Seriously

On Sunday evening, Ian and I went into Edinburgh to see Seriously. Pet Shop Boys. Reinterpreted.  What a wonderful way to be broken in to Edinburgh's 2007 Fringe Festival.

Wonderful, yes, though queueing in the rain, the performance starting almost half an hour late, I wasn't feeling too wonderful, it must be said at curtain up.  Although there wasn't actually a curtain.

Fringe productions almost always run to time, the whole event being such a tight ship, so waiting half an hour for Seriously to start was like waiting five hours for a cold starter in a five star restaurant.

I felt a tad scared as I took my seat at a front row table (just like dinner theatre!) and wondered how dampened the crowd's ardour would be.  Quite damp.  Almost soggy.

But once things actually got going, wet jackets and the smell of damp dog were totally forgotten.

I'd once thought calling this piece of, let's face it, musical theatre, well, might be slightly pretentious, as if the songs were not serious but made serious by their reworkings.  No.  Not the case.  More that the seriousness of the songs are exposed thanks to the stripping back of the HiNRG and revealing the hurts, the jealousy, the sadness, the euphoria and all the other extreme emotions which make up our lives.

A story is told through the piece, yes, though nothing contrived or as ridiculous as the stories concocted for Mama Mia! and We Will Rock You.  Indeed, no words are spoken, the audience being shown aspects of life, of the characters lives, through music and lyrics.  A boy falls in love with a man, his Mother's losing her husband to another woman...

How are they going to get through?

Who'd have thought that Flamboyant could become a classy swing/jazz number?  Who'd have thought that a medley of Left to my own devices and A red letter day could become something of a torch song or that another medley, this time Love comes quickly and Miracles might bring a tear to ones eye or make the hairs on the back of ones neck stand up on end?

The piece was amazing, though just short of perfect, all thanks to technical hitches and us punters having to wait in three disorganised queues - almost chaos.

Michael Howard Smith's mic kept crackling and crashing out.  He then came back on stage with a bulkier, clumsier and more obvious piece of electronics.  Quite aptly, he then began to sing The survivors.

I hope Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe get to see it themselves soon.  They should.  It's fucking brilliant.

9.5/10