![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sophieisgodOkay, so yesterday might possibly have been one of the greatest days of my life. This is rather sad really, because yesterday I went to London and saw two musicals.
The original reason that Emma and I went to London was to see Les Mis. Because it's awesome. We've been rewatching the DVD of the Tenth Anniversary Concert to a degree which some would call 'obsessive'... I prefer the term 'enthusiastic'. It's a bit less creepy. Anyway, we went to the Wednesday matinee, and it was fucking awesome. We had pretty decent seats, in the middle of Row K in the stalls at the Queen's Theatre on Shaftesbury Ave, if anyone's interested in that sort of useless detail. We could actually see the actors' expressions, which is always nice. Anyway, some random thoughts:
Valjean
Okay, John Owen-Jones is just. Amazing. He's even a better Valjean than Colm 'plums-in-his-mouth' Wilkinson, and that's saying quite a lot. Plus, he's the youngest guy ever to play it. Guh. And he's quite fetching in a bearded, manly way. Anyway, he absolutely nailed everything in sight with a very tuneful hammer. His 'Bring Him Home' was incredible, and it's been known to get him a standing ovation in the middle of shows. There isn't really much else to say, apart from that he ripped my heart out when he was being a stooping old man.
Javert
Okay, this was a tough one. Mainly because, for me, Philip Quast IS Javert, and anyone else is always going to have a helluva job even coming close. And Hans Peter Janssens (who shall forever be known as Belgian Guy)? Didn't really come close. I mean, he had a great voice (although why he chose to open 'Stars' with a fetching spoken word delivery, I never will know), he just wasn't very sexy. And sometimes his accent grated. And Javert didn't really come across as giving a damn. He did pull it off towards the end, though. Man gives good suicide. Although (pet peeve ahead, feel free to ignore), Javert's supposed to be this incredibly rigid (ooh-er), moral character with the utmost respect for laws and guidelines. It seems to me that he'd sing in time. Just a thought...
Marius
I would like to take back any derogatory remarks I may ever have made about Jon from S Club 7. He broke my cold, cynical, doubting heart. 'A Little Fall Of Rain' was bad enough (in that it was completely awesome), but THEN he started crying on the floor. And not just stage crying, properly crying. And not just crying, angry crying. The kind where you shoulder things violently. He never did any of *that* on Miami 7, I'll tell you that much. And 'Empty Chairs...' would probably slay me no matter who sang it, but he completely sold it. And in the bits where he was happy, he was scampering about like a wee squirrel. Frankly, he's adorable.
Fantine and Eponine were both lovely.
Cosette didn't piss me off nearly as much as I was expecting her to.
The Thenardiers were sinister yet hilarious.
Enjolras was fine, but he ain't no Aaron Lazar.
Grantaire was terrific. It did seem that this production played down the semi-canon Grantaire/Enjolras unrequited love thing (read the slash...hee), and made a lot more of Grantaire/Marius. It was actually really sweet.
Emma had promised me that Valjean would skip round the stage with teeny Cosette. There was no skipping. I was gutted.
Gavroche, usually most obnoxious of characters, was completely and utterly adorable. He can't have been more than about seven. However, he was adorable to an extent that when he got shot some members of the audience, rather than start crying, actually chuckled indulgently. Morons.
The big showpiece songs still floor me. I don't think I'll ever get over the climax of 'One Day More', where all the parts come back together in this massive harmony.
Then, after a quick break for sustenance, it was off to the Adelphi for Evita.
Our motives for wanting to see Evita were far less wholesome than our motives for wanting to see Les Mis. Basically, we were going to see Philip Quast (whose appeal I have dealt with HERE) play Juan Peron. Phnar. The incredible relief we felt when we saw his name on the board... Anyway, thoughts...
Eva
I was really looking forward to seeing an Argentinean play Evita, because apparently Elena Rogers is phenomenal. However, the luck of the draw meant that we got the alternate Eva, Abbie Osmon. She was excellent, I just think Rogers would probably have been a wee bit more fiery. Osmon was a touch RP for my tastes at times... Still, great voice, nifty dancer.
