“the event has become a kind of deconstructed theatre form, with high quality casts and directors attached to each low budget production”
Writers able to fund their own shows are unlikely to be the most deserving of exposure so Suzette Coon’s talent showcase is invaluable. It’s also a rich experience for audiences. Far from the dour-sounding ‘Reading session’ billed, the event has become a kind of deconstructed theatre form, with high quality casts and directors attached to each low budget production.
The night’s six works, chosen from six hundred, begin with a comedy that dredges laughs from the low wage economy. ‘Sandwiches’ by Clare Reddaway shows life on the sandwich production line, with three tightly written acts squeezing in erotic sandwich fillings, a villain with a whistle played by Nigel Fyfe and a showdown at the industry’s ‘Sarnies’ awards.
Two women also see off an obnoxious male in the second of the night’s comedies, ‘Body Language’ by Sarah Pitard. Stefan Menaul draws howls of recognition as the excruciating, self-obsessed Tom, hitting on Katrina (Amy Reitsma) while she is trying to read up on cancer. Both his monologue and that of the eavesdropping Susan (Meaghan Martin), a cancer survivor, are fluent, funny and fierce.
Most of the plays carry a message about modern life but the exception is ‘Bothy’ by Ben Rogers, a tale of two men taking refuge in the Scottish hills. Callum is a jolly, yet strangely sinister local handyman; Andrew is a claims manager up from Croydon. The economy of the script and the way it keeps the audience guessing as to the motives of Callum display a rare gift of scene-writing, heightened further by the performances and direction. (David Beatty, Adam Mirsky and Imogen Wyatt Corner, respectively).
‘Humane’ follows, by Polly Creed, reviving a forgotten news story about Essex locals who face down riot police to end live exports of animals. Absolved of the need for visual dramatics, this work is liberated by the format, as Georgia Nicholson sits facing the audience, relating her character’s story with obdurate humanity.
Little happens in ‘Becoming’ by Trevor Kaneswaran, just a few quiet moments in the life of Praveen, who rejects his Sri Lankan roots as he slopes home from football and exchanges monosyllables with his Mum like any British teen. Once his uncle arrives Praveen understands more about who he is and takes up cricket. Slow, filmic, even in this basic form, and elevated by Akshay Gulati’s perfectly pitched delivery.
The choice for finale is Chantelle Dusette’s Windrush tale, ‘Where de Mangoes Grow’. A simple but eloquent poem spliced through with a montage of scenes, moments and recordings, yet it conveys an entire era of betrayal. Exquisite performances from all, but Reece Pantry’s slow acceptance of loss is impossibly moving.
Beautifully curated, and with all six plays and their casts giving a glimpse of some eye-catching talents, the ‘Little Pieces of Gold’ enterprise is well-named.
“it is a compliment to say that this is an uncomplicated hour of comedy”
Fresh, as they say, from the Edinburgh Fringe, Anna Nicholson’s breezy ‘Woman of the Year’ show arrives, touting comparisons to Victoria Wood and Tracey Ullman under the slogan, ‘Character comedy just got competitive’. The format is essentially a showcase for Nicholson’s comedy and vocal talents, pitting four of her comedy creations against each other. To evoke Edinburgh in the austere East End, five round tables are deployed before a shabby proscenium creating a cabaret mood at The Space, and as Kieran Stallard strikes up on an electric keyboard, Anna herself, with help from a prerecorded game show voice, emerges to be Master of Ceremonies.
The first contender is a slightly-too-keen bra saleswoman who, with Joyce Grenfell jolliness, forces her mission of feminine comfort on an audience member with quite the opposite effect. After a quick change of hair and adjustment of skirt length, Geordie glamour vlogger Bianca sashays on to instruct us on the art of the selfie in a breathy dialect all her own. By now the character-creation model is established, with types being familiar enough for audience recognition whilst avoiding over-proximity to existing characters or clichés. The tomboyish female vicar is next. With only a vague Vicar of Dibleyness, she develops a cheerfully vulpine streak as she strives to outdo a local rival. Her competitiveness peaks in a village fete at which she announces a Reverent Baxter piñata in revenge for his success in the bake off. Finally, with an inevitable nod to Catherine Tate, a sex-mad gran totters out to share some affectionate memories of her husband, who died doing what she loved best.
The harder you work at a script the easier it is to watch its performance, so it is a compliment to say that this is an uncomplicated hour of comedy. The characters aren’t overburdened by punchlines or attempts to be clever. The writing support from the show’s Director, Neil Armstrong, and oversight from TV comedy writer James Cary appears to be working well, as does a format which allows performance subtleties to develop, while being robust enough for a beery crowd to follow. Script aside, Nicholson’s portfolio of talents are delivered with slick timing and spirits are kept high by her punchy singing voice and the Variety show vibe of Bobby Goulder‘s near-constant music.
There’s a fine line between fresh and slightly derivative, but Anna Nicholson’s characters are strong enough to suggest she can follow in her heroines’ footsteps, so long as she doesn’t try to do so too closely.
