Musical review: Big Boys don’t Dance

Big Boys Don’t Dance.

It has been a long year. Who is not in need of rambunctious laughter, an easy plot to follow and lots of loud and hearty music dished out with impressive bits of dancing? This show offers all of that and a dash of slapstick to keep it all going.

Bradley and Ash Searle play the role of two brothers. The one is about to marry his sweetheart and the other is torn between his own ambition to be a dancer and the  jealousy of losing being the centre of his brother’s world, all the while trying to be the supportive sibling. In the style of the Movie, The Hangover, the brothers have a last ditch rowdy bachelor celebration which, yes, involves a stripper, a vanished car and a good bout of memory loss. Desperate to keep his girl, Bradley’s character reluctantly gives in to his brother’s dream of making a wad of cash in a dancing competition.  This is of course to replace the father in law’s car that seems to have evaporated with the stripper. What follows is the two brothers’ funky, funny interpretation of various genres of music through dance as they remember their school days while they practice for the big competition.  Remember those awkward hormone fuelled school dances and the eruption of break dancing and geeky fashions in the eighties? Well they do a good job of capturing the zeitgeist of the various eras.

Bradley is a tall, fiery, ginger and he likes to have a bit of fun with his hair, often making self-depreciatory jokes. He is a likeable character as the nervous husband to be and the audience loves him. He is complement by the skilled Ash who is a technically trained dancer who has performed all over the world and locally in a variety of shows including African Footprint,  Chicago, Fame and We Will Rock You.

The Kalkbay Theatre has a lovely small stage and you really get to see the bobs of sweat bouncing of their heads and the raised colour in their cheeks as they energetically dance in front of you. It can’t be that easy to perform almost in the lap of your audience but it ads to the intimacy of the show.

 Perhaps there is a bit too much dialogue when you are expecting more of a dance show but it all still feels good and hearty and its not too cerebral for this time of year.

It is mostly a family friendly dance entertainment show.  The real for me was watching two brothers having a great time on stage playing with their talent and their dance skills.  Theatre tickets to a happy and hearty musical production is a great Christmas present and you can enjoy a meal before the show.  Or better still, go and grab some freshly caught fish at any of the little vendors in Hout Bay and enjoy sundowners at the magical Polana’s before heading to the theatre.

Directed and choreographed by Vanessa Harris.  With Bradley and Ash Searle. At Kalk Bay Theatre until 8 January at 20h30, except Sundays when the show starts at 19h30.

By ASTRID STARK

Tickets cost R95. Tickets to the New Year’s Eve performance cost either R285 per person to include a ticket to the show and picnic basket. Or R360 to include a ticket to the show, picnic basket and bottle of sparkling wine per 2 hampers ordered. All bookings can be made on  www.kbt.co.za

Theatre review: Phantom of the Opera

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. Written by Gaston Leroux, Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Directed by Harold Prince, Lyrics by Charles Hart, Musical staging and choreography by Gillian Lynne. With Andre Schwartz, Jonathan Roxmouth, Robin Botha or Magdalene Minnaar, Angela Killian, James Borthwich, Jason Ralph, Hanlee Louw , Pauline du Plessis, Thabiso Masemene, Cat Lane and cast. Artscape Threatre until 15 January 2012. at 08hPM. Review by ASTRID STARK First published in the Cape Times.

 The legendary phantom is back to haunt the Artscape Theatre in what is arguaby the most spectacular production to be presented in South Africa this year. 

Much adored Andre Schwartz, who played the beleaguered Phantom in Pieter Toerien’s production in 2004, was again set to take the leading role, however an injured voice had cost him opening night.  This left Jonathan Roxmouth with big shoes to fill, however, he pulled it off with an incredible amount of energy, charisma and talent, as did the rest of the cast.

The extreme professionalism and outstanding production value of this musical is quite astounding. Clearly no expenses were spared. This production is gigantic. It is robust and it bristles with energy and zeal. The stage groans under voluminous layers of decadently embroidered fabrics, golden tussles and extravagant chandeliers.

