LOCARNO FILM REVIEW: ‘The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes’

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By Ray Bennett

LOCARNO, Switzerland – “The Piano Tuner of Earthquakes,” directed by the Quay Brothers, is a finely crafted horror film with a devious storyline and hauntingly beautiful production design that together are the stuff of nightmares.

Integrating puppetry, animation and live action, the film has echoes of “Phantom of the Opera” and Jules Verne’s subterranean adventures, and with Terry Gilliam’s name on the credits as executive producer it should attract those with a taste for something more than slightly twisted.

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As the film opens, opera star Malvina (Amira Casar), who is about to marry her beloved Adolfo (Cesar Sarachu), collapses dead during a performance and her body is whisked away by the mysterious Dr. Droz (Gottfried John pictured with Casar) to his villa on a remote island. There, in a baroque grotto, he brings Malvina back to life.

The piano tuner of the title, Felisberto (also Cesar Sarachu) arrives at the decaying Villa Azucena to find there are no pianos to tune. A drippingly carnal housekeeper named Assumpta (Assumpta Serna, pictured with Sarachu below) shows him a mural in which he is depicted with her on the island. It has a crack across it like the jagged scar of a fault line.

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Droz explains that Felisberto is to tune seven automata that he has built on the grounds of the villa so that on the night of an upcoming lunar eclipse he may use them in a masterpiece that features Malvina to give him vengeance on the opera world that has rejected him.

The automata are machines that play music with encased figures that move repeatedly, such as a woodsman who cuts his leg while chopping a tree and bleeds into a pond over and over again.

piano tuner 3 x325They are moist and have small cogs and intricate flywheels, complex gears and tiny bells with moving parts, perhaps teeth, that appear vaguely to have been once human. The impression is of stagnant water dripping on the filigreed entrails of a clock with a fungus of spores that leak over remnants of teeth and bone and mucous membrane.

Droz pushes Felisberto/Adolfo to complete his work while the piano tuner seeks a way to flee with Malvina before they are captured forever. The film is about vanity and pride, and the caging of beauty. Its elaborate fabrication has an intoxicating quality that captures the imagination like all good horror stories.

Venue: Locarno International Film Festival, In Competition; Cast: Amira Casar, Cesar Sarachu, Gottfried John, Assumpta Serna; Directors: Stephen and Timothy Quay; Writers: Alan Passes, Stephen and Timothy Quay; Director of photography: Nic Knowland; Production designers: Stephen and Timothy Quay; Music: Christopher Slaski; Costume designer: Kandis Cook; Editor: Simon Laurie; Producers: Keith Griffiths, Hengameh Panahi, Alexander Ris; Executive producers: Terry Gilliam, Paul Trijbts; Production: Arte; Koninck Studios; Lumen Films; Mediopolis Film- und Fernsehproduktion; Zweites Deutsches Fernsehen (ZDF); Arte France Cinéma; Not rated; running time, 99 minutes.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: ‘Theatre of Blood’ at the National

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – The very camp but wickedly amusing 1973 film “Theatre of Blood”, which starred Vincent Price as a bad Shakespearean actor who murders his critics using devices employed in the Bard’s plays, has been adapted by Lee Simpson and Phelim McDermott into a hugel entertaining night of Grand Guignol at the National Theatre.

Oscar-winner Jim Broadbent (“Iris”) has a rare old time as Edward Lionheart, an interpretor of Shakespeare’s works in not so much flamboyant as over-the-top productions that have been slaughtered rigorously by the critics on England’s daily newspapers.

Having joined the land of the completely bewildered, Lionheart contrives to invite his most insulting critics to an evening at a grand old abandoned theatre where he plans, Agatha Christie-like, to do them in one by one.

theatre of blood x325Key to enjoyment of director McDermott’s long but highly energetic production is to have a taste for not only a thesaurus of Shakespear quotes but also illusons in their most bloody and theatrical form.

The murders are drawn from such gruesome events as the multiple stabbing of Caesar in “Antony and Cleopatra”, Shylock’s pound of flesh in “The Merchant of Venice”, and the drowning of Clarence in a vat of wine in “Richard III”. When Lionheart mentions “Titus Andronicus”, the scalp tingles.

Illusionist Paul Kieve stages the murders in quite extraordinary fashion. They are as utterly convincing as they are hilariously horrific with blood flying and bodies crushed and the set on fire.

