Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake

This might seem sacrilege, Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake" is a popular hit of incredible proportion (pretty much a license for Sadler's Wells to print money), but whilst in many respects impressive, personally I only somewhat see what the fuss is about. A startling male corps and an emotionally wrought (perhaps over-wrought) central relationship give plenty to engage with but the narrative is more obtusely told than in most traditional versions.

Unlike "The Car Man" which had a score that drove the piece, Tchaikovsky's music is too inherently stuck in classical ballet forms. Bourne's work thrives when pushing the story along and the endless divertissements, whilst never unattractive, served only to delay the drama. He handles Act I cleverly with a series of scenes beautifully evoking the entrapment of the Prince by society. There's a bit too much hand waving but dramatically it's Bourne at his finest. The spoof ballet has its moments although it's not nearly sharp enough to provoke Trocks like guffaws. Act II brings the novelty of the mighty swans. No dainty women here but a fierce, masculine beauty. The transformation of the lead Swan to the "Stranger" is given no explanation and Act III flounders over the various dances. There's no real drive and several, the Spanish in particular, aren't even terribly appealing. If Act III has its elliptical moments then Act IV makes no sense whatsoever. The charged sexual chemistry is terrific but what exactly is going on eluded me entirely. The closing tableau is a triumph. Lez Brotherston's icy Gothic designs conjure a mysterious world, the swans emerging from the bed is a theatrical coup of some brilliance.

Whilst far from flawless the dancing was of a consistently high standard. Richard Windsor remains one of Bourne's greatest assets. The sheer intensity of his dancing, his rippling muscles dominating, is breathtaking. A raw masculinity that prevents the action ever feeling in the slightest bit camp. Christopher Marney becomes his character more when he moves than when standing still (looking gloomy appeared his only trait) but he nails the sexual repression that leads to his downward spiral. The ambiguous Queen was boldly taken by Nina Goldman, a potent force throughout her silent wails at the conclusion were enormously powerful. Madelaine Brennan got some effective laughs although her death didn't have quite the impact it might. A small orchestra was never entirely going to do justice to this incredible score. However, despite losing the plush romanticism at times, especially in the strings, the reduced orchestration was mostly very fine. Unfortunately too many bum notes suggested an orchestra on autopilot.

There's much that is brilliant about this Swan Lake, the corps of male swans alone was, and in many respects still is, groundbreakingly inventive. The central trio are wonderfully evoked emotionally but the framework around them is broadly painted. The narrative is a muddle and Bourne's strong forward-moving choreography is stunted by the restrictions of the score. If you haven't seen this already then you've probably been living under a rock but it remains well worth a look. A radical reinterpretation of a classic that whilst not perfect has far more positive elements than negative.

The Nutcracker (English National Ballet)

Yuck. It was only a twist of fate that led to my attending the "English National Ballet" "Nutcracker" this year. They said they would ditch it at the last revival but here it is again. Gerald Scarfe's grotesque designs dominating Act I to the extent that deriving pleasure from the dance becomes hideously difficult. Some decent dancing in Act II lifted the evening out of the mire of wretchedness, but I still feel for all those involved having to slog through this mess every evening.

Dramatic consistency is not high on anyone's agenda here. If the Royal Ballet's production has faults, it still makes a fine bash at making something coherent out of the iffy in-built narrative. Scarfe's concept has everyone living in an ugly Dr Seuss-like world with ridiculous hair, garish clashing coloured costumes and a Drosselmeyer who looks like a camp Las Vegas entertainer. The sets are consistently tacky, the giant fridge particularly painful. Act I has little substance, the blame for which must partly fall on the choreography of Christopher Hampson. It both fails to tell a substantial narrative and hasn't got any pretty dances to speak of. Act II is a much stronger affair. Hampson has put together a solid if uninspired set of National dances. The Russian Dance is excitingly explosive (despite the silly costume), the Arabian rather sensual (despite the silly costume). The Spanish is completely sunk by the horrendously coloured outfits with pink cape accessories. Quite remarkably the flowers are gifted rather attractive, subdued costumes allowing for a glimmer of loveliness, almost traditional, amongst the dross.