The Phantom musical is inspired by Gaston Leroux’s novel Le Fantéme de l’Opera and this particular interpretation of the production stays very close to the novel’s gothic feel. Horror and romance are mashed up in a classic struggle for power love and honour. The story follows the journey of a beautiful and gifted singer Christine, played by Robin Botha, as she trained by the mysterious phantom, who is perpetually obsessed by her beauty and her voice. He slowly seduces the trusting Christine while cruelly tormenting the rest of the cast and crew.  His tumulous background has grotesquely disfigured the phantom, both inside and out, and we know that this ‘romance’ is heading for the rocks. Things quickly start to fall apart. Add to the mix the charming Raoul who is competing for Christine’s hand, Carlotta the prima donna who can see the young Christine ripping her own dreams to pieces, an ensemble of colourful characters, an opera house with mysterious tunnels, a murder and you have all the elements of a darkly  delightful romantic horror along the lines of Frankestein and the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Robin Botha as Christine delivers a brilliant performance. An experienced opera singer and inspired by electronic opera and all things burlesque, Botha brings to her part a curious mix of classic opera with a modern accessible streak. Her voice is powerful and she just about raises the roof of the Artscape without, it seems, too much effort.  Botha’s voice is complemented by that of the charming Jonathan Roxmouth who appeared very comfortable in his leading role.

Notable also is the performance of Cat Lane as Meg Giry, daughter of the ballet mistress, Madame Giry. Delicate and white as a rose petal, she shimmers on stage like a mirage, yet she has a powerful presence and her dancing is sublime.

Thabiso Masemene as Piangi plays his part with a delightful dash of twisted humour. He is dressed in the most decadent gold embroidered silk, satin and lace and he has a lovely rich voice to match the exuberance of his appearance.

Highlights are of course Christine and Raoul’s very popular rendition of ‘All I Ask of You’ – the tears were flowing- as well as the Phantom’s Music of the Night.  Weber’s music is truly timeless. Unrequited love, mental and physical scars, obsession, they are all here to stay and what better way to illustrate it than through a melodramatic musical excellently performed.

By the time the cast deliver the extravagant Masquerade you feel as if you have been sucked into a bit of a hallucinogenic trance. The costume design has to be seen to be believed.  It is totally outrageous – in a good way. The attention to is detail fantastic. The colours are delightfully rich and dark; emerald greens, blood red, raven black, lots of gold and shimmering silver. There are layers of feathers, solid buckles and buttons, lace trimming, outlandish headgear, masks of chickens, pigs, cows and of course the grim reaper. Together with the sublime stage design and dramatic lighting it is almost too much to take in during one sitting.

Truly outstanding in a most understated way is the orchestra. It is a freelance ensemble and together they set the perfect pace for the action on stage. The orchestra creates a subtle yet confident ambience which gently permeates the production.

For an audio visual feast delivered passionately by professionals, The Phantom makes is set to be the perfect extravagant holiday entertainment. I predict this one to be a sell-out.

* Tickets are from R125 to R425. To book visit www.computicket.com or call computicket on 0861 915 8000.  THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. Written by Gaston Leroux, Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber, Directed by Harold Prince, Lyrics by Charles Hart, Musical staging and choreography by Gillian Lynne. With Andre Schwartz, Jonathan Roxmouth, Robin Botha or Magdalene Minnaar, Angela Killian, James Borthwich, Jason Ralph, Hanlee Louw , Pauline du Plessis, Thabiso Masemene, Cat Lane and cast. Artscape Threatre until 15 January 2012. at 08hPM. Review by ASTRID STARK

Of migratory men and bird cages.

After two days of lazing around on the beach, feasting on juicy tropical island fruit, burping lemon grass, swimming, sleeping and swimming and sleeping and swimming and drinking beer I got bored. Bored with myself – again. And a bit bored with the people around me, but I know it is not them it’s me.

I never knew I could be so dull. Or is it just because I don’t quite know what it is to relax and be still and have no stress?  Am I a work-a-holic trapped in the clutches of the money-making tumble machine back home? Where did the free in freelance go or have I forgotten – like a parrot blankly starring at his open cage? Ag shame.

