“The lyrics are so cringeworthy and bad that they are good, and they set the comedic tone of this caper perfectly”
If you wind your way down country lanes just outside Newbury, then run a gauntlet of ducks, you will discover tucked away in the Berkshire countryside is a quirky little theatre called The Watermill. Sitting alongside the River Lambourn it retains many of its original architectural features – some of which are very visible in the theatre itself. It is a unique and charming set-up.
This year’s Christmas production is a modern take on Robin Hood. If you thought you knew the story, then you are likely to be very confused. Written by children’s poet and novelist, Laura Dockrill, the plot is both simple and bizarre. The six-strong troupe of actor-musicians gamely bring us this bonkers romp. Robin (Georgia Bruce) is reimagined as a punky girl, and she is joined by her band of Merry Many, who are dressed as Boy Scouts. Little John (Daniel Copeland) has an in-depth knowledge of baked beans, and Alan-a-Dale (Leander Deeny) is permanently sloshed.
The original songs come from Hugo White, of The Maccabees, and have a rocky edge. The music is performed by the actors on stage, and is weaved into the storyline to great effect. Largely driven by guitar and drums, the use of squeaky kazoos and a descant recorder serve to remind us that this is definitely a show for children. The lyrics are so cringeworthy and bad that they are good, and they set the comedic tone of this caper perfectly.
Maid Marion (Stephanie Hockley) is a hippy chick who likes to knit, and it turns out she doesn’t really like Robin Hood – although she is even less keen on The Sheriff of Nottingham (Leander Deeny). If Alan Partridge and Rik Mayall had a love-child, then Deeny’s Sheriff would be him: an outstanding performance that had the audience in stitches. He cuts a ridiculous villain, whose insults are strange compliments – and his most heinous of crimes is being a terrible musician.
It’s absurd and rambling, but at the same time hugely enjoyable. My young companion had a lovely time, wanting to go again and take his brother, which is a strong recommendation. Its originality makes it appealing, and while the tale might be a familiar one, this take has given it something new.
“a truly heartwarming love song to female friendship”
Charlotte Merriam’s terrifically turbulent, teeming and joyful writing debut is brought to every shade of life on the Pleasance stage, by an ensemble cast of six that support one another’s skillful uproar. Produced by Siberian Lights & Rachel Kraftman Productions and directed by Jamie Garven, Dames is theatre which makes you want to dance, get drunk, tell your friends you love them and embrace the world outside the toilet, no matter how daunting it can be.
Stepping in and out of character, in a sort of Brechtian performance of femininity, the toilet scenario is also a metaphor for the process of undress which happens in a cubicle, akin to the one which the actors perform on stage, as they expose themselves in order to build relationships with the audience. In principle, this premise works really well, and added a clever comic touch, when Ginny, played by Bianca Stephens with excellent comic timing, talks to the audience as her real self, preparing herself to go in to the toilets in character. The toilets are this ground of rebirth, of blinking drunkenly into the eyes of a strange woman and finding out you could be friends, or that you’re in love. It’s a nice original twist which defies expectations, just as Dames describes itself as a ‘raucous revelation’.
Merriam herself plays the wonderfully dry Erin, whose double act with Bianca is a truly heartwarming love song to female friendship, in all its honestly beautiful ugliness. Arabella Neale’s Kate takes self-awareness to the next level, as she theatrically bemoans being thin and beautiful. On the surface, this is rather inane: but Neale’s portrayal manages to be haughty and highly loveable. She and Olivia Elsden both deliver performances which complexify Dames, as they retain an element of reserve. Melanie Stephens as Cardiff is the last to enter the toilets in a whirlwind of wanking and speaking frankly. Her no-shits-given swagger is the perfect counterpoint to Emily, played endearingly by Ellie Heydon, and Kate, whose waxing lyrical about halloumi and wholefoods is nigh on excessive. But they pull it off, because they’re fun and very watchable.
Joshua Bowles’ live music, often cued by the performers, is the perfect accompaniment to the antics. Reverberating round the echoic playing space, it feels like the club outside the toilets, from which they’ve all come to hide. April Dalton’s design is instantly eye-catching, a mass of streamers, glitter, iridescence and strewn toilet paper, crowned by a golden chair in the middle – the bog. When Erin is sick, she throws up feathers. The design, highlighted by Ryan Joseph Stafford’s lights, brings just the right amount of stylisation and other worldliness to Dames, which keeps the content raw, but still allows the audience to celebrate and enjoy what is being revealed.
Dames is brave, fun and novel. I liked watching it, yes – but there was something about it which also made me want to inhabit it. Structurally, it could have been better conceived, with some of the elements of repetition stripped back. As an experience, though, it was a treat: brimming with energy and sparkling with golden performances.
