Reviews Archives - Page 3 of 7

Cheap tickets for Matilda the Musical

Posted on April 16, 2014 by Farrah Kelly

My sister isn’t one for an early start. It runs in the family, for sure, but she’s especially hard to drag out of bed. And on a weekend? Good luck seeing her before lunch time.

So when I set my alarm for 7am on Saturday, I wasn’t expecting her to be be impressed, or even responsive. But the early bird gets the worm, or in this case, the cheap theatre tickets, and I was determined.

Various theatres in London offer cheap tickets for their shows for us cash-stricken 16-25s. The catch is you have to buy them in person from the theatre’s box office, and it’s first-come-first-served. In practice, this means there’s usually a queue forming up to an hour before the doors swing open at 10am, which means no lie in for me or my sister.

Come 9am, Baby Kelly and I were running through Covent Garden, the Cambridge Theatre sparkling away in the distance. We wanted £5 tickets to see Matilda the Musical, but so did another twenty-odd twenty-somethings who had clearly got up earlier than us. Thankfully, we were in luck. The Cambridge Theatre reserves 16 tickets per show per day for young people, and we secured two matinee tickets without any problem.

I really, really recommend Matilda the Musical. It’s not as dark as the film or book- her parents are comically stupid rather than wilfully neglectful and the Trunchbull is a little bit panto villain rather than a hard nosed, disciplining demon. Understandable, really, as 80% of the audience were under ten years old. A kid’s musical is no place for in depth exploration of the effects on a neglected child’s imagination, amirite?

The show is amazing. It looks gorgeous and has brilliant wit throughout- Tim Minchin hits the sweet spot with lyrics that are the right mix of wink wink in-jokes for the adults and cute and cheeky lyrics for the kids- stand out lyrics including the gem “Ever since the day doc chopped the umbilical cord, It’s been clear there’s no peer for a miracle like me!”.

The choreography is smooth, fast, snappy and exciting. My personal highlight is the School Song, where letters of the alphabet appear shoved through school gates, with dancing pupils swinging from and jumping onto them, tap dancing and just generally having more physical coordination than I can ever dream of. Fast-paced, cheeky and sweet, if you’ve got to entertain some young’uns, it’s perfect, or if you’re just feeling pangs of nostalgia for the “ummway, umway I WOULD LIKE TO REACH OUT MY HAND” song, or for watching children shove giant chocolate cake in their face, then it’s a good day out for you too.

Anyone between 16 and 25 can get tickets- so if you have friends visiting or are going to be in the capital in the morning, it’s well worth getting out of bed for. With tickets for a measly £5 each, you really can’t argue with the early start. Details here.

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Blog Alpha: Week two and three

Posted on October 22, 2013 by Farrah Kelly

After a bit of an internal debate on whether it was fair to my other group members to blog about the Alpha Course, I have decided to keep going. I’m going to keep other group members anonymous as default, in case they don’t want their beliefs and experiences published by some gob with a blog. Enjoy!

The routine is settled now; meet my friend at the tube station, walk chatting about our day to the illuminated church, pick up our dinner (shyly walk past the donation box…), navigate our way through the myriad of Alpha-ers (Alphites?), settle into our seats and munch away. We move to the stage area, where there’ll be a talk, a song, a longer talk, then back to our groups to chat about it all.

The stage is a redesigned alter, with a drumkit set to one side and some seriously high-tech AV equipment, ready to show us this week’s montage. Christian rock celeb Ben Cantelon is here to sing Amazing Grace in Week Two, and the ‘congregation’ is encouraged to sing along- the lyrics screened on a projector in front of us. A giant red question mark perches stage-left.

Week Two’s talk is “Who is Jesus”- where Nicky Gumbell, Alpha A-Lister, reasons that Jesus did exist, that he was a great man, and that he was the Son of God. His logic makes sense, to be fair. He talks of textual analysis, historical records, biblical prophecies come true. Quotes from CS Lewis are read out (not the Chronicles or Narnia, mind) and I’m feeling pretty content. I’m not convinced wholly, but the talk was engaging and insightful.

