Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller in Danny Boyle's Frankenstein ...

Frankenstein – National Theatre Live

Stage on screen: it’s inevitable in this media soaked age that the Theatre would lay itself open to wider audience and let the cameras in to their private world. Is this the desperation of an opportunist star or is it the start of something extraordinary?

‘The National Theatre Live’ broadcasts live, via satellite, to arts venues around the globe; increasing their demographic, the arts are now not purely confined to London.  The theatre’s director, Nicholas Hytner reminisced: ‘ If I had been able to see Olivier’s National Theatre at my local cinema, I would have gone all of the time.’ but at £12 a ticket he’d of had to scrape together his pocket money. 

There are pangs of jealousy towards the audience sat in the theatre’s auditorium; you feel that child-like exclusion, you didn’t quite make the team so you’re left on the side lines – patronisingly made to believe you’re involved in something you fundamentally are not. The experience is different; you are not immersed in the sheer volume of sound and dimension of stage.

There is an uncertainty amongst the audience to, in this new phenomenon the general etiquettes remain unclear, so one is left unsure whether to clap at a bowing cast who will not hear them. The whole concept is still finding its feet, you can’t help feeling that the whole experience remains a little incomplete, but the excitement lies in the missing pieces. We can only wait and see how it will evolve and change the way we view live theatre, for better or for worse.     

The National’s Frankenstein is like no other, with Benedict Cumberbatch and Johnny Lee Miller alternating between the role of the creature and Frankenstein, the structure of the production is already making us question who the real monster is. 

The intense beginnings of the monster’s life as he slips like a foetus from his womb casing are immediately absorbing. As it writhed across the floor, bones breaking into place with the jarred fluidity of movement, every element of every limb seemed alive, awakening. This painstakingly thought out opening scene is a vivid reflection on the whole nature of the play. Everything appears effortlessly natural; the juxtaposition of a new life that is so large and disjointed, unravelling and learning is unquestionably realistic.   

Mary Shelly’s gothic masterpiece has been endlessly disfigured in modern day productions. The classic bolts through the neck and inane groans, stands upright and rigid in dated hammer horror constructions.

Danny Boyle’s production and Nick Dear’s adaptation granted Frankenstein his voice. The beauty of Shelly’s words and the ambiguity of the book’s scientific and psychological understanding have never before seemed so fresh and timeless.

Together they appear as the mad creators of this miraculous piece, a creation that is so absorbing, so powerful that you cannot tear your eyes away from it. They have re-mastered my interpretation of theatre and achieved something both profound and intelligent that captivates like no other. Finally, Frankenstien has been told how it was intended and that is the biggest accomplishment this performance could have earned – the respect of a truly brilliant literacy work. 

National Theatre Live

Rock And Roll Nerd

Prejudice

Tim Minchin - Orchestra Tour

“Nothing ruins comedy like arenas, that’s a well established fact. My ego is the only thing you can see clearly from the back”

Sings Tim Minchin beaming with Cheshire cat grin, but when you have the thundering support of a 55 piece orchestra it's easy to be cocky.

As the sound poured through the venue, beating and pulsating into the ears of a full house, I was aware that this wasn’t going to be like any other comedy tour I’d chortled through. Arenas have never been well suited to comedy; words can be lost in the vast emptiness that bands effortlessly fill and any intimacy that runs naturally through smaller venues is lost. Comedy especially, laughter is always more contagious when you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with it.

Two standing ovations, endless rounds of encores and applause, it’s obvious that Tim Minchin knows how to charm an audience. Even though the majority of the audience are there because of their doting admiration, Tim is more than just a crowd pleaser. He does play up to his popular numbers, reeling them off with ease to hungry fans and clapping hands. However, the set up of the tour and the dusting of new material makes it feel refreshing, instead of a worn out, stagnant regurgitation of used gags.

Minchin is more than just a comic; he’s an intelligent satirist with a modest scientific understanding and secular outlook. His songs preach cuttingly into delicate subjects: romantic love, alternative medicine, prejudices, blind religious following and gingers. His edginess is enough to make the most liberal mind automatically curl up in tangible discomfort. There is an audible gasp as he holds up a copy of the Koran, asking if it is any more special than an edition of Harry Potter and guilty giggles as he rounds off endless expletives about the “mother f***ing pope”. 

In-between the trumpeting fanfares and explosions of sound he ambles through jokes in his own awkward style. To some people this can be uncomfortable to watch as Minchin plays the role of someone not entirely sure of himself. To me, it’s all part of his wondrous comedic touch. As he bursts to life, storming through complex scores with ease, carried away toes tingling the keyboard, jumping around the stage like the “rock n’ roll nerd”. Panting he questions how the foot prints ended up on the lid of the grand piano.    

The gig was fitting with the venue and with Tim himself. It’s what he does best, clearly after sprinkling his magic over the RSC’s Matilda. He’s a musical genius and can fill large venues with only a couple of bars. There’s worry that mixing comedy and music, especially classical music is a foreign concept to audiences.  It’s been dabbled in by Bill Bailey and Flight of the Concords who have both neatly stitched it into their acts but nothing like the size and extravagance of what Minchin has achieved.

Tim Minchin has truly become an “icon for the disenfranchised masses”.