Nick Clegg is the unlikely hero of Nicked, a new musical that’s unfashionably sympathetic to the Lib Dem leader

This article titled “Anyone for Nicked: the Clegg musical?” was written by Euan Ferguson, for The Observer on Saturday 23rd April 2011 23.05 UTC Least likely contender for Spring Hit in Theatre-World, I think it’s safe to say, is going to be Nicked. It’s basically a musical about Nick Clegg, written by a performance poet: that’s when it’s not being a play about the alternative vote. Not, on paper, I think you’ll agree, the most urgently prepossessing of dramatic ideas. And although political theatre does have a proud tradition, and the TV/film adaptations of aspects of the Blair years were enthralling, there’s also a particular recent history of turkeys, especially when “satire” is advertised within. Also… well, Cleggy. Isn’t he a bit obvious? Isn’t this what we call a laughably soft target? Fears totally unfounded. Preconceptions proved damnably and delightfully wrong. Watching early rehearsals for Nicked, one of the productions showcased in this year’s HighTide festival in Suffolk, it’s clear this could be a thing of brilliance. And, actually, something Mr Clegg might want to travel to Halesworth to see – festival director Steven Atkinson estimates about 70% of visitors come from London – because it manages the seemingly impossible at the moment: it humanises the Lib-Dem leader, and makes you think again. Among the scenes I saw, in a small, busy rehearsal room, piano in one corner, cast leaning casually against the walls as they waited to become Samantha Cameron, or Miriam Clegg, or Vince Cable, or David Laws (remember him?) or the Queen, was the crucial one that had Jason Langley and Sam Hodges, as Clegg and Cameron, meeting in an underground car park to warily woo. It’s done as a tango, perhaps the perfect form, the tango having originated in Buenos Aires as a dark celebration of the ever-changing dance of power/need/compromise, both physical and figurative, between sailors and whores. So Dave and Nick tango, head leaning against head as the music builds, and I won’t spoil it but they’re given some pretty good lines, and sing them grandly, and twirl and stamp. It’s great dramatic fun and makes you think, and I realise fairly quickly that this is not a Clegg-knocking exercise. “Absolutely not,” says the writer, Richard Marsh, as far from my idea of “performance poet” as you could imagine – self-effacing and engaging, if a little unslept. He’s been teasing and tweaking the script nightly, to give it greatest relevance when the show opens, because so much has happened to Clegg since “Cleggmania” after those election debates; and continues to happen. Marsh, and director Pia Furtado, will be changing it right up until the week of the AV vote. The script focuses, yes, on those early negotiations, our extraordinary coalition and aspects of the fallout, but it is not yet finished. “Whatever happens, this is just a human story,” continues Marsh, who has in a previous short play, among other things successfully fused Guantánamo Bay with Harry Potter. As you do. “What I wanted was to tell a story about someone whose job is politics. And humanise them, try to get people to relate to him from the view of his own set of circumstances. Everyone is the hero of his own story. But the more I’ve looked into Nick Clegg” – Marsh even read David Laws’s book. All of it – “and those extraordinary days while the coalition was being founded, a handful of very, very tired white men deciding the future of our country, the more I realised the drama of those days.” Steven Atkinson, the festival director, pulled a string or two to arrange a visit to Downing Street, to allow Marsh a glimpse into the physicality of how it all worked – men in rooms, bartering and phoning and sweating and swearing and worrying and wooing, as was happening half a mile away that sunny May in other dark corridors in and around Smith Square – but the outcome wasn’t just a power-play or a point won. It was, as we know, the car ride to Buckingham Palace, here done as another song, this time of joyous comradeship at a deal successfully done. “Just give me PR and then/ we’ll share the keys to Number 10!” Queen Liz looks on, even sings, in wonderfully sardonic fashion; Sam Cam dances with sly exuberant delight. “It’s been quite hard to hold on to my original thoughts of Nick as a person while he’s been getting stuck whack in the middle of decisions I don’t personally agree with,” says Marsh, who, when he first conceived this production, could not have foreseen the storm of opprobrium to land on Clegg of late. The team’s job, and I think rightly so, is essentially to question the knee-jerk reaction of much of this, remind us there is a person at the centre of it, fraught with his own dilemmas, and to do so in verse, with dance; it’s a little miracle it seems to be working so well thus far. As Atkinson says: “Does anyone who’s jumping on him now ever ask themselves: what would you do in the same position? What was the alternative?” The fast-changing nature of the coalition and the way it’s perceived has led to problems or, as politicians would doubtless have it, challenges and opportunities. Marsh is keen to apologise to his director. “Pia’s very patient. We’ve had to cut whole songs. Cut things that didn’t happen, insert things that did or had more impact than we’d first imagined.” Furtado smiles, patiently, itching to get back to rehearsals. She’s spent a while with them earlier just working on character, real character: “The last thing any of us wanted was some Rory Bremner-style caricature.” In one strangely touching scene, Jason Langley’s Clegg pleads with David Laws, a strong friend and fine financial mind caught in that early expenses/gay row, not to resign. Laws, a pitch-perfect Peter Caulfield, but with, I suspect, a better singing voice, breaks from song to solemn dialogue, after Clegg insists: “Most normal people won’t care.” “No, Nick,” he replies. “Most normal people will get political this year.” And they did. Which is better, surely, than apathy. But along the way, some may have forgotten the humans involved at the middle. Quite bizarrely, a sharp little musical – 70% splendid fun, 30% insights wiser than our own leader columns – could just start redressing the balance. Steven Atkinson is even talking about a West End transfer.

