Up Pompeii is a cult British comedy classic. Starring Frankie Howerd – in probably his most well-known and best-loved role – it ran on British television from 1969-1975, and spawned a successful spin-off film in 1971. Today’s audio revival was an affectionate homage, and an unashamed feel-good performance. There is no denying that the ribald, double-entendre-ridden campery of Up Pompeii and the Carry On films is dated, and as such now leaves many people cold. The Saturday afternoon audience at the Shaw Theatre was one of fans: of the original series, of Frankie Howerd, and of radio. As such, the performers could relax and have fun, knowing that they were preaching to the converted. And, for those who love it, it was indeed lots of fun. A hoot.
Manning the centre microphone, David Benson took on Frankie Howerd’s role of Lurcio, the savvy slave who keeps his master and mistress’ household together. It was a wonderful performance, and Benson was clearly having a ball. Known for his brilliant portrayals of Noël Coward and Kenneth Williams, he managed to capture Howerd’s trademark arch, high-camp delivery, whilst at the same time making it his own. The ad-libs (both scripted and unscripted) were delicious, and the out-take moments (‘I fucked that up last time, we’d better do that again!’) all added to the fun. The supporting cast was terrific – Jilly Breeze an unforgettable Senna the Soothsayer; Jack Lane as the callow youth Nausius; Cleo Rocos as sexpot Suspenda, Frazer Hines as the master, Ludicrus Sextus, and Barnaby Eaton-Jones (also director/producer and one of the show’s writers) as fabulously stupid Kretinus – but the afternoon belonged to Benson.
Farce of this kind relies on quickfire delivery and running gags, and becomes funnier as it builds. Benson was a masterful conductor, and led this afternoon’s audience – and his fellow cast members to boot – into a veritable crescendo of silliness. The script was a little patchy, perhaps owing to the plethora of writers whose voices helped bring it to life (this audio adaptation was written by Barnaby Eaton-Jones, with Daniel McGachy and Iain McLaughlin; adapted from the successful spin-off stage play by Miles Treddinick, and based on the original characters and BBC TV scripts devised by Talbot Rothwell and Sid Colin) but Benson’s performance energy helped paper over the cracks, and we were swept along with him when the comedy flagged.
These performances were recorded for radio to mark the 50th anniversary of Up Pompeii’s first broadcast, and will be available to download from Amazon, iTunes and spitefulpuppet.com in November. Highly recommended for Frankie Howerd fans everywhere.
“It is a work of exquisite, tender beauty. A unique evening at the theatre.”
Camden People’s Theatre is an intimate venue. The theatre itself holds 60 people, and the pre-show meeting space is not unlike a little tea room, cosy and informal. It always seems slightly out of time, and set apart from 21st century London. Tom Marshman couldn’t have chosen a more appropriate place to stage his deeply touching and beautifully crafted piece of theatre, created in response to a piece of 1950s British queer history.
Marshman makes it clear from the outset that he is a storyteller. There is no ‘acting’ here; instead he talks to us, lip syncs, shows us images, plays us records and reads us letters, all of which serve the story that he wants to share. In 1953, a young gay man – Geoffrey Patrick Williamson – made sexual overtures to an older man on a railway train. This older man turned out to be a Railway Officer in plain clothes, and their encounter led to a court case, as a result of which 17 men were arrested, and nine sent to prison.
Marshman has researched the men involved in this case and the show is the result of his discoveries. Research of this kind can seem a rather dry and dusty pursuit; academic and removed from the emotional world. Nothing could be further from the truth here. Tom Marshman’s work is infused with tenderness. He handles these men’s stories with the greatest love and care, and there is a gentleness inherent in his movement on stage, and in the perfectly chosen 1950s records that he plays that provide his musical score. This is no nostalgic comfort-zone however. Although there are some happy endings, the persecution of these men destroyed lives, and also led to a suicide. Their treatment was brutal; the facts speak for themselves.
A Haunted Existence avoids sentimentality as it is artistically precise. Marshman is most definitely an artist, and one of exceptional skill. The gauze projections could stand alone as an artwork, merging, as they do, archive footage, and newly created black and white images of Marshman himself as period characters in the story. His movement too is spare – whether it be the semaphore alphabet that we see at the top of the show or the mesmeric solo ballroom dancing sequence a little later on – and it is beautiful. Marshman also lip syncs to the clipped 1950s tones of the presiding judge in the case, and to the words of Lord Owen, which laid early foundations for the Wolfenden report a decade later. This is, unexpectedly, extraordinarily moving, and a welcome reminder of the truly subversive power of this gay cabaret skill. Wonderful too, to have a brief lesson in Polari thrown into the mix, and a treat to hear that arch and creative language of subterfuge spoken out loud.
The effect of the whole is that of a delicate layering, a collage, reflecting the process, the careful unravelling of very personal and yet profoundly resonant histories.
It is a work of exquisite, tender beauty. A unique evening at the theatre. Bravo.
