Mini-review – Henry V – Theatre Delicatessen at Marylebone Gardens

It’s apparently the summer of Henry Five, as three productions are being done in London nearly simultaneously – at the Globe, Hampstead Theater (by Propellor, woo!), and at “a location to be announced” by Theater Delicatessen. I was quite impressed by their production of Contractions and was curious to see their followup production, which, gossip had it, was set in a former BBC studio in Marylebone.

It’s now a full month since this show opened its doors, so I’ll make my review fairly brief. The setting was magnificent; an upstairs of astroturf, bean bag chairs, and picnic tables, all feeling like a pleasant summer on Tooting Common – yet somehow strange with the spots on the poofs and the patrolling soldiers – perhaps we were innocent civilians at Agincourt unaware of the slaughter to come? Downstairs we had a proper installation that felt very much like a war bunker and which really, really used the natural space to build an imaginary space. We had a soldiers’ dormitory glanced through the corner of our eyes as we walked into the main room; a surgery in the back; a communications room across from the beds where I took my seat; a mess room complete with soldiers (and spare space for paying customers); and a multi-purpose room defined by a spiral staircase, camo netting, and an altar that was church, war room, reception hall, French command center and so forth as needed. We, the audience, were against the walls throughout the space (including a precarious position next to the altar – hope those folks did okay, I would have been nervous sitting there), with occasionally blocked sightlines pretty much everywhere (I missed all of the St Crispin’s day speech due to an ill-located pillar) though none seemed too fatal. Sadly, we stayed in this area for all of the play, and failed to go upstairs for the big battle as I’d hoped we would – on the fake green grass, the whole thing would have been a lot like croquet.

As a fan of site specific theater, I want to heap praises on this production, especially in comparison to the heinous Punchdrunk version of Duchess of Malfi. There, too much space was ill used and drained the imagination; here, we were engaged and allowed to imagine further details beyond the small details that had been filled in. As a setting for this play, Theater Delicatessen really hit the mark; the battlefield and the fields of diplomacy all came alive for me.

While the acting was generally good (I wasn’t convinced by Laura Martin-Simpson’s Katherine, but that’s a quibble), my greater problem was the excess of detail in the script. Yes, I’m sure there had to be at least some cut out, but by the time Henry was surveying Agincourt the night before the battle, I was already tired out. As if reading my mind, a page came down to alert Henry … that his soliloquy was running over? Oops, unfortunately not. And nobody saw fit to cut the overly detailed list of French nobles who hadn’t made it through the fight. I mean, REALLY. Could we not have done without?

And with so much time focused on what I considered irrelevant details, the fun bits of the wooing of Katherine just completely lost steam. We’d only seen her for about five minutes much earlier on a helicopter, and the twenty minutes or so at the end (maybe it was only ten?) where Henry attempts to convince her of his love just … well, I didn’t buy it. I didn’t care if she said yes or no and just wanted it to all be over.

In retrospect, I feel this production doesn’t hold up to the insane energy of my first Henry V, performed at Southwark Playhouse as an actual sporting competition between the French and the English. That was damned fun and had me on the edge of my seat. Theater Delicatessen got the set and the acting, but they just couldn’t maintain the energy for the night.

(This review is for a performance that took place on June 27th, 2012. The show ends June 30th.)

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Mini-review – Noises Off – Novello Theater

I can’t tell you how much it pleases me after going to one or two duds to then finally hit a show that’s really in its groove. I’ve read nothing but positives for Noises Off all the way back to before it transferred from the Old Vic, so I was hoping for a good time (and chose it specifically because I needed a pick-me-up). Still, I had a bit of dread heading into a show that was closing two months earlier than expected: would it have that leaden feeling so many shows under the hangman’s axe have?

Walking into a lobby full of perky people, there was nary a whiff of failure in the air (a bit surprising considering how many shows I’ve seen there that have gone into the turkey annals despite my enthusiasm for them). Folks were cheerful, upbeat, and generally acting like they were expecting to have a good evening – which made me wonder why the show was closing early. But given that the theater has three different balconies and that two of them were closed, I can see where the producers had decided it was time to call last round – a fact which in no way had dampened the enthusiasm of a Monday night crowd. In the auditorium, people were chattering in an animated fashion, explaining what to look forward to and expressing enthusiasm for the evening ahead. Clutching my dreadfully expensive ticket (£35 – ouch!), I did my “man in seat prayer” and hoped they were right.