Act I is pretty much a wash with no one having a chance to stand out. Kei Akahoshi's Clara had a precision that was difficult to miss although genuine character wasn't apparent. Fabien Reimair struggled to make anything of the Nutcracker (he does relatively little in this production). Daniel Kraus did little wrong as the flamboyant Drosselmeyer but he wasn't given many opportunities to do much right. Many others flapped about to little effect. Ksenia Ovsyanick captured the sexy quality of the Arabian, emerging from feathers with most of her dignity intact. Vadim Muntagirov produced some spectacular leaps and turns slightly outdoing Kraus. The lead pairing were strongly cast in Fernanda Oliveira and Dmitri Gruzdyev. Oliviera isn't the most explosive of dancers but maintained stunning control and attractive lines throughout. Gruzdyev is a handsome partner, always supportive and producing a sparky solo of his own.

I'll make no bones about it, I don't like this production. It's ugly and overwhelms the dancers. There's little narrative structure or emotional feeling and largely devoid of choreography that might allow the dancers to save the day. A solid enough company performance but this made little difference to the end result. A poor Nutcracker that needs ditching as soon as humanly possible.

La Bohème (Royal Opera)

A fairly regulation revival given a jolt of excitement by an ailing tenor and a near revelatory soprano. Copley's production of "La Bohème" has been in the repertory for thirty years and if it doesn't stay there for another thirty I'll be very surprised. A dream production by any standards.

Piotr Beczala apologised in advance that he was suffering under a cold and within the first three minutes it was pretty clear he wasn't going to last the evening. Usually a mighty tenor his intonation was all over the place and having almost survived Act I he absolutely murdered the final note, mercifully by that point singing well off-stage. Gamely struggling through Act II (there's no interval) a charismatic smile only got him so far. Luckily this run has multiple casts and after a slightly extended interval Teodor Ilincai replaced him. Debuting at the Royal Opera under these circumstances, nerves would have been entirely understandable. Ilincai stepped on the stage with assurance and if his acting was a little wooden his tenor was not. Plenty of heft and some unforced high notes charmed; only some odd wobbles towards the bottom of his range betrayed any weakness. Leaning towards a boyish interpretation, it wasn't a perfect performance by any means but under the circumstances something of a triumph.

Despite this sterling work the real drama came from the unbelievably impressive Hibla Gerzmava. Floating some soft, pianissimo phrases out into the auditorium with a level of control I've seldom heard before. Her top radiated with a glow that warmed the icy settings, not sure about frozen hands but I had chills running down my back. Fair play to her for finding chemistry with two different Rodolfos; her acting was impressive, a consumptive I could almost believe in.

Elsewhere things were healthily sung but without much brilliance. Inna Dukach is visually prime casting as Musetta. Flirting with just about everyone, she had coquette written all over her (maybe too so, things got a little caricature) but her comic timing was passable at best. Attractive vocally as well, an unmistakably feisty edge, but her soprano is just a touch small for the house, lost in the epic ensemble moments. Gabriele Viviani didn't push any of my buttons. He sang accurately and with plenty of gusto but I struggled to feel the passion. Beneath the notes I just wasn't convinced much emotion existed. Competency was the hallmark of Kostas Smoriginas's Colline. The notes firmly under control but the charm was missing, this is possibly the first time I've been totally unmoved by the ode to his coat. Jacques Imbrailo rounded the group out with some lovely singing, he didn't stand out dramatically but quietly filled his role with consummate professionalism. Strongly sung minor roles rounded out the evening. Andris Nelsons brought out the majesty of the score with a well paced reading, he perhaps tended towards the melodramatic but everything sounded absolutely thrilling. Communication between pit and stage slipped briefly but such problems will no doubt be ironed out as the run goes on.

This revival is worth seeing on the basis of Gerzmava alone. A star turn that I won't soon forget. The decision to film this revival (which strikes me as odd on paper as none in the cast are sure-fire sellers) is justified entirely by her casting. Pity about Beczala but Ilincai was more than up to the job despite the difficult circumstances. I'll be catching the young second cast early next year, this is a production I could see over and over again and never get bored. Hugely moving from start to finish.