We trot back to our groups, where we have a discussion on the perception of Jesus today, and on the reality of miracles. I tell the group that miracles, to me, are astounding acts of humanity. I use the example of the feeding of the five thousand- where a little boy gave up his three fish so Jesus could do some shiny magic on them to share amongst everyone else. I make the point that the shiny magic part seems to be a nice embellishment, but the real miracle, the real thing worth celebrating, is the act of a boy giving away his food in a starving crowd. The group agree to differing extents, and conversation is stimulating, involved. I felt quite proud of myself, and retell my thoughts at work the next day. Week Two was fun, and I’m eager for the next session.

Week Three is different. The talk, “Why Did Jesus Die” by Toby Flint, kinda pisses me off. It’s essentially about sin, and comparing ourselves to God, and receiving forgiveness. I’m disgruntled, and a little offended by the off-hand remarks made in poor taste. My friend disagrees, and I sat fidgeting in my seat. Even this week’s song bugs me- something in the lyrics about unworthiness sticks in my mind.

The group session is a little more fiery this week. Our numbers have grown (which is unusual, groups tend to be whittled down as the weeks go on) and it’s sometimes a struggle to hear what everyone is saying. I’m trying to process my anger into coherent thoughts, ready to bring to the table. Someone has already brought up the issue of sin as a concept- arbitrary and outdated. They reference homosexuality.

The atmosphere is a little stuck. No one wants to sound accusatory, and most sentences are hedged with phrases like “In those days”. One person referenced the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah- and was quickly accused of ‘totally demonising homosexuality’. Later, someone else inferred ‘the gays just want acceptance’. Many people pointed out the significance of various ‘sins’, such as homosexuality and tattooing, have since radically culturally changed, and that the Bible was written by flawed people. I think the Christians felt a little attacked, and the athiests and agnostic a little hurt.

I was slightly offended, to be honest. I understand that it can be difficult to articulate yourself when talking about contentious issues, and not one person in that group could be described as homophobic, but the conversation left a bad taste in my mouth. It took me a while to stop feeling frustrated afterwards, and I decided not to return. I can’t buy into something that requires you to consider yourself a sinner as an intrinsic part of your belief system- it’s just so negative.

A few days later, having thrashed my thoughts out with a few friends, and even reading a passage of The Message (a version of the bible written in modern day English), I decide to go back. If this week’s session upsets me or directly contradicts my basic values, I won’t go again. The last session seemed tainted with a negative undertone, and feathers had clearly been ruffled. I write Week Three off, but it still lingers in the back of my mind.

The gig nobody went to

Posted on October 17, 2013 by Farrah Kelly

When I saw three of my favourite poets (I have a top ten, what of it?) tweeting about their upcoming tour, I was pretty psyched. Tim Clare, Mark Grist and Mixy, all in one gig?! Score. Maybe I’d even get to meet them afterwards, and I could detail all the things I loved about various poems of theirs. Anxious the place would be packed and I wouldn’t get a seat in the private room of a Trafalgar Square pub, I emailed ahead and asked if I needed to book tickets.

As it turns out, no. When Jonathan and I rocked up ten minutes late, we were the only people there. Other than the three nervous and embarrassed looking poets, that is.

It was a little awkward. Though I was stoked to get to meet them, the elephant rampaging around the room couldn’t be ignored. I’ve heard of intimate gigs before, but this was something else.

After reassuring the panicked poets that a twosome was a perfectly valid audience, another two couples showed up, to everyone’s relief. Tim Clare apologetically started the night off, and begged us not to feel like this was some sort of bizarre hostage situation.

Clare described his set as “sort of like watching a poet have a breakdown”- with loud couplets ringing in our ears as he bellowed out his Beckett-esque “Death of Charlie Wordsworth” and faux-slurred his way through “Pub Stuntman”. Witty and quick, I have to say my personal highlight was his Women of History rap, video below. I never thought I’d hear a bearded man impersonating Thatcher tell me to “Do your own ironing”…

Mixy, the youngest of the trio, did a set that was surprisingly sweet. I really wish I’d caught his charming ode to insanity- a love letter to Syliva Plath- but he intertwined the preamble and poem so effortlessly that it took me a moment to realise that it had begun. It was a gorgeous and lively account of the relationship he wishes he could have with madness, and if you ever get a chance to hear it, please pay more attention than I did. His letter to Amy, a girl found in chain-nighclub Liquid, is equally as charming.