What I knew going in advance was this was a farce about actors in a farce, and that some scenes are set backstage, while others are set on stage (I had heard back, back, front, but it was actually front, back, front). I didn’t realize that one of the scenes is actually a final rehearsal, which meant that the three scenes were all quite differently textured and paced (though the first act was a bit long). I also didn’t realize that the comedy of people performing a farce was going to be part of the hilarity of this play. Yeah, sure, doors and boobies hah ha; but when you turn it into the wrong doors backstage, insanely jealous actors and the wrong girl’s boobies (panties, actually), it just all becomes much more hilarious. You’ll probably not be laughing about sardines by act three, and if you’re me you’ll find the bit with the cactus a little hard to support mentally, but the scene where a man is hopping upstairs in a race to make his cue because his shoelaces are tied together just had me busting out laughing.

And, mostly, after the first act act was over, the whole show was a bucket of fun. The energy onstage never dropped; the feeling of commitment to the script was 100%; and the audience was utterly ready for every moment. Was this a show about to close? From row G, I wasn’t seeing it. I was only feeling sorry because I knew how close to the end it all was; like about a third of the people there, I would absolutely go see this again. You’ve got a few days still and there are good seats going cheap (especially if you get them in the gods as you’re pretty much assured an upgrade unless you pick Friday or Saturday night); try to catch it while you can.

(This review is for a performance that took place on Monday, June 25th, 2012. The last show will be Saturday, July 30th, 2012.)

Review – Alan Cumming’s one man Macbeth – Tramway, Glasgow (then Lincoln Center)

While I tend to avoid the cult of celebrity where theater is concerned (aided by my horrible inability to remember names), I have a few exceptions to this. Top of the list of Yes I Will See You In Anything As Long As You Are Breathing is Alan Cumming. I’m not going to be dishonest about it: the man is my idea of Sex On A Stick and the fact that I can pay mere money for the opportunity to be in the same room he is is a wonderful, wonderful thing – though the opportunities to do so to date have been limited (one concert, one Greek tragedy). It’s a crush that’s been going strong since I got a copy of the photobook of Cabaret back in 2003 or so – I never got to see him in it, but, man, the pictures permanently altered my brain chemistry. So when I heard that he was going to be doing a one man Macbeth, I went completely mad and booked tickets to Glasgow so I could see it.

“What?” you say. “This is an outrage, a complete slap in the face to the entire idea of ‘Life in the Cheap Seats!’ You can’t legitimately call your blog that – and rant about the cost of travel to shows outside London – while gallivanting off to Glasgow for an Alan Cumming jolly! You’re abandoning your roots! Next you’re going to be taking freebies to promote ‘Dreamboats and Petticoats’ and putting sponsored ads on your site! Backslider! Quitter! CHEATER!”

Well, er, yes. But it was my birthday weekend. And it was Alan Cumming. And the play itself was only 20 quid! And, you know, whatever. I WENT AND SAW ALAN CUMMING IN MACBETH WOOOO!

Right, um, so I thought I should review it, and warn you in advance that I really like Alan Cumming in a slightly, um, inappropriate way, so the things I liked may have little to do what any normal person would like. Still, though, I brought my critical eyes with me – but you have been forewarned.

First, the Tramway – to my horror, it’s a place that still does unreserved seating. Now maybe this does a lot to keep prices down, but to me a queue worthy of Easyjet snaking through the lobby thirty minutes before a show is not my idea of how to handle crowd control – and it placed an unreasonable pressure on us to get there early, ultimately meaning that dinner consisted of some biscuits in my bag (we got lost on the way). Still, it’s a nice sized theater, I was in the middle section, and for the price I knew I’d scored a bargain.

The set was a mental hospital, complete with green tile walls, observation windows, security code entrance locks, and … um … a giant bathtub. I thought this would give the opportunity for a nice comparison with the Martin Sheen “Hamlet” at the Young Vic and wondered (again) if there’s an industry doing Shakespearean shows as set in asylums … I’ve sure seen it a few times. And, per the program, this was NOT to be a “one person” Macbeth, for there were two other actors credited in the program! Was Myra McFadyen to be Lady Macbeth? What about Ali Craig, was he to be Banquo, Macduff, and the rest? How disappointing! This was not what I was promised! It said one man and I wanted one man! But then the show started, and Craig and McFadyen, in nursing uniforms, stripped the beaten and bloody Cumming down, placing his clothing in evidence bags and taking swabs from his cuts and from under his fingernails, and then … left.