Les Patineurs / Beatrix Potter (Royal Ballet)

The Royal Ballet offer plenty to be joyful about around Christmas, "The Nutcracker" gleefully trundles on and just to give a bit more cute value they wheel out "The Tales of Beatrix Potter" about the most adorable way to spend an hour. This is hardly an evening for ballet connoisseurs; "Les Patineurs" has some technical challenges but is over before it starts, "Beatrix Potter" is a loveable confection but mostly for its costumes.

This wasn't an evening I'll recall as particularly strong however. Brian Maloney was having a shocking night as the Blue Boy. Imprecise all evening and then wobbled all over the place for the final spins. A difficult role but he can certainly do better. I wasn't much impressed by the small corps either. They seldom seemed to be all dancing to the same music and the indefinable elegance of this charming work was largely missing. Cindy Jourdain and Gary Avis captured some of the beauty as the White couple although the lifts were a touch scrappy. Star of the performance was Yuhui Choe who offered some absolutely stunning technical dancing. Paired with Helen Crawford the pair produced an exciting electricity that was absent elsewhere. I love this pint sized work but the execution was not what I expected (especially considering how strong the Royal Ballet have been of late).

Unlock your inner child and "The Tales of Beatrix Potter" is utterly delightful. The running time pushes the cute value to the limit but it just about sustains, the closing scene a witty delight. The costumes are unrivalled by anything I've ever come across (I want one), the sets an endless stream of enchanting stage pictures. Judging the dancing here is a touch tricky but I had little to complain about. Philip Mosley displayed some expert wrist control as Mrs Tiggy-Winkle (an incomparable creation), Laura Morera's Jemima Puddle-Duck was a treat and David Pickering comically villainous as the Fox (that tail must be a nightmare to dance with). Ryoichi Hirano had a terrific spring in his step as Mr Jeremy Fisher; Johannes Stepanek waved Peter Rabbits carrots with impressive glee. James Hay and Emma Maguire trashing the toy house was to die for. Low marks to whichever adult mouse succeeded in knocking over one of the little mice... not cool, the children impossibly cute (cute is the key word for the entire ballet).

Some iffy dancing in "Patineurs" wrecked things a little but this is an double bill of some joy. I'd still recommend "The Nutcracker" as a more comprehensive evening but the squeals of delight emerging from the child in front of me suggest this is a top way to entertain the young (and young at heart). Heartily recommended.

1984

I haven't ventured to the Battersea Arts Centre since "Masque of the Red Death" which is pretty shocking considering it's about the closest major theatre to my home. The prospect of "1984" combined with puppets was all that was required and having seen the building again in its regular form I suspect I'll be back often. I'm not nearly trendy enough for the place but I can still pretend.

"Blind Summit Theatre" are most famous for their puppetry, "Shun-Kin" and the Minghella "Madam Butterfly" used their work, but their new adaptation of Orwell's classic has surprisingly few of these clever creations. An appealingly rough and ready production; the entire company hurl themselves about the stage becoming trees one minute and planes the next (never using more than chairs or some cardboard props). A sequence in the second half when the cast play out a political text using only cardboard cut-outs is absolutely hysterical, a triumph of low-budget genius. The puppet Charrington, the only major puppet and used to make a rather literal point, is the finest sort of wooden creature, as believable as any human actor. It's not all so classy however, the nastiness of the closing sections, especially the electrocution, is more funny than terrifying. The oppressive regime, so carefully presented throughout, looses edge when it becomes more than just a looming background presence. Waving arms and wails didn't really cut it for torture.

Very much a company piece, the seven playing a variety of characters each. The two leads do particularly fine work, Simon Scardifield and Julia Innocenti the desperate lovers at the heart of the evening. Josie Daxter managed to be both sinister and amusing as Parsons, a neat bit of gender casting. Gergo Danka's physicality was bizarre but his voice had villain written all over it, Henry Maynard turned barking orders into an art form.

An effective demonstration of making a lot with very little. The lighting was simple but hugely effective. The music a relentless minimalist score that only heightened the intense atmosphere. Things flagged in the closing sections as tension lapsed a touch, a cut in the running time would only have helped, but otherwise this was a thought-provoking adaptation of real originality. Well worth a look.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

This production has had plenty of press for reasons that don't really relate to its artistic quality. Did no one think to mention how truly successful this production is? The casting is a triumph not for the colour of anyone's skin but because the entire cast totally become their roles. There's nothing particularly ground-breaking at all about this revival of a very fine play but it makes for a highly compelling evening.

