Dial M for Murder - – 27th September 2021 – Theatr Clwyd

Retired champion tennis player Tony Wendice (played by Strictly Come Dancing winner Tom Chambers) wants to murder his socialite wife Margot (X-factor finalist Diana Vickers.) Not only has Margot been unfaithful to her husband by having an affair with crime writer Max Halliday, but she’s also sitting on a small fortune which her husband needs to get his hands on the because he’s broke. Whilst he may have several trophy’s lining his front room shelves, he was playing tennis in an era where tennis players weren’t paid.

Many people will be aware of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 film version of Dial M for Murder starring Ray Milland and Grace Kelly, however, it was BBC television that first aired a production in 1952; the same year that a theatrical version was also performed.

As I loved Hitchcock’s version, I was rather excited to finally watch this play; I’d bought tickets pre-covid when the tour was first announced, but unfortunately the production had to be postponed several times until it was deemed safe to reopen our theatres and touring could commence.

Is there such a thing as the perfect crime?

Tony has spent months perfecting the perfect murder, however, he’s a coward who won’t get his hands too dirty, so he enlists the help of an old acquaintance from his Cambridge University days, Charles Swann. Tony is aware that Charles became a small-time criminal and because this is the perfect crime, he can use his knowledge of Charles’ history to his advantage. He arranges a meeting with Swann, claiming he wishes to purchase the car Swann is selling, but over a few drinks, he confides in Swann about Margot’s infidelity. Six months earlier, Tony had stolen Margot’s handbag which contained a love letter from Mark, and he sent her an anonymous blackmail letter about it. Whilst confiding in Swann, Tony hands him the love letter to read, now that the letter has Swann’s fingerprints all over it, Tony tells Swann he can either accept £1000.00 to murder Margot, or he can be unveiled as the mystery man who blackmailed her. Swann grudgingly agrees to become Tony’s accomplice, and Tony explains his perfect plan for murder…

Oh what a tangled web we weave, 

When first we practice to deceive'…

 Mark Halliday is back on UK soil and visiting Margot. Tony tells Mark he should accompany him to a stag party the following evening thus leaving Margot home alone. Tony will hide Margot’s door key under the mat so that Charles can let himself into the property and hide. Tony would then telephone Margot from the party and whilst answering the phone, Charles would strangle her and then leave signs of a burglary before leaving the flat and replacing the door key back where he’d found it. Now the only problem with Tony’s plan is that it is reliant on everyone playing their part perfectly, and the only fly in the ointment is that Margot doesn’t know what her role in his devious scheme entails. So, just like Marmion, we’re about to witness a domino effect of complications which begin to spiral out of control.

Set in the front room of a ground floor flat in Maida Vale, this production is set a decade later than the original, a transformation that doesn’t add anything to this clunky new production of the classic thriller. The soundtrack opening the show is the 1959 classic The Flamingos - I Only Have Eyes For You, which immediately transported me back to The Deep Blue Sea at The National with Tom Burke and Helen McCrory. I say the production was clunky, because whilst I enjoyed the play, it wasn’t the edge of the seat spine-chilling thriller I was expecting. Instead, director Anthony Banks has injected a light-heartedness into the staging, which suits Tom Chambers’ acting style, but means that parts of the play which should be extremely dramatic, elicit raucous laughter from audience.

Tom Chambers appears to be having great fun playing the role of psychopath Tony Wendice, but he is too maniacal, and it undermines the cold calculated mind of a wife killer; I also found the smug self-esteem overbearing and the references to his past tennis career in his dancelike movements across the stage unnecessary.

Whilst all the actors were good, I felt there was a distinct lack of chemistry between the central trio, which made the whole plot unbelievable, and I didn’t really care who was sent to the gallows in the end.  And then there was the murder itself.

The joy of this storyline is that the audience has had it spelt out to them from the start what is supposed to happen. The tension in the air should become palpable as we move through Tony’s plan and see it start to fracture, but the comedic edge dilutes the tension. There isn’t that sense of shock from Margot, surprise yes, but not a deep dark horror that someone has just tried to kill her. The murder scene needed more conviction to keep me on the edge of my seat.

It was an enjoyable evening out, but it was less thriller and more comedic caper for my liking; but maybe a bit of tactical light relief is what people need in the current climate, and if that’s what the audience want – this production delivers on that front.

 

Dial M for Murder

Theatr Clwyd – Anthony Hopkins Theatr from

Running time 2 hours 20 mins

Tony Wendice: Tom Chambers

Margot Wendice: Diana Vickers

27 September – 2 October 2021 Theatr Clwyd, Mold
5 – 9 October 2021 Cambridge Arts Theatre
11 – 16 October 2021 Everyman Theatre, Cheltenham
18 – 23 October 2021 Lyceum Theatre, Sheffield
26 – 30 October 2021 Milton Keynes Theatre
2 – 6 November 2021 New Theatre Cardiff
9 – 13 November 2021 Palace Theatre, Southend On Sea
15 – 20 November 2021 The Lowry, Salford
29 November – 4 December 2021 Festival Theatre Malvern

Troubled Blood – Robert Galbraith (JK Rowling)

2020, the year of constant surprises. I’ve never been a huge JK Rowling fan (I mean her books, not the person.  I’ve never met the woman so I can’t comment on her personally, unlike the Twitter dunderheads who like to misconstrue everything they read.) I have to give her credit for her vivid imagination and her wealth of knowledge and the amount of research she must undertake before putting pen to paper, but for me, her writing is prone to too much repetition which detracts from what could be an excellent read.

So why do I read the Strike books if I’m not a fan of her writing? Easy. Tom Burke plays the lead in the TV adaptations and with it he has brought an interesting, complex character to life, one full of charm, charisma, and sparkle. I’ve become invested in the character; I want to know what the next instalment is about and what the future holds for Strike. So, for me to keep up with Strike, and to not feel like I’m wasting any of my day, I turned to Audible books for both Lethal White and Troubled Blood. This way I could go for a walk or do chores and “read” at the same time.