Peron
Was there ever any doubt? Quast, AKA The Man With The Hands, was immense as ever. His chemistry with Eva was incredible, and it was proper, sexy chemistry as opposed to 'fatherly affection' chemistry (hello, Jonathan Pryce and Madonna!). Even in songs which are basically her singing at him ('I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You', 'You Must Love Me'), his reactions were just spot on. And the bloody tango... I read a review which said he tossed Eva around 'like a matchbox', and they weren't far wrong.
Crikey. Plus, the fact he was playing a dictator meant lots of brandishing of the arms and therefore The Hands. And lots of beautiful Javert-esque rigid posture. Ahem. And he got to be anguished again! And he took off his jacket and whirled it around his head! And wore braces! And a military uniform! I loves it. Emma and I are still on a mission to spread the PQ love, but it's slow going. Even Kathryn has openly scorned him, and her standards aren't the highest. Grrr. Plebs.
Che
Matt Rawle hasn't had the best reviews for his performance, and he looks a little too young and clean-cut to play Che... So imagine our relief when we learned that we'd be getting one of the understudies, Mark Powell, who was really rather good. He was suitably scruffy and grubby, looked a bit rough around the edges... Like a slightly less good-looking cross between Clive Owen and Adrian Pasdar (AKA Squarejaw), but-you-still-would... Anyway, awesome. Sleazy in a good way. Cheeky. Bitter. How good was Antonio Banderas, though?
The opening was incredible, really atmospheric. It just starts with this old woman wailing on the stage, and then the mourners start singing this gorgeous requiem before Che appears and starts being awesome.
The choreography blew me away. The tango is quite possibly the sexiest dance ever. I must admit, I was getting a bit flustered at times.
The lighting was a bit heavy-handed, every time a main character made an entrance they'd have a spotlight following them around...
The costumes were completely gorgeous. I want 40's clothes, please!
The actress playing Peron's mistress was great. 'Another Suitcase In Another Hall' is one of those songs that I've known for years and years from various anthologies. It's weird though, because in the film they gave it to Madonna rather than the mistress (who was played by Andrea Corr in the film! Hee!)
The audience pissed me off slightly, especially compared to the audience at Les Mis. That was only a matinee, and we still did a standing ovation. At Evita, the average age of the audience appeared to be about 60, and they really didn't clap very loudly. I hate it when that happens, because I don't want the actors or musicians to feel underappreciated. Anyway, we managed to get in a few 'Woop woop!'s in during the finale.
Okay, our seats were in Row C. In the stalls. That would be three rows from the stage. And we were pretty much in the centre, slightly to one side maybe. When the principals lined up for their bows, Philip Quast was DIRECTLY in front of us. I mean actually in line with us. It was beyond immense. Then, because we were the only vaguely young people in the vicinity, and we were, y'know, making noise, he looked at us. And then he looked at us again. And then he looked at us again. We had eyesex with Philip Quast.
I fear it may take me some time to recover from this.
After much deliberation, we decided not to hit the stage door because a) nobody else was lurking there and b) we would actually look like whores. So, armed only with a bottle of Blossom Hill White Zinfandel, we headed back to the hotel to make our own fun.
After many shenanigans with a corkscrew (thank you, receptionist!), wine was consumed and our own fun was duly made. This was done mainly through the medium of photography, aided by homemade signs. Some choice excerpts:
"Jon from S Club 7 cries angels' tears"
"The REAL Javert fondles his microphone"
"I'd get it on with Juan Peron"
"Real men are NOT Belgium"
This was actually a tipsy misprint by Emma, who then sheepishly had to add a tiny 'from'...
The night also promted some gems of quotes...
Me: *to the television* Are you turned on?
Emma: Who, me?
Emma: My paedophile face just looks like my normal face!
Emma: *wistfully* Maybe I imagined the skipping like I imagined the parade...
Her reasoning behind the lack of skipping in the production of Les Mis
Naturally, all the excitement led me to make some irrational merchandise purchases. I am now the proud owner of two pin badges I will never ever wear.
