I thought she deserved a review on her own, so I gave her one. However I don't want to ignore the other aspects of it. For one, the orchestra under Stephen Mould, who played wonderfully. After my abysmal efforts on piano, I was very much looking forward to hearing what the piece actually sounded like, and I wasn't disappointed. I can't have done too badly on my own - much of it was familiar - but still there's simply no suggestion in a piano part of the richness of the orchestration. The xylophone for the ringing of the telephone was especially effective; particularly so, I think, in light of the ending. But I might have to come back to that in a few weeks. (No spoilers here.)
The production is simply brilliant. It is, as promised, reminiscent of a Hitchcock film, but there's an ever so slightly more lurid feel to it too. There's also a sense of unreality to the whole thing: the walls are skewed and there are large gaps through which the night sky makes its way into the room. And then there's that ending, which as I say - on the offchance that anyone intending to see it makes their way here first - I won't spoil. But it's bound to stir up debate among some; I for one think it works wonderfully. Apparently it is hinted at from the beginning, by certain props. I had to be told this, however: my eyes were so glued to Yvonne I was oblivious to all else. Her actions on stage have been stunningly directed too. As naturally as all her beautiful movements flow, there is a hint of choreography to them which adds to their power, as, apparently accidentally, she forms tableau after tableau: a series of pulp fiction covers, perhaps. (Though I must admit some credit for this goes to Yvonne Kenny's legs...) The costuming, too, is fabulous. No, actually, that requires a longer vowel. Faaabulous. Resplendently 1950's, and tailored to perfection. Gorgeously costumed and with gorgeous brunette curls, she's quite breathtaking. Emotionally she's wrecked, but, freshly abandoned, she doesn't look it yet. Just as her voice retains a youthful strain, so too she looks young and lovely still, which makes her plight all the more heartbreaking to witness.
Ah, you see, it comes back to Yvonne again after all. Can't be helped. And neither, I fear, can I - but then, I don't want to be.