Elegantly designed; the high walled, grand room evokes the moneyed household, the slatted walls leave eaves droppers on all sides and a beautifully lit back-cloth captures this cool Mississippi evening. The steps across the middle of the stage allow for some intelligent levels and focus attention on the ailing Big Daddy and crippled Brick. The distinctive casting doesn't affect the piece as much as it might (despite on paper being a very white, southern family). Apparently such families did exist and regardless theatre these days often has casts that make little genetic sense. Debbie Allen hasn't made any particularly key changes beyond bringing the action forward a few decades (which isn't even that clear, beyond perhaps the bar and television which have a more modern feel). It's a piece that stands brilliantly on its own, she didn't have to muck about with it and wisely she hasn't.

The casting is pretty flawless. Adrian Lester seems to be on a mission to actually break his leg as he flings himself about the stage. His relationship with his wife, Sanaa Lathan, is a difficult one and he nails the alcoholic detachment with ease, not a likeable character but an understandable one. Lathan gives a tour de force performance, Act I is virtually a monologue for the character and she never let the pace flag. She is also not entirely pleasant, apparently caring but not above potentially cruel manipulation. James Earl Jones takes star billing and he doesn't disappoint. Oozing fading authority and aggression, his cuddly exterior and terrific comic timing contrasted with his at times breathtaking callousness. Phylicia Rashad's Big Mama garnered great sympathy as the evening wore on, perhaps the only character with consistently kind intent although even she was not above some harsh treatment. Nina Sosanya and Peter de Jersey made for a despicable pairing, both brilliantly funny whilst skulking in the background even if they couldn't entirely disguise the slightly caricature roles.

A superb revival that will probably be unfairly remembered as the black "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" instead of the triumphant piece of drama that it is. If the casting has achieved something very significant however it's in the wonderfully diverse audience; I haven't seen such a varied cross-section, in age apart from anything else, at a straight West End play in a long time. Effortlessly staged and beautifully acted. Highly recommended.

Arturo Brachetti - Change

He's quite good at magic this one. Arturo Brachetti manages, quite apart from his amazing quick-changes, to magically be both highly endearing and deeply punchable. "Change" suffers from a thin philosophy and narrative that simply get in the way of the fun. Who cares if illusion is vital to life? There's certainly nothing here to change my world view but it's a mostly very entertaining hour and a half of slick theatrical trickery.

Brachetti has an on-stage persona (and possibly off as well) that isn't well attuned to British sensibilities. As a people we don't really go for such passionate outpourings about just about anything and everything. His happy go lucky, grin at everything attitude grates as much as it enchants. On several levels I wanted to love him, and over the evening I was gradually beaten into pleasant submission, but the stream of, if I'm honest, pretty crap jokes (I was oddly reminded of the director, Sean Foley's, earlier work "Ducktastic" which isn't a compliment) and silly anecdotes made it mighty difficult.

When he stopped talking and started changing his clothes things got a damn sight more entertaining. I don't know how many changes he makes but each and everyone was stunning. It's a testament to his skill that they remain engaging throughout despite the fact all he really does when not changing is wave his arms around and pull a massive smile. Foley has injected a heady dose of glossy theatre into the equation with a slick set, consisting almost entirely of a massive unfolding box, and plenty of projections. These are less successful overall, the video fell prey to the terrible joke problem and served only to delay the magic, but added an extra layer of interest. Brachetti does a tidy line in other magical trickery making violin bows fly with exceptional brilliance and generating flowers in a manner I've never seen before (he does these things occasionally whilst changing his clothes at the same time). The hand-puppetry was good but rather scuppered by the fact I saw an old man do this trick in China over the summer with even more brilliance. The final transformation is a bit of a damp squib, almost superb but somehow a little disappointing after all that had come before.

A thoroughly enjoyable way to spend an evening. In some ways it feels like a missed opportunity as Brachetti could be better served in a different vehicle; less prattling on about Fellini and Death plus fewer quick-fire, end of pier jokes would have harmed no one. Still a wonderfully skilled affair that deserves to be seen and should appeal to just about anyone (assuming you can stomach a fair degree of manic glee being thrown at you).