UTE LEMPER channelling Dietrich!
Marlene, forever the enigma, hated in her home country, Germany, later restored to favour. Wooed in Hollywood, loved by audiences round the world, pinned into frocks – I remember that sequined dress that made her shuffle to the front of the stage like a geisha when I saw her London – dying a recluse in Paris at 94. Continue reading →
Marie McCarthy’s Clapham Omnibus just seems to go from strength to strength.
Starting with a barely transformed library, and on the slenderest of resources, McCarthy has turned the venue into a positive mini power-house – a sort of BAC in miniature – now sporting a new café and running two shows a night. Continue reading →
The Yorkshire Ripper. Leeds 1975. Anyone reading those words might be forgiven for feeling a shiver down the spine. Notoriety comes in multifarious ways. For some it comes through misdeeds. For Peter Sutcliffe it certainly brought a particular form of `celebrity’. Continue reading →
Cinna, the poet, happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. He is the unhappy victim of a moment of mob mentality, when a ruler has been displaced – assassinated – when the crowd are thirsting for revenge having had their heads and heart turned by the words of Marc Antony over Caesar’s body at his funeral. Continue reading →