Miss Saigon

A few weeks ago I fulfilled something of a long standing musical ambition and got to see Miss Saigon in the West End.  It was a special treat for Mum’s birthday, and Steve, Lottie and myself joined Mum and Dad for a Saturday matinee performance in early November.

Since I was little I have loved the music of Miss Saigon.  We used to listen to the soundtrack on the long drives to the South of France for summer holidays (along with Les Mis’ and as much of the 1981 BBC Radio 4 radio series of The Lord of the Rings as mum could stand), and I have all the sheet music for the piano, frequently pounding out “Sun and Moon” on the ivories until Steve begs me to plug my headphones in (electric piano before you ask) so he (and the neighbours) don’t have to listen anymore.   I have the soundtrack on my IPod and can often be heard singing along at full, off key volume in the kitchen whilst cooking a Sunday roast.

I have never been able to see it performed though as it was sadly cancelled in London in 1999.  Imagine my excitement then when, around this time last year, I first saw the news articles that it would be re-opening in 2014, and my excitement levels rose when Mum suggested getting tickets for us all to see it for her birthday instead of our usual Christmas Eve tradition of going to the theatre (something I will miss this year).

In the weeks building up, my excitement levels rose.  Finally the Saturday arrived.  Steve picked me up from rehearsal at 11am and we floored it to my parents’ house, picked them and my sister up and drove up to London to park near China Town (where I had my first and last experience of Cha Siu Bao – the Chinese sweet bun filled with pork meat.  I felt really queasy afterwards and never want to taste one again).

Once inside Dreamland, we talked about what we were most looking forward to and what we had read from the reviews.  We knew some of the staging had been altered but that the iconic helicopter scene should still be largely the same.  

The lights dimmed, the music started and the show got underway. 

10 minutes later my Mum was ready to walk out.

By the interval I was struggling to remain positive.  By the end we all agreed that it’s not something we would go back and see.

I’m trying to be objective here, but we were so disappointed with this show.  I think the main problem of Miss Saigon is that it is dated – theatre has moved on significantly in the 15 years it has been off stage, with new effects, new ideas and new technology, and Miss Saigon just hasn’t been able to keep up.  The helicopter – once jaw droppingly impressive, is now mildly remarkable, the set is still complex, but I’ve seen sets more elaborate.  The choreography is neat enough, but I’ve seen choreography that is tighter and slicker.  Other companies are doing ground breaking work in theatre at the moment- just look at The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, 39 Steps, Urine Town and Wicked, and there is nothing new about Miss Saigon – they did it all 15 years ago, and it does not have the iconic status of Les Mis’ or Phantom to be able to still get away with doing it all the same.  Even Starlight Express had to revamp itself, its score and its story at least twice during its run!

It was the excess of gratuitous nudity that did not sit well with my Mum.  Mum and I are not prudes, and we both know perfectly well that Miss Saigon is partially set in a brothel, but there was in my mind at least absolutely no need for the simulated sex on stage during “The Heat Is On” and “Movie In My Mind” (especially with no warnings on any of the programme or booking information, and with huge numbers of children in the audience.  All around the auditorium parents were covering their children’s eyes).  In the American Dream sequence, Gigi appears wearing a pair of flesh coloured knickers, nipple tassels and a fur coat.  It adds nothing to the sequence and just looked utterly demeaning.  The video montage of post-war babies also felt like a search for a cheap emotive reaction, as though the creatives do not have the faith in either the music or their performers to be able to generate those emotions in the audience themselves.

Differing sensibilities aside, there were silly mistakes throughout – one of the dancer’s microphones wasn’t switched on so her line just fell silent.  The actor playing John had his voice crack whilst singing Bui Doi.  A curtain fell off a rail in the slums and during “The Morning of the Dragon” the dancers weren’t always marching on the same foot.  These are silly, sloppy mistakes that you don’t expect to see in productions where you are paying up to £70 a ticket.

Having said that, I could have lived with all the above.  Sure, it would and did annoy me, but my absolutely biggest bug bear with the production was the lighting.  It was god awful – I left with a headache because I was straining so hard to see what was going on in all the scenes set in the dim streets and interiors of Vietnam.  No one had their faces lit properly and in crowded scenes this made it very difficult when trying to see who was singing and what was going on.   It also meant that a lot of the background filler action was lost.  I muttered darkly to Steve for some time following the show about the need for the lighting director to be strung up.

It wasn’t all negative.  Jon Jon Briones, the actor who played The Engineer, was stupendous, simply magnificent and he stole the show all on his own.  Eva Noblezada (Kim) and Alistair Brammer (Chris) were independently both solid performances, with Noblezada particularly impressive during any scene where she had to have an emotional breakdown (happened a lot), but the chemistry between the two characters was lacking.

We all left the Prince Edward Theatre feeling rather deflated and also rather confused – reviews on Miss Saigon (both in the press and from friends who have seen it) have all been glowing, so why was our experience so negative?  Was it just a bad night, the sum of a lot of small problems, or are we just incredibly picky?  I genuinely do not know what the answer is, but I know it’s going to be a while before I play that soundtrack again.  For me, it's a victim of its own legend and maybe it is harsh to judge it by that standard. 