Nicked premieres on 30 April, as part of the HighTide Festival, at the Main House, The Cut, Halesworth. hightide.org.uk

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Theatre review of Proof. New Vic, Newcastle-under-Lyme

This article titled “Proof – review” was written by Alfred Hickling, for The Guardian on Sunday 24th April 2011 16.44 UTC Two shows in, and already the New Vic’s repertory season is reaping the benefits of a permanent ensemble. Actors with relatively little to do in the Rivals now appear in David Auburn’s intellectual teaser about madness and mathematics. Auburn’s 1998 drama was inspired by a passage from the memoir of the mathematician GH Hardy, who observed that “in a good proof there is a high degree of unexpectedness, combined with inevitability and economy”. Hardy was writing about hard sums, though he might have made an astute drama critic. Catherine’s college career has been interrupted by the necessity of caring for her late father, a burned-out professor of calculus whose genius became a torment. An eager grad student is now scouring the professor’s notebooks for any lingering flashes of insight. Among the gibberish is what seems to be one final, perfect proof. Only it doesn’t appear to be the professor who has written it. If there’s a flaw in Auburn’s reasoning, it’s that it simply becomes impossible to believe that the calculation can fulfil claims to be the theoretical link that will bind all branches of mathematics together. But Gwenda Hughes’s quiet, meditative production draws performances of impressive depth from Michael Hugo as Hal the endearing geek, and Emma Noakes as the troubled Catherine, clearly haunted by the possibility that pursuing her father’s methods may lead towards his madness. Above all, it’s a chance to appreciate some fine acting in a complex, cerebral play that might be difficult to programme in isolation. There’s life in the old repertory system yet, and here’s Proof.

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I don’t know if it teaches anything at all, but DI Lund and co do make compulsive viewing over 20 episodes shown in ten weeks on BBC 4. Great stuff.

