The Kingmaker – Edinburgh Filmhouse

Written & Directed by Lauren Greenfield

Lies have found their place as currency in politics, haven’t they? Well, it’s certainly no different than the past. The only difference lies in the medium in which propaganda is broadcast. One woman who appreciates the value of an image, claiming to have solved the Cold War within ‘five minutes’, and rubbed shoulders with history’s wealthiest, influential is the former First Lady of The Philippines, Imelda Marcos; A fascinating woman who may play the part of the innocent ‘Mother’ of the nation but is first and foremost The KingmakerFollowing the death of her husband, President Ferdinand Marcos, she has her eyes set on a new King, her son Bongbong, ascending to the leadership of the Philippines.

What starts as a documentary, seemingly offering a platform for Marcos, turns into a nightmarish, honest and cold-cut horror piece of reality. The Kingmaker is as repulsive as it is engrossing, without resorting to forced perspective. Filmmaker Lauren Greenfield masterfully stitches the truth against Marcos as an unreliable narrator, producing an insightful documentary on the obsessive allure of power, wealth and legacy.

Refusing to maintain this platform, subverting it instead, Greenfield admits that upon meeting Marcos, she was unsure of the former First Lady’s intentions. Poised with an image in mind, it takes little time to realise that for Marcos, as with her life, this is another tapestry to weave. To paint her visage once more, to outright deny, distract and cast smoke around her history. The stories she tells, the way she feigns ignorance to the billions she and her husband robbed from the Filipino public and the attempt to control the direction of the documentary, Imelda Marcos is no ‘trophy’ first lady, but a tactician.

Refuting this, Greenfield seamlessly provides rebuttals to Marcos’ attempts at drawing her narrative. Without false pretense or unneeded pathos, brutal accounts of the martial law, the sexual assault and violence the people suffered under the Marcos’ rule are played directly after interview segments. The Kingmaker’s editing is fluid, without awkward transitions of showcasing, instead noting the importance of reporting a direct truth against the lies told. We flow from Marcos’ words of vindication for her family to the imagery of poverty, a broken nation and first-hand accounts of the brutality they suffered. 

Expanding on this unreliable nature, Greenfield’s documentary-style achieves a precise cinema verité in the construct of multiple scenes. Enabling multiple shots to have this ‘fly on the wall’ reach means that when Marcos’ pre-planned image fails, Greenfield captures the moment. It’s an open form of cinema where the camera is acknowledged, a raw documentary style which captures every motion, smile or servant bustling away with photos, portraits or bags filled with cash.

Reflecting her privilege, Lars Skree and Shana Hagan’s cinematography knows precisely where to focus in the Marcos family home, without obvious crassness. Framing Marcos near the stolen paintings she claims to have never owned, their cinematography forces nothing. Instead, it allows Marcos to fall on her opulence. Candidly walking, showcasing her prized Picassos or Michaelangelos, Skree and Hagan capture the decadence in which Marcos lives, contrasting it with wide shots of the countryside, which then crash into the reality of the surrounding slums of the Philippines.

The Kingmaker is a sublime piece of cinema verité, and moulds itself around the subject, acknowledging the attempts Marcos makes in constructing an image she can ‘sell’ to the world to reclaim former glory. Greenfield’s film is no less brave than it is insightfully smart, rather than direct opposition to the Marcos family, it humbly presents indisputable accounts to provide a balanced documentary, mesmeric in its deconstruction of dictatorial corruption and its analysis of lies.

Review originally published for The Wee Review: https://theweereview.com/review/the-kingmaker/

Cabaret – The Festival Theatre

Music & Lyrics by John Kander and Fred Ebb

Book by Joe Masteroff

Directed by Rufus Norris

Madame’s & Monsieur’s you are cordially invited to Berlin’s it Kit Kat Klub, a den of iniquity, vice and never a virtue. Life has always been a Cabaret: it’s bombastic, emotional and contains just a few surprises, with fewer welcome ones. Joe Masteroff’s book, a play made in 1966 has been cast into the minds of many for the Liza Minnelli film of the seventies – when in reality its nuances, symbolism and staggering beauty lies on the stage.

The remnants of the First World War are still a struggle for the German people of the Weimar Republic in the late 1920s and early ’30s. Arriving into the mix is Cliff Bradshaw, an American writer who befriends choice individuals during his stay at Fraulein Schneider’s small apartment. Taking up an invitation to the Kit Kat Klub, a Kabaret club which epitomises the struggles of the German people and rise of the Nazi party, with select clues for those looking beyond the enticing men and woman, Bradshaw encounters Ernst Ludwig, a German man retrieving various goods from Paris during ‘business’ trips. Above it all, a young chipper Brit, Sally Bowles, captivates any who cross her path.

Approaching act two, illusionary parables fade as a metaphorical context becomes evident, gathering momentous emotion, particularly painful ones, as Partridge collapses from the Emcee, – Jester-King of Cabaret to a fallen idol, an example of the times ahead for the Kit Kat Klub, Germany and Europe. As subtle shades become prominent, the gasps of realisation are nothing of the eventual shuddering imagery of the climax. With the Third Reich rising, Emcee and Sally’s worlds begin to fold in on themselves, a deafening thud of brutality about to echo into the night.

What refuses to fall, is Javier De Frutos’ choreography, for what use is a Klub bar with such sumptuous performers without a little dancing? And while an emphasis may principally focus on burlesque numbers, hypnotically risqué and raunchy, the numbers build in gravitas with less push for humour, and more in syncronising strong-footed movements. Captivating, Kara Lily Hayworth, the entirety of the ensemble cast and John Partridge bring together pin-point accurate movement with the production’s infamous soundtrack.

