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The Daily Telegraph - 29/12/01 - Charles Spencer

A Parade of outstanding richness

NOTHING has given me more pleasure this year than the rehabilitation of Peter Nichols as one of the greatest and most daring of post-war British dramatists.

His wonderful black comedy, A Day in the Death of Joe Egg, transfers to the Comedy Theatre this week, and now the director Michael Grandage — who first led the Nichols revival with an outstanding staging of Passion Play — returns to the Donmar with this hugely entertaining production of Privates on Parade (1977).

Nichols describes the show as a play with songs rather than a full-blown musical, but whatever terminology you use there is no doubt that it contains all his distinctive qualities: his love of vaudeville, his wonderful way with often filthy jokes and his ability to turn the mood on a sixpence so that hilarity is suddenly (and literally in this case) shot through with tragedy.

Like so much of his work, this piece has its roots in his own life. As a young national serviceman, Nichols was dispatched to Singapore in 1948 where he served in Combined Service Entertainment alongside Kenneth Williams, John Schlesinger and Stanley Baxter. It is possible to recognise a good deal of the naive young Nichols in the character of Private Steven Flowers who finds himself pitched into a delirious, high-camp world of showbiz soldiers, in which the outrageous Captain Terri Dennis has a passion for both getting up in drag and seducing young naval ratings. You dare to speak to an officer like that and I'll sream the place down," he threatens, magnificently.

It's the richness of the show that astounds and delights. In part it's a fully-fledged concert party, with Nichols providing wickedly witty lyrics to a string of period pastiche tunes by Denis King, featuring impersonations that range from Carmen Miranda to Flanagan and Allen. But Privates on Parade is also a rite of passage story, as young Flowers loses his virginity and becomes emotionally entangled with a beautiful half-caste; a sharp satire on the dying days of British colonialism; and an exciting war story with a villainous sergeant major who almost matches Iago when it comes to malignity.

Grandage's confident, marvellously acted production— which must confirm his claim as the natural successor to Sam Mendes at the Donmar — is by turns outrageous, funny and unexpectedly touching.

The great Roger Allam is in wonderful form as Captain Terri, corpulent, coquettish, and with a face like a corrupt cherub. He delivers his drop-dead queeny one-liners with wicked relish, squeezes himself into a succession of preposterous frocks with endearing aplomb, and offers one of the best Noel Coward impersonations I've ever heard. Without a touch of sentimentality, Allam also leaves no doubt that this promiscuous old fag has a heart of gold.

Malcolm Sinclair is every bit as good as the bewildered commanding officer, Major Giles Flack, a muscular Christian who urges the chaps to "sign on with Christ" and is perpetually baffled by the queer shenanigans that surround him. What's fascinating is that though the character is an egregious silly ass and the butt of Nichols's anti-colonialism, the dramatist is clearly fond of Flack, and not entirely contemptuous of the old-school values that he represents.

There is outstanding support from James McAvoy as the fresh-faced Flowers, from Justin Salinger as a hilariously foul-mouthed Brummie queen. from Indira Varma as the half-caste, poignantly caught between two worlds, and from David Hounslow as the vile sergeant major. And despite having no words, Wai-Keat Lau and Carl Wu are a potent presence as the silent Chinese "prompters" who represent everything the bumbling Brits so dismally fail to understand. It's a terrific show, and Grandage should now take a look at Nichols's back-catalogue of unperformed plays, as well as considering a timely revival of The National Health.

Evening Standard - 10/12/01 - Nicholas de Jongh

Military camp supplies irresistible comic treat

INTO this delectable rag-bag of songs, spoofs and autobiographical nostalgia Peter Nichols has stuffed several singing, dancing British soldiers. One of these chaps even relishes chances to slip on a wig and slinky dress to impersonate Marlene Dietrich. Who now can recall the time when the lucky few of our fighting forces were relieved of serious military duties and encouraged to have such draggy, thespian fun? Not that many, I guess. So the rare comic treat of Privates on Parade, premiered by the Royal Shakespeare Company in 1978 and now vivaciously revived by director Michael Grandage, ought to come as a lovely surprise for the young.