Well, I thought, I think that will qualify it as a one man show, if they’re just window dressing for the opening scene. He screamed at them as they headed up the door, “When shall we three meet again?” and they paused, looked, then locked the door behind them.

The concept, I think, is that the Cumming character has been checked into an asylum after suffering some kind of critical attack, and is now reliving the trauma, characterized as Macbeth, on a daily basis. He talks to the security cameras (and a doll and a sweater), he calls for the guards, he is disturbed by the noises outside his room, he occasionally needs to be sedated. He is watched and notes are taken on his activities, which are occasionally broadcast by the TV screens at the top of the stage. He is brought tea, he is occasionally ignored …

and he is mostly left free to perform a version of Macbeth that is stripped down to about 1:50, a darn good trick but one which I will argue leaves too much detail in it. He warms up to it performing as the three sisters, all screaming at us through the TV monitors (this done live, while Cumming has his back to us), then proceeds to discuss, as Macbeth and Banquo, the content of the witches’ speech, what with the promises of kinghood for one and a line of kings for the other.

The show gets stronger as the Thane of Cawdor ponders his quickly changing circumstances, a thread strong enough to hold the story together as Cumming speaks King Duncan’s lines in accents I recognized as “plummy.” It helps that he goes from a true Scottish accent (his own?) to Posh English at this point – Macbeth seems to be mocking Duncan’s weath and sense of entitlement to his crown. Throughout this show, it had a distinctly more Scottish feel than any other Macbeth I had seen – a nice touch, I think.

Then, well, it was time for the bathtub, and the emergence of Lady Macbeth, whom Cumming portrayed reading her husband’s letter as she bathed. (Yes, he takes all of his clothes off, though full frontal is avoided through careful use of a towel.) Now, I see NO place for a bathtub in a home for the mentally disturbed, but this wasn’t my play, and, truth be told, I was happy to have it there. Cumming seamlessly translated from male into female, purring and sensuous and power hungry, clearly sexually excited by the opportunities she anticipated. And I was sucked in my her lust-mad eyes, pulled beyond the actor and into the character. Was this an insane woman? Oh yes it was.

The intensity is cranked up to its very peak when Lady Macbeth argues with her vacillating husband as Duncan sleeps within their home. As Lady, Cumming pins the (invisible) Thane to the bed, and speaks of horrible savagery that she would have him do, and which she would do herself; as Macbeth, Cumming squirms and despairs beneath her … finally convinced by her words and her seduction, flipping so that he is now the dominant one, ready to commit the murder that will have him be the king. This scene, surely, was the highlight of the play, dripping with sex and madness, violence and power. I was lost in the haze of Shakespeare, unaware of my surroundings. I was watching evil unfold before me and it was amazing.

However, at some point after this scene, the weight of the too-many characters in this adaptation began to pull down the production. Some things were handled well – one of the ghosts truly surprised me, though later reliance on inserted ghosts in the video screens above the stage were irritating (I want flesh and blood, or maybe shadows, but not acting that’s been pre-recorded). I’m sure the death of Lady Macduff and the grieving of Mr. Macduff must have been irresistible to play; but the jumping back and forth began to make things feel cluttered and caused me to pull back from the story. Then, finally, we came to the scenes where Craig and McFadyen are actually pulled in to read lines, and, I have to say, I was disappointed. They were part of the scenery or they were part of the story – I wasn’t willing to let them be both.

In the end, I felt myself a bit worn out by the whole thing. Cumming has to get bonuses for the energy required of this endeavor, but I think it needs to be pared more to take best advantage of what he is capable of, and stick to being true to its vision and less true to the text. We don’t need it; we know the story well enough and the characters call fall away and just leave us with the bare bones of the story and the incredible conflicts within it, the most powerful of which are those that take place inside of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth’s minds, and between the two of them as they wrestle with themselves and with fate. The audience at the Tramway gave it a standing ovation, but I think it just wasn’t quite there – a good night, a great performer, but a show which didn’t quite hit the mark. Still, Cumming tussling on the bed with himself – there’s something that will be burned in my mind forever.

