Not even dodgy storylines and even dodgier costumes can stop fans adoring the belting vocals and timeless hits of The Meatloaf Rock Opera, says Liz McMahon
Tribute shows face a similar challenge as film adaptations of classic novels: they must stay true but also pull in the punters. Star of the show, The Dead Ringer from Hell has been described as the “Meatloaf We Will Rock You”. It certainly squats in the same genre. It is a smorgasbord of all things Meatloaf and some things which are decidedly not.
Hollis plays the Meatloaf role and is disconcertingly referred to as Ringer by the cast for the entire performance. Hailing from New York, Hollis has had 20 years in the business and is savvy enough to own the production company funding this show. He has an amazing voice which does Meatloaf justice.
His health, unfortunately, is slightly perplexing. He even admitted that he was not sure whether he most resembled a fat pirate or a member of the Scissor Sisters. At points it did seem as though he may have a hernia; as he knelt on his knees to belt it out, it was touch and go as to whether he was getting up again.
Ringer is supported by The Dead Bettys; three sisters, one of whom, Ginger (Helen Hawthorne), is romantically embroiled with the aforementioned. All three women had a fine set of pipes and knew how to use them. Several duets with Ringer were spine-tingling and hair prickling, especially old favourites like I Will Do Anything for Love.
Their costumes were slightly budget. Ginger’s older sister, CC, looked shockingly like a cross between Linda Barker and Bonnie Ratit. Their choreography was also sadly the wrong kind of Chippendale.
The Wolfpack were Ringer’s pleasantly-talented supporting band. Guitarist Eddie Reid’s 35 years of experience showed and it is not surprising to learn he has shared a stage with the likes of Free and Kris Kristofersen. The music heart-thumped and foot-pumped. The company seem to know their strengths and Reid’s solos were fantastic.
It is fair to say Rock Opera might be a slightly aspirational label. An unkind observer may go as far as calling it Rock panto. The songs were first-rate but the narrative was embarrassing at points. In the first half, the thwarted love story between Ringer and Ginger was just a bit awkward but in the second half it took a surreal turn gratuitously involving a hypnotist and Elvis Presley. Unlike Meatloaf himself, whose performance in The Rocky Horror Picture Show was legendary, the cast found it difficult to oscillate between music and drama.
However tempting it may be to pick holes, it is important to return back to the intention of Ringer and his ensemble. This performance may not be a dramatic masterpiece where the audience truly believe in its pathos. Nevertheless, it is a whole lot of fun. Only a killjoy would be able to deny themselves the pleasure of head bobbing and hand clapping to the magic of You Took the Words Right out of My Mouth and Bat out of Hell.
The audience at The Orchard were truly inspiring. They were diehard Meatloaf fans and even Ringer commented at the end: “I want to party with you guys!” They knew the words, got up and boogied and there were even some potential moshers in the front rows. One particularly dedicated fan had bought a box clearly with the prior knowledge that he would need some space to rock out and that is exactly what he did. His bat moves were mesmerising.
The Meatloaf Rock Opera is a feel-good night of merriment. Think less Carmina Burana and more another kind of Nutcracker.
Saturday 2 May 2009
Friday 1 May 2009
Keith Pointing- The Inkspot Monologues
Bromley writer Keith Pointing’s latest book, The Inkspot Monologues, tackles the trite subject of relationships in a manner which is far from old hat.
He merges words and images to exhibit the true dysfunctionality of modern post-millennium courting.
Keith’s drawings are called ink blots as they bear a loose resemblance to the blots used in tests by therapists.
The Rorschach technique was originally employed to catch out reluctant psychos too wily to be fooled into admitting their dark desires.
A patient is shown an inkblot and asked what it immediately makes them think of. Their response is supposed to tell the therapist something enlightening about their state of mind.
The technique has been the victim of much mimicry and skepticism. Keith’s aim is not to question its credibility but to use it as an innovative medium to poke fun at human behaviour.
Keith said: “My intention was to use mainly the Rorschach idea to parody relationships rather than the technique.
“We all have relationships, both romantically and in, of course, everyday social interactions, so the subject is universal and something that we can all relate to.”