The travelers here are either kissing couples or clusters of young English, German and French men and women looking for cheap cocktails and a quick Island romance – and inbetween – the odd lone traveler, pretending, to my jaded eye anyway, to be content with their  alone-ness. And I am not sure where I fit in. My Thai has not progressed to beyond hello, how are you, more toilet paper please, I am hungry, and another beer please – and still the locals snigger at me. I had to go and buy a kettle so I can wake up with my Rooibos and ginger tea in the morning. I ponder this for a few hours. Am I excluding myself from the local experience or is it good to have your ‘thing’ that grounds you, even if it is only a cup of Rooibos?

I have a million questions. To me everything is a potential mystery or has an exotic story attached to it waiting to be spoken.  I ask the locals questions. Like the beautiful wooden bird cages that dangle in front of the bar and each person’s house and my bungalow. Each cage has only one bird in it. A bird with cross black eyes peering out from a Gaultier inspired hair-do and a feathery suit in bold slanted designs.  I ask what kind of bird it is and why there is always only one in a cage. The bicycle rental Thai guy says they are fucking birds, or did he say fighting birds? I don’t understand him and he tries to rent me a bike instead.  For a day I am pondering the fucking fighting birds. Is it a kind of Thai kickboxing bird and how do I get invited to one of the championships. If it is a fucking bird I just feel sorry for it being alone in the cage and all.

I have met a few mildly interesting semi-expats who live here and have kind of lost themselves in the slow simmer of island life. They go to local parties and smoke pot and hustle and shift mysterious goods and services about and have no plan beyond right here and now. I look at them in horror and deep inside I am jealous of their stillness. Then there is Mong’s bar. A bit of a chilled out shack and lounge bar-restaurant type place with Batic paintings of palaces in Cambodia and scatter cushions and Thai reggae music. Mong is building another bigger bar during the day and after he works until the early hours of the morning. But now the police will not let him carry on until he pays a bribe. His mom who shares the tiny back room with him, cooks up mean curries, and speaks to herself staring at us. On Halloween night I go with Mong and some of the semi-pats to Ayri bar up the road.  I ask one of the semi’s about the birds.

He says they are singing birds. I ask him to explain but he can’t.  I sit still for a while. And then it occurs to me that maybe nobody knows what the birds are for. Or they are for nothing really apart from sitting in a cage looking pretty and angry and sexually frustrated.  I tell him why many of the cats on the resort have stump tails. ‘It is when the mommy cat is making it with her bloder and seestar,’ the barman explained to me. The semi looked at me as if he could not believe I actually shared this piece of trivial information with him. Then Mong gets up and starts throwing bottles of burning paraffin attached to strings in fiery circles around our heads. We are sweating and the smell of smoke burns my throat. The owner of the bar has a vicious stab wound on the side of his head and blood stains down his shirt. A German girl mummie staggers with exaggerated motions into the bar to join a witch and what looks like an exploded carrot or something. The manager grabs my hand and throws me into the arms of the mummie, “you dance!”

The next morning I booked myself in for an open water scuba diving course. Armed with a fat book to memorise in three days, and an 11-hour day of skills learning and exams coming up, I finally go to sleep peacefully.

 

Paradise found

A miserable forced Friday night’s stay in the water-soaked streets of Bangkok turned downside up when I met Ingrid, a social worker from Austria. I went to have a drink at the Rooftop Bar, this really cool 3^rd storey grunge bar across the road from the fleapit where I live.  Had the most boring 10 minute conversation with a vacant guy who talked non-stop about himself – really. It’s ok, in return I tried to smoke as many of his cigarettes as possible. When he left I started chatting to Ingrid and within half hour were both talking the same time. It’s peculiar how some people just gel. We ended up running up and down the streets of Bangkok buying a wicked painting and gobbling up fresh pineapple and water melon for the street vendors. She said to me she has only met 4 South Africans and they were all blond. And so I had to explain a bit of South Africa to her. She was fascinated. It is unbelievable how the news overseas depicts us. Next minute we were joined by two guys from South Africa (Jozie and Cape Town) and their Nigerian friend. Her mouth just fell open. It was fascinating for her to meet, for the first time, black people – three of them – from South Africa. And other people around us were taking photos of them! ~ Which had us laughing and we said we are charging 350 Baht (cheap) per photo – that’s about R120.00. 