(This review is for a performance that took place at 7:30 on Saturday, June 23rd. It was an awesome birthday present to me. It will be happening in New York soon at the Lincoln Center. And, who knows, maybe it will transfer to London! For a very nice interview with Alan Cumming, see this article in the Guardian.)

Review – Crow – Handspring at Greenwich Dance Borough Hall

A world famous puppetry company, singlehandedly responsible for the National Theatre’s currently positive balance sheet. The poetry of one of Britain’s most famous 20th century writers. Put them together, and you’d get something magical, like Cats.

Or maybe not.

Two days after seeing Handspring Puppet’s Crow, I amazed that no one saw fit to stop this train wreck. There are some puppets, if this is what you came for. I recall a moment of naturalistic beauty as one first lifted its shiny black head to look upon the world. And there is some interesting poetry that, early on, gave hope that the evening might soar.

However, it’s the eye-burningly bad modern dance that drags the show down. The movement is not so much uninteresting as actively ugly, only tangentially related to the spoken word (which is actually in short supply). Watching the actors shuffling around on the floor, disassembling puppets, smearing grease on each other, feigning amorous interest, and generally giving their best, I feel sure their sincerity meant they had yet to figure out they were involved in a monsterpiece.

The crow puppets actually made it all worse. Was the emotional climax of the play really the moment when the pale penis of a man-sized crow creature becme erect? It’s an image that is burned in my mind, to be sure, in part because it marked the point of when I realized the evening was lost. As the crow chased a long haired actress lustily around the stage, finally disappearing into a cavern with her, I wondered if it could get any worse. Then the dome at the center of the stage cracked, and a giant crow beak poked out. The night tipped into pure absurdity for me, as I relived the key moment of an amateur production of HP Lovecraft’s “The Shunned House,” in which all of the evil of a small town is made clear by the grand reveal of an ELBOW of some giant monster, rather unconvincingly rendered in carved foam. (Read the full text here and imagine the moment.) Crow had crossed into parody, and I let myself giggle away the rest of the evening.

It’s amazing how a really bad show can make one hour and ten minutes seem like an eternity, but I knew it had to end soon enough; many of the other audience members were unable to wait even that long, however. We walked out in silence. Will it be revived? I think: nevermore.

(This review is for a preview performance that took place on Tuesday, June 19th, 2012. Crow continues through July 7th. If it helps, imagine this show at the performance given my the gang of bankrobbers to the old ladies’ art society in The Ladykillers. It kind of works!)

Review – Prospero’s Library (fifth installation of The Tempest in six parts) – RETZproduces at Borduria (297 Hoxton Street)T

It’s six months now since RETZ started its six part Tempest, and I’ve been enjoying watching it play out. June is installation five, “Prospero’s Library,” and I tried to be early as possible making reservations so I didn’t miss out. (Retz’ shaky approach to letting us know when the performances are goign to take place has been driving me crazy for months now.)

I was now expecting a certain formula: the wait to enter the building from the back door; the bizarre “border guard” (Yuri?) checking my “passport” (I now have a running joke with him about his performance as the Bordurian entry for Eurovision); the ticket taker acting as if I’m really at a passport control going into a Soviet bloc country (I’m a known Bordurian citizen, now, so it all goes smoothly).

The mysteries for me are now all on the other side, where, this time, I am obliged to use a passcode to unlock the door. Inside is a slightly claustrophobic library, stuffed with gilded texts (some, however, quite dull modernish titles like “Balletomania”), decorated with taxidermied animals and skulls, with a bearded man hovering over a table built into one wall. It’s clear to me that he is Prospero. And, peeking around a corner, I can see a certain puppy-headed monster and his drunk pals, Trinculo and Stephano, hiding in a corner, waiting for their chance to attack.

The choice of scenes this time is the culmination of Prospero’s story (to me), as he turns away from his hatred and resentment and decides to let Ferdinand, son of his old enemy Alonso, marry his daughter Miranda. Prospero’s change seemed to me much more of an evolution in this context than when I had seen it in previous productions, when it appeared an abrupt and arbitrary decision of a still angry old man. Was it because of the power of this actor or was it caused by the intimacy allowed in such a compact environment (there were only five people in total watching the show)? Either way, for once, rather than balking at the sudden reversal, I bought into it.

