An Autobiography in Random Chapters: Jesus Christ Almighty!

In which The Author accepts a dare

A couple of months ago, one of my friends threw down a metaphorical gauntlet in my general direction. Deb J. (for it was she) was on Facebook, and said something like, ‘Tickets are now on sale for the Colstars’ production of Jesus Christ Superstar. Book now. You won’t be disappointed.'

Well, I know a comedy feed line when I see it, so I replied, ‘I bet I will be – I’m usually disappointed by Lloyd Webber’s stuff.’

Deb responded a few minutes later and dared me to go to the show. She was so confident I’d enjoy it that she even offered to pay for my ticket if I decided to bale out halfway through.

Now, I do like many of the classic musicals, and some of the more offbeat ones too – Oliver!, My Fair Lady, The Wizard of Oz, Scrooge, and Paint Your Wagon are definitely among my favourites. A fairly late addition to the list is Chicago (and thereby hangs a karaoke tale not suitable for family viewing). However, I’ve always fought shy of the Rice/Lloyd Webber oeuvre for some reason.

It’s absolutely nothing to do with Sir Tim’s way with words – indeed, he’s one of the wittiest and most entertaining semi-regulars on Just a Minute. It’s nothing to do with his lordship’s compositions, either. It’s just that I’ve only heard the ‘greatest hits’ when they’ve been in the UK charts, and thus taken totally out of context. Think of ‘Memories’ performed by Elaine Paige, or ‘Oh, What a Circus’ performed by David Essex, and you’ll see what I mean. They’re great pop songs, but I’ve never taken the time to listen to the entire show and see where they fit in.

Jesus Christ Superstar is slightly different. I remember watching the film on TV when I was probably in my early teens, and I simply didn’t get it. I couldn’t remember any of the songs (apart from the title song, of course), and I recall being utterly baffled by the film.

There was a single of ‘I Don’t Know How to Love Him’ released quite a few years ago, and I remember thinking then that I probably needed to revisit the show. When I was involved with YES (the Youth Entertainment Society, not the legendary prog rock combo) we seriously talked about staging it. Then circumstances kinda got in the way, so our production never got further than the discussion stage.

I also haven’t been to see the Colstars for ages, in spite of knowing several people involved with the group. As the name suggests, they strut their stuff a couple of times a year at the Coliseum in Trecynon. I think the last production I saw them do was a brilliant Fiddler on the Roof (another of my favourites). I think they fell off my radar when it became virtually impossible to get home from work in time for the show, and never really made it back on screen for some reason.

Anyway, I decided to accept Deb’s challenge when I found out who would be appearing in the show. My old friend Chris Davies, the former keyboard player with Cripplecreek and a phenomenal musician in his own right, had been cast as Simon Zealotes. Chris had also persuaded our eccentric pal Geraint Benney to audition for the part of Herod. Geraint is probably best known for his comedy creation Elvis Preseli (the world’s only bald, Welsh-speaking, burger-frying Elvis tribute act who doesn’t actually sing any Elvis songs). Having played Herod himself in an amateur production a little while back, Chris had a crazy idea that Geraint would fit the part to a T. Best of all, Chris’s teenage son Iwan, whom I’d only met briefly a few years earlier, was playing the title role.

Geraint, Chris, Iwan, Jonathan E. and I ended up sharing a table in Thereisnospoon on a Sunday afternoon a couple of months ago. I started chatting to Iwan about his ongoing applications for drama school. After notching up a couple of background artist appearances in Doctor Who and Torchwood, he’d tried for the last intake for RADA, but had failed to get a place. Since then he’d been accepted for LAMDA, and was giving RADA another shot. (I found out on Saturday that he’s got in. Kudos!) A few weeks later we were in the pub again, and Geraint was so enthusiastic about the show that I decided to accept Deb’s challenge and check it out for myself.

Over time the posters went up, too – including one in my neighbour Eirlys’s window. Eirlys is Hannah W.’s mother, and a long-standing member of the society. Hannah asked me if I was planning to go, and I said I’d try and make it if I could.

By an odd coincidence, Elaine Paige played one of the songs from the show on her Radio 2 programme last Sunday. I’d honestly forgotten what a great groove it had. If I hadn’t already had my arm twisted enough, that was the final persuasion I needed.

On the very sensible grounds that quite a few of my friends were going to be in the show, I went along on Friday night. The place was heaving when I arrived, and I was lucky to get a seat downstairs, seven rows from the front. The curtains were closed, and I could hear the band tuning up in the orchestra pit. There was a real buzz in the auditorium, and I spotted a fair number of my friends dotted around the stalls.

The overture struck up and the curtains opened to reveal probably the most minimal set I’ve ever seen: a flat painted to resemble a stone wall, with a gateway in the middle; two flats at either side of the stage, again resembling a wall, and a slightly raised platform centre stage. Two Roman soldiers came on, leading a man carrying a cross (which looked really heavy, too), and exited on the opposite side.

