NOW here’s something we haven’t seen for a while. A stage production in the Dome Theatre in the Grand Central Hall in Renshaw Street.
It’s based on what supposedly goes on in your typical Liverpool boozer but this is one with a big difference. It’s the regular for a variety of characters with axes to grind, making dubious transactions and endless reasons to disappear to the toilets. How those swing doors didn’t come off their hinges I don’t know.
The Ale House was conceived with the aim of creating the kind of show with maximum appeal to a Liverpool crowd and, in doing so, it worked well. To an extent. This wasn’t “theatre” in today's Everyman/Playhouse style by any means. This could be an over-generalisation but it was aimed at people who’d go and see a show at, say, the Royal Court or wouldn’t normally go to the theatre at all.
Whatever its pitfalls, like the unreliable acoustics, the unfamiliar surroundings, odd seat numbering and tendency to resort to stereotypes, the Liverpool audience 'got it' big time
They took much of it in their stride, including the somewhat over-the-top dialogue which was richly peppered with scouse humour that bragged its way through much effing and blinding. Writers Tony Furlong (now deceased) and ex-taxi driver Jimmy Power had previously created the hit show Night Collar.
Briefly, Philip Olivier and Jake Abraham (under the name of Bear Ass Productions) got their heads together to co-direct a raucous, often rowdy, evening of cruelly comic banter seen through the drained glass of a few scoops.
Character-wise, it was headed-up with Lindzi Germain as the tart-with-a-heart, behind the bar, having to sympathise and scold in equal measure. She’s very much to be reckoned with though, with the set of mostly all-male misfits she’s got to deal with, it’s no easy task.
Chief amongst these is ticky Tourettes Trevor (Abraham) whose other affliction involves an accidental intake of Viagra to much comic approval. He plays a mean guitar later though.
Just as unlikely is the bar-propper, Robbo (James McMartin), with dodgy insides and a face like smacked arse to match; Father Flaherty (Les Doherty) who starts off as the amiable do-gooder but with a devilish gift for hi-octane Irish dancing after a few bevvies; grumpy Joe (Nick Birkinshaw) who’s seen it all before and still can’t make any sense of it; Bernie Foley, as jilted Nellie and ‘Arl Mary, and, finally, the local Jack-the-lad in the guise of Yogi (Oliver).
His brash cockiness and wheeler-deals are only matched by multi-part manic antics of Hawker/Raver/Les (Kivan Dene) who managed to reel off a whole list of DVDs without taking a breath. Cue applause. There’s a strobe-lit fight scene, some spirited choreography under the helpful hand of Zak Yates and a final rousing sing-along at the end to Rolling Down the River. It’s that sort of night.
To be fair, the decision to bring The Ale House to Grand Central Hall was very much a leap of faith and whoever decided to have the press night on February 29 might have had that in mind.
From the start, it’s easy to see that whatever its pitfalls, like the unreliable acoustics, the unfamiliar surroundings, odd seat numbering and tendency to resort to stereotypes, the Liverpool audience “got it” big time and were happy to enjoy an evening out spent with friends, a couple of pints and bottles of fizzy stuff - and that includes the cast.
Probably better to describe it as work-in-progress and the inclusion of some pathos, to bring a bit of contrast, wouldn’t go amiss.
Whether it works in the long run or would do as well if it went on tour out of town is open to question.
Either way, it makes you wonder what the original Wesleyan Methodists would make of it all.
7/10
The Ale House runs until Saturday March 19 at 8pm. Saturday matinees at 3pm.