Designer Rae Smith’s marvelous set creates at atmosphere filled with the ghosts of egos past and echoes of vaunted ambition and defeated hopes.

The ensemble of reviewers is rich with observant peformances and Mark Lockyer, as the man from The Times, makes an heroic stab at giving critics a good name. Rachael Stirling (pictured with Broadbent) is engaging, too, as Lionheart’s daughter, who appears to recognise than her father has descended into a form of madness that is positively Shakespearean. It’s an interesting piece of casting as Stirling is the daughter of Diana Rigg, who played Price’s daughter in the film.

It is left to Broadbent to hold the enterprise together, which he does with an inspired comprehension of how to stop Lionheart’s outrageous exaggerations just short of buffoonery to make him somehow both hilarious and oddly touching.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through Sept. 10; Cast: Jim Broadbent, Rachael Stirling, Mark Lockyer, Paul Bentall, Betty Bourne, Hayley Carmichael, Sally Dexter, Steve Steen, Tim McMullen; Playwrights: Lee Simpson, Phelim McDermott, based oon the MGM, Sam Jaffe-Harbor Prods. film, screenplay by Anthony Greville-Bell from an idea by Stanley Mann and John Kohn; Director: Phelim McDermott; Associate director: Lee Simpson; Lighting designer: Colin Grenfell; Music: Jody Talbot; Illusionist: Paul Kieve; Fight director: Terry King; Sound designer: Gareth Fry.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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Terror in London: From joy to agony in a single day

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – It’s no great surprise in London when your local Underground station is closed. It’s a creaky old system and there’s never enough money, so you shrug and start walking. But on Thursday morning, Notting Hill Gate station was chained up and the guards were grim. “There’s been an explosion at Liverpool Street,” one said. “They think there might be more.”

There were. Four in all, killing 38.

On Wednesday, Trafalgar Square was giddy with people cheering and champagne corks popping as the news came through that the city had won the 2012 Olympic Games.

On Thursday, all you could hear were the sirens of police cars, ambulances and emergency vehicles. Most of London had gone to work as usual, even though it meant walking most of the way as first the Underground and then the buses stopped running.

I thought I’d be clever and take a circuitous bus route from Notting Hill to my office in the West End. It dumped us all off a long way short on Kensington Gore so I walked through Hyde Park to Piccadilly.

It seemed like business as usual except for the increase in sirens.

The news got worse as the day went on, but I work for a daily paper so we hit the phones and e-mail and filed our stories as most of the city began to empty.

By late afternoon, there was an eerie quiet in central London. All the West End theatres were closed Thursday and concerts by bands such as REM, Queen, Blue and Queens of the Stone Age were postponed.

At lunch in the Lamb & Flag, one of the venerable old pubs in Covent Garden, the woman serving the roast beef was consoling a family of Americans whose theatre date had been cancelled. “No rush, dear, we don’t close until 11,” she said.

With cellphone networks intermittent due to security requirements and land lines also affected, e-mails were zipping to worried loved ones and friends.

I was in Los Angeles at the time of the 1994 earthquake and it was extraordinary afterward how people were so solicitous toward each other. London was like that Thursday.

The thing with earthquakes is that you’re never quite sure if it’s really the big one. You always wait for aftershocks and that’s also true of London now. With the G8 conference in Edinburgh ongoing, there’s always the fear of worse to come.

Last Saturday, I spent 13 hours in Hyde Park at the Live8 concert, the most extraordinary musical event I’ve ever covered. It ended at midnight and with local transport closed down, many of the 200,000 people there walked home.

Tens of thousands of us walked in the dark past the Serpentine and up to Lancaster Gate, spilling onto the Bayswater Road where police officers made sure we could stroll home peacefully.

On Thursday, my walk through the lovely park had a different air. It took the old-timer selling the evening newspaper to shake me out of it.

“Never mind this lot, mate,” he said. “London’s been bombed by experts.”

(Ray Bennett is the European arts critic and a staff writer, based in London, for The Hollywood Reporter, the entertainment trade newspaper published in Los Angeles. He was a reporter and columnist at The Windsor Star from 1969 to 1977.)

This story appeared in The Windsor Star on Friday July 8, 2005.