Whilst Keith is not expecting to change anyone’s perspective on the course of true lurve, he is keen to promote graphic fiction beyond the under-five market. Yes, believe it or not, adults too can enjoy pictures with their prose.
He approaches his aim with self-deprecating affability calling his work “Mr Men for grown-ups”.
He said: “Publishers have largely been late in waking up to the potential of the book as a creative medium using words and images for adult fiction, unlike the USA, the Japanese and the French who all have their own unique genres. However, things are changing as, for example, the graphic novel sections of British bookshops are growing each year.”
Don’t jump to conclusions and think Keith was inspired to use the ink blots whilst on the therapist’s couch himself. His reasons are far more logical.
“We are hard-wired from birth to read a human face into minimal random shapes and marks, which is why we think we see a man in the moon, and knowing this gave me an idea,” Keith said.
“After playing around with some black and white drawings, I saw the potential of using Rorschach to entertainingly explore funny visual and verbal ideas around personalities.”
The Inkspot Monologues are voiced by Alice and Jack: two individuals who have kissed more than their fair share of frogs and now find themselves in couples counseling.
It is a dual narrative where they take in turns to disclose the dirt on their past beaus, each time explaining the main flaw which effectively drew the dalliance to a close.
Their confidences are complemented with an inkspot which visually conveys exactly what was so unbearable about their exes.
As they reveal their relationship histories, including Dominic with his knicker fetish and nymphomaniac Natalie, it is wonder Jack and Alice have not given up altogether.
Bearing these scathing caricatures in mind, Keith is keen to point out his book is not a personal exorcism.
He does admit, however, creating his text did involve analysing people’s quirks and foibles and what we seem to search for in a romantic relationship.
“Some say all artists' works are self-portraits, suggesting there could be something of me in all the drawings,” said Keith.
Taking his honesty into account, it is possible everyone who reads the text will confront some images, which remind them, albeit in a diluted manner, of uncomfortable situations they had hoped to forget.
He merges words and images to exhibit the true dysfunctionality of modern post-millennium courting.
Keith’s drawings are called ink blots as they bear a loose resemblance to the blots used in tests by therapists.
The Rorschach technique was originally employed to catch out reluctant psychos too wily to be fooled into admitting their dark desires.
A patient is shown an inkblot and asked what it immediately makes them think of. Their response is supposed to tell the therapist something enlightening about their state of mind.
The technique has been the victim of much mimicry and skepticism. Keith’s aim is not to question its credibility but to use it as an innovative medium to poke fun at human behaviour.
Keith said: “My intention was to use mainly the Rorschach idea to parody relationships rather than the technique.
“We all have relationships, both romantically and in, of course, everyday social interactions, so the subject is universal and something that we can all relate to.”
Whilst Keith is not expecting to change anyone’s perspective on the course of true lurve, he is keen to promote graphic fiction beyond the under-five market. Yes, believe it or not, adults too can enjoy pictures with their prose.
He approaches his aim with self-deprecating affability calling his work “Mr Men for grown-ups”.
He said: “Publishers have largely been late in waking up to the potential of the book as a creative medium using words and images for adult fiction, unlike the USA, the Japanese and the French who all have their own unique genres. However, things are changing as, for example, the graphic novel sections of British bookshops are growing each year.”
Don’t jump to conclusions and think Keith was inspired to use the ink blots whilst on the therapist’s couch himself. His reasons are far more logical.
“We are hard-wired from birth to read a human face into minimal random shapes and marks, which is why we think we see a man in the moon, and knowing this gave me an idea,” Keith said.
“After playing around with some black and white drawings, I saw the potential of using Rorschach to entertainingly explore funny visual and verbal ideas around personalities.”
The Inkspot Monologues are voiced by Alice and Jack: two individuals who have kissed more than their fair share of frogs and now find themselves in couples counseling.
It is a dual narrative where they take in turns to disclose the dirt on their past beaus, each time explaining the main flaw which effectively drew the dalliance to a close.
Their confidences are complemented with an inkspot which visually conveys exactly what was so unbearable about their exes.