And then … well, things will happen when monsters attack. And, for the sake of surprise, I will say no more about the performance. However, the books themselves are on sale if you go by the environment during the day; prices range from £1-£3. It’s unbearably, tempting, isn’t it? Me, I’ve got my eyes on a wonderful copy of Vanity Fair, and, of course, getting myself organized to see the final installment of this production.

(This review is for a performance that took place on Thursday, June 14th, 2012. Performances of “Prospero’s Library” continue through June 23rd and can be booked via the Retz website.)

Mini-review – Antigone – National Theatre

Ah, the Greek tragedy. One set, one long scene, generally speaking one long bore. That’s how I tend to see them, and after Alan Cumming was unable to make me interested in the Bacchae, I have pretty much giving up on going to them. But then I got an invitation to see Antigone at the National Theater from a friend, and though I didn’t want to go (a former Dr Who actor is not really a draw for me), it was only £12 so I thought I ought to really make the effort. Then … joy! … my friends who went to previews said it was only about 90 minutes long. Hooray! All things considered, I was feeling much more cheerful about this as I headed into the Olivier than I had any right to be if I was honest with myself about my usual experiences with ancient Greek theater.

And then … SHOCK … it was

Mini-review – Abigail’s Party – Wyndham’s Theater

When “Abigail’s Party” was playing at the Menier this winter, I was torn about going. “Oh, a Mike Leigh play!” said the angel; “Arrgh, it’s set in the seventies and seems to be celebrated as much for its canapés as anything else.” In the end it sold out and that determined it for me; no luck getting $15 tickets like I could have for Pippin!

But then it was transferred to Wyndham’s, and while tickets seemed too expensive ($35!) a friend who needed cheering up wanted to go, and I thought, hey, an actual Mike Leigh comedy, let’s do that – plus it’s just around the corner from work, and a short play, so perfect for working girl me.

Well. I’m not sure how I missed this in all of the Twitter commentary, but in addition to being a play that features horrible 70s clothing (and canapés), Abigail’s Party has to be one of the unfunniest plays ever. It’s light hearted on the face – our hostess just wants everyone to have a good time – but she’s going to steamroll everyone into doing it her way. Meanwhile the one decent character is regularly humiliated (and kept from leaving!), and we get to watch two married couples bicker with each other horribly and very realistically to the point that I wanted to leave, too. The audience, however, was laughing fit to burst – I can’t help but think it’s because they were finding watching people be made uncomfortable and degraded struck them as great good fun.

As a record of life in the English suburbs in the 1970s, there’s no doubt that this is a very accurate play, and the acting was really very good from everyone, but I have just had enough with Mike Leigh setting up these parties in which miserable people make other people miserable. I don’t understand why other people find this so damned hilarious, either. I was barely able to keep my companion there through the second act (it now runs with a break, so 7:45 to 9:45) and only because I think this play is a British classic; but it’s one I won’t be revisiting. If only I could have actually been to a play about the real Abigail’s party, which was supposed to be taking place next door; I’m sure they were having a much better time.

(This review is for a performance that took place on Monday, May 28th, 2012.)

Review – The Claribel (fourth installation of The Tempest in six parts) – RETZproduces at Borduria (297 Hoxton Street)

For the fourth installation of RETZ’ six part Tempest (called “The Claribel”), I did something a little different and went on the last night, when a dinner was offered as well as a show. I did it, truth be told, because it was the only night I could go: “The Claribel” had an unfortunately short (two week) run, and by the time the dates were announced. I’d already booked the rest of my calendar (five shows at the Lufthansa Baroque Festival took up most of my time). But, truth be told, this wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. Actually, I’d read about the dinners on Twitter and they sounded kind of intriguing, despite the fact that they added rather a lot to the cost of the show (especially since I’d prepaid for all six by buying a Bordurian passport. So on a sunny, glorious Sunday I headed off to Shoreditch, ready for whatever Retz was going to throw at me and whatever mysteries were taking place inside the Hotel Claribel.

Surprisingly, there was quite a line behind the building, and as I arrived the guard was calling out names – apparently there was a waiting list! Fortunately, I was third to be called and made it in easily, despite forgetting my passport: I promised to “set it straight” with the guard “if we could get somewhere a little more private,”, and he replied that he’d brought his rubber gloves. As a parting shot, I congratulated on his performance in Eurovision the preceding night.