This article titled “Can Scandinavian crime fiction teach socialism?” was written by Deborah Orr, for The Guardian on Thursday 24th February 2011 09.00 UTC Who killed Nanna Birk Larsen? The question grips the relatively small, but avid, band of people who are following The Killing, a Danish crime series being screened on BBC4. The Killing throws up plenty of other questions, too. One even feels a strange tug of interest in Copenhagen’s local political scene because the abduction, rape, torture and murder of a 19-year-old student seems inextricably linked to a number of people fighting a city election. Alliances between various political parties ebb and flow, as the turns of the plot hurl suspicion at different candidates. One of the many things The Killing asks is this: are political coalitions really healthy? It is no doubt coincidence that the query is so particularly pertinent in Britain right now. But there is a definite reason why a slice of Scandinavian crime fiction should be actively concerned with framing socio-political debate. It is part of what is expected of the genre in this part of the world, and has been since Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö started publishing what came to be known as the Martin Beck series, in 1965. The couple, former journalists, conceived 10 crime novels that would provide a deliberate critique of what they viewed as the degeneration of Sweden. Marxists themselves, they intended to use the crime genre to illustrate the advantages of socialistic approaches to social problems. That sounds unbearably didactic and worthy. But the tremendous thing is that the books work first and foremost as crime fiction. In fact, they are reckoned by the cognoscenti to be among the finest and most influential crime novels ever written. Essentially, the pair challenged the convention of the lone genius private detective, replacing him with a group of police officers, led by the low-key Beck, who depended on each other to solve cases – and also, as a matter of course, put up with, or worked round, colleagues who were not so gifted. Maverick individualism was out, patient and humane people management was in. Thus, the ever-shifting group ploughed through many and varied crime scenes – crime scenes that usually in some way or other questioned the permissive values espoused by the liberal left so successfully at that time. It seems to me that in the pages of these Swedish police procedurals, all those years ago, Sjöwall and Wahlöö were examining contradictions that the British left even now refuses properly to acknowledge. The socialist left and the liberal left have little in common, with Blairism a shining example of how difficult it is to “triangulate” them. Hard work and compromise is needed before social freedom and state welfare can be shackled together. Even then, perhaps, the resulting beast is an impossible chimera. Is it too much to speculate that the current huge vogue for Scandinavian crime fiction is somehow a tacit acknowledgement of the need to have this debate, and the fear of what conclusions it might draw? Henning Mankell, in his Wallander series, now televised in two versions in Britain, makes no bones about the fact that he is continuing in the Martin Beck tradition. Stieg Larsson, who meant his phenomenally successful Millennium trilogy to be a 10-part work when he first started writing it, has succeeded in igniting exactly the sort of debate, among feminists anyway, that Sjöwall and Wahlöö expected. Norwegian crime writer Jo Nesbo, with 5m sales worldwide and film deals in the works, similarly uses sexual crime as an expression of the extremes of discord among men and women. This “metaphor” is somewhat unanswerable, on the face of it. But the details are quite controversial. The women who are killed in his novel The Snowman, for example, stand accused of denying men their paternal roles, and messing up their children in the process. Discuss that thesis in sexually and politically mixed company, and passions can run high quite fast. Nesbo is not a reactionary, despite the “traditional family values” cast that can be placed on his bestselling novel’s storyline. Like his peers and predecessors, he deals with problems inherent in social democracy, problems that are not that usefully divided between “left” and “right”. It is often said now that the two opposing terms have become “meaningless”, since both left and right contain a range of values from libertarian to authoritarian. In truth, the political tension is between freedom and regulation, often between whether the social realm should be regulated in order to benefit the economic realm, or the other way round. Social democracy, if it is about anything, surely, is about constantly striving to get that tricky balance right. The British are used to believing that the Scandinavians, especially the Swedes, have social democracy cracked, while Britain is far from being a socially democratic country. The truth, however, is much more nuanced. Britain shares many of the values and difficulties of the Scandinavian states, and of other European states that Britain tends to view as being much more socially democratic than we are. That was emphasised in a depressing report yesterday from risk analyst Maplecroft, which ranked Britain the 10th most likely country of 163 to undergo another economic crisis. Sweden is fourth, and Japan is the only non-European country to make it into the top 10, at nine. The shared challenges are “ageing populations, substantial levels of debt and high public spending on health and pensions”. Each of these, of course, is already high on the national agenda, the subject of raucous, sometimes hysterical debate. The logical solution – if there is a solution at all – is for everyone to live very healthy and disciplined lives, expecting to look after more vulnerable members of the family whenever necessary, and seeking only specialist or temporary help from a well-ordered state as a last resort. It is a vision that unites authoritarian left and right, but scares the bejesus out of free-marketeers and social liberals. All of these groups, however, can probably find something compelling in a chunk of Scandinavian crime fiction, which possibly owes its great popularity to its ability to offer sensationalist escape, but of a kind that is grounded all too recognisably in the real world.

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I don’t know if it teaches anything at all, but DI Lund and co do make compulsive viewing over 20 episodes shown in ten weeks on BBC 4. Great stuff.