As they reveal their relationship histories, including Dominic with his knicker fetish and nymphomaniac Natalie, it is wonder Jack and Alice have not given up altogether.
Bearing these scathing caricatures in mind, Keith is keen to point out his book is not a personal exorcism.
He does admit, however, creating his text did involve analysing people’s quirks and foibles and what we seem to search for in a romantic relationship.
“Some say all artists' works are self-portraits, suggesting there could be something of me in all the drawings,” said Keith.
Taking his honesty into account, it is possible everyone who reads the text will confront some images, which remind them, albeit in a diluted manner, of uncomfortable situations they had hoped to forget.
Comedy review: Russell Brand – Scandalous, The O2, Greenwich ***
Russell Brand’s Scandalous tour not only lives up to its title – covering Sachsgate in detail - it’s also packed with the skewed, clever observational hilarity the comic is famed for. Liz McMahon shares highlights from the show at The O2.
The build up to Brand’s arrival on stage served as a montage of his disrespectability. News report after report merged together to convey the overwhelming controversy which seems to emanate from the comedian’s pores.
Russell Brand emerged on stage around half an hour late to a frenzy of applause. His appeal to women cannot be questioned when he has them fulfilling every stereotype and literally throwing their underwear at him.
It must be hard for him not to take advantage of his position and he said he was open to sexual relations with any woman between the age of 18 and death but he is not into corpses. Clearly he has some limits.
He was an interesting mix of intense narcissism and vulnerable self-deprecation. He was open about his mental fragility and admitted it is very much part of what makes him who he is.
He talked of when the self-obsessed “news” on a constant reel in his head actually became a reality. This was a funny way of approaching the inevitable: Sachsgate. He apologised but also poked fun at the audience for paying money to see him, “after what I’ve done!”
When his comedy was observational it was at its best. Upon analysing his media coverage, he has since realised, in the midst of the furore, he was getting dressed “like something out of Vegas” to go to the dentist.
And he showed us the coverage to prove it. He ridiculed his own attire, arguing leggings were not a manly enough to aptly describe his bottoms- testosterousers was far more appropriate, apparently. It seems it was a statistical inevitability Brand would eventually fornicate with the star of a sitcom’s granddaughter. Andrew Sachs was just caught in the cross-fire.
His handling of the debacle was laboured. He seemed to be apologising and would then rip it away with a quip like “I turn slags into celebrities!”
He also tackled the sticky subject of the Video Music Awards which he presented in a disastrous fashion. His justification was Americans do not “get” him. His first joke stating the US had better not be too racist to vote for Obama after they had allowed a retarded cowboy to run the house of white for eight years was famously met with stony silence. After this he had to pretty much make up the rest of the ceremony ad hoc.
He saved some of the VMA links he could not use especially for the audience. If Americans found his first comment below the belt, it is unlikely they would have liked to have gone down there again for Michael Jackson and paedophilia.
The show lagged when Brand resorted to reading hate-mail he had been sent post scandals. Yes, the show was called Scandalous so perhaps one gets what they ask for. By resorting to regurgitating the bizarre and deranged comments he received, he gave them more coverage than they deserved and it was lazy comedy.
There were many belly laughs. He painted a hilarious picture of himself waiting to meet the Queen while standing next to James Blunt after the Royal Variety Performance. He managed to juxtapose his perverse sexual thoughts with the curt instructions he had been given on protocol and his scathing impersonation of Blunt. It was at points like this he had the audience in the palm of his hand.
He made a couple of comments about “The Daily Mail” which became somewhat of a euphemism for the conservative press who had previously bayed for his blood. His attitude shows recent incidents have left their mark, not only on his act but also his sense of humour. There is a slight resentment there. One might say he is almost a Caliban of celebrity culture. He gained his celebrity by being what the public wanted- “edgy” and offensive. Indeed: “You taught me language; and my profit on’t is, I know how to curse.”
He finished the show with some tips on cunnilingus involving a kazoo and Bruce Forsyth. The physical gyrations which accompanied his advice will be something which may haunt several bedrooms for years to come.
