? AS the curtains opened to reveal the luxurious set (which is something to be proud of in itself, considering it was designed and built by the company!), I could not help but wonder which of the gaggle of jolly black polo shirted ushers and raffle attendees had the misfortune to return tonight to a vastly under-furnished lounge and dining room! The mental picture of an over-dedicated KCA player sitting proudly, cross legged, in the middle of an empty front room helped me no end in establishing the mood for laughter. And laughter there was, in abundance. Chapman’s quick and serrated piece of wit concerns a stiff onstage marriage farce suddenly bursting into an equally amusing subplot surrounding the ‘offstage’ drama of a few promiscuous actors suffering from cabin fever on a cramped tour. His unceasing whimsy streamed with ease from the cluster of talented performers. They took a while to warm up, and the character relationships were not entirely enforced to begin with. Nonetheless, all settled most pleasantly into their roles with the entrance in Act II of Shakespeare actor, Edward Frobisher, played magnificently by Jack Snell. His relative ease onstage, and dexterity in revealing the underlying venerability...

? IN Victoria Wood’s 1980’s series As seen on TV, Julie Walters gives a paradoxical note to her cast, who find themselves performing another Shakespearean classic. She says ‘Now I can’t say this often enough. It may be Hamlet, but it’s got to be fun, fun, fun!’ Her sentiments, though misplaced in her case, could have done wonders for this hard-working cast, but it seems for half of them at least, perhaps because of first night nerves, or an unresponsive audience, it fell on deaf ears. Speaking of deaf ears, I found it immensely difficult to maintain an atmosphere of post war social mobility, when a lot of the time I could hardly hear the well-learned and delivered lines for the rustle of the surrounding trees in the wind, or indeed the priory bells, which rang rather distractingly throughout the performance. I will afford them one instance however, when, in the final act, as the priory bells pealed, Falstaff, in a moment that can only be described as theatre magic, burst onto the stage claiming, ‘The Windsor bell hath struck twelve!’ Those who could make themselves heard were a joy to listen to, even though they were pandering to...

? THE tiny little theatre tucked away in Winton was packed to the rather distasteful ceiling tonight for the second performance of Don Cherrett’s realisation of Chris Petz’ 1970’s farce Heir Today…Gone Tomorrow. The set is impressive, as I have come to expect from the Bournemouth Little Theatre Club. On this occasion we were treated to a stunning reconstruction of Billy Nelson’s bachelor flat, complete with hideous upholstery, even more hideous wall hangings and a kitchen stocked to the rafters with instant mash, baked beans, creamed rice and Andrews (whatever that is…) Poised to inherit an enormous fortune from his aunt Ethel, Billy must prove his virtue as a condition of the will. This becomes evermore hilariously difficult with the introduction of two unwelcome, scantily clad party guests, his scheming mother out for the fortune, and a well meaning, if over zealous, police officer. Petz’ comedy satires the prudish public attitude towards sex after the 60‘s, and the double standards his characters employ away from prying eyes and ears. Sex and virginity are spoken about rather a lot but never actually mentioned in a social setting, the closest we get to hearing the v word is when Pat exclaims...

? AFTER a less than fruitful day’s Christmas shopping at Castlepoint I was highly looking forward to this evening’s escapades. Having a local reputation for box office breaking I was sure UK Productions would pull out all the stops for this year’s classic, Jack and the Beanstalk. And certainly a quick glance at the cast list doesn’t disappoint - this year our seaside town has managed to attract a myriad of stars to its blustery shores, including Corrie cameos by Brian Capron and the very impressionable Debra Stephenson. And if I’m not treated to yet another arrangement of the fabled Act I closer ‘Go right to the top!’ by Pavilion panto mainstay Chris Jarvis, who also writes, directs and stars as Silly Billy, I will eat my rather smart new argyle jumper. The sparkly letters on the front cloth could very easily have said ‘Tack and the Beanstalk’, but after a lovely overture including Ray Charles’ ‘Hit the Road Jack’, and couple of Malteasers donated by my chivalrous friends at Town and Village magazine, I knew we were going to be in for the usual evening of home-grown fun. There’s something very unique about pantos in Bournemouth that you...

? ALL seatbelts fastened for P&P's first flying foray into pantomime (if anyone else says 'Oh yes it is!' I shall scream!), a tradition of classic children's tales told with sparkle, slapstick and good, old fashioned tongue in cheek humour. So steeped in history, getting a pantomime like Aladdin right is a lot more difficult than one would hope. A hard task then, for Jane Adams and her creative team, featuring none other than Pavilion panto stalwart James Stead in charge of music, Pat Donovan, and Karl Winson cracking the choreographer's whip. With people like this on your side, you wouldn't think you could go far wrong. After a slight mishap with the tickets and the obligatory briefings from the company's older patrons as to how I should write my review, (maybe I just look incompetent because I'm not waving a bus pass around the place and crying for the sound system to be turned down!) I settled down to what I hoped would be a thoroughly entertaining evening. With any story, the most important part is just that, the story, and in pantomime there is a plethora of unwritten but well-observed rules governing its carriage. Now of course...

? AT the end of the epic two hour event tonight, I couldn’t help but sympathise with the charming man in the seat behind me surreptitiously heavy breathing throughout the performance as he drifted calmly between cognizance and catnap. For although I have definitely seen some truly incredible performances tonight, (I’m talking about you Lotte Fletcher-Jonk!) I can’t shake the knowledge that after two hours, I still have no idea what the title If Dreams were Wishes means, in the context of the play. This can be a common problem for writer/directors. Sometimes the true essence of the piece can become almost completely internalised, alive fully only within the writer’s mind, leaving nothing for an audience to latch on to. In this situation, the message of the play never really leaves the writer, resulting in his actors being unaware of the true intentions behind the story and his audience scrabbling for clues in the dark. The simple fact is, the two hour long play would have been eighty times more effective as a 45 minute explosive drama (thirty minutes could have been shaved off simply by cutting out the painful ‘scene changes’). The writing was overindulgent, and repetitive in...