: The Mennyms world premiere: oh, the jealousy
Last night was the night I'd chalked in as a night for envious glances for a long time. It was the first night of the first production of
Envious glances at Lyndsay, of course, for she wrote it; and to a far lesser extent, the male cast members, all of whom usurped me on their way.
There were raffles for the Great Ormond Street Hospital in the foyer, including various guessing games (how many jelly beans in an overfilled 1kg tub, what's the name of the bear - my guess for the latter, almost mockingly, was Elphaba).
For some reason, songs from various incarnations of S Club greeted us as we entered the auditorium. I asserted that this was to make Lyndsay's music sound good. She was in the audience, as was Chris Allinson, as were several of my friends, including the producer Joey, who was my halls warden when I first arrived here, a WEAKEST LINK winner before that, and (by implication) someone whose response to my play I really, really want to hear.
The show began with a witty front-of-house announcement. No Quirks-unfriendly lighting warnings, not that such lighting would have put me off coming for this.
Cue the opening number, which was built around a motif of repeating quavers, jumping up briefly and heading straight back down again. The first and fourth quaver beats of every eight were emphasised, and in retrospect that's probably why I later envisioned a juxtaposition of it and the ITVNewsTabloid Myths music. Practically the whole of it was spoken; it was the reading of a letter from a mysterious 'Albert Pond' from Australia, who apparently wishes to buy the house in which the Mennyms - an anthropomorphised family of dolls - presently reside.
Cue various chaos from there, to be honest, along with some excellent singing from the male cast members while some of the female members struggled to be heard over the band. There were more cast members than there were portable microphones, the band was significant enough to make that an issue (two keyboards, a violin, a cello and an oboe with possibly something else, if memory serves), and that was a problem for the softer female voices. Interestingly, at least one cast member (whose part covered an extensive range, probably about two octaves - I did ask Lyndsay, and she couldn't remember off-hand) sounded clearer singing high, thus contravening the Brightman Rule. (A term I coined while speaking to Lyndsay about it, I think she was amused.)
A surprising lack of use of recurring motifs or reprises, though the ones that were there worked well; a distinct lack of male parts that did not have high notes (and now I know why I didn't get in; a G4 was a one-off fluke to me, but still not high enough for most musical theatre even if repeatable) probably worked well also, but is not something I intend to replicate in my own work.
All told, it was enjoyable. Only the opening motif stuck in my head, but no songs stood out as obviously bad, and the performance was generally good.
The new goal, which I informed Lyndsay of, is to write my musical in time for it to be performed two years hence. I believe the pitching of shows takes place in two waves, with the May show and June's '24-hour musical' (in which the cast and crew are only informed what show is being performed 24 hours before the first performance) confirmed at one meeting, and the two prior shows of the year (three, if you count the annual revue in December) confirmed at another. Goodness knows which I'll take. The second of the two earlier shows is the big show of the year, and it'll be in the professional theatre on campus (which puts on one show by the students per year, with the musical theatre, light opera and drama groups rotating the distinction - in that order, and it was the light opera group this year, so musical theatre in 2010), so it'll almost certainly be a well-known show with great reliance upon a largish stage and Quirks-unfriendly lighting. (Last year it was
I told Lyndsay that I intend to write the book, lyrics and music, and seek someone else for 'additional music and orchestration'. (The unspoken; potentially her. And just look at her, she can do all I couldn't do...)
Last night was the night I'd chalked in as a night for envious glances for a long time. It was the first night of the first production of
The Mennyms.
Envious glances at Lyndsay, of course, for she wrote it; and to a far lesser extent, the male cast members, all of whom usurped me on their way.
There were raffles for the Great Ormond Street Hospital in the foyer, including various guessing games (how many jelly beans in an overfilled 1kg tub, what's the name of the bear - my guess for the latter, almost mockingly, was Elphaba).
For some reason, songs from various incarnations of S Club greeted us as we entered the auditorium. I asserted that this was to make Lyndsay's music sound good. She was in the audience, as was Chris Allinson, as were several of my friends, including the producer Joey, who was my halls warden when I first arrived here, a WEAKEST LINK winner before that, and (by implication) someone whose response to my play I really, really want to hear.
The show began with a witty front-of-house announcement. No Quirks-unfriendly lighting warnings, not that such lighting would have put me off coming for this.
Cue the opening number, which was built around a motif of repeating quavers, jumping up briefly and heading straight back down again. The first and fourth quaver beats of every eight were emphasised, and in retrospect that's probably why I later envisioned a juxtaposition of it and the ITV
Cue various chaos from there, to be honest, along with some excellent singing from the male cast members while some of the female members struggled to be heard over the band. There were more cast members than there were portable microphones, the band was significant enough to make that an issue (two keyboards, a violin, a cello and an oboe with possibly something else, if memory serves), and that was a problem for the softer female voices. Interestingly, at least one cast member (whose part covered an extensive range, probably about two octaves - I did ask Lyndsay, and she couldn't remember off-hand) sounded clearer singing high, thus contravening the Brightman Rule. (A term I coined while speaking to Lyndsay about it, I think she was amused.)
A surprising lack of use of recurring motifs or reprises, though the ones that were there worked well; a distinct lack of male parts that did not have high notes (and now I know why I didn't get in; a G4 was a one-off fluke to me, but still not high enough for most musical theatre even if repeatable) probably worked well also, but is not something I intend to replicate in my own work.
All told, it was enjoyable. Only the opening motif stuck in my head, but no songs stood out as obviously bad, and the performance was generally good.
The new goal, which I informed Lyndsay of, is to write my musical in time for it to be performed two years hence. I believe the pitching of shows takes place in two waves, with the May show and June's '24-hour musical' (in which the cast and crew are only informed what show is being performed 24 hours before the first performance) confirmed at one meeting, and the two prior shows of the year (three, if you count the annual revue in December) confirmed at another. Goodness knows which I'll take. The second of the two earlier shows is the big show of the year, and it'll be in the professional theatre on campus (which puts on one show by the students per year, with the musical theatre, light opera and drama groups rotating the distinction - in that order, and it was the light opera group this year, so musical theatre in 2010), so it'll almost certainly be a well-known show with great reliance upon a largish stage and Quirks-unfriendly lighting. (Last year it was
The Witches of Eastwick.)
I told Lyndsay that I intend to write the book, lyrics and music, and seek someone else for 'additional music and orchestration'. (The unspoken; potentially her. And just look at her, she can do all I couldn't do...)