Ingrid Hanging out with the good people in Thai

The guys took all the attention in their stride – especially Mr Jozie who loved it and used each shoot to see if he can woo a girl to his side – and we had a fat laugh with them.  We danced on the pavement and posed for cheesy photos for the tourists. It is like magic happened inside Ingrid’s head. She asked the guys a million questions.  Some had me squirming ~ but they loved the exchange.  We sat at the noisy bar until the sun came up and parted from our new friends and Ingrid determined to visit South Africa.  Then the two of us spent the next day wandering around the beautiful Buddha temple grounds burning incense and candles and sending prayers out to our loved ones. She took me to this groovy Israeli bar where she normally hangs out with her friends and I met a whole string of lovely Israeli peeps who gave me their number and asked me to join their group ‘cause they were also going South.  The sign above the bar is Israeli and Ingrid explained what it means, “It is not where you go that matters, but the people you share it with. Israeli to English direct translations always sounds a bit off but we get it. Then too quickly it was 6 and Ingrid ran with me back to my ‘hotel’, so I could catch the bus South.  We had a last beer at the groovy little reggae bar next to where all the Bangkok bergies sleep with their cats and dogs and rice parcels. And we said a tearful goodbye. In a few hours I made a dozen acquaintances – and I suspect – one friend for life.

My new home. Water in all the right places

 

Paradise found

A miserable forced Friday night’s stay in the water-soaked streets of Bangkok turned downside up when I met Ingrid, a social worker from Austria. I went to have a drink at the Rooftop Bar, this really cool 3^rd storey grunge bar across the road from the fleapit where I live.  Had the most boring 10 minute conversation with a vacant guy who talked non-stop about himself – really. It’s ok, in return I tried to smoke as many of his cigarettes as possible. When he left I started chatting to Ingrid and within half hour were both talking the same time. It’s peculiar how some people just gel. We ended up running up and down the streets of Bangkok buying a wicked painting and gobbling up fresh pineapple and water melon for the street vendors. She said to me she has only met 4 South Africans and they were all blond. And so I had to explain a bit of South Africa to her. She was fascinated. It is unbelievable how the news overseas depicts us. Next minute we were joined by two guys from South Africa (Jozie and Cape Town) and their Nigerian friend. Her mouth just fell open. It was fascinating for her to meet, for the first time, black people – three of them – from South Africa. And other people around us were taking photos of them! ~ Which had us laughing and we said we are charging 350 Baht (cheap) per photo – that’s about R120.00.  The guys took all the attention in their stride – especially Mr Jozie who loved it and used each shoot to see if he can woo a girl to his side – and we had a fat laugh with them.  We danced on the pavement and posed for cheesy photos for the tourists. It is like magic happened inside Ingrid’s head. She asked the guys a million questions.  Some had me squirming ~ but they loved the exchange.  We sat at the noisy bar until the sun came up and parted from our new friends and Ingrid determined to visit South Africa.  Then the two of us spent the next day wandering around the beautiful Buddha temple grounds burning incense and candles and sending prayers out to our loved ones. She took me to this groovy Israeli bar where she normally hangs out with her friends and I met a whole string of lovely Israeli peeps who gave me their number and asked me to join their group ‘cause they were also going South.  The sign above the bar is Israeli and Ingrid explained what it means, “It is not where you go that matters, but the people you share it with. Israeli to English direct translations always sounds a bit off but we get it. Then too quickly it was 6 and Ingrid ran with me back to my ‘hotel’, so I could catch the bus South.  We had a last beer at the groovy little reggae bar next to where all the Bangkok bergies sleep with their cats and dogs and rice parcels. And we said a tearful goodbye. In a few hours I made a dozen acquaintances – and I suspect – one friend for life.

