Chris Eldon Lee reviews ‘Eric and Cleopatra’ which is at the New Vic Theatre in Newcastle Under Lyme until Saturday 30th August.
It’s some time since I last saw one of Eric’s little epics, and I’ve clearly been missing a treat.
Twice a year for the past 15 years – at Christmas and in August – David Graham Productions are permitted to take over the New Vic to provide what can best be described as an anti-dote to its regular theatrical fare. In short, the lunatics take over the asylum.
The format is always the same; a story written on the top half of the back of a fag packet, a selection of groanable jokes and a cavalcade of whatever 60s hits they feel like playing. Like ‘Blackadder’, the same central characters find themselves in another classic situation with predictable consequences. It’s generally a ‘relaxed’ production, with much milking of gags and approximate entrances.
But over the years Mr Graham seems to have come to the conclusion that none of the above matters a jot…and he’s absolutely right. The joint is always jumping, there are regular standing ovations and everybody has a whale of a time. There is a tremendous atmosphere of “we’re all having fun together – so sod the cultural limitations.”
This time we’re in the Mediterranean in 41BC as the eponymous Eric (played deadpan, as ever, by David Graham himself) steps into the sandals of Rome’s Mark Anthony to ensnare Egypt’s Cleopatra…played, I suspect for the first time in theatrical history, with a broad Welsh accent by the succulently short Kelly Rickard.
With numerous nods to ‘Up Pompeii’, the plot is peppered with jolly silly situations as the famous names stumble into Rome’s lurid red-candle district whilst trying to avoid be spotted by the ‘taperatsi’. Manchester United is ridiculed (no wonder I enjoyed it) and there are jokes about Stoke that raise the roof. Great use is made of the audience, especially when spotlights circle us looking for vessel virgins (not many of those in Stoke) or well endowed women in tight togas need somewhere to ‘rest’.
In amongst the gags, the music is excellent. Alright, the running order appears to have been drawn up on a quite separate fag packet, but the cast of eight execute it superbly.
A first half finale of “Good Vibrations” was promised in the programme – and I had my concerns. But, without the aid of the Beach Boys’ 100-track studio, the instrumentation and harmonies are absolutely authentic.
Their secret singing weapon is Sarah-Jane Buckley. Miss Buckley is a belter in every sense, producing stunning covers of hits by Petula, Dusty, Cilla and Tina as if they were written for her. Her Eva Cassidy show is due at Shrewsbury’s Theatre Severn this autumn and I hope she’s booked the band; who also acquitted themselves superbly playing the repertoires of Spencer Davis, The Beatles and The Stones. Miles Western’s Mick Jagger impersonation was hilarious. He ought to be expecting a law suit.
They clearly know their audience very well – we’re in that brief window of opportunity between the bus pass and the hip operation. May I suggest you use the one to see the show before the other curtails your dancing days.