The Apprentice - week one

"My intelligence is like a machete in the jungle. One swipe and I'll be through."

Well… it’s been a while. I’m very happy to report that my absence is in fact owing to a full-time writing job, ironic as it may seem. I’m now the (immensely) proud occupier of a copywriter role where all day is spent jotting, editing, subbing, re-writing, re-ordering,re-wording and generally saying things far more succinctly than I ever thought I would.

However that’s another blog. Tonight it’s about the Apprentice. There’s always frenzied chat about the previous night’s episode with my friends, so a weekly blog on the goings-on seemed like a good excuse for a regular scribble – as well as a fun creative writing task, certainly if previous contestants are anything to go by.

And as it turns out, they are. So off-put was I by the spurious hubris of the contestants (whose names I shan’t pretend to remember at this stage) that I took to Twitter, mere moments in. Funnily enough I was late; the judging had begun.

Yeah I know, it’s a TV show, it’s entertainment and it’s certainly at the stage in the season that we’re being force-fed the ramblings of the oh-so arrogant salesman. Ramblings which seem more likely these days to be penned by hopeful producers than the contestants themselves. But still, part of me thinks, ‘Oh, it’s the BBC, and it’s a business programme’ so there’s still hope of engaging, intelligent insight… As the series goes on, I think that certainly feels truer. As it is, the first few weeks bulge with tasteless ties, egos, one-liners, heavy eye make-up – and in this series, alarming eyebrows… from the boys.

The first task wasn’t particularly interesting – but then is it often? It’s generally sell or buy (then again that’s the business world I guess), although I do like the more creative tasks; so much more can go wrong and these episodes beautifully portray just how unoriginal their thought-processes actually are… I’m already looking forward to that episode this season.

This week though, I was struck by the differences between the men and women – certainly in terms of how they behave as a group. The boys seem like a mixed bag. And a noisy one at that. The cacophonous arguing and batting back and forth of opinions as to how best approach the task actually resulted in an unorganised mess. No change there then. The leader himself lost his voice pretty early on. I think he’ll need to abandon the Oxbridge condescension to make it through the next few weeks. That said about our testosterone-fuelled bunch, their shrewd business approach - albeit individually – did win them the task. Whatever it was, it was certainly not a meticulously planned team effort.

Conversely, the girls revelled in organisation – the dividing of tasks, the very public allocating of responsibilities and the frequent ‘How am I doings?’ from the team leader. ‘Communication’ was everywhere. But that didn't work either. For all that it was part of their process, it was more lip service than anything else. No doubt our team leader ‘Jazz’ was asking how she was doing so she could pounce, cat-like, on her fellow teammates when they attempt to discredit her in the boardroom, casting up any positive remarks made upon her leadership skills, and fundamentally earning her place in the next episode. I hope The Apprentice has not lost its charm as contestants continue to play the system, rather than one another.

So episode one didn’t blow me away, but it was fun and entertaining and the producers seem to have rallied a group of suitably unpleasant, arrogant suits to keep us all watching over the next couple of months. Here’s to hoping for some meatier tasks and unexpected twists during its course.

