Abigail's Party @ Hull Truck

Talk about onstage drug-taking!

Mike Leigh's 1977 play contains copious amounts of drug consumption – all legal, I hasten to add. What really stands out is the cloud of tobacco smoke that settles over the stage during the two hours or so of this very suburban comedy of manners.

It's not just the seventies outfits and obsession with social one-upmanship with house prices that date this play. For some reason, the bygone age is irresistibly conjured by the mere fact of people smoking indoors so very casually. Nothing brings home a public smoking ban quite like several people coolly and deliberately flouting it (the actors, not the characters, of course; they've no concept of any harm from (passive or active) smoking).

But, though the most noticeable, the fags aren't the only drugs onstage. It's the fags that warrant the warnings in the theatre's foyer, but each of Leigh's five finely-drawn characters always has a drink on the go. Between them – and especially Pauline Simpson's charmingly naïve Angie – they down enough booze to sink more than just a single battleship. In fairness, they probably need a stiff drink (or four) to get through the party and cope with Amie Taylor's strident, acerbic hostess, Beverly.

The middle-class urbanites small talk their way through less raucous – though more dangerous and drink-fuelled – a party than that of Abigail, the teenager hosting her party down the road. At times, her unseen party sounds more exciting, but I bet it has nothing on the drama at Beverley's.

When I reviewed a performance of this play a few years ago, I saw it as a stultifying, dull script that could only appeal to a generous audience who'd attended similar parties in their younger days (decades ago). But the amateurs of Hessle Theatre Company utterly redeem Leigh's play, presenting a sparkling, perceptive comedy that appeals to the youngest and oldest of the audience. This is a bunch of performers who understand the comedy of Leigh's play far better than the professionals I saw a few years ago. They draw laughs from quiet little moments and facial expressions – perfectly judged moments of social interaction – as much as from their excellent delivery of the punchlines. They let the script breathe, allowing time for the laughter, but not often at the expense of pace.

This company contains amateurs with great skill, whose care and dedication to their craft is evident. It can be seen not only in the detailed set, which is pitched beautifully at a sense of suburban pretension and ostentation, but in the quality of acting. Of particular note is Martin Beaumont as Beverley's put-upon estate agent husband, Laurence. A master of trying to maintain social dignity balanced with the husband resisting (vainly) domination by his wife, Beaumont's Laurence is a joy. His relationship with Beverley is a familiar one, well-evoked , of the couple politely vying for control. That he looks and sounds like a younger Ian Hislop only adds to his comic power.

Hessle Theatre Company has given Hull an invigorating dose of modern classic drama, and for that they are to be applauded; it's exactly what the best regional theatre should be doing.

Up 'n' Under @ Hull Truck

A rugby ball sits, waiting, centre stage. A rugby ball-shaped spotlight focusses on it. Smoke fills the stage, beams of light shooting downwards. Is it Wembley? The Millennium Stadium? A true Theatre of Dreams, a Stadium of Light? It's certainly a big arena set-piece to open John Godber's Up 'n' Under at Hull Truck.

Godber allegedly wrote this play after promising to do so at his interview for the job of Artistic Director at Hull Truck. That was twenty-five years ago, and now the Truck has resurrected this tale of a failing rugby side struggling against both themselves and formidable opposition. In a way, it hasn't aged too well, the casual homophobia still being lapped up by 2009's audience. But this audience also laps up the local colour, the banter and the camaraderie of Godber's team. He sets up a fierce rivalry early on, which gets laughs and sets a lightly confrontational tone throughout – what do you expect from a play about rugby with five men and only one woman?

It's in the next scene that Godber triumphs though. It works when he keeps away from the grandiose themes and styles, instead giving the people what they want by sticking some northern blokes in a room to moan and bicker. This is – if you'll pardon the unintentional pun – Godber's home turf, and the scene is a masterclass in both character and dialogue, each line rushing the scene to its conclusion via a joke. Masterful.

You could probably criticise the casting of this play – the singer can't sing, and some argue that Abi Titmuss is just there for the headlines. But at least there's eye-candy for both halves of the audience, and (like many Truck plays) the cast are highly plausible as a unit, if not as individuals. Speaking of eye-candy, Titmuss surely doesn't need to do quite so much work alone in her onstage gym...does she?

There comes a time in this early play when a teacher writes a poem based around the opening of Romeo & Juliet. He actively apes the style of Shakespeare, and the same can be said of Godber throughout the play; he gives an epic scope to the action that tries to raise it above the level of mere amateur rugby up to something higher, something grander. Take, for example, Titmuss setting the scene in heroic fashion before the action starts (then later reminding us of the story so far, in case we'd forgotten...after the first scene), very Henry V. That stadium feels like just one part of Godber's plan to make everything much bigger than it really is. But for all his knowingly-dropped titbits from Henry V and King Lear, Macbeth and Romeo & Juliet, Godber can't get away from the fact that his story is about some blokes who are out of shape and need chivvying up.

