THEATRE REVIEW: EXiT

A one-man rock music play achieves pointed resonance through passionate performance

A winsome one-man spin on a popular formula, Eaman Craig's EXiT, directed by Colm S. Herron, hits the spot by opening up every beat in the book of the washed up, conflicted rocker in a tried, trusted but effective manner.

As the symbolically named Jonah Walker – someone trapped in a big, bloated whale of an industry who also looks tempted to walk away from it all – Craig is the personification of relatably restrained acceptance with occasional outbursts. Walker is part flamboyant, part ruffian, defined by his unshaven, unkempt, burnt out yet white suited appearance. Like a cross between Freddie Mercury at his peak and a young, hungover Roger Daltrey.

Patiently, and worryingly, Walker pours out his heart and his thoughts to the audience on a quest to find his bearings and recover his sanity. In a quest for freedom, creatively and relatively, he initially struggles to distinguish objects from humans, talking to a Henry hoover as if it is a real person and likening past girlfriends to record companies. He is wrestling with the decision to join a record company or stay independent, and Craig delivers Walker's words with a cutting, direct precision, getting to the heart of his character's dilemma and state of mind.

The varying paths of a musician, both as a person and an artist, are concisely documented and well expressed through numerous moods, memories and musings, which you almost certainly suspect will result in new lyrics if not a new deal for the mixed-up Walker.

EXiT contains plenty of wry humour, mainly arising from Walker's mimicry of others and his mockery of what people perceive him to be. It's just one part of the frustrated pressure cooker building inside Walker, which near the end, leads to his biggest rant of all: a scathing swipe at the prominence of reality shows, where contestants' dreams amount to little more than half decent cover versions. It's common sense, of course, but Craig is so passionate that he achieves the pointed resonance that we seek and Walker is searching for.

Perhaps more, too, as Craig's mere references to these supposedly star-making shows prompt a timely and necessary warning about becoming drenched in nostalgia. Unless, that is, something is done about it. And perhaps, if Walker finds his way again, he may well be able to do something about it. At least in his own life.

Rating: **** (out of *****)

FILM REVIEW: Shooting For Socrates

This "football film" tries to be topical and timely but sells its cast terribly short

In analysing James Erskine's Shooting For Socrates, one has to look beyond what the film tries to do and ask why they even tried to do it to begin with. What we have here is a distinctly lightweight "historical" drama that strives for social relevance but ends up striking the wrong note on four accounts. It's a rags to riches, father and son, football and Troubles casserole that leaves either a bland or bad after taste, with a poorly thought through plot that does no justice to the cast's quality.

Set in mid-1980s Belfast and Mexico - although you wouldn't think it, given the sightings of the Hilton hotel and BT tower in the film - Shooting For Socrates tells the story of nine-year-old Tommy (Art Parkinson) growing up in a troubled neighbourhood with only his burgeoning football fandom and his wise father, Arthur (Richard Dormer), to guide and enlighten him amidst violence. Meanwhile, the Northern Ireland national team, under Billy Bingham (John Hannah), have qualified for the World Cup in Mexico, and are facing the prospect of taking on the world's best, among them a Brazil side featuring the philosophical Socrates (Sergio Mur).

Arguably, Shooting For Socrates could be much about a group of football players gunning for Socrates on the pitch as a group of terrorists focusing their lives on what they perceive Socrates' words to mean. But the film never develops this theme. Instead, the strand of young David Campbell (Nico Mirallegro, just about mastering the accent) trying to make his mark in the Northern Ireland squad is thrown in, leaving us with a film that demands more than its consciously undemanding script is willing to deal with.

While I am all for films that don't suppress their actors into their plots, that don't squeeze the life out of characters for the sake of narrative advancement and give their casts time to breathe, one should not encourage stories that give the actors almost nothing to work with. Erskine's screenplay, co-written with playwright Marie Jones, is not packed with unreasonable or ridiculous developments, but as an alternative, it offers nothing that we haven't seen before, or no one that we can care about. It comes across as clichéd, platitudinous and heavy-handed (even the death of team captain Sammy McIlroy's mother feels like a Dead Relative Ex Machina rather than the poignant moment it should be), with unconvincing recreations of football matches that capture neither the intimacy of drama nor the epic spectacle of a sporting showcase.