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MUSIC REVIEW: ‘Live 8’ in Hyde Park

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – If you want to end wars and stuff, you’ve gotta sing loud, Arlo Guthrie always said, and several of the finest and best-loved performers around sang loud and well at London’s Live 8 concert on Saturday (July 2) to try to bring an end to poverty.

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The free 10-hour show before 200,000 fans in Hyde Park might not succeed in putting a stop to early death in Africa but at least the world leaders meeting at the G8 conference in Edinburgh this week, who could do something about it, cannot say they weren’t told.

The marathon concert was billed as the greatest rock show ever, and it came close with an emotional richness infused with the incomprehensible but correctible tragedy that is today’s Africa. Politicians and economists would have to be completely tone-deaf to miss the point.

The event was a masterful display of technical organization as 26 acts performed mostly 15-minute sets and it appeared to be the demands of international television feeds that caused the show to over-run by more than two hours.

Memorable moments came thick and fast featuring a splendidly reunited Pink Floyd (below), the fighting-fit remains of the Who, a top-notch REM, a surprisingly moving Dido with Youssou N’Dour, a knock-’em-dead number by the Killers, and Paul McCartney in world class form.

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Playing together for the first time since 1981, Pink Floyd’s bassist Roger Waters, lead David Gilmour, drummer Nick Mason and keyboardist Rick Wright looked right at home. They made shimmering deliveries of “Breathe,” “Money,” “Wish You Were Here” and “Comfortably Numb,” even if Gilmour had said earlier that performing with Waters after their long falling out was “like sleeping with the ex-wife.”

Live 8 London - StagePete Townshend and Roger Daltry powered out “Who Are You?” now more famous as the theme from TV’s “CSI,” and an extended and quite glorious “Won’t Get Fooled Again.” Young American band the Killers with lead singer Brandon Flowers (left), dressed in white suits, did just one number, “All These Things That I’ve Done,” but it was a dazzling success and they might be the breakout stars of the show.

McCartney began and ended the day, closing with smashing versions of “Get Back,” “Drive My Car” (with surprise guest George Michael), and “Helter Skelter.” Then, at the piano, he sang “Long and Winding Road,” leading into the chant from “Hey Jude,” joined by most of the day’s performers and the vast crowd.

McCartney and Bono (below) had started things off with a rousing version of “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” largely because the opening line “It was 20 years ago today … ” evoked memories of the 1985 Live Aid charity show.

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Ex-Boomtown Rat, Bob Geldof, who was the key organizer of that fundraiser and of Live 8, presided over the Hyde Park concert and even snuck in a crisp rendition of his hit “I Don’t Like Mondays.”

U2 and Elton John, each in good form, played early sets so they could rush off to concerts elsewhere. In the first of several examples of amending lyrics to fit the occasion, Bono featured in the song “Beautiful Day” all the cities where concerts were being held and it had the crowd immediately joining in.

Coldplay came on with their slow dirges and Richard Ashcroft joined them for more self-pity in his song “Bittersweet Symphony.” Current English pop bad-boy Pete Doherty joined Elton John for a middling treatment of Marc Bolan’s “Children of the Revolution.”

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Somewhat surprisingly, it took the mellow-voiced Dido (above) to engage the crowd fully as her “White Flag” revealed some steely strength in the lyric – “I will go down with this ship” – that the vast numbers in the park took up in great volume. They got louder still as Senegal artist Youssou N’Dour joined Dido on her “Thank You” and his “Seven Seconds.”

Welsh band the Stereophonics cranked up the volume with some impressively raucous rock and REM took proceedings to another level with their expert mix of precision and showmanship. Blue-masked Michael Stipe bathed in the audience’s rapturous and noisy response to “Everybody Hurts” and “Man on the Moon.”

Later, Annie Lennox included a vivid “Sweet Dreams” in her set and Snoop Dog increased the profanity quotient with some typical rap. Joss Stone and the Scissor Sisters made crowd-pleasing appearances as did Sting and Velvet Revolver.

Keane, Ms. Dynamite, Travis, UB40, Razorlight and Snow Patrol waved the British flag along with Robbie Williams who once again demonstrated his mysterious grip on British fans with a self-indulgent set of monotonous songs that had the crowd howling for more.