As the orotund voice of Robert Glenister began permeating my ears, I realised that the format of this book was to be the same as the others. Each chapter to be preceded by a quotation…this time it was Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queen. I hit pause, puzzled. It rang a distant bell in my memory and so I trotted over to the bookcase and pulled out my battered Norton’s Anthology of English Literature. Ah yes…there it was…battered and having obviously seen all of its 25 years of service, there was the page marker for Edmund Spencer, and more importantly the Cantos of The Fairey Queen. Forgetting I was supposed to be listening to Strikes adventures, I started pouring over the old verses and the associated notes I’d scribbled throughout the margins. 

Chekov or Hemingway?

Anyone familiar with Chekov will undoubtedly remember his principal “If in Act One you have a pistol hanging on the wall, then it must fire in the last act.” As we enter Strikes world for the fifth time, we find him in Cornwall, visiting his terminally ill aunt, and catching up with his oldest friend Dave Polworth in the pub. The question of marriage arises, and in the defence of marriage, Polworth quotes from another Russian literary giant, Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.  With Strike coming back to his childhood “home” Cornwall and all the people he loved there, Robin dealing with a long and acrimonious divorce, and Strike’s ex Charlotte causing him no end of emotional reckoning, surely the poignant quote must have a bearing by the end of the novel. Or is JKR following Hemingway, whereby inconsequential details are just part of the plot?

In a departure for Strike and Robin, they take on the 40-year-old cold case of a doctor who mysteriously vanished one night. The client gives Strike a year to solve the case, and what a year it will be for both Cormoran and Robin. Many of the original witnesses for the case are dead, and for those still alive, how accurate will their memory of events be? Looking through the notes of the original chief detective on the case, it was apparent he was suffering with his mental health. Were his notes a sign of madness, or was there something more to his readings of tarot and astrological charts?

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein @ Theatr Clwyd, Mold

(Watched Tues 28th Jan. 2020)

I have a confession to make. I’ve never read Frankenstein. It was on the curriculum, but I couldn’t be bothered…I read the minimum amount of Gothic Horror I could in order to get me through the semester and then I spent the rest of the time horse-riding. I’ve never watched the films, so I have no idea if they’re any good or not, although I’ve heard that the book and the films have very little in common. 

I haven’t seen the National Theatre production starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller as my preconceptions meant that I just didn’t find the tale that appealing.*  I did watch a version of Frankenstein by Box Clever Theatre Company once; it was a thought-provoking production and I thought that perhaps I should buy the book, but once again…before I could think about buying it, other tomes on the bookcase had vied for my attention and won.

Now there was something that intrigued me in the advertisement for Rona Munro’s adaptation which compelled me to go and watch it. Her version puts the novelist, Mary Shelley, right at the heart of the production. That idea aroused my curiosity…the idea of her, the creator of Frankenstein, being on stage with Frankenstein, the creator of the monster. What a spine-tingling thought!

“I do not wish them [women] to have power over men; but over themselves.” Mary Wollstonecraft

Before looking at the play, it is interesting to understand a little about Mary Shelley and novels in the era she lived. She was the daughter of Mary Wollstonecraft, herself an English writer and advocate of women’s rights. Interestingly – in her book The Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792) - she argued that women should be given an education, further elaborating that it was because women educate their children and they could also be more than mere ornamental wives to their husbands. 

The book is one of the earliest known forms of feminist writing and Wollstonecraft argued that women deserved the same fundamental rights as men. What was interesting about her book, was that she argued that women were superficial because they lacked an education, and in it she launched a brutal attack on those women who had an obsession for reading sentimental novels. There were far better things women could be doing with their time than idly lying around filling their heads with saccharine tosh!

Notes on a Nervous Planet by Matt Haig

I’ve been watching this book doing the rounds on Twitter and reading comments about what a wonderful guide it is to assist you with living in the modern world. Do I need a guide to tell me how to live in the modern world? I already know the world has gone to the dogs, and as a cat person that makes me unhappy. This book is not going to change that for me though, nor tell me anything I don’t already know…is it?

If I pop into Tesco, I invariably end up going to the book bit first! I saw a book that had received rave reviews (and a friend had said it was good) that I wanted to buy. I noted it was part of a “buy two for a fiver” offer and obviously that’s a bargain not to be missed, so I decided to add Notes on a Nervous Planet to my basket as well so I could see what all the media fuss was about.

I had no intention of doing a book “review”, but things have been a bit crappy at home recently (family issue, starting a new job and having to make the awful decision to put Gerrard my beloved cat to sleep.) My way of dealing with things is to face reality and then go and bury my head in a book to stop me overthinking. (I can overthink things a lot if I’m not careful…why didn’t I say this…why didn’t I do that?!) As I read, I found that “Notes on a Nervous Planet” actually resonated with me, so I thought I’d stop moping around and share some thoughts with you all. This isn’t a book review as such…more about the things that sprung to mind whilst reading it! (And I started writing this before I went to see The Souvenir…but never finished writing it. I have now!)

We all look at how we can make our physical state better. We are told to go for a walk or to the gym, or if you are of a certain vintage you might remember the kids TV show where you were told to “switch off the TV and go and do something less boring instead!” We need to stop eating so much junk food, get more vegetables into the diet and eat less meat. Stop drinking as much alcohol, stop smoking, don’t self-medicate, all good advice; but how much of that advice contributes to our mental welfare?

How do we live in a mad world without ourselves going mad?

Well that’s easy…stop using social media and I don’t need a book to tell me that! I have only used social media for about 5 years, and during that time I have found that it has gone from being an environment of fun chats with people, to it being a means of outdoing one another. I get fed up of getting bogged down trawling through either negative or inane comments. (I follow lots of save wildlife and the planet sites and some of the comments posted on them…OMG they fill you with you with dread and despair for our planets future.)

An Ode to Social Media

When anger trawls the internet,

Looking for a hook;

It’s time to disconnect,

       And go and read a book. (Matt Haig)

So, should I stop using social media? Would it make my life better? I use social media to advertise my artwork that I have for sale, to share pictures of interesting places and events I have been to that I think others might enjoy. I even “advertise” when I have a new post on my blog as people tell me they enjoy reading it and like to know when a new post is available!

