possible know that it’s happening and attend.

Then along it comes and it’s over in the blink of an eye. I was telling the new cast members that when the show’s over and you have a drink in your hand, the feeling is indescribable. It’s the biggest rush and phenomenally overwhelming too. The relief that it’s all over washes over you completely. For me, the only difference this time will be that at nine o’clock the following morning I shall be on a plane flying toward a sun-drenched beach and the past two months will seem a lifetime away.

It’s that simple. On Monday morning it’s done, and if you happen to have been there on Sunday 6 April, you would have been one of a special few. We’re very much looking forward to welcoming you all on Sunday and we appreciate your support immensely. Until Sunday then.