Mark Grist’s set echoed his past as a teacher, a lyrical school visit. His poems run on nostalgia and humour, with revealing letters to odious history teachers and children’s stories about dirty pirates. Like Mixy, his poem on the soul-crushing chain-club Liquid also got a mention, where he impersonated (all too well) the creepy LAD that graces every Tokyo, Liquid and Tiger doorstep and fondles inebriated girls every weekend. Funny and all-too familiar, Grist closed the show on a high.

As a whole, the show was fantastic. It really was the ultimate cosy gig, and felt more like sitting in someone’s living room than the centre of London. I’d started the evening out feeling kind of sorry for the poets- a free gig in the busiest city in the UK that attracts a grand total of six people must be tough to swallow- but by the end I was pretty smug about the set up.

#TryAlpha: Week One of the Alpha course

Posted on October 8, 2013 by Farrah Kelly

“What…the…f-”

A car horn honked at me. In a daze, I’d wandered into an active driveway. Standing in front of the enormous church, decorated with fairy lights and a giant walk-through “WELCOME” sign, I was already kinda nervous. It’s not every Wednesday you finish work early to go to an Anglican Christianity-conversion course. Was my idle wandering into the road a subconscious message? Maybe. I joined the queue.

This is my first Alpha. I’m stood outside Holy Trinity Brompton (HTB), freaking out.

Alpha is considered by the kind of people who take time out to consider this kind of thing, the most successful introductory course to Christianity since Jesus himself got chatting down the local fishery. There are, predictably, people who treat a Church-led course in spiritually as a bit, well, cult-y (two notable examples include this article by Jon Ronson, and this -poorly researched, imho- VICE article). I was here to test the waters myself.

Why am I here? Well, since I moved to London, I’ve been having a bit of an existential crisis. Not like the one on the Alpha ads, where a dude who looks like he’s been holding in a really serious poo for too long asks important life-changing questions like “Is this it?” and “Pub or gym?”. No, my existential crisis is of a slightly more personal nature, and probably more to do with a lingering sense of loneliness since I moved away from all of my family and friends. I’m not hoping to find God, I’m not looking to be saved. I’m just curious about how other people can find solace and comfort in a religion. Plus I heard there’s free food.

Once assigned to a discussion group, I was led inside by a guy wearing a red t-shirt with “A-Team” emblazoned on the arm. Alpha’s pioneer Nicky Gumbel stood next to his wife Pippa. They both beamed at the enormous crowd. “Welcome!”

The talks were comforting. Nicky and Pippa told us to enjoy ourselves, that Alpha was intended to be a respectful and open place to discuss our thoughts about the meaning of life. They encouraged us to listen to, question and befriend our group members. A woman sang Amazing Grace. Nicky invited artist and once-ardent-athiest Charlie Mackesy to the stage to give a funny and charming speech. I tucked into my butternut squash

Speeches over, I feel relaxed. Mackesy spoke sense, took the piss out of Christianity a little, and had the audience charmed. It seems a lot less culty now. With a bit of chair reshuffling, we join our groups again, where cake and coffee is passed round. We play a name game, led by our host and her two helpers.

The atmosphere is a little awkward. We’re all here to dissect God in someway, and it becomes clear that athiests are in the minority. Which makes sense, really. What would an athiest be doing at a Church course? I take a moment to judge my decision to be here.

What if I’m the only person in here that doesn’t believe in God? That thinks all religion is a well-meaning, ancient system created by flawed people and exploited for war, money, selfishness? That thinks gays and women aren’t inherently sinners? That would rather blog than pray? I scan my group with my Christianity-radar set to HIGH.

Our host invites us to ask broad questions about God. After a silence, someone offers up “Why is there suffering?”. I sigh inwardly, wanting more in depth questions. I fire off “If god exists, how does he manifest himself in the world?”. The group nods, and falls back into silence. More questions are asked, with our host taking notes and sagely nodding at our queries. After a particularly long pause, she suggests the group breaks up and heads to the pub. Class dismissed.

A few conversations persist, then we all disperse out of the church. I had fun. I want to go back, to ask antagonistic questions and to compare the Christian answers with my own. I’m pleased with, but still slightly wary of the whole setup. I wonder if I’ll stick it out for the full ten weeks, or if something dramatic is going to happen. I make a mental note to ask one of the helpers where she got her shirt from next week. It was a nice shirt.