I’ve met some wonderful people via social media and I feel guilty that I don’t engage with them as much as I did in the past; so there are benefits to its usage, but what I’m most surprised about is how addictive

The Souvenir (Film by Joanna Hogg)

There is a cinema within walking distance of my house. I can’t remember the last time I went there. I’m not really a cinephile, I'm happy watching the classics on TV or DVD. The Souvenir by Joanna Hogg is not a mainstream film, but obviously I wanted to see it because Tom Burke was the male lead in it. The film isn’t released in the UK until 30^th August 2019, although my local Curzon cinema was showing it 20^th July, at 11am. I say my local Curzon cinema…it’s 40+ miles away, but what is 40 miles to see a film when I’m prepared to go to the other end of the country to see Tom in a play?!

My friend and I met at the cinema, got a cookie and a cuppa (served on a china plate) and went forth into this intimate cinema screening, where there were small side tables by the seats…and reclining chairs! I’m so easily pleased. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the film, I knew the subject matter was likely to be harrowing, but at least I would be in comfort when my eyes started to leak.

Where purity of soul meets morality...

To put some context into the film, “The Souvenir” on which the film is entitled, is an enchanting painting by Jean-Honoré Fragonard, completed in 1778. It depicts a young girl who has received a letter from her lover (which lies discarded on the ground) carving her lovers initials in the truck of a tree. Her devoted dog, a spaniel, a symbol of fidelity, stares towards her. The sale catalogue of 1792 states the girl is the heroine of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s epistolary novel Julie (or New Heloise.) The protagonists are Julie, of privileged descent and Saint Preux her tutor and a commoner. The story follows a complex maze of feelings and intellectual debate, where purity of soul is entwined with morality, and the fate of these two lovers is left to the effects of the society in which they live. (If you haven’t read the novel, think along the lines of when Tom narrated Pamela by Samuel Richardson – as I’m sure many readers will have listened to Tom’s work!)

This small painting measuring a mere 19x25 cm is housed in the Wallace Collection in London, and whilst small manages to evoke a serious of emotions and questions. How will this love affair work out for this girl of such innocence and purity? Will it end in joy or sorrow? Is there more to this girl than meets the eye? Is she as fragile as she looks, or is there a hidden strength and determination to her?

British director Joanna Hogg uses her own life experiences to produce a film which is mesmerising, xxx and xxx about her early life as a film student, and echoes elements of the painting. Honor Swinton Byrne plays Julie, the awkward, yet privileged film student, whilst Tom Burke plays her suave and sophisticated older boyfriend Anthony. But looks can be deceiving, there is more to Tom’s character than meets the eye, and there is a hidden strength apparent in Honor’s portrayal of Julie. These are world class performances and worthy of all plaudits that both actors have and will receive for this film.

I was transfixed

I've ended up going AWOL yet again!!

I know it's been a wee while since I posted anything (again!) but after my recent mammoth theatre session I realised I didn't actually have any new plays booked until August. I know...it's appalling behaviour, but seeing as I am currently not working (and I'm avoiding the other half asking me if I've actually bothered to look for a job to pay for all my trips...although depressingly it seems something is on the horizon) I'll be watching a couple of NT Lives instead of running down to London and this includes Andrew Scott in Noel Coward's Present Laughter which I'm really looking forward to.

Gerrard the grouch

 As I have a bit of spare time, I figured it was time to knuckle down and finish the Introduction to Photography Course I started about two years ago. I passed with 99.44%...which means I now know which way up to hold the camera. I've now moved onto a portrait photography course which has already stalled at the introduction stage. Whilst I'm not that interested in taking pictures of people, I do want to get my animal/wildlife photography up to scratch. Sadly Gerrard is only compliant when asleep, so I'm going to have to find a better subject matter to work with. (Even the local buzzard is more patient than G, which is a shame because he's actually a pretty, albeit grumpy, cat.)

Some of my nature photographs have been transformed into abstract prints which you can now find on my new ArtWow site, https://www.artwow.co/products/search/sioux


and of course there's still the Redbubble site which has a nice new shoe design print which was inspired following a recent trip to London.
https://www.redbubble.com/people/SiouxRogers?asc=u




Rosmersholm

Whilst I was in London I watched the play Rosmersholm

Rosmersholm - Duke of York's Theatre, London (Henrik Ibsen)

Edvard Munch – Love and Angst

Well it's been a very busy few days, but let’s face it, you don’t really care about days 1-3 of my little jaunt to London, you’re here to find out about Tom’s new play aren’t you?!

Theatre programme for Ibsen's Rosmersholm, 1893 by Edouard Vuillard

Well, first of all, there's a small, but interesting diversion, as Monday started with a trip to the British Museum to see the work of another Norwegian, the artist Edvard Munch.
When I cruised around Norway a few years ago, his most famous painting The Scream seemed to be everywhere. It has become a universal symbol for anxiety, and this collection of prints in a collection entitled “Love and Angst” showed Munch’s exploration of his personal experiences of death and suffering throughout his life. It seemed the perfect introduction to get into the mindset of the evening’s play, which was to be a Norwegian writer’s exploration of human suffering.

Munch found his native homeland restrictive to his liberal ideas. He moved throughout Europe, just like Ibsen, and in fact he developed a friendship with both the playwrights Ibsen and Strindberg, which gave him an interest in the theatre. Hypnosis and the power of suggestion was becoming increasingly looked into in the 1880’s this can be seen in another play that Tom Burke has been in, August Strindbergs Creditors, which again explored how easily a man can be manipulated by a woman. 

Whilst Munch fell out with Strindberg, he developed a particular interest in Ibsen’s plays, his dark art shocked society, and Ibsen’s plays which focused on dark subject matters such as immorality, adultery and hypocrisy made them an ideal working partnership when it came to stage set and theatre programme designs. 

Henrik Ibsen 1902

Following Ibsen’s death in 1906, the German director Max Reinhardt asked Munch to design the sets for Ghosts, one of Ibsen’s earlier plays. Munch felt a close bond with the character Osvald who had inherited syphilis from his profligate father. Having watched his sister die, and as a family dealing with grief, Munch was able to transfer his own feelings of tragedy onto Ibsen’s characters. When he met the elderly Ibsen in 1893, he was told “Believe me – you will have the same fate as I – the more enemies, the more friends.” And in the 21^st century that is to be believed, both Ibsen and Munch still have a huge following, and in today’s confused and troubled times, they seem more popular than ever.

 

Rosmersholm – Henrik Ibsen - 1886

“I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest.”

“I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.”