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Madonna and Mariah Carey were each over the top, as you might expect, with mechanical movements and syrupy gushing over the Africans who joined them on stage. It’s churlish to complain, however, on a day that might not have changed the world but certainly will be remembered by all who were there. McCartney returned to the piano for the inevitable crowd-pleasing singalong closer, “Hey Jude”.

Clouds had threatened rain all afternoon but they cleared to allow a beautiful sunset over the mass of humanity in Hyde Park and it remained dry until after midnight as, with public transport closed, the 200,000 made their way home along the surprisingly harmonious streets of London.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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CANNES FILM REVIEW: Matt Dillon in ‘Factotum’

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By Ray Bennett

CANNES – To get the famously sozzled street poet Charles Bukowski right on screen takes an appreciation of the man’s taste for friends in low places and a keen avoidance of over-indulgence in his fondness for blowhard wino wisdom.

Bent Hamer mostly gets it right in “Factotum,” a sweetly observed character study of a thoughtful man with a hair-trigger knack for irritating others and few illusions about where his appetite for cheap booze, easy women and the gutter will lead him.

Matt Dillon is pitch-perfect as Bukowski’s alter ego Hank Chinaski, a down-and-outer who put in two years at journalism school but now drifts from one low-paying manual job to another. His life is mostly beer at noon, whisky at night and vomit in the morning. Dillon captures both the body language of a committed drinker and the laconic speech patterns that derive from deliberate thinking and a desire to articulate carefully.

Chinaski is a writer, although he says he’s not ready for a novel yet. But he finishes three or four short stories a week and mails them off to magazines.

Bereft of society’s usual notion of ambition, he’s not above applying for a job as a cab driver even though he has on his record 18 drunk and disorderly charges and two for drunk driving.

Hank is soon fired from every job he takes, usually because if he’s told he cannot smoke that’s the first thing he does. He also has a tendency to drift away for a drink in the middle of the day. These episodes are told with tolerant affection and warm humor. In one instance, he’s assigned to deliver bags of ice to local bars. He doesn’t make it past the first one, forgetting to close to the truck’s freezer door as he quenches his thirst.

Hank is an easy man to talk to, so strangers warm up to him whether it’s in a bar or at a job center, and offer him their own take on life. “I’ve probably slept longer than you’ve lived,” an old-timer tells him.

Women come along easily too and his encounters with Jan (Lily Taylor) and Laura (Marisa Tomei, pictured with Dillon) take up much of the film as they lead him to their very different environments, one rich, one poor. The common thread is always booze. Both actresses play their roles with insight and understanding and these encounters also are underpinned with subtle wit.

Hank also has a brief period of prosperity as he hooks up with a guy named Manny (Fisher Stevens) to play bookmaker for some sad-sack fellow workers at a bicycle parts supply center.

Minneapolis-St. Paul provides a fresh, if not always beautiful, backdrop to Hank’s story, which is told with engaging languor. The picture has a fine malted look to it.

Bukowski’s observations about love and life are related in a voice-over delivered by Dillon in a whisky-soaked voice that catches the essential humor and goodwill of the man. The movie doesn’t particularly go anywhere but that’s the point.

Venue: Festival de Cannes, Directors’ Fortnight; Cast: Matt Dillon; Lily Taylor; Marisa Tomei; Fisher Stevens; Didier Flamand; Adrienne Shelly; Karen Young; Tom Lyons; Director: Bent Hamer; Writers and producers: Bent Hamer & Jim Stark; Director of photography: John Christian Rosenlund; Production designer: Eve Cauley Turner; Music: Kristin Asbjornsen; Editor: Pal Gengenbach; Executive producer: Christine Kunewa Walker; Not rated; running time, 93 minutes.

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THEATRE REVIEW: ‘Billy Elliot: The Musical’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Take a clever little film with a universal story, add melodies by a master tunesmith and then find the most brilliant boys and girls who can sing and dance up a storm and you have “Billy Elliot: The Musical,” the most irresistible show in ages.

Packaged by the film company Working Title and using the creative talent from the movie including screenwriter Lee Hall, choreographer Peter Darling, and director Stephen Daldry, the show also boasts music by Elton John.

With a cast drawn seemingly from the collieries of England’s County Durham and a group of youngsters who exhilarate in extraordinarily well-crafted scenes, the show is a guaranteed crowd-pleaser.

