Last night I found myself sitting in the upstairs bar of the Cochrane Theatre in Holborn, a University of the Arts London showcase theatre for student productions. Sipping on my glass of wine, waiting for a musical adaptation of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, I began to feel guilty over something that I couldn’t recognize. Looking around at the blue and white swirl linoleum flooring, the brown and orange walls and furniture, the discarded remnants of somebody’s snack shoved onto a sideboard, the large promotional images of the show tacked up on the cracking concrete wall – it dawned on me – I was feeling guilty for indulging in my wine as I looked over my shoulder sure I would be scolded by a parent or teacher at any moment. I had just been shuttled back an undisclosed number of years to my high school days. Weird.
The feeling stayed with me as I entered the auditorium, watching anxious mothers, fathers and friends flipping through the thin program looking for the name of the one they came to see in print. Pointing and speaking in excited whispers once the name was found.
I still held out hope that the show would be better than the atmosphere. The lights went out and a few dozen bodies shuffled onto the stage in the blanket of semi-dark, while young voices in the back seats were shushed into ending their conversation as the show was set to begin.
Now, how would you like this dished out? Would you like the good news or the bad news first? I always like to start with the bad news, get it out of the way and then you’re free to savour the good. Yeah let’s do it that way.
So the bad news is that the show didn’t turn out to be any better than the atmosphere. The oversized chorus reminded me of a kindly teacher who wanted to make sure there was a role for every student in his class. And because there were so many, each one was trying to be the star, ‘Notice me, notice me,’ their amplified body language and cartoonish facial features proclaimed. When they weren’t overly self-assured, there were stolen glances of people looking for their cue, searching for what came next or the actors struggled to know just where to look. Some would scan the audience to see the whos and how manys, others stared purposefully over our heads at the back of the room so as not to be distracted. Others still darted their eyes about disconcertingly.
And like all student theatre I had seen in the past, the action was directed at the audience not among the characters. ‘Come forward me dear,’ the judge says to the wrongly accused from his perch at the back of the stage. And the poor serving girl who is to be hanged for another’s crime is pushed towards the audience, away from the judge she was about to address. I feel like royalty, that this play is solely for my entertainment. I’m not witnessing a story, where I’m drawn into another’s world, I’m having the court jester perform for me or risk being beheaded.
I could continue, but I believe my point is made. And as I promised there’s still the good news to get to.
On the positive front, first of all, I would like to offer an enthusiastic round of applause to Lizzie Karani, the young actress who portrayed Elizabeth Lavenza, an emotionless orphan who falls in love with Dr. Frankenstein. This girl had a voice, oh what a voice. When she sang of love, it was like listening to a Walt Disney heroine with all the range, emotion and infectious longing. Jasmine for Aladdin or Ariel from the Little Mermaid. Powerful vocals. But more than just a strong set of pipes, Karani looked at home on the stage and was able to transform from a circus sideshow freak who was pelted with rocks, to a good Christian girl who was fighting to save the man that she loved.
Billy Cullum, who was cast as Henry Clerval – an only friend to Dr. Victor Frankenstein, is also deserving of a kudos. A supporting character the whole way through, Cullum deserved the spotlight.
And like all the student theatre I had seen in the past, the collective effort was detectable. This group of young people worked together to produce a play, to entertain and amuse us. Their songs were fuelled with energy and fun. They were even a bit catchy so that by the third time they came around you were humming along. As a solid piece of student theatre, Frankenstein fell short of being a professional achievement. So I think the next time I visit the Cochrane Theatre in Holborn, it will be when I’m searching the thin program for the name of the person I had come to see.
The feeling stayed with me as I entered the auditorium, watching anxious mothers, fathers and friends flipping through the thin program looking for the name of the one they came to see in print. Pointing and speaking in excited whispers once the name was found.
I still held out hope that the show would be better than the atmosphere. The lights went out and a few dozen bodies shuffled onto the stage in the blanket of semi-dark, while young voices in the back seats were shushed into ending their conversation as the show was set to begin.
Now, how would you like this dished out? Would you like the good news or the bad news first? I always like to start with the bad news, get it out of the way and then you’re free to savour the good. Yeah let’s do it that way.
So the bad news is that the show didn’t turn out to be any better than the atmosphere. The oversized chorus reminded me of a kindly teacher who wanted to make sure there was a role for every student in his class. And because there were so many, each one was trying to be the star, ‘Notice me, notice me,’ their amplified body language and cartoonish facial features proclaimed. When they weren’t overly self-assured, there were stolen glances of people looking for their cue, searching for what came next or the actors struggled to know just where to look. Some would scan the audience to see the whos and how manys, others stared purposefully over our heads at the back of the room so as not to be distracted. Others still darted their eyes about disconcertingly.
And like all student theatre I had seen in the past, the action was directed at the audience not among the characters. ‘Come forward me dear,’ the judge says to the wrongly accused from his perch at the back of the stage. And the poor serving girl who is to be hanged for another’s crime is pushed towards the audience, away from the judge she was about to address. I feel like royalty, that this play is solely for my entertainment. I’m not witnessing a story, where I’m drawn into another’s world, I’m having the court jester perform for me or risk being beheaded.
I could continue, but I believe my point is made. And as I promised there’s still the good news to get to.
On the positive front, first of all, I would like to offer an enthusiastic round of applause to Lizzie Karani, the young actress who portrayed Elizabeth Lavenza, an emotionless orphan who falls in love with Dr. Frankenstein. This girl had a voice, oh what a voice. When she sang of love, it was like listening to a Walt Disney heroine with all the range, emotion and infectious longing. Jasmine for Aladdin or Ariel from the Little Mermaid. Powerful vocals. But more than just a strong set of pipes, Karani looked at home on the stage and was able to transform from a circus sideshow freak who was pelted with rocks, to a good Christian girl who was fighting to save the man that she loved.
Billy Cullum, who was cast as Henry Clerval – an only friend to Dr. Victor Frankenstein, is also deserving of a kudos. A supporting character the whole way through, Cullum deserved the spotlight.
And like all the student theatre I had seen in the past, the collective effort was detectable. This group of young people worked together to produce a play, to entertain and amuse us. Their songs were fuelled with energy and fun. They were even a bit catchy so that by the third time they came around you were humming along. As a solid piece of student theatre, Frankenstein fell short of being a professional achievement. So I think the next time I visit the Cochrane Theatre in Holborn, it will be when I’m searching the thin program for the name of the person I had come to see.
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