The Harder They Come

Pinky! (Image from Stratford Theatre Royal's site)

Went to see The Harder They Come with Cazzfred last night. Now, as I'm sure you'll all have noticed, I've become a bit of a theatre goer these last couple of years, seeing Evita, Chicago, Wicked and Avenue Q in the West End but also When To Run, Santiago's hooks in the back thing, Ron Athey and a whole heap of other glorious things. (I'm going to keep it a secret how much I liked going to see that thing about Ethel Merman at the King's Head a few years back, ok?)

So, it's not something I'd say lightly, but the play last night outstripped them all. The rough and ready setup of a stage with all the musicians being part of the action; the unashamedly funky costumes; the impossibly handsome and talented lead character; the shiver-down-your-spine vocal talents of the whole ensemble and the funk soundtrack; the way that the cast interact with the audience - it's the first signed performance I've been to where all of a sudden, cast members start having conversations in BSL with you from the other side of the theatre... I could go on and on. The patois!

But - dear God - how brilliantly did Jacqui Beckford interpret it? I almost didn't want to watch her because she did it with such fucking talent I would have been seething with jealousy if I hadn't been distracted by the hawt lead actor every time he moved on the stage. Seriously, though: I've recently become quite an advocate of captioned performances (like Wicked was) over interpreted peformances (like Evita was and the interpreter didn't use the sign for Argentina, just fingerspelled it every time), but this reminded me that there's some things for which an interpreter just can't be beaten on. It's the most I've wanted to just brain drain someone I've seen in a performance. She's a rare talent that one, especially when working with such damned good material and a cast who obviously respect and understand why she's there and what she's doing.

With me moving away from interpreting as my only real income, I've had some anxieties about whether I am, as one person put it, betraying Deaf people because I'm not bad at the job, so I'd leave my clients at risk of being stuck with substandard support. Remember the nightmares I had about slaughtering Deaf people? I think seeing some interpreters like Jacqui assuages that fear.

Anyway, I'm meant to be raving about the play, not her. Just fucking go and see it, ok?

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