THEATRE REVIEW: Aaron Sorkin’s ‘A Few Good Men’

"A Few Good Men" Press Photocall

By Ray Bennett

LONDON – “The West Wing” creator Aaron Sorkin’s entertaining courtroom drama “A Few Good Men” survives the journey from its Cold War roots in David Esbjornson’s production but it cannot escape the shadow of the star power in Rob Reiner’s 1992 film version.

Jack Nicholson knows an Oscar-contending line of dialogue when he sees one and when the Marine commander he portrays in the movie snarls the famous phrase of denial, “You can’t handle the truth”, it takes an actor of Tom Cruise’s extraordinary energy to face him down.

The London production offers Rob Lowe (pictured above right and below left) in the Cruise role of the cocky young defence lawyer who aces his trials but wisecracks his way out of facing the fact that he’s not the legal brain his father was.

few good men x325Jack Ellis (pictured above centre) plays the colonel whose taste for rigorously disciplined tradition at the U.S. Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay results in the death at the hands of two young marines of a young comrade who is ill-fitted in the Corps. and wants merely to go home. Their trial occupies most of the trial and pits the freewheeling young lawyer against the leathery warrior.

Written in the late 1980s, when communism was still seen as a volatile threat, the “truth” of the commaner’s statement has to do with the sacrifices required of the defenders of democracy and his belief that an ugly excess of zeal often is required.

The notion that the U.S. forces at Guantanamo are staring down a fearsome communist dictator bent on invasion is bemusing outside the U.S. and the imagination flies less to issues of Cold War military fortitude than to questions of incarcerations without trial, and torture.

Britain has its own ugly record of internment camps, however, and Sorkin’s argument that the defence of freedom must be honorable and accountable speaks just as loudly here.

But “Men” is a commercial piece with no pretensions toward art and director Esbjornson deploys his sturdy cast amid Michael Pabelka’s evocative sets in a brisk and convincing fashion.

Lacking the star power of their screen counterparts, there’s not a lot thay Suranne Jones (for Demi Moore), Dan Fredenburgh (for Kevin Pollak) and Jonathan Guy Lewis (for Kiefer Sutherland) can do with the thankless token stereotypes of, respectively, feisty female lawyer, loyal Jewish buddy and nasty redneck villain.

Ellis handles the colonel’s Captain Queeg-like meltdown effectively and Lowe – whose allure is from the dimmer bulb of TV and a few bad movies in his youth – is entirely professional and likable. He’s not helped by the fact that John Barrowman, as the prosecutor played by Kevin Bacon in the film, demonstrates sufficient charisma and electricity to suggest that he would be well-cast in the Cruise role.

Venue: Theatre Royal Haymarket, runs through Dec. 17; Cast: Rob Lowe, Suranne Jones, John Barrowman, Jack Ellis, Michael Beckley, Michael Wildman, Nick Court, Dan Fredenburgh, Jonathan Guy Lewis, Andrew Maud; Playwright: Aaron Sorkin; Director: David Esbjornson; Set designer: Michael Pavelka; Costume designer: Elizabeth Hope Clancy; Lighting designer: Mark Henderson; Sound designer: Ian Dickinson; Presented by Bill Kenwright.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Kevin Spacey as ‘Richard II’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Kevin Spacey brings his penetrating wit to the title role of Shakespeare’s “Richard II” at the Old Vic and helps director Trevor Nunn’s modern-dress production achieve a thoroughly modern relevance.

Men in suits armed with pens backed by men in commando uniforms armed with automatic weapons are a familiar sight in the modern world and Nunn suggests it was ever thus. He uses onscreen video cameras and large video screens for scenes of riots and parades, and also so that live speeches may be rerun as if on CNN.

King Richard II has been a careless monarch not least because he accepts without question his divine right to be ruler. He is more than surprised when Henry Bolingbrook (Ben Miles, pictured above left with Spacey) reveals himself as a man who would be king and more than capable of seizing the thrown.

spacey richard II x325The future Henry IV, Bolingbrook marshals his troops and finagles his allies while Richard dallies in Irish wars and spends playtime with a decadent crowd in smoky nightclubs.

Designer Hildegard Bechtler’s evocative sets bring the large Old Vic stage down to size when necessary and the sparing use of ermine cloaks, scepter, orb and crown serves to emphasize what is at stake.