I studied Rosmersholm back in the 90s and thought it was one of the most striking plays I had ever read. I have always been obsessed with horses, and I was fascinated by the idea of white horses being the ghosts of the house of Rosmersholm, whether they be the ghosts of past, present or future, that fear of seeing this mythical beast resonated with me. That sense of foreboding is nothing new, think of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (The white horse, the red horse, the black horse, the pale horse.)

These ghosts of foreboding

Ian McKellen on Stage - Theatr Clwyd (18/03/2019)

Sir Ian McKellen...with an 'E'...is a legend of stage and screen. I thought I was blessed to be able to see him in London (on my birthday!) playing the titular role of King Lear, but that wouldn't compare to seeing him treading the boards of my local theatre in Mold.

It's Sir Ian's 80th birthday year and he's celebrating in style, visiting 80 theatres up and down the country which have a particular meaning to him. As soon as I received the email that he was coming to Theatr Clwyd I told my hairdresser to get a move on so I could rush home and book a couple of tickets. By the time I got home I'd missed the front row seats, but I managed to purchase two seats on row BB, and the way the seats were arranged, technically you were kind of on the front row view-wise!!

Later that evening I told my other half I was seeing Sir Ian and that my friend Nikki would be joining me. Now everyone on here has probably gathered that my OH isn’t a theatre goer, but I had committed the cardinal sin. "But, but, but, that's Gandolf he exclaimed!" Oh dear God, there would be no end to it if I couldn't get him a ticket, so back online I went. I was stunned, the tickets were not on general sale and within 12 hours were practically sold out on both evenings. I found a seat on row A for him which he was happy with...and so he should have been, it cost nearly three times as much as my ticket (a £10 bargain!)

"You shall not pass.”

So the evening I'd been waiting ages for arrived. Nikki, OH and I went to the Glasfryn for dinner and Nikki and I got tipsy on a bottle of Prosecco! We excitedly sat down. All we could see on stage was a large box...how funny it would be if he burst out of the box we giggled. Suddenly the lights went off, we were sat in a pitch-black auditorium, and the sound of Sir Ian’s voice boomed through the darkness…”You shall not pass”…Gandolf was suddenly in the room with an enraptured audience. He held the great tome aloft as he quoted its contents. I was stunned…remembering lines for a play was one thing, but remembering great swathes of text? I sat feeling a little ashamed that I have never read the Lord of the Rings, or indeed The Hobbit. It turns out I’m in good company…neither has he!

We were then regaled with tales from filming Lord of the Rings. All the people that have told him they religiously read the text every year; including Christopher Lee, and just how fond he was of Legolas when he saw him. Ahhh Legolas...the only reason I watched the entire franchise!!

"Being an actor was never the plan, I just fell in love with the magic of the theatre. I had to be around it and the rest just followed.”

And so we progressed onto Sir Ian's life. His childhood, his dream of becoming an actor after watching the magic of Peter Pan come to life on stage. His early days of acting up in his hometown of Wigan. How back in the day you had a touring box, hence the box on stage, which would contain all you needed...props, costumes etc to go on stage. And that of course was why he couldn’t jump out of the box...it was too full of what he required for the evening's entertainment. I smirked at how well he knew the minds of his audience.

I thought he had chosen Theatr Clwyd as he must have performed there, but no, that night was the first night he had trod the boards of the Sir Anthony Hopkins Theatr. So why choose Mold...a theatre in the middle of nowhere, in a town no-one has heard of.  Well it turns out that as a child he remembered holidays down the road in Conwy, and his father walking the nearby Snowdonia Range. He had spent the day reminiscing in Conwy...and I think that set him up for an excellent evening of storytelling.  

"Has anyone here been to Buckingham Palace?"

A cheeky glisten is in his eyes as he good-naturedly enquires of the achievements of the audience. He’s not showing off; he’s sharing an intimate moment of when he received his knighthood. There is no pretentiousness in his tale, he is still the down to earth person he was growing up in Lancashire, but he is someone who has stories most of us can only dream about, and here he is, in his armchair recounting tales that are very personal to him.

Sir Ian launches into a rendition of Gus the Theatre Cat by T S Eliot while sitting in his foldaway chair. It always chokes me when I read it, ever since I was a child and I got Andrew Lloyd Webbers stage play on Vinyl! Sir Ian is playing the voice of Gus in the new film version of Cats which is set to grace the cinema screens in 2019. His ability to recite poetry is sublime, this is continued with his reading of Sir Edward Manley-Hopkins’ The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo – the lament for lost beauty and youth which brings the first half of the show to a close. (Whilst it was wonderful to listen to, I must be honest and say I still prefer listening to Richard Burton’s rendition!)

"Go to Flint Castle; there I’ll pine away"

After the interval it was time to bed down with Shakespeare. Sir Ian has had an extraordinary career as a Shakespearean actor. He invited us to shout out the names of all of Shakespeare’s plays, curious to know if we could remember them all, including the obscure ones. He did note there were some members of the audience who having directed Shakespeare and should know them all...and were therefore not supposed to shout out!!! Just to illustrate how many plays Shakespeare wrote, he rummaged in his box and brought out copies of each text! As a title was shouted out, he would pick up the relevant book and give an insight into a story whilst  he had performed the play, or indeed at times he’d put the book down, give a withering look and say “I have nothing to say about that one!”

I was sat wearing my Macbeth t-shirt...hmm should I shout that out? Maybe if I did the theatre would fall down...you know what theatrical folk are like...maybe I'd be better shouting the Scottish play...but then what if he's not superstitious?  By the time I'd finished deliberating someone had beaten me to it (the Scottish play they called out)...and his anecdotal response made me realise that it turns out not all the acting fraternity are particularly superstitious after all!!!!

I then started thinking obscure plays... Troilus and Cressida...yes I'll shout that. But then I thought...did Shakespeare write it?? Deep down I knew he did...but what if he didn’t...hmm maybe I shouldn’t have had that Prosecco. So I remained tight-lipped, and as we got further through the plays I couldn’t remember everything that had already been shouted out...I didn’t want to duplicate an answer...so I left it to the folk sitting near the director to continue shouting out! Self-doubt...a terrible affliction, but then I don’t pretend to be a master of Shakespeare, or indeed any playwright.  I also know that I have a terrible memory for names...so best to shut up, enjoy the evening and indulge in watching others have fun. (You don’t always have to be the gobshite to be part of an evening’s entertainment!)