Drag and dancing was part of the work for Combined Services Entertainment, under whose wing young Private Nichols flapped and performed in Malaya during 1948. Inspired by those experiences Nichols has crafted an acerbic account of growing-up abroad and a satire upon the weirdness of entertainment as a form of psychological warfare. The playwright tells us little about what they thought in Singapore and Malaya when watching these typically British shows. The only two Chinese characters are mute. Instead Nichols traces the learning curve of James McAvoy's innocent 20-year-old Private Flowers, who is plunged into military show business abroad and an aborted love affair with India Varma's mixed race femme-fatale.

Much to the evening's theatrical disadvantage Grandage scorns to set the exotic eastern scene. Christopher Oram's minimal design is a waste of time — consisting merely of a proscenium stage frame, with curtains. But what fun it is to watch McAvoy's straight (and narrow) Flowers come up against this gayish environment. "It's f**** la-di-da, round here," he's warned. And la-di-da duly appears in the high camp shape of Roger Allam's Acting Captain Terri Dennis, of the Song and Dance Unit, whose lilac chiffon scarf above his khaki shirt gives a big hint that he's a bit of a flaunter- and a screamer. "I'm not sure I've met any homos before," observes McAvoy's beautifully deadpan Flowers, having already informed Dennis that he's "going to be attached to your section". It's the experience of watching the troops perform that becomes the prime pleasure. For there's precious little plot. A secondary theme that involves a Sergeant Major who sells arms to the Chinese and falls victim to murder, soon peters out. And unfortunately Nichols never puts the Entertainment Unit in any political context or fully explains the British military presence in Malaya.

He does, however beautifully catch the mood, the lingo and the milieu of this entertainment crew. Allam's camp, kindly Terri misses the character's underlying, love-lorn sadness. But he puts on a pretty drag show, doing passable impressions of Dietrich, Vera Lynn and Carmen Miranda, while his Noel Coward is fabulous. Denis King's music has just the right period sound to it and Nicholas own lyrics, are brilliant examples of pastiche.

As the grave, crazy Major who thinks he's fighting to bring Jesus to the eastern masses, Malcolm Sinclair raises abundant laughter. He represents that conformist, establishment spirit, which Terri and Hugh Sach's Lance Corporal with his bisexual amour, Corporal Len, so splendidly defy. "It's no easy thing resisting British spunk," the Major gravely announces. Nor is it easy to resist this satirical voyage down Nicholas military, memory lane.

Independent on Sunday - 12/12/01 - Kate Bassett

It's Oscar Wilde crossed with Diana Dors...

TOP British theatres are up for grabs. Trevor Nunn started a wave of changes in command when he announced that, in early 2003, he'd pack his old kit bag and wave cheerio to the National. Now more extensive upheavals lie ahead. Hot venues currently seeking new artistic directors include London's Donmar Warehouse (Sam Mendes finally being lured away by the movies), the Almeida, Hampstead and Leeds' West Yorkshire Playhouse.

Talent-scouting boards may end up fighting over Michael Grandage. Under his leadership, Sheffield Crucible has been on storming form of late and this week his chances of succeeding Mendes are, surely, looking good, for Grandage's new Donmar revival of Privates on Parade is terrifically well-drilled. This is a big Christmas musical - and a kind of panto at points - but with the usual brash glitter and cheeriness discernibly qualified.

Peter Nichols's semi-autobiographical story - written during the mid-Seventies — unfolds in Singapore and the jungles of Malaya around 1948. Steve (James McAvoy) is our initially innocent lad abroad, grinning in khaki as he joins an entertainments corps, as he falls for a Eurasian dancing girl called Sylvia (Indira Varma), and as he's rapidly promoted to the rank of sergeant-major.