Three lads have been cast in the title role and they rotate performances along with the other children in the large cast. James Lomas (pictured above who alternates with George Maguire and Liam Mower, pictured below) proves entirely captivating as the boy whose interest in becoming a dancer is entirely at odds with the tough mining community in which he lives.

Following the story of the film, his family and neighbors mock Billy, not least because mining is the local tradition but also because this is 1984 and British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher is waging war against the miners’ union.

The period is convincingly evoked in Ian MacNeil’s sumptuous production design that includes video screens and large moving sets. Hall’s book is sturdy and his lyrics move the story along smartly. John’s melodies, too, while entirely agreeable are designed to serve the production rather than aiming to become pop hits.

As Billy is secretly tutored by local dance teacher Mrs. Wilkinson (Haydn Gwynne) and is encouraged to apply to the Royal Ballet School, the harsh existence of the striking miners is never far from sight.

Sequences involving choruses of miners fighting riot police add enormous power to a fairly simple story of a boy who wants to dance. The village scenes also convey the invaluable sense of community that existed in mining communities and that actually give Billy the grit to pursue his dream.

Director Daldry has put together a sterling cast of grownups including Tim Healy as Billy’s gruff dad and Joe Caffrey as his embittered brother Tony. Ann Emery, as Billy’s grandma, also does a splendid turn singing a lively lament for a life wasted with the wrong man.

In the end, it’s the youngsters who make the show such a success. They are all good, and Lomas is simply brilliant as Billy while Ashley Lloyd is funny and affecting as his gay friend Michael.

“Billy Elliot” will run and run for as long as there are talented boys to fill their extraordinary dancing shoes on stage.

Billy Boys Named

Venue: Victoria Palace Theatre, London; Credits: Music: Elton John; Book and lyrics: Lee Hall; Director: Stephen Daldry; Producers: Tim Bevan, Eric Fellner, Jon Finn, Sally Greene; Executive producers: David Furnish, Angela Morrison, Colin Ingram; Choreography: Peter Darling; Set designer: Ian MacNeil; Costumes: Nicky Gillibrand; Lighting: Rick Fisher; Sound: Paul Arditti. Cast: Billy: James Lomas, George Maguire, Liam Mower; Mrs. Wilkinson: Hadyn Gwynne; Dad: Tim Healy; Tony: Joe Caffrey; Grandma: Ann Emery; George: Trevor Fox; Mr. Braithwaite: Steve Elias; Dead mum: Stephanie Putson; Billy’s older self: Isaac James; Michael: Brad Kavanagh, Ashley Lloyd, Ryan Longbottom; Debbie: Brooke Havana Bailey; Emma Hudson, Lucy Stephenson.

Photos: Top by David Scheinmann, bottom by Alan Davidson

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THEATRE REVIEW: ‘Henry IV Part 1 and Part 2’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Nicholas Hytner’s immaculate National Theatre production of William Shakespeare’s “Henry IV, Part 1” is so vibrant and enthralling that it cries out to finally be made as a movie. Michael Gambon as Falstaff (above) and Matthew Macfadyen as Prince Hal (below) lead a splendid cast.

One of Shakespeare’s best-constructed works, it has been filmed only for television – in 1979 as part of an anthology – and used as source material for Orson Welles’s excellent 1965 feature “Chimes at Midnight”.

Hytner directs the play with dash and vigour and drives it with great bursts of humour, riveting monologues and exciting fight sequences. Wonderfully entertainng, it is both visually thrilling and powerfully moving.

The National has staged it in conjunction with the more sombrely dramatic “Henry IV, Part 2”, and the two plays make up six hours of the most persuasive argument that Shakespeare is as relevant today as ever.

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Having dispatched with Richard III, Henry IV (David Bradley, below) is determined to rule as a compassionate king but he must deal first with the warring factions that have helped put him on the throne.

Among these is the volatile Harry Percy, known as Hostpur (David Harewood), who is prepared to lead a rebellion from the north. The king’s son, Henry, the Prince of Wales (Matthew MacFadyen, top picture centre with Adrian Scarborough and Michael Gambon), also complicates the king’s life. He later will become the valiant Henry V but at the moment he leads a dissolute life in the company of the fat and corrupt gourmand Sir John Falstaff (Michael Gambon).

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Over the course of the two plays, Prince Hal, as Falstaff alone calls him, will throw off his wastrel ways and emerge as a ruthless leader. Shakespeare tracks the course of Hal’s growth brilliantly through his fierce rivalry with Hotspur and the transfer of influence as a father figure from Falstaff to his real father, Henry IV.

