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No cosy, pantomime fare here; Hannah Madsen's Hansel and Gretel is
happy with the darkness of the Brothers Grimm fairy tale, where cannibalism
and infanticide snuggle up beside cuddly animals and loving sisters.
Not that this makes it unsuitable for children; the two six-year-olds
in the row in front of me thought it was a riot.
Like any good fairy tale, it's stuffed with scares as well as laughs
and delights; from the walk in, running a gauntlet of growling, masked,
monstrous animals, to the final explosion of bubbles, gold and rose-scented
smoke, this play steps easily from laugh to gasp to boggling wonder,
spiking the familiar story of ineffectual fathers, scheming step-mothers,
and hapless children with a cock-eyed, acid-tinged strangeness.
After a guest-star introduction by Dudley Sutton (who?), the story
tunes in, accompanied by Jack White's original music, which started
out sounding like a music box tuned by a drunk before defiantly getting
stranger. Beneath the fairy-light stars, the actors prove they're
funnier and more interesting than the lights, staging, and the cake
handed out at the interval (all excellent). Little Hansel (ludicrously
bluff Simon Ross) hangs out with woodland spirits between hugs and
tears, while Gretel (cheerfully brutal and wide-eyed Kate Fowler)
tries to talk their bad luck to death.
The animals whirl around them, dressing and redressing the willow-withy
and paper set in a giddying round of stamping, flailing and random
acts of construction. Look out also for evil birds, sinister lullabies,
a very odd tea party, several recipes for cooking children, nasty
Marlene the glamorous witch, and gingerbread for everyone. The performance
feels like a summer festival show unaccountably gone astray in Oxford
in January, or a strange child's play that's grown up very big and
clever.
Caution: contains
strobe lights and may also contain nuts.
Jeremy Dennis
23/01/02
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