Enter Judas, played by a young man named Daniel Thomas. I haven’t met him before, but I’m sure I know his face from somewhere. (He’s either been on TV, or he’s got a lookalike.) Judas is obviously trying to give the soldiers and the Pharisees the slip. At first I wondered whether it was going to be a modern dress production – maroon jeans probably weren’t the rage in first century Judea – but when the disciples and the chorus came on, it was obvious that they’d gone for a Biblical setting.

The men were wearing loose trousers, tunics, and the sort of scarves which are still worn in the Middle East today, while the women wore plain dresses and headscarves. In addition, every one of them wore sandals (did the charity shops in Aberdare do a roaring trade in the run-up to the dress rehearsals?), which must have made the dance routines quite a challenge.

And then the singing started. Straight away I was blown away by the power and passion in Dan’s voice, and by the precision with which the chorus wove their patterns around the front line. The band were tighter than a gnat’s chuff (as they used to say in Viz), and the young men and women in the main roles were simply astonishing. Since I’ve already namechecked Iwan and Daniel, I’ll credit the rest of them as well: Bethan Karen Jones as Mary Magdalene, Richard Lee Thomas as Pilate, Kieran Griffiths as Peter, and Daniel James as one of the priests; alongside them were the ‘old hands’ Derek Williams as Caiaphas and James Dyer as Annas. The purity of Bethan’s voice, the power of Lee's, and the richness of Derek’s, made me wonder if I actually was watching an amateur production.

The chorus, a fine blend of younger and more experienced players, were just as strong as the front line. Nobody put a foot wrong, nobody dropped a note, nobody missed a cue; it was an emotional rollercoaster of pure pleasure and a joy to witness. The moment when Chris and Iwan got to perform together will doubtless be a memory they’ll treasure for ever.

With no set changes, bar the addition of some colourful banners during Geraint’s turn as the campest Herod ever (think Sir Elton John doing Elvis Presley), a table for the Last Supper, and (of course) Christ’s cross for the heart-stopping climax, the Colstars delivered a fine lesson in doing more with less.

There were some great costumes on display, too: the sinister black garb of the Pharisees; the rather Pharaonic styling for Herod and his backing singers; Pilate’s magnificent outfit; the rags worn by Jesus’ supplicants … I can only imagine the chaos backstage as people changed their clothes in record time.

Judas’ post-suicide reappearance in black trousers and a black shirt topped with a sparkly red waistcoat, delivering the title song to a shattered Jesus, huddled sobbing in the corner, backed by Deb and two other women in Supremes-style outfits, accompanied by the whole chorus in shiny blue and silver, was the perfect random touch to bring the story to its inevitable and heart-stopping climax. The crucifixion itself wasn’t played down, either – Iwan’s remarkable performance as the suffering man was alone worth the price of admission.

Dispensing with the usual curtain calls, the show ended on a suitably downbeat note, with the main players taking the stage once more for a solemn single bow before the curtains closed. I sat for a couple of minutes before making my way outside, reflecting on what an absolute treat I’d just experienced, a few minutes’ walk from my house on a Friday evening.

I know I've referred to this previously (in my old Wordpress blog), but I never had the chance to get involved in a show like that. An all-boys school in the late 1970s and early 1980s was focused almost entirely on sport, or on choral singing. The chance to do something a bit different only came about when the culture of the place changed, a couple of years after I'd finished my A levels. Outside school, the only shows that people put on were Gilbert and Sullivan operettas or things like The Student Prince – all very well, but still stuck well and truly in the past.

Now, young people have a chance to study Performing Arts in school, as well as take part in exciting contemporary productions like last week's. Or, at least, at the moment they do. Moves are afoot by the government to shove Performing Arts out of the curriculum, or to make it so inaccessible that many people won't even bother trying to study it. In addition, small theatres are facing closure, and the sort of companies which give youngsters a chance to see what it's like to be on stage are winding down.

And yet I was in London on Sunday and Monday. The West End is are full of musicals and plays which are impossible to get tickets for, and which between them must pull in a colossal amount of money from tourists, British and foreign alike. The performing arts in general account for a sizable chunk of the country's GDP. It's the young people – the likes of Iwan and his amazingly talented friends – who are going to keep British theatre alive in years to come.

It's not just a question of the class system preventing youngsters from trying out for audition places (although that plays an enormous part in the equation, as has been pointed out by some critics recently.) J. K. Rowling pointed out just last week that kids from poorer families stand little or no chance of even seeing a play in a major theatre, never mind getting the opportunity to get involved at a deeper level.

If ordinary kids from places like this are going to play their part (no pun intended) in the cultural life of our country, then groups like the Colstars and venues like the Coliseum are vitally important. They're the breeding ground for the next generation of real stars, after all, not the queues of people waiting to parade themselves in front of Simon Cowell.

After the show, I asked on Facebook if anyone had photos from the dress rehearsals that I could publish on here. Derek, the director of the show and one of the mainstays of the group, very kindly emailed me some pictures yesterday, so I'll share them with you now.