The production’s vocals are human, not quite as polished as a cast-recording maybe, but what this means is performers such as Anita Harris provides humanity to their numbers like So What? Lyrical construction by Fred Ebb is metaphorically haunting, just as much as his catchy show-girl numbers are extravagant in excess. No, numbers Tomorrow Belongs To Me and reprisals of Wilkommen are excellently written, well composed against John Kander’s ridiculously infectious score, are harrowing in their place within the production.

Absent from the abhorrent future the members of the Klub face, Sally Bowles has her trials, though Lily Hayworth’s momentous return to the venue with Cabaret, the titular number, is the blow-out number of the evening. Bowles is a pixyish character, far from our protagonist, with only Harris and James Paterson’s utterly enrapturing Herr Schultz taking this crown, she is a key focus for the show. Lily Hayworth is playful with just enough sting to keep our interest without over-playing the role. She channels Minnelli (it’s impossible not too) but equally makes the part her own, layering on the English-girl trapped in Germany with gusto. Her emotive control of vocals means that even scenes where perhaps there is a lacking tension, are made in waves of talent.

Master of ceremonies, and mischief-maker to the stars, The Emcee is as revoltingly unnerving to watch as they are mesmerically alluring. Thoroughly unpleasant, John Partridge finds infinite sinful delight in the role, turning who should be an out-right antagonist into the principal player. His spider-like movements reflect his knowledge of the strings to pull. That is of course, excluding the rising black eagle which the Emcee seems to feign ignorance of. Partridge’s control is precise, managing to stir the audience into obeying his ever demeaning, domineering command for attention, praise and all they receive in return is the finger, or if we’re lucky a wink. Behind the double-digits of false lashes, the precise choreography and elaborately delicious The Money Song, there are two instances of Partridge’s considerable ability to shock, terrorise and stir poignancy: Tomorrow Belongs to Me and Cabaret’s closing moments.  

Silence in the theatre is deafening, it is either the maker of production or its sentence. No claps or shrill whistles, an audience halted in their jubilant celebrations of Cabaret as reality rears its vulgar presence. This is what the narrative has been building towards, a sinister viper lurking beneath the glitz, awaiting its moment. Its framing is monumentally heart-breaking. The cold bodies, lining against a wall, the eventual downpour, a reminder of Europe’s all too recent history, and the atrocities never to be forgotten.

Tragically, this is where the near-perfection of Cabaret stumbles, in the tonal shifts and merger of the three plot threads. Charles Hagerty does a fine job with an underwritten role, but the delivery lacks charisma. His undertones of battling with his sexuality, his confrontations with the brown-shirts all feel for not when his attitudes towards Bowles and his lacking presence all work against rooting for the character, Hagerty unable to overcome this dislike is sadly swept aside for far more engaging characters. 

And what characters this production has to its name, that the occasional weak link cannot break the behemoth’s chains of excitement. The Cabaret bars of Berlin, where a dying light as oppression grew, hiding from a political wallop on apathy and totalitarianism. Burying their heads in scuzzy hedonism, a hammer looming overhead, Norris’ touring production of Cabaret is a near-perfect sensationalist piece, with a deep social bite to complement its bark.  

Cabaret Runs at Edinburgh Festival Theatre until November 9th: https://www.capitaltheatres.com/whats-on/cabaret

Photo Credit – The Other Richard

Bull – The Space @ Niddry St.

Written by Mike Bartlett

Directed by Adam Tomkins

Runs at The Space @ Niddry St until August 24th (not 18th), 17.20pm

Bullying doesn’t stop when you hit adulthood – they just change up the tactics. With such a fine line between workplace harassment and genuine levels of manipulation, Mike Bartlett’s Bull examines the insane power of the spoken word, the ferociousness of human fulfilment and elements of elitist office politics.

A cull’, that’s how Bull refers to the difficult decision of ending someone’s employment. Eradication of the weak or even just the unfortunate? Three employees Tony, Isobel & Thomas await their fate. For Tony & Isobel, the choice is clear, Thomas has to go, and they will ensure he does.

Ravenous, though slick in their attack, both Tony and Isobel bring different tactics in a way to psych Thomas out, tripping over his insecurities. Tony, from the outset, is disgustingly smooth – a viper, coiling, biding its time. Jamie Stewart’s control is enviable, loathsome, treacherous and sneaky.

Teetering on the edge of capturing the role perfectly, genuine hate though eludes in moments. They’re a little too funny, too human to spit venom at. Certainly not from lack of trying, it takes Isobel a touch longer for us to begin to antagonise her, as Nayia Anastasiadou’sperformance seems irritatable rather than calculating, it’s only in the closing moments we gain a sense of the terror beneath, drawing blood with smirks.

Bartlett’s text is a staple of not only the Fringe but performing arts. Relentless in its aggressive demonstration of power play, it’s about tearing someone down onstage, yet still making your audience laugh. Its characters are sickening, manipulative, but hilarious. That is, except for Thomas.

Thomas is, in use of gross terminology, the ‘beta’ male. Far from innocent, one must note the misery in his performance, pathetic is a tricky angle – at the risk of having yourself, a performer, seen this way rather than your character. Ignoring this, giving Thomas a distinctly pitiful, but far from heroic portrayal, Jake McGarry finds a balance in which you want to run onto the stage and slap him into fighting back.

Adam Tomkins’ direction pits the three in chess-like manoeuvres. Every movement’s methodical, a counteract from another character’s step. There’s a dance element to it, elegant in their dedication to locking their prey into each trap set.

A fascinating look into the length’s people will go to for self-preservation, Bull is an eye-opening dark comedy which pushes the envelope in its characters likability. A series of humorous, though perhaps too identifiable performances make Arbery productions a must-see for those searching for an intelligent laugh while exploring the vices of human nature.

Tickets available from: https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/bull-1