The impact of video resonates especially after John of Gaunt (Julian Glover) makes his impassioned speech about “This England” and how Richard is letting it fall to ruin. Glover does a powerful job in the first place but Nunn shows us the video over again and how it eats at the King continually.

Spacey opens the play in a bold English accent but soon tempers it with his natural voice, which is fairly neutral and mid-Atlantic these days and it never jars. His body language as a man who thinks himself a born leader but lacks the stature to be one works well as his ability to appear sardonic fades to bemusement and finally despair.

Miles makes Bolingwood a crisp and efficient politician, a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. Oliver Cotton plays the Duke of Northumberland as a tireless wheeler-dealer and Peter Eyre is shrewdly calculating as the Duke of York.

Nunn has the elegant Genevieve O’Reilly play Richard’s wife, Queen Isabel as Princess Diana or Grace Kelly, posing at a photo shoot, and worrying in her French accent. Susan Tracy, as the Duchess of York who rides into one scene on a motorcycle, has some very droll moments.

The play marks Spacey’s Shakespearean debut in Europe and his performance suggests that taking on “Richard III” and “Othello” during his tenure as the Old Vic’s artistic director is devoutly to be wished.

Venue: The Old Vic, runs through Nov. 26; Cast: Kevin Spacey, Julian Glover, Ben Miles, Sean Baker, Peter Eyre, Oliver Kieran-Jones, Oliver Cotton, Genevieve O’Reilly, Susan Tracy; Playwright: William Shakespeare; Director: Trevor Nunn; Producer: David Liddiment; Executive producer: Colin Ingram; Set & costume designer: Hildegard Bechtler; Lighting: Peter Mumford; Sound: Fergus O’Hare; Video designers: Dick Straker & Sven Ortel; The Old Vic Theatre Company.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: David Edgar’s ‘Playing With Fire’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – David Edgar’s new play at the National, “Playing With Fire” deals with the nuts and bolts of local politics and how it can suffer when the big guns from party headquarters breeze into town but it’s as sober, earnest and dull as a town council meeting.

With Britain facing racial strife in its urban centers beyond the current issue of terrorism, the subject is ripe for drama and Edgar’s approach is serious and intelligent. The play pits centralized party leadership against local government and attempts to show the honorable side and the weaknesses of each.

In the fictional town of Wyverdale, members of the Labour Party dominate the town council with a mayor who is largely ceremonial. Things are a mess, however, with funds assigned misguidedly and pork-barrel projects everywhere.

Concerned that the town is ripe for picking by the opposition, party headquarters decides to dispatch a functionary to sort out the problem. The carrot is that the council will be allowed to carry on if they do as the party wishes. The stick is that there’s a clause in federal law that allows for a mayoralty to be introduced by direct vote, with a mayor who would have full executive authority thus diminishing the power of the existing council.

And so slick and pretty Alex Clifton (Emma Fielding, pictured with Paul Bhattacharjee) finds herself in Wyverdale dealing with a gruff but well-meaning civic leader named George Aldred (David Troughton) and an assortment of men and women ranging from old-timer Arthur Barraclough (Trevor Cooper) to newcomer Anwar Hafiz (Aaron Neil), whose opinions vary greatly, to say the least.

Clifton sets out a series of reforms the council must make with no great expectation the reforms will be made. To everyone’s surprise, the council does as it is bidden. To everyone’s dismay, however, the outcome does nothing to resolve the simmering disharmony between the town’s white and Asian communities.

When a riot breaks out and deaths occur, all parties involved are required to take part in a formal enquiry. Edgar oddly stages parts of the enquiry in the middle of the play with flashbacks to events both preceding and following the civil disorder.

The large cast does its best with the ungainly structure of the play but director Michael Attenborough can do little to enliven what is often simply a stage full of people speaking directly to the audience.