Bangkok – Going Nowhere Slowly

Update on the floods in Thailand and Bangkok
My train is not leaving. Or it is. Or maybe it is? No its not. It depends on who you talk to. I could have waited until seven thirty this evening to find out, but the potential of a woman alone being stuck on a water-logged station, with no taxi, and no accommodation, and no idea of how much water is coming through does not appeal to me. So I came back to my “hotel” and checked back in. What frustrates me is the lack of information coming through from the authorities and the confusion as to what is really going on. I speak to four different authorities at the train station, and to my travel agent, and they all have a different version of their interpretation of what someone else told them of what they have been told to say, of what they think they should say, or maybe they are just having a bad day. Sis Bangkok.
I am in the Southern end of Bangkok, Sawasdee Banglumpoo Inn, and we are relatively higher than most of Bangkok. I am getting just a little tired of my own company and miming to everyone around me. Lonely planet says that most people here speak English – but not really. It’s all clowning. Just now I drew a cockroach to the lady at the front desk to explain my dilemma in my room. She asked me if I wanted some cockroaches. I declined her offer.
I am sitting in the open lounge of the “hotel” and we are all watching the water gushing down from the heavens. I am sure it all sounds worse than what it is because of the many zinc roofs. We have sandbags all around and the guys working here are looking pretty chilled out so I guess it is all good.
Went for a long walk today after the train station disaster- I had to ask a policeman to force a taxi driver to take me back to my “hotel” the taxi driver took me around the corner and then stopped and said to me, “I no go dere too much whate,” It took all my powers of persuasion to get him to take me back to my hotel.- I could have strangled him and taken his car – Bangkok’s streets on a late Friday afternoon is like tossing handful of smarties into a frying pan. Its ugly – but its colourful. Then he still wanted to charge me 4 times the normal rate. I am getting to know this area now and I told him off in no uncertain terms. You really have to stand your ground here or this place and some people will swallow you whole.
So I am stocked up with water, biscuits and a kit kat (for when I need a break), some beers, candles, and incense. At least the rain is cutting through the sweltering heat and washing away all the rubbish on the streets.
Some Pics.

We need an AA for the Alcoholic Ice cream

Leaving Bangkok

Time to leave Bangkok. Quick.  The rain came last night.  It rained for a long time and Khao San street erupted in a flurry of scattering tourists and locals. Then it really stank! A five-day holiday was announced in Bangkok and 20 provinces to give people the chance to escape the rising waters. Bangkok Governor Sukhumbhand Paribatra told reporters: ‘Now we’re at a critical moment, we need to monitor the situation closely from 28-31 October, when many areas might be critical. “Massive water is coming.” 

‘Nough said.

People around Khao San are surprising calm. We will probably only receive about half a meter of water here over the next 48hrs. But I don’t feel like sticking around and wading in knee-deep water with all these mozzie bites on my legs. Most of the tourist attractions are closed and if I see one more deep- fried grasshopper or sautéed worm I will hurl. But it is one of the only areas left thus far unaffected by the floods and they are not expecting major disaster – it seems. People from Central Bangkok are flocking into the area to escape their flooded suburbs. Every shop and bar and hotel has been barricaded about a meter high with either sandbags or temporary hastily made cement walls. You have to just about high jump to get into restaurants which makes for great entertainment all around -should tourists still have a sense of humour left at this stage.

I am heading South by train.  Was going North to Chiang Mai but the busses, trains and flights are jam-packed despite the government adding hundreds of more busses.  Twelve hour train trip and then bus for an hour or so and then a two hour boat trip to a gorgeous place called Lanta.  Buddha willing my train, and later the bus, will not be disrupted by the floods.  I leave tonight at 7 but my travel agent advised me to leave for the train station before 4. I am not sure why. I can’t quite understand her. I think it is a mixture between the traffic and the rising waters that are worrying her. I bought a juicy piece of chicken or rise and some rice for a mangy-skeletal looking dog. And I had to fight back the tears. Who is going to look after the hundreds of stray cats and dogs when the water comes?

Well I am out of here. And good luck to all the people and animals that have to stay behind because this is their home and they don’t have elsewhere to go.

Thailand.

 The Thai Government is offering around 5000 baht as a bounty for the 200 or so crocodiles that have ecaped from the many farms surrounding Bankok. Pocket money?