This article titled “Can Scandinavian crime fiction teach socialism?” was written by Deborah Orr, for The Guardian on Thursday 24th February 2011 09.00 UTC Who killed Nanna Birk Larsen? The question grips the relatively small, but avid, band of people who are following The Killing, a Danish crime series being screened on BBC4. The Killing throws up plenty of other questions, too. One even feels a strange tug of interest in Copenhagen’s local political scene because the abduction, rape, torture and murder of a 19-year-old student seems inextricably linked to a number of people fighting a city election. Alliances between various political parties ebb and flow, as the turns of the plot hurl suspicion at different candidates. One of the many things The Killing asks is this: are political coalitions really healthy? It is no doubt coincidence that the query is so particularly pertinent in Britain right now. But there is a definite reason why a slice of Scandinavian crime fiction should be actively concerned with framing socio-political debate. It is part of what is expected of the genre in this part of the world, and has been since Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö started publishing what came to be known as the Martin Beck series, in 1965. The couple, former journalists, conceived 10 crime novels that would provide a deliberate critique of what they viewed as the degeneration of Sweden. Marxists themselves, they intended to use the crime genre to illustrate the advantages of socialistic approaches to social problems. That sounds unbearably didactic and worthy. But the tremendous thing is that the books work first and foremost as crime fiction. In fact, they are reckoned by the cognoscenti to be among the finest and most influential crime novels ever written. Essentially, the pair challenged the convention of the lone genius private detective, replacing him with a group of police officers, led by the low-key Beck, who depended on each other to solve cases – and also, as a matter of course, put up with, or worked round, colleagues who were not so gifted. Maverick individualism was out, patient and humane people management was in. Thus, the ever-shifting group ploughed through many and varied crime scenes – crime scenes that usually in some way or other questioned the permissive values espoused by the liberal left so successfully at that time. It seems to me that in the pages of these Swedish police procedurals, all those years ago, Sjöwall and Wahlöö were examining contradictions that the British left even now refuses properly to acknowledge. The socialist left and the liberal left have little in common, with Blairism a shining example of how difficult it is to “triangulate” them. Hard work and compromise is needed before social freedom and state welfare can be shackled together. Even then, perhaps, the resulting beast is an impossible chimera. Is it too much to speculate that the current huge vogue for Scandinavian crime fiction is somehow a tacit acknowledgement of the need to have this debate, and the fear of what conclusions it might draw? Henning Mankell, in his Wallander series, now televised in two versions in Britain, makes no bones about the fact that he is continuing in the Martin Beck tradition. Stieg Larsson, who meant his phenomenally successful Millennium trilogy to be a 10-part work when he first started writing it, has succeeded in igniting exactly the sort of debate, among feminists anyway, that Sjöwall and Wahlöö expected. Norwegian crime writer Jo Nesbo, with 5m sales worldwide and film deals in the works, similarly uses sexual crime as an expression of the extremes of discord among men and women. This “metaphor” is somewhat unanswerable, on the face of it. But the details are quite controversial. The women who are killed in his novel The Snowman, for example, stand accused of denying men their paternal roles, and messing up their children in the process. Discuss that thesis in sexually and politically mixed company, and passions can run high quite fast. Nesbo is not a reactionary, despite the “traditional family values” cast that can be placed on his bestselling novel’s storyline. Like his peers and predecessors, he deals with problems inherent in social democracy, problems that are not that usefully divided between “left” and “right”. It is often said now that the two opposing terms have become “meaningless”, since both left and right contain a range of values from libertarian to authoritarian. In truth, the political tension is between freedom and regulation, often between whether the social realm should be regulated in order to benefit the economic realm, or the other way round. Social democracy, if it is about anything, surely, is about constantly striving to get that tricky balance right. The British are used to believing that the Scandinavians, especially the Swedes, have social democracy cracked, while Britain is far from being a socially democratic country. The truth, however, is much more nuanced. Britain shares many of the values and difficulties of the Scandinavian states, and of other European states that Britain tends to view as being much more socially democratic than we are. That was emphasised in a depressing report yesterday from risk analyst Maplecroft, which ranked Britain the 10th most likely country of 163 to undergo another economic crisis. Sweden is fourth, and Japan is the only non-European country to make it into the top 10, at nine. The shared challenges are “ageing populations, substantial levels of debt and high public spending on health and pensions”. Each of these, of course, is already high on the national agenda, the subject of raucous, sometimes hysterical debate. The logical solution – if there is a solution at all – is for everyone to live very healthy and disciplined lives, expecting to look after more vulnerable members of the family whenever necessary, and seeking only specialist or temporary help from a well-ordered state as a last resort. It is a vision that unites authoritarian left and right, but scares the bejesus out of free-marketeers and social liberals. All of these groups, however, can probably find something compelling in a chunk of Scandinavian crime fiction, which possibly owes its great popularity to its ability to offer sensationalist escape, but of a kind that is grounded all too recognisably in the real world.

guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 Published via the Guardian News Feed plugin for WordPress.

Thanks for subscribing to Andy Roberts blogCan Scandinavian crime fiction teach socialism?

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The Shawshank Redemption A new serious play comes to Charing Cross after the summer, The Shawshank Redemption. The world stage premiere of The Shawshank Redemption ran at The Gaiety Theatre, Dublin this May where it received an almost unbroken run of standing ovations. The Shawshank Redemption is to receive its London premiere at the Wyndham’s Theatre on 13th September with previews starting on the 4th of September, 2009

The Shawshank Redemption book and film Based on the 1982 Stephen King novella, The Shawshank Redemption tells the story of Andy Dufresne, who is sentenced to life in Shawshank Prison after being convicted of murdering his wife and her lover. Stripped of his freedom, Andy is forced to endure a spirit-crushing routine, but with his quiet strength and inner courage there is one thing Andy never loses: hope. The story was adapted into a film in 1994, starring Tim Robbins and Morgan Freeman, which was nominated for seven Oscars. Audience Reaction to the Shawshank Redemption Click here to view the embedded video. Owen O’Neill and Dave Johns’s new stage adaptation stars American actors Reg E Cathey and Kevin Anderson. Cathey is known for his role in hit US television drama The Wire and has appeared on Broadway in The Green Bird. Anderson is a member of Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre Company and has Broadway credits including Death Of A Salesman, which earned him a Tony Award nomination, Come Back Little Sheba and Brooklyn, while in London he starred in the premiere production of Sunset Boulevard. The Shawshank Redemption will run at Wyndhams Theatre with evening performances from Tuesday to Saturday and Matinees on Thursday, Saturday and Sunday.

a Shawshank Redemption

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