I thought that Sir Ian would restrict his local anecdotes to the earlier part of the show, but as he picked up a copy of The Tragedy of King Richard II, he said, “you know this has particular relevance to this theatre?”

He then started to recite from the end Act III, Scene II.

By heaven I’ll hate him everlastingly

That bids me be of comfort anymore.

Go to Flint Castle: there I’ll pine away;

A king, woe’s slave, shall kingly woe obey.

That power I have, discharge; and let them go…

Act III, Scene III – Wales, before Flint Castle

So that by this intelligence we learn

The Welshmen are dispers’d and Salisbury

Is gone to meet the King…

Flint Castle is just down the road from the theatre in Mold.  This was a master at work. A man with a long life in the theatre, but with no heirs and graces, just a great memory, and the ability to share the most pertinent pieces of literature with his audience.

And then the evening drew to a close...Sir Ian stood on stage with his big yellow collecting bucket. “The money you have paid for your programme will go to this theatre, and the money you put in this bucket will go to the theatre too.” How amazing of him...each performance would benefit the theatre he was playing at. An extraordinary gentleman was standing in front of us. He had entertained us with tales of his youth, his career, his sexuality for two and a half hours. It was hard to believe that this man standing in front of us was in his 80^th year.

As I walked towards the bar I could see a great crowd surrounding him. I could have barged through all those camera phones to have a word with him, but was it really necessary? People were wanting selfies… (I'm not a huge selfie queen as you all know) and his hands were full with a collecting bucket so making him put it down to sign a programme would be rude. If I introduced myself would it really matter? He won’t remember me, he can already see the delight in everyone’s faces so he knows he’s entertained everyone. If I gushed at him “Oh I loved your rendition of Gus, it made me shed a tear” it would be more for my benefit than his…a sense of entitlement almost. So instead I sat at the bar with Nikki and my OH and we watched the crowd, and we watched Sir Ian, and we were content. There is a time and a place for chatting to an actor, and for me, this wasn’t it.

"An Invitation to Dinner"

I don’t know if you have ever played the game "who would you invite to dinner?" I have, and unsurprisingly most of the people I would like around my table are actors! Sir Ian is on my list, obviously Tom Burke (and his parents as I imagine they have some great tales to tell), David Suchet, and the late, great, Alan Rickman (who Sir Ian paid homage to in tonight’ show.) I think they get a seat around my table because they lead extraordinarily fascinating lives, (although I suspect most of them think their lives very dull and normal.) Couple this with the fact that they know how to deliver a tale so that is highly entertaining, it makes sense to invite them round your table…no-one wants a dull dinner party! Whilst the spirit of the game is just a bit of fun, I have been blessed to listen to Tom telling hilarious anecdotes and after an evening of Sir Ian McKellen on stage, I felt that I had spent an intimate evening amongst friends, and Sir Ian was at the head of the table!

The Man Who Sees Ghosts – Friedrich von Schiller

 “THE EVENTS that I here set down and to which I myself was for the most part a witness will for many seem beyond belief.”

No, I’m not about to divulge more “tales of orchestration,” of “accidental” Tom encounters or secretive jaunts that “the others can’t know about!” Instead, these are the opening lines of Schiller’s one and only novel, The Man Who Sees Ghosts. Despite its title, the book is not a ghostly, supernatural tale, but more a tale of intrigue and political games. There are some supernatural elements to the story, but they do have a reason and an explanation. Whether serendipity led me to this book following recent eye-opening events, or it’s just the simple fact that it is a novel by Schiller and has a Venetian style drawing on the front which I was rather taken with, I will leave to you to decide!

“At nine o’clock he died!” In the opening chapter of Schiller’s book, a mysterious figure known as The Armenian delivers a prophetic message to an unnamed Prince. The opening sequence of Schiller’s novel is heavily reminiscent of the doom-laden witches of Macbeth, but both prophesies related to the present, and not the future. The Prince, the hero of the book, will discover that his cousin did die at nine o’clock and consequently he now stands to inherit the throne. As the pages unfold a plot of dramatic proportions, the reader is left remaining unsure of what is real, and what is a clever game of political gain.

From Cult to Conspiracy…

In a lot of Schiller’s work, nothing is what it first seems, many character’s appearances bring a show treachery with them. Venice becomes the perfect backdrop for a tale of games and duplicity; it is a city famed for its masked inhabitants walking the streets and squares, people who impersonate the characters they adopt so flawlessly; like diamonds they sparkle and entice those who witness them. Venice was also of course a political powerhouse at the time the book was published, and The Man Who Sees Ghosts, gave rise to the creation of “lodge novels” exemplifying the fascination with secret societies during this period. Of course, it is easy to see the central theme in these books relating to these secret societies is to “guide” and seek control of the hero and enlist him, in this case The Prince, for the societies purposes; whether those purposes be good or evil.

Schiller’s novel sticks to the Gothic tradition of questioning the moral behaviour of The Church. The book came out in Germany during a period when the sect of the Illuminated was beginning to rapidly expand. The ignorant or superstitious were targeted and seduced by stories of incredible supernatural powers. In 1789 when the book was published, the theme of the occult was becoming highly fashionable, and Schiller’s haunting narrative is a darkly dramatic questioning of the freedom and will of people, as the net is cast in this tale of political intrigue and religious conspiracy which will head towards its climatic violent ending.

There is a beautifully haunting cinematic quality to Schiller’s writing, and this novel screams out for some talented writer to bring it to stage or screen.

The book is split into two parts, in the first part The Prince finds himself stuck in Venice, waiting for money to be sent to him so that he can return home. He has been living a quiet, unobtrusive life until he crosses the path of a masked man, The Armenian. After The Armenian delvers his cryptic message regarding the death of someone The Prince’s life starts to unravel. He attends a séance, a theatrical event designed to show the power of The Armenian, the show however, is quickly dispelled as a fake. At the stroke of midnight, The Armenian disappears – is it a cheap conjuror’s trick or is he part of something much darker and dangerous? Only “The Sicilian” (apparently modelled on a well-known occultist of the era) a conjuror with ties to The Armenian knows the truth, but The Prince is impressed with the spectacle he has witnessed, despite his conflicting emotions of incredulity.