A Valentine's Blog

Maybe it's just me, but judging by the silent and uncomfortable loitering around Valentine's Day card stands, this process of selection is becoming more and more difficult.
I should point out that I make cards. My mother does wedding invites, table plans and cards for all occasions. I like playing with her room full of stuff, creating my own which are, more often than not, cute, cynical, hand-drawn and messy. However thanks to a geographical shift these elf-like pleasures have been withdrawn and I find myself one of you, loitering in card shops.
I enjoy buying a card. Birthday, wedding, there's generally a good choice and I get a kick when I know I've found something good. This year though, I find myself unsatisfied with my options. My partner stays in Oxford and I write relatively frequently. Often I find a card that makes me giggle and I'll send it with some brief remarks about my day. It's fun and I enjoy the tangibility of the process. I also like getting personal mail and a cheeky wee unnecessary letter is always a treat.
Back to my point. Valentine's Day must be - with the exception of selecting a sympathy card - one of the occasions you have to get the sentiment just right. For me, that is something along the lines of 'I really like you and you make me smile and laugh and this is an opportunity to write something witty and silly to remind you.' Getting the right sentiment is important - not because of its own importance but because of the disastrous possibilities if you fail. This year I was struck by the sheer volume of deploringly desperate tokens of love. Cries of (and I'm quoting) 'You make me whole', 'I need you', 'Life with you is beautiful'... I daren't go on.
Please don't think me too cynical. I want to say nice things to people who make me happy but I want to say them myself. I'm struck by these hollow exclamations that result in much contorting of the facial muscles. Surely admitting such dependence on another human being ought to be discouraged, never mind declared on paper.
So humour. I like a funny card and there are plenty about. What's odd is how they have gone to the opposite extreme; from dewy emotions to raw sex. Outdated photos of greased-up men, comments on favourite body parts, the wording turns to full-throated shouts of Stud! Sexy beast! Kinky lover... One merely had the word 'TITS' in a speech bubble accompanied by a stick drawing of a girl. The last one did make me smile, though not as much as another note which simply read; 'I love you so much I want to eat your used bandages'.
No wonder we fear the selection we make. This year, I've found a New Yorker card with a brief comment that amuses both me and, with any luck, my recipient. Such cards are, I think, the most personal. I have attempted some comedy and lyrical prowess with the hope that the whole experience makes his day just that little bit better.

Musical Review: Phantom of the Opera

Edinburgh Playhouse

I’ve been writing about theatre and performance for more than two years now yet Phantom was one show I’d never seen. For many it remains the quintessential theatrical experience (it’s the longest running show on Broadway) and for me, having gazed upon the posters from a young age, the ominous gothic mask and the notion of a ‘phantom’ was oh so tantalising.

The tone and style of this production is theatre at its most striking. Fleeing actors, dark shadows, sheer drops, ornate costumes, a decadent opera house, a room of mirrors and of course, that chandelier. Phantom is a play within a play which means we are treated to various delectable sets, from tropical foreign lands to a towering gothic church. The presentation is mesmerising and the numerous sets consist of layer upon layer of platforms and rooms which shift, open, slide, rise and turn as though part of an elaborate Rubix Cube. Special effects also contribute to the drama with copious use of smoke machines (at one point engulfing the orchestral conductor), explosions and – my favourite - fierce pyrotechnics illustrating our disfigured villain’s considerable rage.

My usual theatre outing involves perching in a small venue where the budget is tight and the stage sparse. For that reason, it is immense fun to see what a seemingly bottomless budget can achieve in a large-scale show. Beneath all the opulence though, there’s a story and this is where I felt disappointed. The plot is simplistic and often clumsily expressed as our beautiful protagonist Christina is the textbook heroine, fleeing danger in a white gown, bosom heaving as she falls into the arms of various men. The Phantom is, at first, a frightening spectre (again, the production sees to this) but when he wrestles with his inner-conflict and throws himself to the floor whimpering, this was too much for me. There’s little, if any sense of knowing or understanding these characters in this bizarre gothic tale so I struggled to engage or sympathise with them. That they exist as ‘actors’ in the performance means each character often inhabits a role other than their own and this further inhibits any real understanding of their true motives. Sadly, in too many ways the grandeur overshadows the story itself and reflects its failings as we inevitably compare the astonishing visuals with a simplistic narrative.

The performers sing beautifully and the vocal range is impossible to fault. Christina and the Phantom especially poured emotion and feeling into every lyric, the melancholic high notes making the hair on my arms stand on end. The campness of the story though thwarted much of an emotional connection. The narrative is propelled through both song and speech, though the pace rarely feels right and there are character revelations which seem unexpected and clunky.

For me, the pageantry and drama is spectacular, the musical talent faultless but beneath lies a weaker and fragmented story told through predictable musical sequences and clichéd lyrics. Phantom is an hugely enjoyable spectacle but for me, it offered little else.


For other reviews visit www.acrossthearts.co.uk

Fringe Review: Briefs

'All male. All Vaudeville. All Trash.'

Happily the show delivers each element it promises in this show of pageantry, performance and faux-burlesque.

