Wednesday, December 29, 2004

Dick

Dick

"Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely."

To the theatre to witness a searing indictment of power politics in Blair's corporate Britain from an anarcho-Marxist* perspective in the Weymouth production of "Dick Whittington".

Dark themes of the abuse of power, the rape of Fallujah and the rise of the religious right in America are all exposed by a committed company of TV b-listers, with more than a passing nod to such giants of the dramatic arts as The Bard Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde and the Chuckle Brothers.

The Dame's constant costume changes are redolant of Britain's transformation into a multi-cultural, gender-andogynous society; while the fool that was Idle Jack - a barbed critique of the so-called Chav Culture - appealed to the basest instincts of the lumpenproletariat.

While the evil King Rat - clearly a Blair/Bush amalgam that was quite properly booed from the stalls - battled with the good fairy - a metaphor for the gay rights battle in the face of the New Fundamentalism - it is clearly the central roles of Dick and his cat that steal the show.

Much like the one, true hope that this country possesses - a man wronged who will turn again and lead Britain to a brave, new world in the blurring of party political distinctions, this is a clarion call for the genius that is Boris Johnson to turn again - in a way that the hoplessly flawed Baroness Thatcher and her puppet Blair refused - and return in glory.

The fact that this production - a call for Tory unity in the face of "New" Labour's catastrophic abandonment of its socialist principals, forging a new covenant with the people of this Isle with Johnson at the helm - was staged in Labour's most marginal constituency is not lost on this critic. A triumph.

On the other hand, it was a most excellent night of arse gags, a bloke in a dress ("Eeh! I've pissed meself!" was clearly not in the script) and some of the finest corpsing ever witnessed on the stage of the Weymouth Pavilion. And I got to meet the Mayor, who was taking notes.

* Groucho would have been turning in his grave

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