A second séance, lacking the theatricality of the first, describes a flashback to another time when a young man mysteriously disappeared before his wedding day. But this was no ordinary wedding, it was a wedding of status and great importance, so his family engage the Sicilian conjuror to connect with the ghost to confirm he his death…and what befell him. “…my neighbour pointed out a Franciscan monk standing as motionless as a stone pillar…you realise now that all three, the Russian, this monk and your Armenian are now one and the same person.” A dead body of the groom is discovered at the bottom of a well, his brother the murderer, but then fate plays its part and takes revenge, the brother has a fit and dies.

Torn between superstition and scepticism – both The Prince’s need to believe in what he has witnessed but still retaining that reality of doubt – The Prince becomes an innocent abroad. He is not the type of person to tell a tale one week and deny all knowledge of it a week later. But by the time he hears the tale of the second séance, The Prince is not so easily fooled as he was at the first séance, he rejects the actions of a charlatan, and he slowly descends from disbelieving in the supernatural, to losing his faith – both his religion and of those around him. As he becomes more sceptical of all he sees, his moral behaviour takes a downward descent towards indifference, to gambling and women. By the second part of the book, we hardly recognise The Prince. But then he falls in love. It is the love of a woman which seeks to turn him back, to convert him back into being a believer, a man with a soul. Love is a dangerous thing, and once again The Prince is The Armenian’s victim, and by now it is apparent he is an agent of the Inquisition.

The Devil Walks Amongst Us

Sadly, Schiller never finished his one and only novel. It seems unusual for someone of his calibre to give up, so we do not know for sure whether The Prince would have been converted back permanently, or whether he would once again turn into a degenerate. The Armenian set out to destroy The Prince’s faith in the supernatural in the same manner that we are led to believe that the Devil does not exist, making it easier for him to walk amongst us, destroying all that ventures in his path. In his various works, whether plays or short stories, Schiller has always examined people, he has tried to explain us to ourselves. He looks at gender, identity, love, exile, the things that matter to people. His words are still relevant in todays society, the books are not to be thrown in a corner gathering dust, we can learn a lot from what he writes. Lies, deceit, the manipulation of people exists today in the world of politics – and political agendas are not just found in the halls of Westminster…they are found in day to day life where people feel they have a need to have power over someone else, for whatever their shallow reasoning might be.

Maybe Schiller had difficulty in finishing the novel because he had his own doubts. For someone who had spoken out for humanity (despite its cruelness, violence and egotistical flaws) maybe he hoped by writing The Man Who Sees Ghosts he would find the right path to follow…but maybe he also realised there is no correct path, that humanity does what it desires. The audience has therefore been granted the power to decide what the outcome is in this mysterious tale of adventure and deception…did The Armenian win his game over The Prince, or was The Prince just a victim of his lack of principals?

The Man Who Sees Ghosts is published by Pushkin Press

https://www.pushkinpress.com/product/the-man-who-sees-ghosts/

The Black Sheep of Burkedom

Lady: “Are you going to the Operation Smile Christmas Carols this year?”

Me: “No.”

Lady: “Why not?”

Me: “Because I’m not.” (turns to start another conversation with someone else.)

Those of you who think you know me…how do you see me? Those of you who read the blog…what do you think I’d be like if we met? What words spring to mind? Confident? Aloof? Witty? Chatty? Happy? Introvert? Extrovert? Rude?

I’m an Ambivert. I can be a great listener, or if the mood takes me, I can be a great conversationalist. Now even the shyest introvert or the noisiest extrovert isn’t 100% like that all the time…all of us have a bit of extrovert or introvert in us however hard we may deny it...it’s just that most of us are more inclined one way or the other.

So how do I know I’m an Ambivert? Well I’ve taken many tests over the years starting at school to see what career I would be best suited to, to ongoing tests during my working life for “progression purposes.” It’s always the same, 50/50, straight down the line. I’m not shy, but in some situations I’m a happy observer – I don’t feel the need to be the centre of attention – that way you learn more about the people you’re with.

I enjoy conversation, but I hate small talk. I can do it when I put my mind to it, but on most occasions, I can’t be bothered. If someone is interesting enough, the conversation will start to flow organically and be more meaningful. Whilst those I know will say I’m loud (certainly not a shrinking violet) I will be reserved with those I don’t know very well and especially in situations when there is an extrovert commanding attention. Although sometimes the overwhelming extrovert can bring out the worst in me and it becomes a duel for supremacy.

I love spending time on my own. I have the confidence to go to the theatre, to travel abroad, to go running down quiet lanes on my own…BUT…then I start to wonder what I’m missing out on and why people aren’t contacting me to arrange social gatherings, I do like both you know! And I do like meeting new people, I really do, although I do prefer to have friends with me in those situations, but in many circumstances, they’ve taken over and I’ve missed opportunities to converse with interesting people (and people haven’t had a chance to find out what I’m actually like.)

I am opinionated, but I am interested in what others think too; so, I like to hear them out before I speak. And woe betide the person who shouts me down because their opinion is “the only correct one” and who refuses to listen and consider anyone else’s opinion…where is your empathy button? I’ll put up with this behaviour for so long, but there will come the time when I must wash my hands of these people for my own sanity. I prefer balance, if someone is talking, I want to listen, if they are quiet, I’m happy to talk…and yes, I’m not perfect, I will talk or shout all over someone if I’m not given any other option!

So, there we go…I’ve introduced myself…it’s a pleasure to meet you. Let’s see what else we learn together and why I now feel the time is right to share my dark secrets with you.

“All I wanted was a word, a photograph to keep” (Madness – Michael Caine)

On the morning of my A-Level English exam, I persuaded my friend J to go to Chester with me so I could get Stephen Hendry’s autograph. I have no idea why…I wasn’t a fan of snooker, but he was cute! The queue was long, and we only just got back home in time for me to sit my exam. I fear that had I missed the bus and my exam, my dad would have murdered me…fortunately he never found out about this little adventure!

In the same year, filming had taken place for Robin Hood in Frodsham. My school was used by some of the actors to get changed etc before shoots. This was the version starring Patrik Berger and Uma Thurman…names I hadn’t heard of, but thanks to an advert for Coffee Mate, I had heard of Owen Teale (Will Scarlet) so I went to the pub and got his autograph…that was more fun than staying in lessons. (Yet again, poor dad was non the wiser!)