You certainly get your all-singing, all-dancing chorus line here. The boys and Sylvia provide cheeky music hall and marching songs plus jazzy cabaret numbers (scored by Denis King). The troupe's acting captain, Terri (Roger Allam), is also a flamboyant drag act, pumping out the double entendres. At the same time, there's an experimental, almost Pirandellian game in progress as the corps' theatrics and off-stage lives flow seamlessly into each other. Moreover, Nichols sets out to paint a seriously critical portrait of bigotry and corruption in British individuals and institutions. There's covert gun-running and Steve himself callously dumps his dark-skinned sweetheart as well as being pettily homophobic.

The moral shabbiness is hinted at in Christopher Oram's set with its low-lit, cracked proscenium arch and rough ply wood stage. Allam, on superb form, manages to be not only preposterously funny but psychologically complex. Even as he minces around corpulently in a negligée and lavish blonde wig - like Oscar Wilde camouflaged as Diana Dors — his eyes flash with steely anger and melancholy.

Nonetheless, this piece shallows out disappointingly. Tragic story lines are overridden by the comic sketch format and though racism and fears about terrorists attacks ought to be sharply topical, this show has little socio-political bite in the end. Essentially, the staging outshines the script. I'm not persuaded that Nichols - though loyally championed by Grandage - fully merits the comeback which he's presently enjoying.

Daily Mail - 11/12/01 - Michael Coveney

LONDON theatre is obsessed with trawling through the back catalogue at the moment, and the Donmar has led from the front in bringing up the rear.

No complaints, though, about this revival of Peter Nichols's ebullient rites of passage drama, with great songs by Denis King, as the British Army moves up country in Malaysia, 1948.

In a brilliant coup borrowed from Oh, What A Lovely War, the soldiers are an entertainments corps of the sort Nichols himself once graced alongside Kenneth Williams and Stanley Baxter.

Nichols describes this period in his life as his 'university'.

Young Private Flowers is deflowered in the ways of authority, sex and vaudeville.

'Singing and dancing is all very well,' declares the ramrod Major Flack, 'but it won't stop communistic Chinamen.'

The troupe find themselves on the receiving end of military action before hobbling back to Blighty with a song in their hearts which is also comprehensively stuffed up their jumpers. This fantastic confection has been reimagined by director Michael Grandage with such witty energy that you feel you are living through a period of British history.

I was just reflecting how Corin Redgrave and John Wood have eclipsed the memory of Richardson and Gielgud in Pinter's No Man's Land at the National.

Same here, as Roger Allam and Malcolm Sinclair trample irresistibly through furrows first dug by Denis Quilley and Nigel Hawthorne in 1977 (seems only yesterday).

Allam is on fire as Terri Dennis, camp spirit of concert party, doing everyone from Marlene Dietrich and Vera Lynn to Carmen Miranda and Noel Coward.

And Sinclair is the Dad's Army-style but pukka Major who misunderstands the mission while berating the lads with appeals to their sense of decency and patriotism.

Nichols's cynicism is deeply funny and subversive, the structure of the play brilliantly conceived in the pincer movement of letters home and a forward military momentum.

While blooming Flowers (James McAvoy) is caught between the devil of a local temptress (Indira Varma) and the deep blue sea of Terri's impure gold and tinsel. Magic.

The Times - 12/12/01 - Benedict Nightingale

Full glitter jacket
The return of Privates on Parade lights up Christmas at the Donmar

THE funniest comedy comes from incongruity — recall those Python numbers involving hooligan grannies or silly-walk bureaucrats? — and events in Peter Nichols's Privates on Parade are about as incongruous and funny as they could get. Here's a play in which soldiers wear drag and drag-artists wear mufti, a blimpish major issues the order "no perfume on guard duty", and a bored corporal lists necessities in the approved military manner: "brassiere, sequined, inflatable, sergeants, for the use of".

It makes a hilarious climax to an 18-month period which has seen first Passion Play and then Joe Egg restore Nichols's ailing reputation. The audience laughed a lot more than at the Donmar's usual Christmas fare, which has been harsh, acidulous and by Stephen Sondheim.