Sitting inside a bamboo and Christmas light infested Khaosan holiday guest house, in the heart of the mad Khao San road in the heart of the equally mad Bangkok city.  The sweat is pouring down me and the mozzies, having finished sucking me dry, are now using my skin as a slippy slide. Arriving at night in a strange city can be a bit daunting. If your taxi drops you off in the middle of a mad night market, and as soon as you step out you have people just about throwing their wares and food at you  -after a 26 hour journey from Cape Town -will test your sense of humour.  I almost had a complete brain freeze as I started at the flashing signage, the throngs of people, stray animals twirling around peoples’ legs, the Thai ‘bergies’ curled up on walls and doorways and underneath Tuk Tuks, and the hot sweating streets. Old and dilapidated buildings become a backdrop for kitsch and garishly coloured stalls.  Open and closed knots of wire dangle above rooftops and along the sides of walls. There are sandbags piled high around most of the shops.  They say the water will come on Thursday or Friday. And it stinks; mud, fish, sweaty feet, something else I don’t recognise – and the heat just impress all of this deep into your open pores.  It reminded me of a marketplace in Zambia where I came close to being mugged, mixed with a Guguletu taxi rank,  on the eve before the end of the world. Ok I was really tired but it all felt way to gangster and mobbish for me to handle it at that time of night.  My hotel (shithole) sounds a bit like bunglepoop and I have to unpack all my valuables to find the piece of paper with the right name on it because I don’t want to insult the locals. With one part of my brain thinking, “I don’t give a flying loop if they take anything right now. I really just need a shower and a beer: and the other part thinking, “I feel sorry for the dude trying to even touch a hair on my body because my tolerance level has reached a new level of low,”  I unpack my laptop et all onto the filthy streets.

I did eventually manage to find my “hotel” without crying, which I am very proud of.  Then I found a gorgeous little restaurant:  Tofu with grilled, fat cashew nuts, sticky sweet soy sauce and perfectly cooked rice.  I watched kids play with their dog down the main drag. Two guys were doing skateboard tricks and the tattoo artist was trying to hustle nervous looking tourists into his shop. The streets belong to the people. The hot moist air made me feel like a beach goddess and the world felt alright.  As much as I regretted travelling alone for the last 26 hours, I suddenly felt a beautiful calm inside the heart of the madness. A sort of ‘Out of Africa’ esque vibe – but with extra soy sauce.

Taking Thailand – Flippers en water brille.

So this is it. Ticket: check. Insurance: check. No itinerary planned because it is a fly-by-the seat-of-my pants (time to put down the remote control) kind of holiday. Now I just need to draft that letter which says they must leave my body in Thailand, should I come to an unfortunate demise during my holiday. Burn it. Send it out on a palm leave towards the water angels. Whatever. It is a morbid topic but it is one of the things you have to consider when travelling abroad. Especially considering that one-third of Thailand is currently under water. The worst floods in 50-years. I mean do you really want your next of kin to battle it out with Thai authorities to get your bloated decomposing body, or your Tiger ravaged torso, back to your Vhaderland? Really. What does it matter, your soul’s moved on. Get over it.
Golden beaches, sleeping late, eating lots, slurping luminous cocktails, long solitary walks into new areas, reading –reading – reading –reading – reading! and smelling the air of a different continent and not understanding a word. The idea behind this holiday was to save up like crazy – finish a mountain of projects in a record time – and then go to Thailand for a month of nothing, or something, or whatever it is you do in Thailand. I did no research which is completely out of character for me and therefore a must for the success of this project. A while ago I met a girl called Pete from Pai (which is North of Thailand) She said, “Ah you must come, it’s very nice.” She has a bar/restaurant there called Almost Famous. I liked the name so I booked my ticket. Cape Town – Dubai – Bangkok. I will stay a few nights in the madness of Bangkok. I was going to hop on a train (10hrs)north to the city of Chiang Mai – stay a few nights there – check it out chill – and then hop on a bus (4hrs to Pai). Pronounced Bai.
But now hundreds of thousands of locals are evacuating the low lying northern area of Thailand and all rail and bus services have been suspended. I can get into Bangkok. But can I get out? So I wonder if I will see Pete at Almost Famous. Will I get a chance to frolic with elephants at Thom’s Pai Elephant Camp, and soak in a hot spring, do those Thai kickboxing classes that I’ve always wanted to do and learn to cook a decent Thai curry? Or will I end up on CNN, floating down Sao Khan Road in central Bangkok in a bathtub with a rescued kitten on my head, a baby strapped to my back and floating food parcels all around me. I don’t know.
I am staying at a glorified hostel/hotel in Sao Khan Road called Sawasdee. My Lonely Planet guide book tells me it means Hello and Goodbye in Thai.