Skip forward a couple of years and a band called Let Loose were coming to prominence. Readers…I joined their official fan club!!  I was sent a badge (there’s GOT to be a badge) a newsletter and some black and white studio shots of the band. Shortly after, I saw that they would be playing at the Student Union in Preston where I was studying. I managed to grab them after the show for their autographs; I handed over said B&W pics for them to sign, proudly announcing I was in their fan club! (I was a bit tipsy and to be fair never saw them again.)

They were fun days, but I never actually knew anyone who was REALLY into the same things as me. I had really good friends, true sports who were happy to share various experiences with me (however bored they were!) If I wanted to watch Let Loose, there was someone who would go with me. If I wanted to get dressed up to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show 21 times (it was its 21^st anniversary and it seemed like a really good idea at the time) I had friends who would go with me. (They were also game enough to go and annoy poor Jonathan Morris backstage most nights – the doorman was a star for always letting me and C in!)

Cheering one another on. Not trying to outshine…

I still hold a membership card for Liverpool Football Club, although after Brendan Rodgers took over the helm the trips to Anfield became less frequent and I started getting obsessed with a different theatre of dreams! Going with a group of people to Anfield and discussing the game over egg and chips in the local café is possibly the closest thing I ever got to being involved with a group of people who were “obsessed” with the same thing; people who were passionate and wanted their team to do well. There was a sense of great community – everyone wanting the same thing – no-one trying to outshine one another.

So how did someone who had never really bothered with the trappings of fandom, end up so embroiled in the world of the Tom Burke fans? I’d been joyfully watching Tom Burke’s career unfurl on the TV after he appeared in a show called POW. (Not a great show if I’m honest, but the episode with him in was mesmerising and made me cry!) No-one I knew had ever heard of him, and to be honest, even now there are still many people who look at me blankly…yes, even after Cormoran Strike! I had joined the heady world of social media for the first time and people were wanting to engage with me. We tweeted the hours away with pictures and conversations about this new hit show on TV, The Musketeers. People had their favourite Musketeer; Tom, Luke, Howard, Santi. It was a strange new world and I really didn’t understand the concept of “followers.” Who would be interested in what contributions I had to make? If I’m honest…I still don’t understand the concept or why people engage with me as they do!

Twitter became a fun and cosy place to be, watching an episode of Musketeers and tweeting about it later. I’d do various screen shots and edits of Athos (Tom Burke) as conversation starters, and I “met” some wonderful people online. Twitter wasn’t used as it was supposed to be, it was more of a social gathering. People were having conversations every time an episode aired, and many people joined in with them. It was like having a chat around the table in the pub, a happy community.

Even the most strong-minded people can have their moments

But as time moved on and people started to meet Tom and The Musketeers became a part of TV history, things started to change. Initially people lost interest in the fan site forum, preferring instead to leave both that and the public gaze of Twitter and move to more secretive WhatsApp groups. At first it wasn’t too bad…it was a large group of friends, but it soon became dominated with outspoken comments that were sometimes found hurtful by people. I noticed more and more folk leaving the group. Then sub groups started forming, conversations to be had with the select few. These filtered down into even smaller niche groups. The sad thing was that most of those conversations weren’t particularly private, they could have been held in the original group, but now a power struggle was going on; which group should you align yourself with. There wasn’t a great deal of choice in the matter, a group would be set up and you would be put in it. You didn’t ask, you switched on your phone and noticed you were in a new group chat.

Whilst I knew it was wrong to be so secretive, it was enjoyable hearing people’s stories about their meetings with Tom, however airbrushed some of the tales might have been. At the end of the day, I hadn’t created or asked to be part of a specific group, so I took advantage of my position; but then the tide started to change.

Now it may surprise you that whilst I love and adore Tom, I don’t feel the need to go and see him in everything he does. If I lived in London it might be a different story, but I don’t. I’m sensible about what I choose to go and see. If I am travelling all the way to London and staying in a hotel, I want that trip to be productive and value for money; so, I might fit a Tom trip in with an exhibition I want to see, or another play I have been wanting to watch. I didn’t go to watch him at an event when he was reading Charlotte by David Foenkinos as it would have been a costly trip to make for just a couple of hours; and whilst I wanted to watch him at another event reading from The Poetry Pharmacy by William Sieghart (I already owned a copy of that book and I was interested in meeting Sue Perkins too) I wasn’t going to cancel my prior engagement I had with a friend.

It turned out that not going to every event that Tom was involved in became the reason I decided to finally cut ties with the supposed fandom. People would report back on Facebook or Twitter the various conversations they had had with Tom.  Tom had said he didn’t want photograph requests anymore. Tom had said he would much rather have a conversation with people rather than selfies and autographs. Tom had said this. Tom had said that.

On one of my solo jaunts to London to watch some non-Tom related theatre, I ended up having dinner with someone and I got told another one of those “Tom said this” stories. He had been upset that that he couldn’t remember the name of a fan. Now this was nothing new. I remember someone joking with him at The Deep Blue Sea that we should all have name badges; he’d replied that we should! There was nothing secret in his frustration that he couldn’t remember everyone’s names; and he shouldn’t be embarrassed, I still can’t remember the names of everyone I work with…and I see them all regularly!!!

It transpired that Tom wanted an aide memoire to be created. A random number of people on a poster of some sort with names and photograph’s attached. I was honoured to know this information because it was classified, for want of a better word; only specific people knew about this "aide memoire." On an unrelated WhatsApp chat with someone, I mentioned the poster. The reply hit me like a bullet in the chest. I was NOT supposed to know about the poster. My name had come up and it had been agreed I would not be told about it. I was astounded by the response. I was, apparently, a trusted friend, but I was still someone who should not know about the poster. This was their secret...they would make it...they would deliver it.

Did I miss something?

My father in law had been diagnosed with terminal Mesothelioma mid-2017. As time progressed the bad days were getting worse; the good days were getting fewer. I couldn’t be bothered with the mind games that were being played, the snide comments written on social media, and I certainly didn’t have the time to wade through copious WhatsApp messages. I therefore missed the usual type of group conversation about organising a “Burke” trip to Exeter where he was taking part in a Q&A session with Judi Spiers about Don Carlos; the first production he was undertaking with his new theatre company, ARA.

