Yes, Prime Minister: A Review

Review of: Yes, Prime Minister – The Stage Play
(***NB THIS REVIEW CONTAINS VAGUE SPOILERS***)

As so often happens with West End Shows, the desire and good intentions to go and see one is tempered by the cost of both the ticket and, living outside of London, the day out that it entails. Yes, Prime Minister and We Will Rock You fall in the top category of ‘ones I really wish I had gone to see.’ If one waits long enough, however, occasionally, just occasionally, the mountain will come to Mohammad. Or, in this case, the Birmingham Hippodrome. The first of these shows to visit was the stage version of Yes, Prime Minister - the wonderful 1980s sitcom by Antony Jay and Jonathan Lynn, touring after a successful West End run in 2010. Knowing nothing about it, I was interested to see how they managed the change in medium.

Which approach would they take? It’s potentially a hard balance to strike. Do they go for and hour and forty five minutes of traditional Yes, Minister? This would run the risk of leaving the audience with the feeling that yes, they enjoyed it, but might just as well have stayed in and watched the original on DVD. The alternative is that they change it and run the opposite risk, that of the public leaving thinking that what they had seen was not Yes, Minister but just a modern day political satire more in the vein of The Thick Of It. What they gave, ultimately, was a mixture of the two, with mixed success.

The opening gambit, setting the scene of the story at the Prime Ministers' retreat in the country, Chequers, was very much in the vein of the original. Sir Humphrey Appleby (Simon Williams) obfuscating, misdirecting and saying anything but the truth; Jim Hacker (Richard McCabe) frustrated at everyone’s inability to be specific and truthful. Traditional Yes, Minister then, and brilliant with it, in spite of Bernard being played more as a fool than the trodden upon original.

Then a turn. In topic, in tone, in atmosphere.

Now the story becomes in one way a farce, in others a horror, as a visiting delegate for a made-up Eastern European country demands sex with a schoolgirl. Not someone dressed as a schoolgirl, an actual schoolgirl. Some of the audience were I think lost at this point. There were certainly two empty seats on my row after the interval. From this point the situation spiralled out of the control of the characters, and the farcical elements were played out very well, reaching a zenith when Sir Humphrey was illuminated entering the room as if sent from the Gods, backlit with the rest of the stage in darkness. Sir Humphrey was the highlight of the show (which was no surprise at all) as he was most like the character we know and love. Hacker was not like the television Hacker for the most part, more a generic politician raging against the system, but not as put upon and bemused as Paul Eddington was. So when he got one over on Sir Humphrey it didn’t have the same effect on the audience as when Nigel Hawthorne was left speechless and, therefore, was not as funny.

Bernard did raise some laughs, but in more of a foolish manner than in the television series where his genial nature in pointing out the obvious to an increasingly irate Hacker raised the laughs. Here there was lots of face pulling and physical humour, and you never fully felt that he was comfortable in his position. The part of Claire Sutton, a Special Policy Advisor, felt overacted, whereas the role of the Kumranistan Ambassador was subtly played without honing in on the unsavoury aspect of the character. But it was the part of the plot to do with sex with a child that felt awkward, not particularly funny and slightly overpowering. Couple that with a sequence where Hacker prays to God that the situation is resolved, and you find yourself watching a scene that actually engenders a rather uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

All of this borders on a negative review, but overall it was a very enjoyable experience and worth it to see Jay and Lynn pitch themselves to a modern audience. Not that anything has changed of course – watching Yes, Minister now is to see that nothing has changed in thirty years and that politics and politicians will always be the same, whatever the age. Here Sir Humphrey was noticeably Sir Humphrey, Hacker did have plenty of good lines, Bernard was funny in a different way to that which you would expect, and the punch line of Hacker praying was actually very good. So if asked the question would I recommend this stage play, I would, despite the reservations I have expressed, have to reply with a definite ‘Yes, Minister.’

http://www.yesprimeminister.co.uk/

The Mighty Brian Jacques

A mouse is small and can go unnoticed: but there is no limit to what a brave heart and a fearless spirit can achieve.

It’s easy to get carried away when someone well known dies, to over glamourise them. They are, after all, human beings like the rest of us. But sometimes a person dies who has brought so much joy and delight to you, from afar, that it is hard not to be upset. And so, when I read about the death of author Brian Jacques, of a heart attack aged 71, I just sat there, lost for words. So, having had a think, here are some of my words on the works of the man who was a master wordsmith.

