Ever since Christopher Boulter’s Bill Sykes bludgeoned my Nancy with a rubber mallet in 1970, I’ve had a soft spot for Oliver, the musical. At the weekend, I went to see some other 10 year old with a uni-brow and matching tash commit murder most horrid behind a bit of mdf. Rather like the Bill of my youth, this Bill couldn’t act to save his life but he had a marvelous lisp which made up for it. Dodger was ginger and Fagin kept fluffing his lines. Nancy, bless her heart, was three feet taller than the rest of the cast and had obviously been to the London Bridge branch of SpecSavers but her Oompahpah was tremendous. Other highlights: Mr Brownlow’s Peter Wyngarde sideburns and the valiant efforts of the assorted extras to casually mill around the postage stamp stage without a. bumping into each other or b. crashing into the cardboard book shop and Victorian vegetable barrow. Talking of vegetables, next day, on the allotment, Len, the hairy road sweeper with the Filipino, vegetable hating internet bride, approached me with an offer. If I wasn’t too bothered by excess gas, would I be interested in taking a bag of Jerusalem artichokes off his hands. It was a very windy night.
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At last someone who loves am drams as much a moi. As founder member of the IOBES the importance of being ernest society I spent my pre teen years touring the deep south awarding marks and critique on the delivery of the line “a handdddbaaaagggg”. Awarding points for originality, general pathos and emotional integrity ( not forgetting overacting and general showboating) I am thinking of resurrecting it. Wondered if our Sorcha might become chairperson for a new era?
Actually I seem to remember we started a Lionel Bart Appreciation Society and awarded the title of “The Fartful Codger” to my Dad. Sadly the whole thing petered out rather quickly. Seems you really can’t trump Oliver. (now there’s a thought….whe-er-ere is love…and clench 2 3 4)
No you can’t trump Oliver but thinking about it, it’s not been a lucky show, at least not for the film cast. Nancy, Bill and Dodger both dead. Oliver, friend of Wacko Jacko and potential father to the crazy one’s daughter. Whhhhheeeeeerrrrrreeeee is love indeed.
You may not be able to trump Oliver but I seem to remember my brother being able to burp ‘somewhere over the rainbow’!