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helen-mccarthy
15th October 2012

Manchester’s finest at Joshua Brooks

Helen McCarthy reviews some of the JB Shorts at Joshua Brooks
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TLDR

Three Stars out of Five Stars

Who’d have thought that Joshua Brooks, the home of Moustache and Juicy, was also home to theatre? I certainly didn’t, so when I crammed myself into a room that’s usually dripping with sweat, I wasn’t sure what to expect. JB Shorts, which is simply described as ‘six short plays by top TV writers’ on its official flyer, is a surprising mix. It’s crude and explosive but also gentle and subdued at times. The only problem is there’s not much time to refresh between courses.

‘A Christmas Carol’, began with the sound of a barking dog so convincing that I thought I was going to be mauled right there in my seat, and Jenni Howarth Williams was so brash that she could easily have fitted into some kind of post-watershed version of Coronation Street. In the quiet moments though, when only her eyes flickered or her forehead creased, she stood out possibly beyond any other cast member. Ian Kershaw’s script was blissfully funny, but during the drama it left the audience lagging behind, still shuffling around and giggling from the line before. The next piece was in a similar vein and had similar shortcomings. Trevor Suthers’ ‘No Comment’ had such glowing comedic aspects that even when Colin Connor lunged across the stage at an accused child killer with violent conviction, it was mildly amusing.

In ‘Seeds’, Steve Mitchell charmed the pants off the audience as a priest going through a sexual crisis and Carole Solazzo’s script was such bliss that the audience was sent into a lull of appreciation. In fourth came ‘Maddie’, in which an ageing pop star waved a Rampant Rabbit around, a sight I did not expect to be treated to on an otherwise normal Wednesday evening. The physical comedy, courtesy of Chris Brett, was particularly striking but the plot was unsatisfying. It never seemed to really get going, but thankfully it turned into a delightful farce which saved it from being inconsequential.

Lucas Smith, a graduate from Manchester Metropolitan’s Theatre School, gave ‘The Bombmaker’ a wonderfully quiet beginning. Backstage, I learnt that during rehearsal he had ruled out the idea of putting on an ambiguously foreign accent for the sake of the terrorist role. The piece ‘played with stereotypes’ – when the audience saw Smith hold a backpack with the utmost care and walk onto the stage to the sound of an Islamic call to prayer, the majority will have no doubt assumed him to be a bonafide extremist, instead we were treated to a voice that would be at home at RADA.

And finally there was ‘Red’, what can only be described as the ballad of a disgruntled United fan. Writer and actor James Quinn prefers to think of himself as a ‘positive FC United fan’, but even a football novice could understand this ferocious loyalty to a football club that has been split into two polar opposites. The corporate United was played by a suited and booted Daniel Jillings, and the people’s club FC United, was played by Sinead Moynihan, an interestingly feminine choice. In Quinn’s words, ‘twenty years ago it would have just been two blokes’ arguing about football, but set against the exposed brickwork of Joshua Brook’s cellar and the backdrop of surprising theatre, nothing was safely assumable.

The JB Shorts runs until 20th October at Joshua Brooks


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