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The current cabinet and Matt Hancock outside No 10 watched by Tom Cruise, Ian McKellen as Gandalf and Harry and Meghan in the Royal Box. Pictures: Mark Senior Spitting Image Birmingham Rep **** There could be a danger of spitting,
sorry, splitting your sides laughing at this stage adaptation of what
was a cult TV series, it is so funny at times. At other times . . . well, it is bit of a
curate’s egg of a show, some parts verging on comic genius, others . . .
well, let’s just say not every sling and arrow of outrageous fortune
hits the target. The plot is simple. Britain is a broken entity,
being flogged off by the Tories. The fabric of the nation is in tatters,
represented by a pair of bedraggled underpants, courtesy of King
Charles, so cue regal hell let loose with any politician or celebrity
not lampooned left feeling a mix of relief and abject rejection. Charles employs the diminutive figure of Tom
Cruise, he of Mission Impossible, to assemble a Magnificent
Seven, to take on the forces of evil controlled by a sort of
Blofeld styled character we might recognise as a certain B Johnson in
his designer dishevelled outfit with carefully coiffured trademark
upturned mop hairstyle. He is one of four Tory Prime Ministers on show,
which is almost a yearful, with Rishi Sunak (PM at time of writing)
appearing as head boy, Margaret Thatcher rising as a spectre from the
past bemoaning the current lot, the return of the grey man John Major,
still bedevilled by his dalliance with the egg lady, and Liz Truss
appearing as a lettuce on and off so fast no one remembers her. Keir Starmer kept popping up like a dose of
mogadon to calm things down, while Nicola Sturgeon, her resignation
newly worked into the script, gave everyone both barrels at full volume,
Jimmy. Having Elon Musk appear as a sort of Tesla
Transformers character was genius while who knew Vladimir Putin
could be so much fun as a diminutive song and dance man with Putin
on the Blitz (apologies to Irving Berlin).
King Charles with Paddington, who rather than a cuddly bear left at a station, could be a South American drug runner . . . Strangely there seemed little surprise, indeed
more an acceptance, that Suella Braverman was in fact possessed
Exorcist style as she shipped off the magnificent seven to Rwanda. Ant and Dec presided over an X-factor
style selection panel for the seven which brought together the likes of
Tyson Fury for muscle, RuPaul for not muscle, Idris Elba, the first
black, then disabled, then dead James Bond, Angela Rayner, who mention
my home town Oldham so she is OK, and muscling in, Meghan who started in
the Royal Box with Harry, where seats were going spare (Spare . . . time
for Harry to grab a copy and plug the book and repeat same at every
opportunity), while Greta Thunberg was included for her green
credentials and environmentally friendly bazooka. We had Carrie Johnson with her talking nipples,
don’t ask, and a new take on ride a cock horse – which left every man in
the Rep feeling inadequate . . . just saying. Donald Trump, made an appearance, a difficult job
for the creators as he already has a look of a Spitting Image
puppet, but, no doubt it was the greatest appearance ever, no one has
done an appearance like it etc while Sir Ian McKellen, noted Thespian of
this realm, introduced and kept an eye on proceedings, even giving us an
actooor’s view on this current Government – it’s short, 12 characters,
including apostrophe and space, and I suspect the Conservative Party
will not be adopting it as a slogan at the next election.
No one was spared, except Volodymyr Zelenskyy,
who appeared as the only puppet that was a likeness rather than a
grotesque caricature, and as the only serious character. No send up, no
jokes, the only moment in two hours of solid offence and mockery that
was an attempt at being tasteful, and it generated heartfelt applause
that echoed far beyond the stage of the Rep. Spitting Image is all about offence
though. Its original, back in 1984 was ground-breaking and defined
careers, Major as the grey man for example, and even affected policies
by its relentless ridicule of politicians, with celebrities and even
sportsmen also in its sights. Its relaunch recently on TV suffered from being
on a fledgling paid service, Britbox, competing against the
likes of free TV as well as Now, Prime, Nexflix, Apple and
Sky, and in these careful times it relied more on comedy and jokes
than the biting satire of the original. This Rep inspired stage version released from the
shackles of TV has less PC and more bite, taking no prisoners, from the
Queen playing a mean guitar in a Royal Family Bohemian Rhapsody
to Bush Tucker (check for typos please) Hancock turning up with a giant
grub as health secretary as part of the bizarre cabinet ranging from
Sajid Javid to a tiny Michael Gove. It probably competes with productions of Jerusalem
and Glengarry Glen Ross for swear words per minute so be
warned, although, I suspect, those easily offended by language or crude
imagery are not the likely core audience for Spitting Image. Rep artistic director Sean Foley, who directs and helped write the production, brought the show together with writers Al Murray and Matt Forde with co-creator of the original Roger Law overseeing the puppets while Alice Power has worked wonders with her quick changing set . . . and the cock horses in a technically outstanding production. And the huge collection of puppets is brought to
life by a team of 12 brilliant puppeteers who got a standing ovation at
the end.
Spitting Image sets out to offend, to be
irreverent, to prick pomposity, mock arrogance and ridicule injustice,
and, although not everyone’s cup of tea, in a roundabout way Idiots
Assemble, Spitting Image Saves the World succeeds, although the
current state of our politics, sadly, makes the mission far from
impossible. Spitting Image, updated as necessary, will be
saving the world to 11-03-23 after which, well, you are on your
own . . . Roger Clarke 16-02-23 |
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