That all politics is local does not seem to be a very new insight and while Edgar relates the events with evident sincerity, the play lacks the punch of such recent National productions as Michael Frayne’s “Democracy” and David Hare’s “The Permanent Way”.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through Oct. 22; Cast: Emma Fielding, David Troughton, Trevor Cooper, Aaron Neil, Oliver Ford Davies, Susan Brown, Paul Bhattacharjee; Playwright: David Edgar; Director: Michael Attenborough; Designer: Lez Brotherson; Lighting designer: Mark Henderson; Sound designer: Christopher Shutt; Music: Paddy Cunneen.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Christopher Hampton’s ‘The Philanthropist’

The Philanthropist

By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Christopher Hampton’s bland 1970 sex comedy “The Philanthropist”, revived at the Donmar Warehouse, boasts a wonderfully expressive performance by Simon Russell Beale but its story of a blinkered, shy and uncritical English professor who is inept with women splutters where it should sparkle.

Beale’s character, Phillip, apparently was written to be the opposite of the hate-filled Alceste in “The Misanthrope” by Moliere but his genial goodwill to all things and all people has left him every bit as alone.

Phillip is a philologist who takes pleasure in words for their own sake rather than their meaning and is a wizard at anagrams. This characterization seems as if would be entertaining but Hampton gives the professor only two anagrams in the whole play.

Simon Russell Beale, however, makes it memorable despite the flaws in the play.

Venue: Donmar Warehouse, runs through Oct. 15; Cast: Philip: Simon Russell Beale, Danny Webb, Anna Madeley, Simon Day, Siobhan Hewlett, Simon Bubb, Bernadette Russell; Playwright: Christopher Hampton; Director: David Grindley; Designer: Tim Shortall; Lighting designer: Rick Fisher; Sound designer: Gregory Clarke; Produced by Donmar Warehouse in association with Ian Fricker.

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VENICE FILM REVIEW: Werner Herzog’s ‘Wild Blue Yonder’

Brad Dourif Wild Blue Yonder

By Ray Bennett

VENICE – When Brad Dourif stares at the camera, as he does in Werner Herzog’s science fiction fantasy “The Wild Blue Yonder,” and says, “I come from the outer reaches of Andromeda. I am an alien,” you’re inclined to believe him.

Herzog’s strangely beautiful film, screened at the Venice International Film Festival in its Horizons sidebar, has marvelous music and hypnotic imagery. A documentary for stoners and people who are that way naturally, it is a cautionary tale for wishful thinkers.

It should be a big hit on campus and also it’s bound to garner support from the kind of deeply committed conspiracy theorists who think the U.S. government staged the moon landings.

Over 10 numbered chapters, beginning with 1. Requiem For a Dying Planet, Herzog relates the story of aliens who fled a planet far away in the wild blue yonder, hoping that Planet Earth would provide safe harbor.

Trouble is, as Dourif confesses, “Aliens suck.” The first thing they did was build a shopping mall in a place where two train lines crossed, intending to create a capital like Washington, D.C. But the shoppers never came, the new capital was never completed, and the mall stayed empty.

While Dourif, with great conviction and considerable humor, relates what happened, Herzog splices archived news sequences, interviews with scientists, NASA footage of astronauts on the Space Shuttle and some extraordinary film shot under what appears to be a polar ice-cap, to illustrate it.

Naturally, the UFO landing at Roswell is part of it and we hear all about theories of chaos transport and scientists’ dreams of creating space stations where humans might live and work. Earth would be left to return to nature and be a place to visit, like a shopping mall, a prospect that understandably vexes the alien Dourif.

It’s all handled with great dexterity and wit, and Herzog praises NASA in the credits for “its sense of poetry.” It’s a triumphant mix of great imagination, hypnotic images and an extraordinarily haunting score by Dutch cellist and composer Ernst Reijseger, with the voice of Senegalese soloist Mola Sylla and a five-man Sardinian shepherd choir, the Tenore e Cuncordu de Orosei. The soundtrack is destined for great things.

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VENICE FILM REVIEW: Lasse Hallstrom’s ‘Casanova’

By Ray Bennett

VENICE – Movies with the name Casanova in the title have almost always been stinkers so it’s bold of Lasse Hallstrom to call his film simply “Casanova”, but it turns out to be a welcome exception to the rule as it’s a smart and sophisticated comedy romp.

It has been a while since a sensible sex comedy of this entertaining sharpness has been around, but Hallstrom’s film is a genuine crowd-pleaser that should have exhibitors everywhere smiling along with huge numbers of moviegoers.

The city of Venice has never looked so scintillating onscreen and the glorious setting is the perfect background for a tale of love and lust and mistaken identity that never stoops to the ludicrous posturing and leering typical of most period farces.