Our compere and compulsive-outfit changer Shivannah holds the audience in his/her hand and each bitchy comment is followed by belly laughter at the absurdity of what we're watching. There's oodles of swearing, self-mockery and crude comment without which the show would fall flat on its face.

Beneath the trash and fake eyelashes though, is some real talent. Elements of vaudeville are well-married into the performance which sees plate-spinning and gymnastics through to an exceptionally attractive strong man who lifts fellow performers and bends metal old-school style. Glitzy and gutsy song and dance punctuate each routine and the ariel work from a heavily tattooed man is especially impressive.

Nakedity is integral to the proceedings which is trashy, unapologetic and of course, very funny. There's a distinctly boyish silliness to what our performers mixed up playfully with feather dancing and other unmanly acts. They work filthily together, slapping, gesticulating and harassing one another with their genitalia and there's an atmosphere of pure enjoyment about what is taking place before us.

Briefs is explosive and while there's nothing meaningful about what these guys are trying to achieve, they deliver an hour of fantastic entertainment, comedy and talent.

4 stars

Ian Kendall interview: A Life with Magic

Ian Kendall has performed at the Fringe for twenty-one years and this year is his last. He is one of the most skilled magicians performing today and in the flesh he is warm, friendly and brutally honest. My kind of guy. He gave me his unique perspective on this manic festival and how the perception - and performance - of magic has changed over his time here.

His first statement surprises me.
'Most card tricks I find dull. Do you think I’ve lost your card in the deck? No. I like effects with cards. Typological effects and gambling stuff. That’s a really technical discipline. There are people who go out and do nothing but tricks with cards, I mean, how mind-numbingly tedious is the eighth or ninth trick?'
Tedious for you or both, I ask.
'A bit of both.' he replies. 'One of the reasons I don’t do card tricks is because I don’t enjoy watching them. And so it’s very hard for me to get enthused about entertaining. The coin trick is what I’m sort of known for.'
Most performers do their own PR work. Ian has visited the Mile almost every day of each show. This cobbled road is crammed full of Fringe performers flyering and offering the public glimpses of their show in an attempt to secure a ticket sale. Ian's speciality is the floating coin. He first performed this for me two years ago, it's a very neat trick and it was enough to make me see him that night.
He continues, 'Years ago I was the only person doing that trick. Unfortunately I had a trapped nerve in my neck last year and I lost the use of my left arm for six months. I can’t do it as well anymore. The world record was 18", I could manage 23 or 24.'
So how do you develop your on-stage persona? Is there pressure to bring some sort of gimmick to the proceedings?
'There’s a general rule of performance that you should be yourself, tuned up. I tried one year to do the Victorian magician where I recreated tricks from 1880 to 1930. For fourteen nights I thought, I will pretend to be this character. But I’m not an actor. The first review I got said it was unfair that there’s not a magic category [in the Fringe guide]. On the fourth night I thought, I’m just going to be me and I relaxed and it was a laugh riot and I had a beautiful reviews. That told me that I have to be me. I’m never going to be David Copperfield. I'm a slightly sophisticated, close-up Scottish magician. I’m going to be Ian, just turned up a little.'