Hytner employs Mark Thompson’s superbly spare set and Neil Aistin’s sharply specific lighting to terrific cinematic effect, filling the frame as would a filmmaker.

Terry King’s fight direction is so accomplished and the actors so fit and eager that the onstage action is wholly convincing in its rough and tumble, and at times times it appears to be with deadly intent.

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The large cast is uniformly fine with Macfadyen, as Hal, adept at both the fiery wit to match Gambon’s Falstaff and in the emergence of a man with a powerful backbone. Harewood commands the stage as Hotspur and makes the king’s early wish that his son were more like fully understandable.

Bradley (pictured above with MacFadyen) embodies the nobility and fragility of a king who confesses that uneasy lies the head of he who wears the crown. In “Part 2” especially, Bradley’s long speeches are spellbinding, and Gambon delivers a wise and insightful portrayal of the cowardly Falstaff, crackling in his comedy and deeply moving in his ultimate rejection.

Anyone who thinks Shakespeare is boring should see these two shows.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through Aug. 3; Cast: Michael Gambon, Matthew Macfadyen, David Bradley, David Harewood, John Wood, Adrian Scarborough, Samuel Roukin, Naomi Frederick, Susan Brown, Eve Myles; Playwright: William Shakespeare; Director: Nicholas Hytner; Set designer: Mark Thompson, Lighting designer: Neil Austin; Music, soundscore: Max Ringham, Ben Ringham Andrew Rutland; Fight director: Terry King; Sound designer: Paul Groothius.

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MUSIC REVIEW: Cream reunion at the Royal Albert Hall

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON  A little more than 36 years after Cream’s last appearance, the rock world’s first supergroup returned to a rapturous welcome on the same stage at the Royal Albert Hall.

Like most of the audience, drummer Ginger Baker, bassist Jack Bruce and lead guitarist Eric Clapton were all grey hair, loose shirts and sneakers. The music, too, while still blues-based and often soaring, had an air of refinement, performed by musicians who are masters of their craft but now lack the rowdy adventure of their youth.

“Thanks for waiting all these years,” Clapton told the audience. “We’ll do everything we know, although we didn’t go on very long.”

Little more than two years, in fact, but they sold 35 million albums and influenced every band that ever aspired to fill a stadium. Kicking off Monday with “I’m So Glad,” it was soon evident that while they had one of the great reputations for internecine warfare, the threesome had actually rehearsed.

“Spoonful” and “Outside Woman Blues,” and 15 more numbers tended to support Bruce’s oft-stated belief that their songs were only there to “hang the music on” and that Cream are really about improvised solos.

Bruce, who has had a liver transplant, appeared the most battered of the trio but also the most invigorated. His bass playing was tight and focused and for a singer whose younger voice often went flat when playing live, he stayed in key and lent full-throated power to the vocals. Bruce took up his harmonica on “Rollin’ and Tumblin'” and his vocals shone especially on “Born Under a Bad Sign” and “Politician.”

Baker, whose limbs are not the most agile these days, managed the percussion like a piston-engine with poetry, driving the fast numbers and snapping the slower strides with panache. He even kept his “Toad” solo to a manageable and engaging five minutes or so.

Clapton, whose solo career has kept him at the top of his game, can still occupy spaces with his guitar that most players can only imagine. With seemingly effortless grace his solos informed such numbers as “Sweet Wine,” “Stormy Monday,” “Crossroads” and “White Room.”

Over two hours, the captivated audience was on its feet for every song with bursts of applause for each solo and sustained appreciation for the closing “Sunshine of Your Love.” Perhaps only the august atmosphere of the gorgeous Royal Albert Hall prevented dancing in the aisles.

Although perhaps it was just that nobody on or off stage appeared to be stoned. For those who saw Cream in the ’60s it was a little bit like the T.S. Elliott poem about arriving back where you started and knowing the place for the first time. What do you know? Cream really were great.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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MUSIC REVIEW: Queen + Paul Rodgers

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – The ka-ching of the cash register sounded loudly as glam-rockers Queen kicked off their first major tour since 1991 on March 28 at the Brixton Academy as Paul Rodgers stepped in for their flamboyant frontman, the late Freddie Mercury.