Then it was in a tiny room – an elevator, to all appearances – which shook and trembled after the doors slid shut. One of the girls who was in it with me asked playfully if we should all jump up at the same time; I earmarked her as the fun one. Meanwhile the other two asked all sorts of questions about just what was going on and what was going to happen. So curious – but where was their willingness to just go with the flow?

When the doors opened (on the ground floor still, of course), they revealed a tiny, art-deco-y bar, set in a room with some lounging chairs around a long coffee table and some regular chairs around a dining table. Four men were arranged around the room: two young (in a corner), one middle aged, and one old. But our attention was immediately distracted by the chipper barman, who offered us some “Bordurian beet gazpacho” and some kind of cocktail made of Earl Grey tea and vodka. I took a glass of each and sat down at the coffee table, so I was facing the center of the room. I sipped my drink and polished off the gazpacho (the weather was certainly right for it!) and got into a very animated conversation with the elevator jumper while the rest of the guests filed in, four by four. (I’m guessing many of the people outside never made it in. Ah well.)

Finally we had reached capacity (two poor folk had to stand near the elevator door, rather uncomfortable as the actors kept standing in front of them). Our characters for the evening were the King Gonzalo, his advisor Alonzo, and Sebastian and Antonio, two villians who spent most of the first part sitting in the corner (invisible to me) and making fun of nearly everything the two older men said – most of which was Gonzalo mourning the death of his son. The performance was rather a lot of Act Three Scene Three, but with other bits thrown in; particularly chilling was Antonio’s speech to Sebastian, explaining that his soul “is a stranger to mercy” (or something along those lines) – a truly chilling speech from someone who was goading on a man with a knife to stab to death the old man sleeping in an arm chair in front of me.

At some point before this all came to a head, the elevator doors opened, the actors went on mute (actually they sort of powered down; they certainly refused to talk when addressed, not nearly as fun as the first installation when I got to thumb wrestle Trinculo); and a group of black garbed Bordurians came in and started serving us food. Hurray, cold potato salad; hurray strange celeriac (fennel?) salad, but BOOOOO for the giant slabs of cold raw salmon, as I had NO INTEREST in eating any fish. (Our extras, however, delighted Richard, the man who played Gonzalo, when he came by our table after the show was over.) But we also had lovely rolls and butter and, well, more than enough to eat. In fact, it was good enough that when the actors resumed (and the music of the spirits was played, enchanting the two villains), I was still shoveling it in, and thus was ROUNDLY HUMILIATED when Sebastian leaned into me (after ignoring me before!) and said, “Now I will believe/That there are unicorns.” Yeah, unicorns cramming their faces full of over buttered rolls. It all wrapped up with a big reveal as the door of the elevator rolled open to show the projected face of Ariel, who said something utterly incomprehensible to me… and then the actors headed out the front of the shop, the exterior windows were rolled up, and it was time for dessert! Mmm some sort of gateau and a home made Battenburg cake, plus adorable hand-tied teabags to go with. To make it all more fun, the actors returned and socialized with us – apparently my table was full of friends of the king – and did what actors do, which is feed themselves solidly after a hard night’s work. This gave me a chance to quiz them about working on the project and about their characters – rather fun, really, to say, “So, what is your relationship with Prospero? Are you in his good books? And how does it feel to perform in such an intimate space?” They were all charming, possibly because it was the last night and they were very relaxed, but all told it was such a lovely summer evening, so perfect to sit down with a cold picnic and visit over Earl Grey martinis and slightly melting cake. And, to top it off, I had made a friend – the other American and I had exchanged contact information and promised to meet again for episode six.

Overall, this experiment in bite sized Shakespeare in an intimate, changing space has really been transforming my relationship with the Tempest – I’m having a chance to savor the characters and the text while I’m soaking in the gloriously variable environment Retz has been creating for each episode. I took a bit of a risk buying a season pass (er, “passport”) for all six performances, but I’m loving the experience. I feel sorry for people who haven’t been along for the whole ride – this feels more and more like something people are going to be talking about for ages. Me, I have already made reservations for “Prospero’s Library” in mid-June. Early booking is, as they say, advised.

(This review is for a performance that took place on Sunday, May 27, 2012.)