“Brilliantly performed by Luke Bayer who is having a devilishly good time”
In Dante Alighieri’s ‘The Divine Comedy’, the Underworld is divided into nine ‘circles’ in which sinners were punished in relation to their crimes. The treacherous and fraudulent would find themselves in circles eight or nine, for example. The Seventh Circle was reserved for the sins of violence. This is where we find Desmond Channing, a rather deranged but endearing teenager who is forced into an eternal residency at Hell’s hottest nightclub to retell his tale, night after night. His life was short and his descent into madness rapid. Desmond’s fearless craving for the limelight swiftly morphs into the unthinking terror of a rabbit in the headlights.
The insanely talented Luke Bayer croons through the overture by way of introducing us to the Seventh Circle Cabaret Bar. Bayer is so completely at home you wonder what sins he’s hiding up his sleeves, but a cheeky wink betrays an innocent nod to the fourth wall. This is fantasy, it is fun, and Bayer is relishing every minute. His charm is as infectious as his voice is gorgeous.
We are taken back to the Florida high school where Desmond was president of the ‘Ronald Reagan Drama Club’. He is musical theatre personified. Bayer unselfconsciously and candidly celebrates all the faults and foibles of this particular character (Nora Brigid Monahan’s script is wickedly insightful) as he struts and frets. He is a bit of a paradox; he’s diffident but oh, such a diva! He thinks he’s the king, but he’s such a drama queen. He’s in love with the sexiest girl in the class, but it is clear his interests lie elsewhere. Into his confused life and mind saunters Evan Harris, the cool kid from New York City. Evan steals his girl, his role in the school’s musical, his presidency and ultimately his sanity.
Bayer moves seamlessly between the characters, evoking each with an individualism that relies purely on expression and tone. He pours irony over Evan’s swagger, and charm over the endearing ‘best friend’ Allie Hewitt – the voice of reason; while his Principal Dallas has a playful mix of officiousness and pseudo-sympathy. He not only plays them, but sings them too. The score focuses on Desmond, but the bit parts also have their moments at the microphone. “Strong” is a wonderful number which has Bayer interacting with the house band and teasing the ‘earnest’ singer-songwriter paragon. “The Big Time” reveals another threat in Bayer’s skill set as he nimbly tap dances across the floor. Equally nimble is his hold on the songs, which ooze ‘joie de vivre’. Alexander Sage Oyen’s music and lyrics don’t stray too far from the catchy, pop genre but manage to balance perfectly the upbeat with the ballads, and the anger with the melancholy. It is refreshing, also, to see a show that actively acknowledges the onstage musicians; a skilful trio made up of musical director Debbi Clarke on keys, with Jonnie Grant on drums and Ben Uden on guitar and bass.
Just when we’re wallowing in the whimsical, offbeat rhythms of the night we are given a glimpse of the darker side, and the real reason Desmond is confined to his place in the Inferno. A difficult moment to stage in a space such as the Turbine Theatre, but director Joe McNeice pulls it off, with Alistair Lindsay’s deceptively simple lighting. We are back in Hell, where we started. Desmond has earned his diva title.
Clever, entertaining and deliciously camp, “Diva – Live from Hell” is increasingly uplifting the further it descends into the depths. Brilliantly performed by Luke Bayer who is having a devilishly good time. And so are the audience. The only danger is we might start believing that Hell is so much fun, we’ll all want to become sinners!
“The writing is timeless and the acting faultless”
When “My Night With Reg” premiered at the Royal Court in 1994, Kevin Elyot’s depiction of the ups and downs of a circle of gay friends was seen to be ground-breaking and dissenting. A smash hit, it was considered to be the first gay play in which being gay wasn’t an issue. To revive it today there is the risk of it passing by unnoticed. The novelty value is obviously going to be diluted, if not dissolved completely, awash in a scene where much of London’s theatreland is championing the gay community. Yet it is the beauty of Elyot’s writing: his wit, compassion and insight, that make the task much easier. The writing will stand up at any point in history. Like his first play, “Coming Clean”, which tackles similar issues but when AIDS was still just a rumour in Britain, it doesn’t wave any flags or thrust articles of faith into our hands. It is a play about friendships and about how to keep those friendships alive; about lying and cheating and the subsequent costs of deception. It is about how we hold onto each other amid the barrage of adversity that is thrown at us.
And that is what comes across in Matt Ryan’s revival at the Turbine Theatre. It doesn’t try to replicate the storm that swept it onto the stage nearly three decades ago. Instead, it relies on a company of exceptional actors knocking back wonderful moments of nostalgia with their whisky chasers. Each cast member savours the language, embellishing it with their body language, mannerisms and silences that flesh out their characters.
Guy (Paul Keating) is nervously welcoming his university pal John (Edward M Corrie) into his flat warming party. The awkwardness stems from the unspoken and unrequited love that Guy feels for John. From the off we relish the realism that Keating brings to the shy Guy, fawning and fumbling in the face of Corrie’s cool composure. There’s a crackle in the air that is soon blown away when Gerard McCarthy’s Daniel storms in, buzzing with irreverence. The dialogue is swift and seemingly inconsequential, yet it skilfully establishes the relationships and connections between the ensemble. In the background is Eric (James Bradwell), Guy’s young decorator; initially an outsider but who very quickly wrangles a place centre stage. Alan Turkington and Stephen K Amos join the party as the bickering odd couple Bernie and Benny.
Never seen, but always present is the eponymous Reg. Reg is the one who binds them and can potentially drive them apart. It is no spoiler to reveal that each character onstage has had their ‘night with Reg’ at some point or other. It is the aftermath, the secrets and duplicity, the heartache, sorrow and dangers they each face after Reg has died that are the revelations in this skilfully constructed production. Lee Newby’s design, with its scattering of vinyl records and house plants, wonderfully mirrors the play’s mix of nostalgia and concurrence; concord and discord. The big picture is in the detail. And likewise, the big moments are found in the small gestures.
It seems irrelevant to harp on about the relevance of “My Night With Reg”. The writing is timeless and the acting faultless. The themes are shadowed by death, loss, grief, fear and sorrow but the strength of the personalities, not just of the characters but of the actors themselves, light up the darkest corners of the space, revealing the untidy dust balls of hope and optimism and the need to hang on to the delicacy of friendship that we can all relate to. AIDS is another central character, but the fact that it is never mentioned in the script, without diminishing its pertinence, enhances the play’s longevity and universality. And this heartfelt homage to Elyot will ensure the continued success and interest in his work.