There are a select few writers to whom I would attribute my love of reading. Enid Blyton, Franklyn W.Dixon, Terrance Dicks and Willard Price form four of the top five. The fifth was Brian Jacques. Jacques created a world within our own world, one involving not the human race but all the animals in the woods and forests around us. At a very base level they are about the battle of good against evil. The mice, badgers, voles: the heroes. The weasels and foxes: the villains. Sounds simple, but they were written with such love and care that these small animals were as easy to love and cheer for as the Famous Five, the Hardy Boys and Hal and Roger. Martin the Warrior and Matthias are fantastically brave animals, going into battle where they must surely lose. It is David versus Goliath, and sacrifices will be made. The villains have such fantastic names too; Feragho the Assassin, Slagar the Fox. Such tremendous evil is conjured up in those names. There is no middle ground in this world, it is entirely about good versus evil, and as a child they are the most thrilling stories to read.

His novels nourished my love of stories, and his novels are ones that should be read by all children. His works have lasted for twenty five years, and will continue to do so. And if you think that stories of mice, badgers and foxes are absurd and unreal, read Redwall, the first in the series, and then tell me that Basil Stag Hare isn’t one of the greatest literary creations of all time. In fact, I might just go and get it off the shelf now myself.

What is the best sport?

Claims for the greatest sport. 1. Tennis

The graceful arc of the service motion...

Tennis, a bit like cricket, serves well those who like a statistic or two. Who doesn’t like making lists of the two, three and four time Tour de France winners? (Louison Bobet? Well, maybe only me.) But tennis has a lot more. Aces, winners, unforced errors, number of points, where they served - a never ending supply of numbers are thrown at you at the end of a set. But statistics can lie. Looking at information from a set, it is possible to be led entirely down the wrong road. 'It is a capital mistake to theorize without data' says Sherlock Holmes to Doctor Watson. But in tennis you could theorize with the data, and be completely wrong. This is the beauty of the game. The scoring system is such that momentum can shift imperceptibly over the course of just three points. From being in total control, you can find yourself under pressure. In a big game every point is crucial. One error at at an important moment can snowball into a four game losing streak. Confidence, and momentum, are key. One point at a time.

...the elegance of the single handed backhand...

Tennis can be a beautiful sport to watch. When two players of equal stature are playing out 40 shot rallies it is breathtaking to see. Who will crack first and dump an attempted drop shot into the bottom of the net? Or will a backhand down the line of such ferocity that the opponent is left standing appear out of nowhere? (In the case of Novak Djokovic at the recent Australian Open, frequently). Even when it’s not dramatic with flair coming out of its ears, a good scrap (such as Andy Murray against David Ferrer in the Australian Open semi-final) it is compelling.

...the delicacy of the volley...

Power, the argument went, is ruining tennis. The carbon fibre rackets create too much power and the skill of the game is taken away. Bring back the wooden racket! Power can win you rallies, undoubtedly, but sometimes it isn’t enough. If the player opposite you is doing a decent impression of a wall, then you need guile and cunning to defeat them; in this ability to come to the net is crucial. And then the ability to place a volley deep or just over the net - it’s not as easy as it looks (I know, I’ve tried). In my era Edberg, Stich, Becker, Sampras, Rafter, and yes even Henman - all great exponents of serve and volley. Watch now and the top players in the game all have the ability to come to the net and put away points. I wish I could. There is nothing quite like slapping away a volley after a great first serve. Short, sharp and delightful to watch.

...the scuttle of the ball boys and ball girls...

Well, you don’t get this down the local tennis club. Though they are a damn site more effective than ball boys in football and, sometimes, rugby. Whether they have ball boys in hockey I don’t know.

...the smell of a fresh ball...

“New balls, please.” Every seven games the set of balls are replaced and new ones come into play. Professionals who can bring out a new, freshly strung racket every time the balls change. Gives them that extra power. I play with four year old balls that barely bounce. But it doesn’t matter.

...strawberries and cream...

Well, not so much the strawberries and cream as the general experience of going to watch tennis live. To see players performing at a top level in front of you (on outside courts at majors, often as close as 10 feet) is to see craftsmen at work. To walk around Wimbledon is to walk around a dream. On the TV, yes, all well and good, but to be there and experience the atmosphere, to stand by the statue of the great Fred Perry. When visiting Melbourne I went on a tour of the Australian Open venue, though you could walk around the grounds happily. Inside the Rod Laver Arena, it is easy to imagine the roar of the crowd, the grunt of the players, all happening where you are standing. Having been there makes watching it on the television a far more enjoyable experience - shut your eyes and you are there.

...the random nature of the top of the net...

Everyone can pick up a racket and play. Well, in theory, not so much in this country. No free, municipal courts you see. But that’s another piece entirely. Anyone can play, and it doesn’t matter how good you are, there will always be someone of a similar level. It’s no fun having rings run round you on a football pitch, or in inspecting the bruises after getting hit 6 times in a row by a fast bowler who takes out the possibility of getting runs by bowling balls that you can’t actually see before they hit you. And there is the joy of either teaching someone something or being taught something yourself.

