Once upon a time, farce was - so we're told - the mainstay of theatres up and down this fair land. Audiences could enjoy a seemingly endless stream of actors running on and off the stage like mad things, plenty of blathering, little actual plot and, if you were really lucky/unlucky a few double entendres, dropped trousers and an 'Ooh vicar!' Well, Rik Mayall's latest vehicle adds very little to that mixture beyond bringing farce well and truly into the 21st century. But, dear reader, what else did you REALLY want? The cast are on and off stage听maniacally, the double entendres are now outright streams of what I suppose might be seen as 'shocking' language (but nowt compared to what you hear in Bradford city centre on a Friday night), the dropped trousers are surprisingly not on show - but let's just say that they're unnecessary as nothing is left to the imagination. And instead of, 'Ooh vicar!' it's, 'Ooh Your Majesty!'
 | | Rik and Helen Baker as Flora |
Yes, Rik is out and proud once again as Alan B'Stard MP, as seen on TV. Where once he was a raving Tory, he's now a raving New Labourite. Cynics might say there's no difference and I suppose that's the somewhat leaden point being made here among a number of others. But, frankly, who cares about the 'point' of this production or even the plot for that matter? The New Statesman has some very funny moments - as it should being written by legendary duo Marks and Gran - but deep down we all know that it's really another showcase for Mayall to do what he does best: gurn to the audience, swear like a trooper and indulge in plenty of physical stuff that usually entails the cast being injured in the softer parts of their anatomy - including, refreshingly, B'Stard himself. In an age of utter, utter (geddit, Young Ones fans?) seriousness, perhaps a lightweight comedy like this is more important than ever. Do you really care that much about the 'story'? Well, unsurprisingly, Mayall's Alan B'Stard is no different from the one we saw on our TV screens in the early 1990s. B'Stard is, in fact, a b*. He shafts his colleagues - and even some well-known figures on the world political stage - for all they're worth and, as usual, ends up the winner. You weren't expecting anything more than that were you? There's something to offend just about everyone here - especially as some not particularly flattering references to Bradford and 'Oop North' in general are injected into proceedings. And if you're Scottish, you might think again before attending...
 | | Rik and Kamaal Hussein as Habibi |
Rik manages to fluff his lines every so often and there are a couple of moments when things go 'awry', but would it be wrong of me to suggest that these days this is an established part of Mayall's 'act' and that they'd be missed if they didn't happen? I don't know, but it only occurs a couple of times, and even then things never go off track for long it's actually these moments when Mayall and the cast get some of their best laughs. It's times like these when you can see all of the cast are really ENJOYING entertaining us. Shakespearan tragedy this ain't! Mayall is the star, of course, but the other members of the cast do a good job keeping up with Rik as he goes about his dastardly (B'Stardly?) business. However when he's not on stage things do tend to flag. This isn't any criticism of the other actors involved, it's just that Mayall is obviously the character around whom this whole production turns and the other inhabitants of the stage are really just there to move the 'plot' on a bit. It's for this reason that they're pretty one-dimensional: the money-grabbing ex-wife to be, the Northerner who stayed close to his working class roots and still has a healthy stock of flattened vowels, and...umm...Condoleezza Rice. In summary, The New Statesmen doesn't bear any examination as true political satire. Yes, it makes some unsubtle points about the Blair years and, in these days of Mr Blair's 'farewell tour', they're probably the sort of points which would be made in pubs all across the land if people still talked about that sort of thing in pubs instead of Big Brother and the Beckhams. But instead it's actually just an out-and-out farce and, as such, it really hits the spot! The New Statesman runs at the Alhambra, Bradford, until Saturday 16th June. For more details call 01274 432000 or click on the weblink at the top right of this page! |
