Theatre
FIVE GUYS NAMED MOE ★★★★
Marble Arch Theatre, until February 17. Tickets: 03333 444 167 FEATURING the songs of swing jazz R&B pioneer Louis Jordan, Five Guys Named Moe resembles a raucous night in a New Orleans speakeasy where audience members become part of the entertainment. A stage at the far end is complemented by a circular acting area shaped like a giant Polo mint and the luckiest audience members sit at tables in the “hole”.
This revival, directed by its creator Clarke Peters (Detective Lester Freamon in TV’s The Wire), barrels along in great style, even if the story is little more than an excuse to get the show kick-started.
In the present day, Nomax (Edward Baruwa) is drinking himself into a stupor ’cos his girl done left him due to his drinking and propensity for self-pity. While Nomax listens to the radio in his shabby New Orleans apartment, five men of varying shapes and sizes but the same name – Moe – pop up out of the furniture and the floor like unbottled imps or genies.
Dressed in 1950s threads, the Fab Five take Nomax in hand and lead him through a series of songs intended to show him the error of his ways.
As individuals, with the descriptive Jonsonian names Little, Four-Eyed, Know, Big and Eat, they sing beautifully and their collective harmonies are almost angelic.
The dancing is cool and slick, ranging from the shimmy-shake to a sequence of James Brown splits from Know Moe (Dex Lee) that made me wince. And the vocals are even better, with each Moe bringing something to the party.
The band rocks and swings with panache and features notable sax player Jessamy Holder.
The songs are great – funny, sharp, pre-rock and roll swing jazz numbers with politically incorrect titles such as I Like ’Em Fat Like That! (It Must Be Jelly ’Cos Jam Don’t Shake) and What’s The Use Of Getting Sober (When You’re Gonna Get Drunk Again). We all join in the chorus of the calypso number Push Ka Pi Shi Pie before joining a Conga line towards the bar at the interval. Yes, it’s that kind of show. Join the party. It’s a gas.
OSLO ★★★★
National Theatre, until September 23, then Harold Pinter Theatre, October 2 – December 30. Tickets: 020 7452 3000 ONE of the most memorable moments in the history of Israel/ Palestine relations is
the meeting between Yasser Arafat and Yitzhak Rabin on the White House lawn in 1993. Their handshake sealed an agreement that had been negotiated in secret over the previous nine months in Oslo through the intervention of idealistic Norwegian Terje Rød-Larsen and his more pragmatic wife Mona Juul.
JT Rogers’ intriguing play delivers a forensic account of the protracted negotiations that led to the Oslo Accords, highlighting the colourful personalities involved and the endless arguments that threatened to detonate the talks.
Part history lesson, part dramatised record of events, it stops just short of being a fully realised play but it is never less than engaging.
Toby Stephens invests Rød-Larsen with the anonymous complexity of a well-meaning, slightly naive political dilettante. Lydia Leonard’s Mona is both loyal and stern and anchors the talks, and her husband, in reality. As Palestinian finance minister Ahmed Qurei (Peter Polycarpou) battles it out with Israeli representatives Yossi Beilin (Jacob Krichefski) and the flamboyant Uri Savir (Philip Arditti), the stakes rise in a political poker game that involves a lot of bluffing and shouting as well as moments of humour and humanity. Tension is maintained even though we know the outcome.
Oslo is at its weakest when it descends into clichéd mutual accusation, barely scratching the surface of a complex situation. However it is admirably even-handed and clearly written
from the heart.