Indeed I myself laughed a lot more than at the play's premiere in 1977, perhaps partly because the author has extracted some distracting implausibilities from his original plot.

It's still the tale of a national serviceman who, like Nichols's 50-odd years ago, joins Combined Services Entertainment, aka Chaos Succeeds Ensa, in disintegrating Malaya. James McAvoy's earnest, innocent Steven loses his virginity to an anglophile Eurasian, who, as played by Indira Varma, can make Lyons Corner House, Pall Mall and Lincoln Creams sound sexy. He also loses his callow horror of "homos": which is just as well, since his troupe is half-gay and its leader is Roger Allam's Terri, an exquisitely powdered captain whose riposte to a subversive NCO is "You dare speak to an officer like that, and I'll scream."

He's also mistaken by David Hounslow's Reg, a bent sergeant major selling guns to the local insurgents, for a spy from headquarters: a turn of events that originally led to a faked death, a resurrection, a haunting and God knows what, but now ends with a simple murder halfway through the play.

This could, I suppose, leave the rest of the evening short on plot, but it doesn't feel that way. Nor is there a problem with the other main change, which deprives the ending of its sentimentality and, all too credibly, the mature Steven of the boyish sweetness he brought to Malaya.

That's not to say the piece packs a lot of moral punch. Nichols clearly thinks the British Army's presence in Malaya a late- colonial absurdity, and emphasises the point with the help of Malcolm Sinclair's gloriously dim, complacent Major Flack, whose conviction that the values of the serene English shires are in a death struggle with "communistic atheism" puts his men in grave danger.

But what makes the play memorable is its wickedly funny send-up of a military for whom spit-and-polish is as likely to result in shimmering sequins as gleaming boots.

Michael Grandage's revival makes the most of that, thanks especially to Allam's presence at the head of an appealing cast. I'm not sure he gets the regret and loss behind the high-camp facade; but when he's doing his Dietrich or Carmen Miranda impersonations, or denouncing "that chatter box, Bernadette Shaw", or having maximum fun with double entendres about "organs" and "business ends", he's good enough to leave you hoping that the rediscovery of Peter Nichols continues indefinitely.

The Independent - 12/12/01 - Rhoda Koenig

You're in the army now
The Donmar's latest all-singing, all-dancing offering is all rogue, ruffles and rifles

A sign out front warns patrons about strong language and strobe lights, but it might be more helpful to give the more sensitive of disposition a hint about Roger Allam. On the other hand, I think nothing would have prepared me for this beefy actor, known for playing slightly stuffy English gents, in high heels, frilly knickers, and a small mountain of slap as the star of The Blue Angel. After that, his appearance in a ruffled skirt, with a pineapple on his head, just sort of rolled over me.

Rouge and ruffles apart, though, is this a convincing interpretation of Acting Captain Terri Dennis, leader of an entertainment unit in Malaya during the 1948 "emergency"? Allam seems a bit overdeliberate and in-sufficiently feline as the screaming Queen of the Straits, but, Jessica Christ, to use one of his ejaculations, is he funny — fingering, with feigned insouciance, the lilac scarf that gives a needed touch of colour to his uniform, accentuating a punchline with a tongue that roams around his cheek like an eight-ball weaving its way to the side pocket, his upper lip sidling about in an emotion that has, as yet, no name.

Allam, however, is a sensible and symbolic choice for this large and vital part in the play that Peter Nichols based on his experiences in just such a troupe — the original for Captain Dennis was Kenneth Williams. The importance of the role requires some gravitas, not uninflected campery, and the casting against type points up the duality and ambiguity of this constantly unsettling play. The sergeant-major, a straight arrow who warns against "funny business in the ablutions", pimps for rent boys and sells guns to the enemy.

