Theatre and Culture from Scotland, starring The List's Theatre Editor, his performance persona and occasional guest stars. Experimental writings, cod-academic critiques and all his opinions, stolen or original.
When I am not behaving like a character from a Tom Wait's song, I'll run towards the past in vague hope of finding succour for my battered heart. The alternative is shaping my life as a bitter anecdote, which is funny for about as long as it takes to listen to the Aria from the Goldberg Variations. Funnily enough, my anecdotes usually go through thirty versions until returning to their original form (only now imbued with the soul-crushing misery of a mind that has been trying to use words to disguise a clear repeated motif of melancholic despair). And that is just like the Goldbergs. I am the J.S. Bach of romantic failure. I associate Bach with the baroque - a twiddly, over-ornate and under-emotional era of music, in my dumb précis of the eighteenth century - but The Goldberg Variations are more sly and tentative. The theme - an aria, but without singing, just a solo keyboard - echoes the melancholy of the great miserabilists (Dowland, Children of God era SWANS), with the distinctive trills hesitant, and the melody picked up over a steady bass. In former Olympic weight-lifter Kimiko Douglass-Ishizaka's interpretation (the one that is free on-line), it is as if the melody is being pushed reluctantly onwards by the almost aggressive bass. Apparently, it is all about the bass: it's based on the sarabande, a dance that was banned in Spain and was popularised by dancing ladies with castanets. Check out this filth...
Welcome back to the Vile Arts' multi-media empire. Yesterday, I did a show, I had some guests and you can hear it all here... The last half hour is all music, so you don't even have to listen to my voice...
Based on the blockbuster film starring Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston, Thea Sharrock's direction of Alexander Dinelaris' script is heavily on the spectacular: familiar tunes from the film – including I Will Always Love You - are given full-blown diva attention by Alexandra Burke as the heroine Rachel Marron and what is lost in character development is hidden by the all-singing, all-dancing chorus-line and the fast-placed melodramatic plot.
Although there is a slight suggestion that Marron undergoes a personal journey towards humility (after winning an Oscar, fortunately), the story is driven by her relationship with the stoic, yet sensitive Bodyguard Frank Farmer – played by Stuart Reid with an appropriate restraint. As Rachel, and her sister, prepare for the climax of her career, a stalker gives chase, allowing Frank to defend her with his mix of straight-talking and paternal sensitivity. The plot, however, simply provides a framework for the musical numbers, and even the climatic confrontation becomes fodder for the resolution of Frank and Rachel's relationship. Fortunately, the fast pace and the lavish routines and set provide excitement and virtuosity enough to compensate for the lack of character development. Frank is a cypher of romantic masculinity, but Rachel's unpleasantness in the first act – she even steals Frank from her sister – is not redeemed.
However, the show is not about the script: it is about the emotional songs and the romantic tension between the showgirl and the bodyguard. Teasing the audience in the first act, the performance builds to the finale, that famous love song of regret and acceptance, and the flashing lights, dynamic dancers, bold choreography and relentless energy ensure thatThe Bodyguard delivers the expected excitement.