Above all, it is the players themselves that make this the greatest game. The current world leaders - Federer, Nadal, Roddick at al - will at a moments notice organise fundraising events to raise money for natural disasters such as the Haiti earthquake and the Queensland flooding. They are sporting, any frustration is for the most part turned against themselves, not the officials, and always appreciate the watching public. They’ll even give considered, un-cliched answers (usually not in their mother tongue) while being interviewed live on court after three hours of high concentration and action. You don’t get that in football.

Colditz - Series 2 review

COLDITZ: SERIES 2

“It was a terrible time, it really was.” Major Pat Reid, Colditz escapee.

“You know, I’ve been here since 1940. In all that time all I’ve learnt is how to be a prisoner of war” Flight Lieutenant Simon Carter, Episode 12.

Humanity is at the heart of Colditz. Yes, it is about the war. Yes, it is about life inside a prisoner of war camp. Ultimately, however, it is about human beings and how they cope with situations out of their control, and how they deal with war.

The introduction, in the opening episode of Series 2, of Major Horst Mohn (Anthony Valentine) adds a touch of nastiness to the proceedings. This is not a pleasant man, and a direct contrast to the Kommandant who does what he can to make the lives of the prisoners at the very least bearable. Mohn goes out of his way to make life difficult and unpleasant for the prisoners, and is quite brutal - he watches on silently as three British Commandos are gunned down, he is a stickler for the rules and a lover of the Fuhrer, his office displaying a large picture of Hitler and a smaller one of him meeting the Nazi leader. Throughout he is a human being of the type that neither you or I would relish knowing. Yet, in showing him leave the castle and go the local public house, uniform hidden, we see that underneath the nasty exterior he is as human as the next man. Scenes with his woman at the pub show a side to him that we haven’t seen before. His exit displays a man scared at the possibility of what will happen to him if the Germans lose control of the castle; he begins small talk with Carter, discussing ‘the Aston Villa’ and attempts to get the British to sign to say that he always treated them fairly. This Carter takes glee in twisting, signing something to the opposite effect. The final straw, which causes Mohn to flee the castle, comes during a meeting with Colonel Preston, in which Mohn seeks his support. A stand-up and cheer moment comes, as Jack Hedley, after a suitably dramatic pause, informs the German that ‘as one member of your international fascist elite, I will give three resounding cheers to see you roast in hell.’ A fitting riposte, and one which leaves Anthony Valentine’s Mohn speechless. It is down to Valentine that Mohn is such a figure of hate - an inspired performance, his presence raises the stakes for the prisoners as well as his superior the Kommandant and security guard Hauptmann Ulmann. What he adds to the drama is a real Nazi threat, one that was less obvious in Series 1, a threat that makes the prisoners think twice about any action they might be considering. Given the way he treated people, it was only fair that they rejected his advances for a personal rapprochement.

It is of note, as mentioned before, that, apart from the aforementioned Mohn, the other German characters are portrayed as people with doubts, not about their duty but about their government. Bernard Hepton’s Kommandant more and more questions the Fuhrer, but feels unable to take any action that would directly contradict an order. Until the end. With the castle under threat, he takes it upon himself to disobey an order from above, and is complicit in the British takeover of the castle. Such depth is given to him over the series that when he receives news of the death of his son on the front, aged 24, and has to break it to his wife, it is almost unbearable to watch. As he wanders in to bedroom and undertakes small talk with his wife, it is so mundane, so irrelevant in it’s build up that when he finally tells her it is impossible not to shed a tear, equally as affecting as when Colonel Preston received news of the death of his wife. Expertly written, tenderly performed by Bernard Hepton, the Kommandant plays a crucial role in the drama.

Great performances all round - Hans Meyer, David McCallum, Jack Hedley, Jeremy Kemp, Paul Heffer and the triumphant (in an acting sense) return of Robert Wagner, these are real people that we are watching, transcending the words on the page of the script.

Beautifully written, performed and directed, Colditz creates a world with such distinctness that as the episodes pass you start feeling claustrophobic yourself, such are the feelings engendered by the ongoing exploits of these characters. It’s a world you are happy to immerse yourself in, and it is most definitely a series that I shall be revisiting. I can’t say much more, other than to urge anyone to watch it. It teaches us of life in a different time, and of life during wartime, real wartime on your doorstep. But it also teaches us that even in war, not everything is black and white, good versus evil. There are shades of grey. Which doesn’t make the death that war brings any easier to stomach.

Lest any of this be seen to be glamourising the whole affair, let us remember that this was all based on real events, on real people who experienced such a horrendous time. I think the final word should go to Major Pat Reid, on whose experience the series was based, and who was one of just 12 British officers to successfully escape Colditz and make it home:

‘It was a terrible time, it really was. I had to go on escaping. My sanity depended on it. And by luck I succeeded.’

Here’s to all the British forces - past, present and future.