Afterwards we went back to Mum and Dad’s and ordered one of the best takeaway curries I have ever had – I ate far more than I should have and couldn’t stop stealing Mum’s naga curry sauce.  At least the day ended on a high!

I really want to know what other people think of the show if you have seen it or have friends or family who have seen it!  Pop your thoughts below...

If you like (or hate!) what you have read, please do let me know in the comments below or slap me with a cheeky follow, or say Hi to me on my facebook group or twitter!

Whodunnit?

October 1942. You have been invited for dinner at the Official Residence of the Deputy Mayor of Casablanca. Morocco is a colony of France governed by the Vichy French regime. The guest of honour was to have been France's greatest living mime artist. He fails to arrive, he has been murdered.

You sit at the dining table with the other guests.  Some you know, some are strangers to you.  The tension is so palpable you could cut it with the steak knife in your hand.  People shift nervously in their seats, eyeballing each other, wondering who amongst their number could be responsible.

The door creaks open and a man in a long black trench coat and a fedora enters.  He inhales deeply on his cigarette and tips the fedora back.  You are surprised, he is younger than you had expected, at least younger than most of the people who have lived in Casablanca for a while appear.  The town has that effect on youth.  It slowly, insidiously, saps away innocence and ideology, leaving only a bitter cynicism in its place. He sits with a measured pace, leans back in his chair and fixes each and every one of the ten guests near him with a steely gaze from grey eyes. You feel yourself break out in a cold sweat when his eyes linger on you.  Eventually he relaxes somewhat. "I am the Inspector leading the investigation of this heinous and terrible murder.  So, where shall we begin?..."

Some of our friends are huge murder mystery party fans as an alternative to the usual dinner party celebrations.  They have hosted a couple (lots) before and decided to go with a new one for James' birthday weekend.  We turned up, bottles of wine and cigars in hand, ready to enter the world of Le Chat Noir in Casablanca, the mysterious mime artist whose past is shadier than the cat he is named after.

About a month before the party our character sheets were delivered through our letterbox with a basic outline of who we were and costume suggestions.  It was clear that this was to be the high end of Casablancian society - formal DJ's, evening gowns, silk gloves and furs were all in abundance.  Well, apart from Nicole le Grandbutte who was instructed to wear the shortest, slinkiest dress she could get away with.

We got ourselves fully dolled up and made our way to the home of the Chat Noir, the unfortunate victim with a penchant for good brie who had just been murdered.  Sasha and James always go all out with their decorations when they host dinner parties to attempt to recreate as much of the style of the time period as possible.  It certainly helps get you into the mindset of your character!

Let me introduce you to Ingrid Pith, a Danish art dealer. Educated, intelligent and apparently having an affair with Kirk Ransom III, an American running Kirk's African Cafe in downtown Casablanca.  She was also apparently having an affair with Hughes Le Grandbutte, the Deputy Mayor of Casablanca and Nicole's father. 

Murder mystery party's only really work if everyone is willing to throw themselves into their characters, accents, costumes and all.  Our group of friends aren't exactly what you would call shy violets and every one of them went all out with their characters. 

After the photo's and laughter at how everyone looked had been completed we settled down for our evening in Casablanca.  There was a mixing pot of characters; French resistance members fighting the Nazi party in secret, an American billionaire, the deputy mayor of Casablanca and even Countess Bogov, an exiled Russian who was a trapeze artiste in the circus.

The concept is very simple; everyone has a script that they read from, volunteering specific clues about their own relationship with each other and the victim.  You are told what you can reveal and what your should only reveal if expressly challenged.  There is a CD which is played at various points during the night, driving the action forward.

We ate a veritable banquet of Moroccan food; mezze to start with, followed by chicken tagine and then two different desserts.  Birthday boy had done all of the cooking and he had surpassed himself.  I had to be rolled home I think as I was so full!

There was also plenty of booze flowing so the night got more raucous and accents got worse as the evening progressed.  Mine wasn't great to start with (Scandinavian is clearly not my strong point) and by the end of the night it was more Scottish than anything else.

At the end of the investigation everyone has to summarise their own version of events and then accuse who they think dunnit based on the clues that they have been given.

It had transpired during the course of the meal that there were two guilty parties around the table working as a double act.

No one was safe - suspicious glances were given as everyone wondered if they were sitting next to a murderer.  To be honest the murderers had only discovered that they had done the deed about 20 minutes prior to this!

Fingers were pointed, reasons given and the disc was started again.  I don't think that anyone got it right in the end as the two guilty parties were revealed.

Birthday boy himself was responsible with his accomplice, who had been gender switched for the evening.  To be honest, who would have suspected this guy to be capable of such a heinous deed?

With all that nasty business of the murder over and done with it was time to get down to the business of the birthday cake and catching up with each other.

Something Jackson thoroughly approved of as it meant he was finally getting some attention!  I even did my first ever shot of Unicum, the drink that all of the new initiates to the lad's annual tour have to consume.  It's revolting.  If anyone ever offers it to you, just say no.

Have you ever been to a murder mystery party?  Were you the murderer?!