What we're presented with is very much a populist piece of theatre. It doesn't engage with any big themes, apart perhaps from the effects of ageing. What it does do very well is tell an encouraging story and raise laugh after laugh, in classic Hull Truck style – no surprise, as this is probably the play which, more than any other, set the benchmark for that style back in the mid-eighties. The ripping of Shakespeare certainly feels like a new writer showing us what he knows and trying things out.

Viewed in such terms, this is a massive success, and deserves the rapturous applause it gets from a nearly-full house. How many of those kids were there because Up 'n' Under is a set text, or were there for Abi Titmuss, is debatable – but if they liked this (they should) and want to see more like it...who cares why they turned up?

Two Hull Truck Shows a-Saturday

Two shows in Hull Truck's Studio on Saturday. Last Saturday, that is. Both one-offs for the Theatre, and neither exactly what you'd expect from the place. I saw both in what felt like a long day of theatre, though that's as much down to the fact that I was beginning to head into illness-fever territory as anything else.

Afternoon
In the afternoon, children's show Don't Mess, by a company confusingly named Moby Duck. Yes, at least one family turned up expecting a story about a whale. I don't think they were disappointed, but they certainly didn't get what they expected, and the kids were confused at the interval.

There aren't any whales in this story, which is 'a tale as old as India' – there's your first give-away that Moby Duck's work has nothing to do with whales...although, simply reading the publicity would also have told you that. Instead, the three performers give us a classic stepmother vs. daughter fairy tale. I many ways, the Indian version of Snow White, minus the dwarfs. There's a beautiful princess, born in rather unusual circumstances, who turns out to be an amazing cook, before being driven away as part of the needlessly cruel schemes of her new step-mum. In telling this story this way, Moby Duck combine several elements of fairy tales from all over the place, and almost make it like the Thousand and One Nights all thrown in together. Instead of dwarfs and a handsome prince, we've got the intervention of the Hindu gods (well, one of them but in various guises, the production perhaps wisely avoids going into too much detail on the exact way Hindu divinity operates) in multi-media form.

There's plenty of this multi-media stuff to keep the kids open-mouthed, and an awful lot going on visually. It certainly makes a colourful spectacle, and as such the South Asian elements of story-telling are very much on display. Oh, and the lad on percussion in the corner, of course – no doubt an integral part of South Asian stories. All that bright light and drumming didn't do any favours for my headache or growing sense of illness – word of warning: don't start popping paracetamol in children's shows; as if being a wheezing, lone man at the back weren't enough, drugs are a definite way to draw anxious looks.

Ultimately, I'm not sure the Indian dance on display is enough to keep the kids hooked, even when coupled with live sound effects and inventive (economical, set-wise) use of video. What Moby Duck do achieve is to bring a bit of high, foreign culture to Hull, which is to be applauded. How much of it went over the kids' heads is another question. But it's a worthy endeavour, and there really ought to be more attempts to do this.

Evening
In the evening, the less child-friendly vaudeville act, Madam Laycock and her Dabeno Pleasures. If you think the name sounds smutty, that's because it is.

This is a group of young women who bill their style as somewhere between vaudeville and circus, using elements of both to create something unique and amazing. But don't get your hopes up. These are young people trying to be Tim Burton, and not quite pulling it off (but, hey, set your goals high). They've an artfully messy set, both musically and staging-wise, making use of talent on a variety of instrument, mostly drums and piano accordion.

Madam Laycock, despite her large amount of hair and innuendo-laden name, isn't as interesting as her assembled Pleasures, a collection of freaks that have backstories you'd love to believe if only they worked. There's Fritz, the mutant on piano accordion, whose story is great until s/he tries to speak, and that ruins it all. The voodoo grandma on drums also more or less works, if you don't think about it too much, as does the Russian doll on violin (the most competent musician of the group). But just how funny is repeating the idea of the Bearded Lady's bestiality, especially when she's lost her beardy costume before her beardy nature is highlighted? It spoils the joke when the Bearded Lady hasn't got a beard any more. Then there's the Ringmaster figure that welcomes the audience in...a potentially brilliant device, if only it were applied consistently. That seems to be it on the circus front, and the company need to make more of that.

Like the family expecting the story of a whale, I was left slightly confused by the interval. Were these kids actors who played music throughout their poorly-plotted play or a bunch of musicians with silly costumes, half-baked characters and a set? Ultimately, a lack of cohesive storyline marks them out as musicians and not actors – which is fine, but they maybe need that to be more clear early on.

While endearingly messy onstage, Madam Laycock's band block out the scenery behind them. A quick word on the scenery: it almost steals the show; detailed and inventive, it perfectly captures the small town the songs are based in. It's even got shadow puppets, courtesy of that ringmaster. But they can't be seen, because of the Dabeno Pleasures. As with so many other things, the group need a little more focus and a little tidying up, so that their design ethic isn't wasted behind them.

This is a promising group, with a wicked streak and mildly eccentric sense of humour (how eccentric for eccentricity's sake is anyone's guess), that is crying out for a guiding hand to steer them in the right direction and give them some discipline and focus. What they also need is time to hone their performance in front of an audience that's not composed of their friends, so they can get more broad, varied reactions to their (at times self-indulgent) material.