The Other "Lucy and Friends"

 Staying with messy artists, any record at all of the work of The London Dungeon's own Lucy McCormick (pictured above, © Holly Revell) is always worth seeking out. When I her caught her solo formidable* Lucy and Friends back in 2024, I eagerly went looking for a trailer online so I could plug the show here, but while one does now exist, all my search turned up two years ago were the videos below. It didn't take me long to realise this was not what I was looking for, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. I don't want to give you any warning of what to expect, so just see how you get on...

 

 I hope you agree this find was worth sharing. In its way, its almost as coruscating, nourishing, and unstoppably funny, if only – as Americans say – on accident. The central message of "Emptying Yourself for God" is a hell of a hook, and the total lack of rapport between unrehearsed host and puppet creates a tension I find it hard to grow tired of, however much the deranged animated inserts start to drag.

 

 

  This Lucy and Friends is also the kind of reminder I always enjoyed getting, that before hitting its stride with wall to wall, parasocial direct address and crafted video essays, YouTube was once a lot more like the show Takeover TV, a kind of petting zoo for anonymous projects as its name suggests. Like Macbeth and the taste of fear, I had almost forgot.

 

 

 

 * I'm trying to make formidable happen as a noun, a bit like spectacle even though that was never an adjective. Pronounce it as French as you like.

Pinocchio Restored!

"How do you feel?" "Squidgy." "You get used to it."

 

 Towards the end of 2022 I wrote about a few PINOCCHIO adaptations I... hadn't got on with, let's say, and about Gemma Brockis' attempts to explain to me what Collodi's book had originally been about. Yesterday, the two of us managed to catch the very last show of The Globe's Christmas adaptation (a packed Sunday matinée, featuring Lucy McCormick beaming through grief as a blue fairy) and, readers, it was beautiful. It was perfect.

 It had heart, and sense, and fun, and painted sets and giant puppets, all perfectly coordinating with the preexisting ersatz marble pillars on the Globe's thrust, and it kept surprisingly close to its episodic source material, with a lucid sympathy for its antagonists (theatre is work, and money does matter) but also an understanding that, at some point, we were owed some real nightmares.

 It also did a great job on that winter's afternoon,of drilling home just how great a sacrifice Gepetto makes exchanging his only coat for schoolbooks. I felt every hug. 

 It was no less cheering to discover afterwards that the extraordinary creative team behind all this was also responsible for the much-loved COWBOIS at the Royal Court, a show whose every choice I'd found baffling, sad, and timid. It was, in fact, healing to discover this. Lively and freeing.

 

 

Where I took the stills from.

 

 And talking of the murder of indigenous Americans: among the many Pinocchio adaptations I saw in 2022 was THIS beautiful restoration of a silent film from 1911 directed by Giulio Antamoro that included amongst its narrative tweaks a sequence about half an hour in, in which Pinocchio is rescued from the whale by "Indiani" who make him their chief but also attempt to roast Gepetto on a spit, prompting the puppet to sneak out of his teepee and seek the help of a nearby troop of pith-helmeted machine-gunners. This creative addition stopped me sharing it originally, but I'd always meant to cut a genocide-free edit so that the rest could be more easily enjoyed, and now I finally have, and here it is...

 

 

 

potential accompaniment

"Sad c****" is actually "sad clown", but I thought the asterisks were more on brand.*

 Well, there is absolutely, positively no way I'm going to let myself stage Jonah Non Grata again for the first time in nearly ten years, without getting round to plugging it on here with at least twelve hours' notice, so here is that plug, and HERE are the tickets. It's on for one night only this Midsummer's Saturday, at the Soho Theatre on Dean Street – a venue I've always hoped to infiltrate – as part of the London Clown Festival, a scene I've always similarly nursed a pang to crash.

 

 Me crashing clowns. Hi Dan. Hi Neil. Hi Ben. Hi Dan again.

 

 After that one night only, the old bag of tricks, fish, and creamed rice – older even than this blog – will head up to Edinburgh for loads more nights in August, as threatened, and I do plan to bang on about that a lot more on here in future, so don't worry, but for now I'll just say that the Assembly Rooms tickets are HERE, and that I have a lot of people to thank for this happening but mainly one person. That person's precise attitude towards being so much as even mentioned on this blog, however, is currently unknown to me at half past one this morning, so I'll just – for anyone who doesn't know what PR is – post this helpful and unrelated video from 2012:

 

 

  I didn't know what PR was either, but looking at the Metro, it... seems... to be... working... Does the writer below even know me? I don't think so. No reason they should, either: no explicit promise is actually made about the quality of whatever funny bones I may have, just that they'll be mine. 'An exciting biblical adventure'. Great. That's the "Why now?" taken care of too, I guess. So there I am, in today's paper. Being picked in the Must-Sees. Easy as that. Type discount code "FLIGHTRISK" for a fat fifth off tonight's tickets! 

 

 * on brand for Lucy, I mean. Keeping it ****

Lucy McCormick Draws a Spider Diagram

  So. In other business this week, I'm lucky enough to have been invited by old London Dungeon cohort Lucy McCormick to come on board with the excellent Hannah Maxwell (also pictured) as "actual actors" (Lucy calls us this despite being on a break from playing Cathy in an international tour of "Wuthering Heights" – THAT Lucy McCormick) to help her with a few days' research & development on an as yet unwritten play she was commissioned to have a think about by the Soho Theatre. Lucy's a hero of mine – I want people I know to see her, and I want people I don't know to know I know her – but this is the first time I've ever collaborated with her theatrically, and the couple of days' fun we've thus far had has reminded me of working with Shunt in two quite specific ways.

 

 

 Firstly, most of the exercises Lucy asks us to do turn up something sustainably entertaining which might be the basis of a whole show by itself. And secondly, none of these exercises seem to have anything to do with each other – despite there being nowhere else I'd rather be, I've no idea what's going on. No, that's not true; while I was dragging myself along the floor yesterday singing harmonies on a Billie Eilish number before tearing into the salad Lucy had gaffer-taped to her legs, I knew exactly what was going on: That. What I mean is, I've no idea what Lucy wants to make. But that's fine, because Lucy does and she says this is exactly what she's needed, so that's great. (That spider diagram was my idea by the way. Its centre was never filled.)

 

Also, THIS Lucy McCormick