The company's only female, a super-genteel Eurasian who dreams of strolling on Pall Mall with members of the Junior Carlton Club, is a whore. A blokeish working class recruit is less devoted to his wife than to his male sweetheart. A private, trained in intelligence, does not even know how babies are made.

And no one realises that the silent Chinese servants aren't studying the camp maps out of aesthetic interest.

In Michael Grandage's triumphant production, all these cross currents flow swiftly along, aided by Denis King's disturbingly authentic period-pastiche songs: I'm sure many patrons will leave thinking that they have heard "Could you please oblige us with a Bren Gen?" and "Hooray for Hollywood", the inspirations for the Noel Coward patter song and the show's opening number. Along with creating atmosphere, the music does its bit for perversion on all fronts: a touching duet about domestic bliss is performed by two men and, when the Eurasian girl (great poise and period style from Indira Varma) puts on a record to conjure up a bit of wholesome nostalgia, it's by Percy Grainger.

As Allam manages to conquer fond memories of Dennis Quilley; Malcolm Sinclair is a match for recollections of a deeply insane Nigel Hawthorne as the boss of the outfit, Major Flack. Sinclair plays him as a high-church vicar of soapy refinement and eerie remoteness. with a sugar-tong grasp of matey expressions, and a distaste for squandering justice and compassion on the other ranks.

James McAvoy, however, as the naive private, while cherubic and bright-eyed, lacks, in the first half of the play the sweetness to contrast with his character's final, hypocritical self-exculpation. The young man's swift "maturity" — dropping "Power to the People" for "I'm all right, Jack" — neatly sums up the post-war betrayal of temporarily useful ideals.

Though the Chief of Defence Staff may say that the British Army can no longer be "all-singing. all-dancing", the Donmar Warehouse, fortunately has more ambition. Long may these privates raise their weapons high.

The Guardian - 11/12/01 - Michael Billington

THIS is the Peter Nichols musical play that takes us into the theatre of war. Or you might say into the war of the theatre since camp is vehemently struck in a services entertainments unit in 1948 Malaya with its over-acting captains anti exposed privates. And the good news is that Michael Grandage's revival is attuned to the Donmar space since it strikes exactly the right balance between the text and the songs.

In fact, Nichols finds a form that ideally suits his subject. He is partly dealing with the induction of the virginal Private Steven Flowers into a world of gay banter and drag routines chiefly embodied by the flamboyant Terri Dennis. But the revue format not only allows Nichols to show the hilariously tatty Song and Dance Unit South East Asia at work. It also enables him to raise more serious questions about the ultimate absurdity of sending showbiz forces into the Malayan jungle and about the waste of young lives in the futile attempt to defeat a small group of communist guerrillas.

In short, the show is an exhilarating mix of pastiche and politics; and, at its very best, the two are inseparable. One of the best numbers, with lyrics by Nichols and music by Denis King, is a devastatingly accurate Noel Coward parody which asks "Could you please inform us who it was that won the war?" and which precisely captures the post-1945 peevishness of the rightwing brigade: Roger Allam as the joyously epicene Terri Dennis even deploys the old Coward trick of waving his arms above his head like a berserk tic-tac man.

The virtue of Grandage's revival is that it reminds you there is much more to Nichols's show than back-stage campery. Allam is very funny indeed as the eye-shadowed Terri who at one point cries: "Oh that Bernadette Shaw! What a chatterbox." But, in many ways, the play's pivotal figure is the pietistic Major who believes that the communists can he defeated through Christian platitudes and who insanely sends a concert-party into the guerrilla-infested jungle; and he is played by Malcolm Sinclair with a perfect blend of patrician arrogance and doltish sincerity.

Some of Nichols's plotting is a bit shaky: the point at which James McAvoy's innocent private abandons Indira Varma's gorgeous Eurasian dancer is never very clearly defined. But this in no way spoils a show that deals with its autobiographical hero's education, is packed with excellent parodic songs and ultimately asks what on earth the British hoped to achieve, other than the Protection of the rubber-industry, in post-war Malaya.