The original reason that Emma and I went to London was to see Les Mis. Because it's awesome. We've been rewatching the DVD of the Tenth Anniversary Concert to a degree which some would call 'obsessive'... I prefer the term 'enthusiastic'. It's a bit less creepy. Anyway, we went to the Wednesday matinee, and it was fucking awesome. We had pretty decent seats, in the middle of Row K in the stalls at the Queen's Theatre on Shaftesbury Ave, if anyone's interested in that sort of useless detail. We could actually see the actors' expressions, which is always nice. Anyway, some random thoughts:
Valjean
Okay, John Owen-Jones is just. Amazing. He's even a better Valjean than Colm 'plums-in-his-mouth' Wilkinson, and that's saying quite a lot. Plus, he's the youngest guy ever to play it. Guh. And he's quite fetching in a bearded, manly way. Anyway, he absolutely nailed everything in sight with a very tuneful hammer. His 'Bring Him Home' was incredible, and it's been known to get him a standing ovation in the middle of shows. There isn't really much else to say, apart from that he ripped my heart out when he was being a stooping old man.
Javert
Okay, this was a tough one. Mainly because, for me, Philip Quast IS Javert, and anyone else is always going to have a helluva job even coming close. And Hans Peter Janssens (who shall forever be known as Belgian Guy)? Didn't really come close. I mean, he had a great voice (although why he chose to open 'Stars' with a fetching spoken word delivery, I never will know), he just wasn't very sexy. And sometimes his accent grated. And Javert didn't really come across as giving a damn. He did pull it off towards the end, though. Man gives good suicide. Although (pet peeve ahead, feel free to ignore), Javert's supposed to be this incredibly rigid (ooh-er), moral character with the utmost respect for laws and guidelines. It seems to me that he'd sing in time. Just a thought...
Marius
I would like to take back any derogatory remarks I may ever have made about Jon from S Club 7. He broke my cold, cynical, doubting heart. 'A Little Fall Of Rain' was bad enough (in that it was completely awesome), but THEN he started crying on the floor. And not just stage crying, properly crying. And not just crying, angry crying. The kind where you shoulder things violently. He never did any of *that* on Miami 7, I'll tell you that much. And 'Empty Chairs...' would probably slay me no matter who sang it, but he completely sold it. And in the bits where he was happy, he was scampering about like a wee squirrel. Frankly, he's adorable.
Fantine and Eponine were both lovely.
Cosette didn't piss me off nearly as much as I was expecting her to.
The Thenardiers were sinister yet hilarious.
Enjolras was fine, but he ain't no Aaron Lazar.
Grantaire was terrific. It did seem that this production played down the semi-canon Grantaire/Enjolras unrequited love thing (read the slash...hee), and made a lot more of Grantaire/Marius. It was actually really sweet.
Emma had promised me that Valjean would skip round the stage with teeny Cosette. There was no skipping. I was gutted.
Gavroche, usually most obnoxious of characters, was completely and utterly adorable. He can't have been more than about seven. However, he was adorable to an extent that when he got shot some members of the audience, rather than start crying, actually chuckled indulgently. Morons.
The big showpiece songs still floor me. I don't think I'll ever get over the climax of 'One Day More', where all the parts come back together in this massive harmony.
Then, after a quick break for sustenance, it was off to the Adelphi for Evita.
Our motives for wanting to see Evita were far less wholesome than our motives for wanting to see Les Mis. Basically, we were going to see Philip Quast (whose appeal I have dealt with HERE) play Juan Peron. Phnar. The incredible relief we felt when we saw his name on the board... Anyway, thoughts...
Eva
I was really looking forward to seeing an Argentinean play Evita, because apparently Elena Rogers is phenomenal. However, the luck of the draw meant that we got the alternate Eva, Abbie Osmon. She was excellent, I just think Rogers would probably have been a wee bit more fiery. Osmon was a touch RP for my tastes at times... Still, great voice, nifty dancer.
