by Natalie Bennett
(First published on Blogcritics)

Are some things beyond satire? When I got the press notice about Justin Butcher’s plan to write a satire about that Royal Wedding, several weeks before the event itself, I wondered.

I’m not an obvious person to go to see this – I never saw the real thing, and I read the absolute minimum about it that I could manage, but having seen and admired Butcher’s The Madness of George Dubya in my pre-blogging days, I thought it might be worth a shot.

And I don’t regret that decision. Which isn’t to say this is a triumph, or anything like it, or even really properly a satire at all, a mildly entertaining, unchallenging evening pretty well does it – I’ve had a lot worse, even if it does have the feel a slightly underprepared university production.

And answering my own initial question, I rather think this does demonstrate that the royal wedding was beyond satire.

Butcher has slid in some of the obvious lines – “we are wicked spongers” say the slacking palace gardeners, “me too”, says Prince Wills (John Sheerman) – but his heart clearly isn’t really in it.

There’s also moments of classy physical comedy – the Queen’s (Stephen Guy Daltry) morning ministrations to Prince Philip (Simon de Deney) a small piece of nicely shaped slapstick. And obligatory jokes attached to an other-worldly, but unhealthily amiable Archbiship of Canterbury (Damian Kell).

Also, this is billed as a musical comedy, but be warned that there’s little in the way of music.

What this primarily could be described as a madcap alternative history that leans heavily on the reimagining of well-known predecessors – featuring the illegitimate son of Philip (also played by de Deney), who’s now one of a team of illegal immigrant gardeners – he’s Romanian, there’s an Albanian, an Algerian and an accordian-playing Bosnian – who come into contact with the cold-feeted Wills on wedding eve, with fairly predictable Shakespearean-style results – think Romeo and Juliet meets Twelfth Night.

There’s also nods to The King’s Speech,  and even sympathetically mocking English take on the Arab spring “international horticulturalists against the decapitation of daffodils”. And “George Galloway” (Rupert Mason) makes a cameo appearance that went down very well on opening night.

The production  held together reasonably well, while giving the general feeling of being a bit under-rehearsed. The cast generally did a good job with the material, with the standout being de Deney’s Bogdan, who shows real stage presence.

It probably won’t surprise you to learn the Telegraph reviewer didn’t like it.

The production continues until June 9, with online booking.

by Sarah Cope

A candle-lit post office is perhaps not the most obvious place to spend Valentine’s Day evening, but it certainly makes for a more original venue than an overpriced restaurant. The post office in question (or ex-post office, now an art gallery) has been reviewed here before, and tonight it kept its doors (and its still-present counter) open late for some love-themed happenings.

Actors from the Arcola Theatre appeared behind the post office counter and read from various love letters. We heard from Zelda Sayre, who, writing to her husband-to-be F Scott Fitzgerald, bid that he ‘wear [her] like a watch’. Richard Burton, on writing to Elizabeth Taylor in 1973, (he refers to her, somewhat dubiously, as ‘a remarkable and puritanical lady’), marked the envelope as ‘very private and personal’, which does make one wonder whether such letters should ever have reached the eyes of the public, destined as they each were for a very select audience of one.

Jessica Piddock, who has made a prison uniform out of shredded, woven letters from prisoners on death row in the US (this piece hangs in the window of the shop), read from a letter she had received from one of the prisoners she corresponded with for the project. The man had become convinced that he and the artists were ‘soulmates’, and Piddock had had to disabuse him of this notion. His letter in response to this news, both bashful and sweet, was possibly the most moving moment of the evening.

Somewhat incongruously, two figures dressed as old women sat near the counter throughout the evening, sewing pincushions. This was in fact Zoe Sinclair and Andrea Blood, who are the artistic duo called “The Girls”. Described by The Evening Standard as “Angela Carter crossed with Cindy Sherman”, their both disturbing and humorous photographs were available to buy in postcard form. Perhaps the most bizarre – and oddly beautiful image – shows Blood naked, crouching on a roasting tin like a turkey, about to be placed in an oven. Another photograph (‘The Garden Party’) shows Sinclair lying on a picnic table, clad only in strategically-placed swiss rolls and petit fours. A vicar helps himself to a canapé from her shin.

Watch out for ‘The Girls’ at their show later this year, where they will be having a joint show with pioneer of feminist art Margaret Harrison, entitled ‘I Am A Fantasy’ at the PayneShurvell Gallery (15th April – 21st May 2011).

The Posted Gallery exhibition is open until 26 February.