Thursday, October 15, 2009


Before I am completely distracted by 'when horror breaks one heart all hearts are broken', I confess we've been to Wicked. And for a very good reason - tickets were per kind favour. And it was fun, sort of. The Capitol was full, on last Wednesday night, after an matinee had already played to a full house. There we children of all ages, everywhere, (excursion came to mind) and the grown up ones were sipping electric green drinks. K wanted a green drink but settled for Maltesers.

It was as expected a big showy high production musical (well, there was music), music and lyrics by a Mr Stephen Schwartz (laughing all the way...) packing them in to that gorgeous starry roof of the Capitol.

It starts with a 20 minute lockout (more like a 20 min lockin K quipped). Things did get better. They had to. The goirl with the voice like the blond in "Bullets over Broadway" (think chalk on blackboard) was one witch. The other one was born green. Nice story line - outsider made nasty by intolerance and lack of understanding etc (think Peter Grimes even). Anyway, Maggie Kirkpatrick was fine. Burt Newton was Burt, pinched eyes and always just short of giggling. The cute(ish) guy was cast by Gluteus Maximus. Every one sang, kind of. The microphones and mixing were quite good. The lady band-leader needed a green drink, and then some.

There were lots of witchy things for sale. We went to Chile Cha Cha afterwards.

Last night I caught some on the OA Cosi telecast. By some I mean I missed the beginning and the end. It looked terrific. The camera work was just excellent, even with those up the nostrils close ups, and while we don't see it till next week, and so have no idea how much it reflected what the audience experiences, it really doesn't matter. It's a different medium with a different purpose and it, saying it again, looked gorgeous.

The English was a fine translation, the diction exemplary and it had exactly what Jim Sharman said he wanted to achieve - immediacy and relevance to the audience of the day. After quite a few negatives (friends and luddites), and especially those dreary black and white advertising posters, it came across as luminous and alive and immediate and fresh and dare I say it, very Australian, and by that I mean baggage free, artistically speaking.

Rachelle D sang the hell out of it and kept her arms from flailing around too much. Henry Choo sounded wonderfull. Tiffany Speight was stealing the show. Jose sounded more picky and know-all than wise and masterful. The orchestra under Simon Hewitt kept it moving along, (he'd had a green drink thankfully), and congrats all round.

I do have reservatons about the gushy Ms Byrne, but it was a good start, if a pity it is so late in the season. I am now really looking forward to the real deal, and I was faltering I admit.

Jim Sharman is the genius at work. More please Mr Sharman. Please.

I am nervous about tonight. I haven't felt this way since Joan was around. Something in the air. All things in place.

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