Richard Lester’s excellent Musketeer movies come to mind along with a little Monty Python but the screenplay by Jeffrey Hatcher and Kimberly Simi, from a story by Simi and Michael Cristofer, borrows cleverly from Shakespeare too in its pleasing symmetry.

The film delights in a time when even in so flourishing a city as Venice, individuals are known only by their names and not their faces. It’s happily foreign to today’s world where image is everything and it allows for deception at the highest level, which the film exploits to the full.

Many of the principal characters in “Casanova” pretend to be someone else for assorted reasons, mostly lust, and it’s a source of great merriment that their undoing is an early version of one of the most ubiquitous institutions of modern times: advertising.

It is 1753 and Casanova (Heath Ledger) is so celebrated a lover that he is lampooned by players in St. Mark’s Square and puppet shows all over Venice. The Inquisition has him on its most-wanted list for debauchery and when they raid a nunnery in pursuit of him, Casanova flees his complicit noviciate and every nun in the place blows him a kiss on his way out.

His protector, the Doge (Tim McInnerny) tells him that to be saved from the Inquisition, he must leave Venice forever or get married and so Casanova and his manservant Lupo (Omid Djalili) go in search of the perfect bride.

Meanwhile, Francesca Bruni (Sienna Miller) is awaiting the arrival of her fiancé, Paprizzio, the mogul of Genoa, whom she has never met but must marry at the desperate wish of her mother (Lena Olin). Francesca’s brother Giovanni (Charlie Cox) spends his time ogling the local virgin, Victoria (Natalie Dormer), but cannot bring himself to approach her.

When Casanova and Victoria meet, she blossoms with a lust so pulsating that she snaps thick wood with her fingers, and the two become engaged. Annoyed by this development, Giovanni challenges Casanova to a duel although he does realise he is the notorious seducer.

Knowing her brother is not good with a sword, at least not one with a blade, Francesca takes his place and fights Casanova to a draw. Only when the duel ends is she revealed as a beautiful woman and Casanova is smitten immediately. When he discovers that she favours the writing of a philosopher whose books espouse a woman’s point of view, he employs that philosophy to pursue her, little knowing that she is in fact the writer of those books using a nom-de-plume.

In the tradition of great farces, the story then tumbles delightfully along its eccentrically logical path with wonderful figures showing up including Paprizzio (Oliver Platt) and the chief inquisitor Pucci (Jeremy Irons), and there’s many a twist before the tale is finally told.

Ledger provides a well-measured comic counterbalance to his grimly gay cowboy in “Brokeback Mountain,” and Miller finally emerges from the publicity furore of her relationship with Jude Law to show that she is a beautiful and highly capable screen actress for whom stardom clearly beckons.

Irons is an ice pick of drollery and Pratt has great fun mimicking Orson Welles in his Mr. Creosote period while the remainder of the cast – including veteran Paddy Ward, with a couple of lovely Edward Everett Horton moments – take advantage of a clever script and a director having the time of his life. Jennie Beavan’s costumes are a delight and Alexander Desplat’s sprightly music adds greatly to the sumptuous feel of the film.

Venue: Venice International Film Festival, screened Out of Competition Sept. 3 2005; Released: Jan. 6 2006, U.S. (Buena Vista), Feb. 17, U.K. (Buena Vista); Cast: Heath Ledger, Sienna Miller, Lena Olin, Natalie Dormer, Charlie Cox, Jeremy Irons, Oliver Platt, Phil Davies, Stephen Greif, Omid Djalili, Paddy Ward, Ken Stott, Tim McInnerny, Helen McCrory, Leigh Lawson; Director: Lasse Hallstrom; Writers: Jeffrey Hatcher, Kimberly Simi; Story: Kimberly Simi, Michael Cristofer; Director of photography: Oliver Stapleton; Production designer: David Gropman; Music: Alexandre Desplat; Costumes: Jennie Beavan; Editor: Andrew Mondshein; Producers: Mark Gordon, Betsy Beers, Leslie Holleran; Executive producers: Su Armstrong, Adam Merims, Gary Levinsohn; Production: Touchstone Pictures, Mark Gordon Company-Hallstrom/Halleran; UK rating: 12; running time 108 mins.

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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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