Only fans registered with the Queen website were allowed access to the $100 tickets and the band’s two original members onstage, guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor catered to them with due deference. The audience responded with noisy approval throughout the two-and-a-half hour show.

There’s no doubting the band’s enduring popularity although Mercury’s music was an acquired taste. For those who never acquired it, he had a tendency to sound like an overwrought ingénue from a Gilbert and Sullivan light opera. But he could put on a show.

Rodgers, who found success with the bands Free and Bad Company, has a technically perfect rock ‘n’ roll voice with all the range and power you could want but it’s not at all memorable. His flamboyance extends only to throwing the microphone about.

For the uninitiated, Queen’s operatic rock music sounds a bit like 10cc’s but without the wit and musicality. As May took centre stage in white shirt and sneakers, Rodgers plowed through songs such as “Break Free” and “Fat Bottom Girls,” and “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” to the immense delight of the audience despite their banality.

So pleased was the crowd, in fact, that Rodgers didn’t really need to be there as they sang all the songs as one voice, filling the old hall with a really quite splendid chorus. They were silent only when May played a long and expert but quite tedious solo.

For some Queen favorites, such as “Radio Ga Ga”, “I’m in Love With My Car”, “Can’t Get Enough” and “I Want it All”, Taylor and May took over the vocal chores. They declined the challenge of performing “Bohemian Rhapsody” entirely and opted instead for a video of Mercury doing the number. The crowd roared its approval.

Rodgers returned for his own big number, “All Right Now”, which also went down well and the evening ended with Queen’s stadium anthems “We Will Rock You” and “We Are the Champions”.

It’s not Rodgers’ fault but Queen without Mercury is like the Crickets without Buddy Holly, the Doors without Jim Morrison or the Smiths without Morrissey. This tour takes in more than 30 concerts in eight European countries and if every audience is as loyal and demonstrative as the one at the Brixton Academy that won’t matter at all.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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Abbey Road Studios opens to public for first time

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Abbey Road recording studios, where the Beatles made almost all of their music, attracts around 100,000 fans each year but they couldn’t go in. Until now.

They come from across the world to worship at the place where it all began. They photograph the famous pedestrian crossing outside and most of them write their name on the walls. For 16 days through April 3, Abbey Road will open its doors to the public for the first time since it started in 1931.

To celebrate 25 years of movie scoring, begun when John Williams led the London Symphony Orchestra through his soundtrack to “Raiders of the Lost Ark”, Abbey Road is having its own film festival.

Only movies whose music was recorded at Abbey Road are featured, starting inevitably with the Beatles’ own “A Hard Day’s Night” and finishing with “A Yellow Submarine”.

The immense Studio One, which can accommodate a full 120-piece orchestra, has been converted into a cinema with 350 seats and the smaller Studio Two contains an evocative exhibition of photographs of the many stars who recorded there from Bing Crosby to Fred Astaire to Bette Davis, and naturally the Beatles.

Abbey Road film fest 2 Gabriel Yared, Anthony Minghella

David Holley, managing director of the EMI Studios Group, which owns Abbey Road, says that to let in the public was overdue: “We think 100,000 people annually write their names on the walls outside. We clean them off every few weeks. It’s a tradition we like, however. It started in 1980 when John Lennon died. Many people congregated outside and an engineer played ‘Imagine’ out the window.”

Most of the 100,000 try to enter the studios and Holley says the receptionist has found a thousand ways to say no: “But we thought, with the 25th anniversary of our first film score recording, that we would celebrate by letting people see where all that great music was made.”

Empty of all instruments and equipment, Studio Two is just four walls and parquet flooring, but that doesn’t stop big-time Hollywood producers from getting down on all fours to kiss the floor, according to Holley.

Director Anthony Minghella is not immune. He and his musical collaborator Gabriel Yared (pictured above, left, with Minghella, right) conducted a masterclass in film scoring on Friday to kick off the Abbey Road festival. They each have an Oscar for “The English Patient”, one of the films to be screened.

They also wrote and recorded a song for “Cold Mountain” in the sacred Studio Two, and Minghella said, “James Taylor recorded it but at the last minute we decided it didn’t work for the film, and we cut it. It’s now only in the ether,but at least we know we had our Abbey Road experience.”

This story appeared in The Hollywood Reporter

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