With the human touch of a Ken Loach or a pre-Les Misérables Tom Hooper, Erskine could have given us compelling drama in the mould of Looking For Eric or The Damned United, both of which are miles better than this hodgepodge. Instead, he skims over character in a narrative that already sells its talented cast short - and that's not merely troublesome. It's fatal. The brilliant Richard Dormer is utterly wasted, as is Bronagh Gallagher as his stereotypically stressed out wife. Fine actor though John Hannah is, his Billy Bingham is a blank slate with the wrong accent, and Nico Mirallegro fares little better, despite his best efforts. Fortunately Conleth Hill (Game Of Thrones) and Paul Kennedy (Made In Belfast) are on hand to lend humour and humanity to Jackie Fullerton and Pat Jennings respectively, at least as often as the film will let them.

Shooting For Socrates wants to be about the unifying effect of The Beautiful Game in not-so-beautiful times, but doesn't feel like it's about anything. Except, that is, a cynically calculated attempt to capitalise on the goodwill emerging from Northern Ireland's almost certain qualification for a major tournament again, exactly three decades later.

Mamma Mia! Highlights The Cynicism And Necessity Of The Jukebox Musical

The success of Mamma Mia! has proved that the jukebox musical is alive and well. But is that a good thing?

To get to the point, the latest production of Mamma Mia!, premiered at Belfast's Odyssey Arena on Tuesday June 16, was a delight.

The choreography was first rate, the sets were economical yet effective, the spot effects, when called upon, were stellar, and the acting was, as to be expected, superb, with Niamh Perry's commandingly cheery chirpiness the highlight.

The Bangor girl, once of BBC's I'd Do Anything, took to the role of Sophie like a duck to water, thriving on being the centre of attention in a choral cascade of chaos.

Once the audience lost themselves in the oh-so-familiar ABBA tunes, there was no looking back. I found myself singing along to "Take A Chance On Me", "Super Trouper" and "Knowing Me, Knowing You", and I'm not even an ABBA fan.

Like Grease, literally and figuratively, ABBA stick to you whether you like it or not, and the all too brief buzz gained from watching this musical was equally effective. It was a hugely pleasurable evening.

But. But. But.

If jukebox musicals give us so much momentary joy and excitement, what else is there to think about? Their plots feel entirely irrelevant. No one who goes to a jukebox musical seems to even consider plot, which is arguably why it's a generally reviled genre amongst the most highbrow of critics. (And one that Birdman's Riggan Thompson wouldn't even consider.)

Those who attend the Mamma Mias, We Will Rock Yous and Tonight's The Nights of this world get most pleasure from singing the songs they know so well, which are carefully, calculatedly wrapped around a narrative thread that doesn't appear to matter at all. Popular tunes sell, and you sense the producers know it, in the sort of production that feels less about art and more about business.

A jukebox musical comes across as not so much a theatrical experience as a lively recreation of a rock concert or disco. That was never more apparent than during the excitable yet uneasy encore, where a slickly choreographed Waterloo awaited us: an ABBA song that had absolutely nothing to do with the show itself.

What its presence did was ensure that every single track on the ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits compilation featured on the night. (It's true: you can check the track listing for yourself after you've seen the show.)

Hence it was, and is, hard not to feel cynical about every single well known ABBA tune being shoehorned into the script for the sake of instant, easy joy and happy clapping.

As an aside, I should point out that my favourite musical is 1999's South Park: Bigger, Longer And Uncut, which was both a parody and a great piece of musical film in itself. It's always a delight to come across a musical that marries a genuinely humorous plot to original tunes, and South Park did just that, Marc Shaiman's songs paying homage to and satirising the classic musicals of the past in addition to maintaining their edge. ("La Resistance" was, and still is, a fantastic take on Les Miserables' "One Day More".)

Having said that, not every musical needs to have edge, or depth. And when done right (Teenage Kicks: you should have taken note!), jukebox musicals can really elevate your spirits, even going so far as to reawaken your passion for a band you once liked but tired of.

And as refreshing as South Park and its ilk may seem, the “know what you'll get” feel of jukebox musicals can be equally refreshing. We might not wish for them to be the norm – I, personally, fear that Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic: The Musical will be in the West End before we know it – but the odd jukebox musical never hurts. In fact, it helps.

So hats off to everyone involved in Mamma Mia! You put on a great show. But let it not be the be all and end all of musical theatre. This genre has much more to offer than even its supporters may think.

Mamma Mia! runs at the Odyssey Arena until tonight, June 20, before playing at Bord Gais Energy Theatre, Dublin from June 23 to July 4, and the Millennium Forum, Derry-Londonderry, from July 7 to 11. For details and booking links, visit www.aikenpromotions.com.