Peron
Was there ever any doubt? Quast, AKA The Man With The Hands, was immense as ever. His chemistry with Eva was incredible, and it was proper, sexy chemistry as opposed to 'fatherly affection' chemistry (hello, Jonathan Pryce and Madonna!). Even in songs which are basically her singing at him ('I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You', 'You Must Love Me'), his reactions were just spot on. And the bloody tango... I read a review which said he tossed Eva around 'like a matchbox', and they weren't far wrong.
Crikey. Plus, the fact he was playing a dictator meant lots of brandishing of the arms and therefore The Hands. And lots of beautiful Javert-esque rigid posture. Ahem. And he got to be anguished again! And he took off his jacket and whirled it around his head! And wore braces! And a military uniform! I loves it. Emma and I are still on a mission to spread the PQ love, but it's slow going. Even Kathryn has openly scorned him, and her standards aren't the highest. Grrr. Plebs.
Che
Matt Rawle hasn't had the best reviews for his performance, and he looks a little too young and clean-cut to play Che... So imagine our relief when we learned that we'd be getting one of the understudies, Mark Powell, who was really rather good. He was suitably scruffy and grubby, looked a bit rough around the edges... Like a slightly less good-looking cross between Clive Owen and Adrian Pasdar (AKA Squarejaw), but-you-still-would... Anyway, awesome. Sleazy in a good way. Cheeky. Bitter. How good was Antonio Banderas, though?
The opening was incredible, really atmospheric. It just starts with this old woman wailing on the stage, and then the mourners start singing this gorgeous requiem before Che appears and starts being awesome.
The choreography blew me away. The tango is quite possibly the sexiest dance ever. I must admit, I was getting a bit flustered at times.
The lighting was a bit heavy-handed, every time a main character made an entrance they'd have a spotlight following them around...
The costumes were completely gorgeous. I want 40's clothes, please!
The actress playing Peron's mistress was great. 'Another Suitcase In Another Hall' is one of those songs that I've known for years and years from various anthologies. It's weird though, because in the film they gave it to Madonna rather than the mistress (who was played by Andrea Corr in the film! Hee!)
The audience pissed me off slightly, especially compared to the audience at Les Mis. That was only a matinee, and we still did a standing ovation. At Evita, the average age of the audience appeared to be about 60, and they really didn't clap very loudly. I hate it when that happens, because I don't want the actors or musicians to feel underappreciated. Anyway, we managed to get in a few 'Woop woop!'s in during the finale.
Okay, our seats were in Row C. In the stalls. That would be three rows from the stage. And we were pretty much in the centre, slightly to one side maybe. When the principals lined up for their bows, Philip Quast was DIRECTLY in front of us. I mean actually in line with us. It was beyond immense. Then, because we were the only vaguely young people in the vicinity, and we were, y'know, making noise, he looked at us. And then he looked at us again. And then he looked at us again. We had eyesex with Philip Quast.
I fear it may take me some time to recover from this.
After much deliberation, we decided not to hit the stage door because a) nobody else was lurking there and b) we would actually look like whores. So, armed only with a bottle of Blossom Hill White Zinfandel, we headed back to the hotel to make our own fun.
After many shenanigans with a corkscrew (thank you, receptionist!), wine was consumed and our own fun was duly made. This was done mainly through the medium of photography, aided by homemade signs. Some choice excerpts:
"Jon from S Club 7 cries angels' tears"
"The REAL Javert fondles his microphone"
"I'd get it on with Juan Peron"
"Real men are NOT Belgium"
This was actually a tipsy misprint by Emma, who then sheepishly had to add a tiny 'from'...
The night also promted some gems of quotes...
Me: *to the television* Are you turned on?
Emma: Who, me?
Emma: My paedophile face just looks like my normal face!
Emma: *wistfully* Maybe I imagined the skipping like I imagined the parade...
Her reasoning behind the lack of skipping in the production of Les Mis
Naturally, all the excitement led me to make some irrational merchandise purchases. I am now the proud owner of two pin badges I will never ever wear.