Theatre review: OFFBEAT BROADWAY 4 – Older, fatter, slower.

High energy time-travel through Broadway musicals.

Watching this trio unleash their satirical humour and musical genius onto the audience is like being hurtled along a roller-coaster of hysterical laughter and intense nostalgia.

The threesome call Offbeat Broadway 4: older, fatter, slower, but they are certainly not acting their ages. For nearly two hours Anton Luitingh, Paul du Toit and Lindy Abromowitz, in their own words, ‘re-hash and murder Broadway musicals from the Pacific’s rim to Qatar’s crotch’.  But they don’t really.  With tongues firmly in cheek they offer us a funny and moving romp through some of the most popular musicals such as Evita, CATS, Rocky Horror Show, Grease, Showgirls, Les Miserables, Chicago and more.

Naturally they put their own witty spin on it and make the many international productions more accessible to South African audiences but adding a local and contemporary flavour. They dance and sing and frolic their way through the musicals with such zeal it will leave you breathless and begging for more despite its long run. It is definitely not a slap-stick, randomly botched together, mish-mash of extracts of the greatest musicals of time. They have, very intelligently, and obviously with great respect for the work that they are dealing with, carefully and seamlessly woven the songs into each other so that each composition of songs become a sketch, a kind of a journey, sometimes a little melancholy, but mostly just very amusing and sagacious.

All of this is enough of a pleasure to watch, however add to the pot Alan Committie’s sharp direction, and the threesome’s incredible experience and talent, and you are in for a monumental musical treat.

Anton Luitingh tickles and teases the piano with zeal and consummate skill. Lindy Abromowitz throws her self into every song and her musical range is spectacular. She does not seem to have a set style but rather, like a singing and dancing chameleon – if there were such a creature – transform her voice and personality to suit the act; whether she is doing the long-suffering Christine in Phantom of the Opera, the sultry serial killer in Chicago, or the eternally optimistic Annie.  Her performance simply drips with satire. The range of Paul du Toit’s voice is brilliant. His comic timing is without fault. It is easy to see why their previous three productions garnered them a string of award nominations.  Their new show features a lot of new material interspersed with old favourites.

How do you really condense the magnitude of the Phantom of the Opera into 5 minutes without killing it and turning it into a disrespectful sad joke? They somehow do. Their condensed version is very funny, and the overly romanticism of the musical’s soul is thoroughly poked at, however they still remain true to the essence of Phantom and the nature of its characters.

Their lamenting about the great Lion King rip-off, which brings with it Disney style goodies such as kitsch looking caps, key-rings, soft toys and other expensive paraphernalia, that your children force you to buy, is spot on.  

The choreography is fast and clever and the lighting ads character to a relatively bare stage.

Lovers of musical theatre will adore this high energy time travel through many of their favourite, and not so favourite, shows. Despite all the laughter you will find quite a few ‘lump in the throat’ moments as you are transported by this talented trio. Even if you big Broadway musicals are not really your thing, if enjoy a good wholesome laugh and you’re not impartial to a well- carried tune you too will enjoy this production.

Directed by Alan Committie. With Anton Luitingh, Lindy Abromowitz and Paul du Toit. At Theatre on the Bay until 29 October at 8pm. ASTRID STARK reviews.

Tickets are from R80. To book call Computicket’s Call Centre on 083 915 8000 or visit www.computicket.com. Shows run from Tuesday to Saturdays.  On Saturdays there is a Matinée show at 5pm as well as the 8pm show.