There has been a resurgence in magic over the last few years. In 2000 there were only two shows while this year sees forty-seven. So is the standard of magic good these days, I ask.
'Let's say there are forty shows. I would estimate, having a rough idea, that ten of them will be good. Another ten of them will be okay. Ten of them will be... [Ian sighs loudly and exaggeratedly making me laugh]. And three or four of them will be holy shit, shoot me now. The Fringe has always said it does not programme so there's no editorial control. That used to be the case, it’s not anymore because the venues are run like businesses and they all programme. However, the Free Fringe has raised its head. It’s good because it gives people a place to be bad. But then that creates a stigma, because if you go and see a bad musician, you’ll go and see another musician. If you go and see a bad comedian, you’ll go and see another comedian. If Joe Public sees a bad magician, they will never see another magician again. Ever.'
Do you think public perception of magic has changed too, I ask.
'Blaine, when he went on the streets, completely changed the paradigm. Before that you had Daniels and Copperfield and it was studio magic. I enjoy that, I actually prefer it because street magic is generally so manufactured that what you’re seeing is essentially a fiction show, it’s not a magic show. Derren helped a lot, though he doesn’t present himself as a magician anymore.'
How do you feel reflecting back on so many years of performing?
'One of the biggest regrets I have is that I don’t get that sense of wonder because without the wonder there’s no magic. Unfortunately a lot of magicians aren’t really talented. I enjoy seeing friends but I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been fooled, amazed or astonished. I cherish those moments.'
Being so jaded, how do you maintain your sense of wonder and excitement for magic?
'There are certain effects I’ve very deliberately not investigated. There are a couple of things out there I saw which I saw and I said right, I’m not going to read it, buy it or look it up because I’m going to keep that. I’m going to keep that moment.
'There is an entire industry around magic and a school of thought amongst magic dealers. In fact there are a lot of analogies between magicians and drug pushers of the famous ‘no skill required’. Eighty-five per cent are amateurs, people who buy a trick, run through it twice and put it in the cupboard. You’re not selling them the trick, you’re selling them the idea that they can perform the trick. I’m guilty, I’ve got stuff in my box at home.'
Ian then says something that, for me, makes him a real magician.
'I don’t believe magic should be easy. I think it should be bastard-hard. I think you should have to jump through fourteen hoops. I think we should go back to the guild system where you have to get a mentor like in the thirties.'
His final show certainly reflected this attitude; an hour of classic close-up sleights that rely almost entirely on technique and years of perfecting. Despite his jaded view of the craft, the aptly-titled Obsession: A Life With Magic was his final love letter.

Fringe Review: Paul Wilson, Lie. Cheat. Steal.

Paul walks quietly on stage gruff and expressionless and with minimal preamble, launches into his stuff. The fact he is friendly yet vaguely standoffish is part of his character as a con artist and he's not here to win any of us over. In many ways, he's not what you would call a magician. What follows though, is magical.

Astonishingly he flicks, tosses and shuffles every card he touches making it impossible to follow anything he does. More than once Paul looks up expectantly at his silent audience, making a quip about these moves actually being rather difficult to perfect. What I don't think he realises is that the subdued reaction is the result of bewilderment, shock and intimidation at what this man is able to do.

Occasionally, the pack of cards is put aside and replaced by equally stunning sleight-of-hand involving coins and walnut shells; the former is particularly smooth.

Paul's narration is fascinating and we are treated to stories of card cheats, tricks, casino rules, famous magical feats and movie sleights, like those of Paul Newman in the Sting.

Lie. Cheat. Steal. is sleight at, what has to be, its most complex. My brain doesn't want to accept what this man is able to do. Mesmerising and 'magic' at its very best.

Fringe Review: Peter Antoniou's Psychic Circus

Peter Antoniou's Psychic Circus @ Sweet

The corporate uniformity of Sweet at the Grassmarket couldn't be much further removed from the style of Psychic Circus. Freak shows, performing midgets, scam artists, guess-your-weight men. None of them are there but the show is something of an homage to this age-old style of entertainment.

Peter looks the part in his fantastic black and white brogues, dark suit and grungy belt. His routines are inspired by early circus and cabaret entertainment which is not only an obvious area of enjoyment and fascination for our performer but a great premise for his bizarre mentalist talent. It translates nicely to stage too, though perhaps could use more of a visual and aural accompaniment to pull audiences into that time itself.

The small venue means most of the audience get involved and with this type of show it's the best way to be flummoxed by what transpires. The are occasions of the usual mind-reading stunts; almost invariably someone is thinking about and/or drawing a cat. Pete dresses up the show in other interesting ways though. His naggingly creepy ventriloquist 'bit' is a winning routine and has a hint of the silent-movie era about it. Beautiful.

After one particular flourish there's a titter of appreciation and Pete comments, very honestly, that he's not entirely comfortable with the socially correct manner of applause and we should feel free to continue or abstain when we see fit. His playful banter is humble and endearing and it's difficult not to like this man. He also has a wicked sense of humour, though plays it safe. His charming demeanour makes it easy for him to connect with his audience though, and more of him would be nice.

Peter has always worked hard to bring a sense of odd-ball identity to his Fringe shows and with Psychic Circus this year he nails it.

3 stars