Or at least that is what I was told.

Someone had asked the question in the sub-group if anyone was going to Exeter. A couple of replies were posted saying it was too far, that it was too expensive for one night. I read those comments a day or so after posting, but then the conversation had moved on to other non-Tom related discussions. I checked the main group where these types of events had been discussed in the past; the question hadn’t even arisen.

I found it hard to believe. No-one was going to see Tom Burke? In all my time in the fandom, there was always someone organising a group trip to visit Tom. A group trip meant more people could go and support Tom, costs could be shared, cheaper accommodation could be found.  

There’s more plotting, scheming and backstabbing in some parts of Burkedom than in the Complete Works of Shakespeare!

I didn’t have time to mess about seeking out who was organising what and why it was so covert. In the good ole days it would have been above board, posted on the main WhatsApp group. If someone was unnaturally quiet a private text would be sent to them asking if everything was alright…had they seen the post…did they want to go? We used to be a large, supportive group, of both Tom and each other. This distinct lack of openness was playing heavily on my mind. Rather than trying to find out who was going and who wasn’t, I decided if all was well at home I would drive down to Exeter, watch the Q&A, stay at the university (cheap & last min bookings available) and drive back home next morning. It wouldn’t cost me that much to stay in a university room, and I would get to hear all about Schiller’s work and about the play I was watching at the end of the year. (In a way I was also looking forward to being on campus again, reminiscing about my old university days and thinking how ironic it was that I didn’t make many of my lectures back then, yet now I was happy to travel the length of the country for one!)

Fortunately, I was able to make my trip. I made myself at home in my university room which looked remarkably like the one I had lived in over 20 years earlier! I made my way to the bar on my own, bought a beer and I sat quietly reading a book (this really was like living out my past!) I heard a group enter the bar, voices loudly laughing and joking with one another. As they found a place to sit, they commented on the travel arrangements of those who had not yet arrived. Tom appeared shortly afterwards, and I heard them rush to say hello to him. As he turned away from them, I got up and walked over to the group to say hi…these were people I knew well. Shocked faces greeted me, one lady even said, “you could have given me a lift if I had known you were coming.” How on earth could I offer a lift to someone if I wasn’t party to any arrangements; if I didn’t know they were going?

As he walked back past this small group of fans, Tom stopped briefly to say hello to me and went off to get ready for the Q&A. For a second, I felt welcome, like I was where I belonged…and then suddenly a bright light dawned in my brain; why this black sheep couldn’t be part of the secretive fold anymore...the innocouos plastic bag they had ready for Tom had a poster in it.

A few days later, I removed myself from the WhatsApp sub groups that were in regular use. I directly asked somebody why the trip had to be so secretive; I wanted to know if my gut feeling had been right. I was disappointed by the evasive answers I received. I counter argued the defensive answers given to me because they made no sense at all. A final response came back… “we can’t be friends.”

We can’t be friends???? What the hell is this? We’re not 6-year olds in the playground. Or is that what we’ve come to…that playground mentality of having to be in the right gang to be popular whilst everyone else is side-lined? That childish feeling of supremacy!

I can’t be surrounded by hypocrites, liars and schemers…

Whatever was going on, I decided that if this is how the fandom was starting to pan out, then I wanted no more part in it. It was bad for my mental health trying to second guess what the hell was going on. I’d already got fed-up of being introduced to Tom at events as “the pretentious one.” There’s having a joke with someone, but after a while jokes wear thin and you begin to wonder why there is the constant need to belittle you in front of someone you admire.

Don Carlos dawned. Tickets had been bought so far in advance that it would be a waste of money not to honour them…but in reality, the excitement of going to watch the play had worn thin. I was dreading evenings of fake civility. I was welcomed within a group knowing that I was only there because Tom might think it strange if I was sat on my own. As we spoke as a group, mid-conversation I was told quite emphatically that a point I had made was wrong. In the past I would have stayed quiet, even when I knew the point I had been making was correct; now I was blowing a gasket, and yes that gasket exploded in front of Tom. Once DC was finished, so was I…not with Tom's work (poor bloke) but I kissed goodbye to the fandom that had previously brought me so much joy.

One of the evenings I was actually greeted by someone with a big hug and a “so pleased to see you” comment. Really? You are so pleased to see me that you exited our WhatsApp group, which consisted solely of me and you only a few days earlier without warning! If you don’t want anything to do with me that’s fine, a simple hello would have sufficed. How I wish I had actually said that out loud!

Why do all good things come to an end?

It would be amazing to go back to the halcyon days of when the fandom first started running…but you can never go back, you must move forwards. I cannot and will not play the sycophant. I enjoy having a chat with Tom, but I don’t aspire to be his best friend.  My head can no longer listen to people who tell me they’ve “accidentally” ended up outside his house, creeping away and then craving reassurance that they’re not stalkers. The fun of the fandom, getting together, dressing up, doing nutty things, has died for me.

I still remember the first time I met Tom and the joyful feeling I had afterwards. I find it so sad that hopeful fans, who may only have one opportunity to say hi to him in their lifetime, face the risk of being told to go away by his other fans. What happened to the excited groups holding a conversation together, when did it change to such a battle of supremacy for Tom’s favour?

I know I sound very pessimistic, but I do hope that some change can be brought to bringing the fandom back to the pleasant place it used to be. I am not naïve though, and whilst I hope for its future, whether I can stay a part of it remains to be seen. To a large extent I have lost trust and faith in it all. I know that if a more public profile was adopted, there would still be secretive factions plotting and planning to ensure they get their “Tom time” above everyone else.  To me it feels that Tom is no longer a talented actor who people share an interest in anymore, he has become a commodity, something to be fought and leered over. Do I want to be a part of that? Not really. I’m lucky enough to have met him. He’s a lovely bloke who doesn’t deserve a group of fans so determined to outdo one another.

Now of course this is only the tip of the ice berg, 2018 was the year of the straw that broke the camel’s back. This is just a response to a number of questions I’ve being trying to avoid. Whilst I have enough material saved to make your toes curl and your hackles rise… I won’t be sharing it. Certainly not now at any rate…although I’m sure it could make an excellent play one day - if anyone’s interested of course!