The audience were permitted a wondrous surprise glimpse of Jack Black and I Love You Man star Jason Segel. They performed Dracula’s Lament from Forgetting Sarah Marshall while Brand quickly got changed. The formidable crowd then had to pretend to be the stadium audience for the upcoming sequel. This was cheeky but no-one seemed to mind.
When Russell Brand’s comedy was scandalous, the show was brilliant. When he wasted time talking about his recent misdemeanours, it was somewhat lacking. He needs to get over it now and get back to observing life’s idiosyncrasies with the verbose acridity only he is capable of.
The build up to Brand’s arrival on stage served as a montage of his disrespectability. News report after report merged together to convey the overwhelming controversy which seems to emanate from the comedian’s pores.
Russell Brand emerged on stage around half an hour late to a frenzy of applause. His appeal to women cannot be questioned when he has them fulfilling every stereotype and literally throwing their underwear at him.
It must be hard for him not to take advantage of his position and he said he was open to sexual relations with any woman between the age of 18 and death but he is not into corpses. Clearly he has some limits.
He was an interesting mix of intense narcissism and vulnerable self-deprecation. He was open about his mental fragility and admitted it is very much part of what makes him who he is.
He talked of when the self-obsessed “news” on a constant reel in his head actually became a reality. This was a funny way of approaching the inevitable: Sachsgate. He apologised but also poked fun at the audience for paying money to see him, “after what I’ve done!”
When his comedy was observational it was at its best. Upon analysing his media coverage, he has since realised, in the midst of the furore, he was getting dressed “like something out of Vegas” to go to the dentist.
And he showed us the coverage to prove it. He ridiculed his own attire, arguing leggings were not a manly enough to aptly describe his bottoms- testosterousers was far more appropriate, apparently. It seems it was a statistical inevitability Brand would eventually fornicate with the star of a sitcom’s granddaughter. Andrew Sachs was just caught in the cross-fire.
His handling of the debacle was laboured. He seemed to be apologising and would then rip it away with a quip like “I turn slags into celebrities!”
He also tackled the sticky subject of the Video Music Awards which he presented in a disastrous fashion. His justification was Americans do not “get” him. His first joke stating the US had better not be too racist to vote for Obama after they had allowed a retarded cowboy to run the house of white for eight years was famously met with stony silence. After this he had to pretty much make up the rest of the ceremony ad hoc.
He saved some of the VMA links he could not use especially for the audience. If Americans found his first comment below the belt, it is unlikely they would have liked to have gone down there again for Michael Jackson and paedophilia.
The show lagged when Brand resorted to reading hate-mail he had been sent post scandals. Yes, the show was called Scandalous so perhaps one gets what they ask for. By resorting to regurgitating the bizarre and deranged comments he received, he gave them more coverage than they deserved and it was lazy comedy.
There were many belly laughs. He painted a hilarious picture of himself waiting to meet the Queen while standing next to James Blunt after the Royal Variety Performance. He managed to juxtapose his perverse sexual thoughts with the curt instructions he had been given on protocol and his scathing impersonation of Blunt. It was at points like this he had the audience in the palm of his hand.
He made a couple of comments about “The Daily Mail” which became somewhat of a euphemism for the conservative press who had previously bayed for his blood. His attitude shows recent incidents have left their mark, not only on his act but also his sense of humour. There is a slight resentment there. One might say he is almost a Caliban of celebrity culture. He gained his celebrity by being what the public wanted- “edgy” and offensive. Indeed: “You taught me language; and my profit on’t is, I know how to curse.”
He finished the show with some tips on cunnilingus involving a kazoo and Bruce Forsyth. The physical gyrations which accompanied his advice will be something which may haunt several bedrooms for years to come.
The audience were permitted a wondrous surprise glimpse of Jack Black and I Love You Man star Jason Segel. They performed Dracula’s Lament from Forgetting Sarah Marshall while Brand quickly got changed. The formidable crowd then had to pretend to be the stadium audience for the upcoming sequel. This was cheeky but no-one seemed to mind.
When Russell Brand’s comedy was scandalous, the show was brilliant. When he wasted time talking about his recent misdemeanours, it was somewhat lacking. He needs to get over it now and get back to observing life’s idiosyncrasies with the verbose acridity only he is capable of.
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