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60 OBSERVER SUNDAY 9 FEBRUARY 1992 mm Long night of lost souls Urbane fight for the urban Nantucket cinema and on a Singapore sampan, dignifying these tawdry encounters with the simple poetry of tolerance, and pinning down at last a play which seems ever likely to fly off in any direction. Eyre imposes the right rhythms, and a rich atmosphere, while not skimping on the imagery (of a captured iguana struggling at the end of its rope) or on the peripheral, horribly gleeful quartet of fat German tourists who are celebrating the bombing of London. An equally forgotten and even more problematical rarity, Shaw's 1898 Caesar and Cleopatra, has been handsomely revived at Greenwich by Matthew Francis, with Alec McCowen as Shaw's ideal political hero and Amanda Root as the kittenish Queen of the Nile. There remains an insuperable element of stilted baloney in the vexed issue of the Egyptian succession. But McCowen and Root manage to smuggle in a warm and shifting tutorpupil relationship not unlike that between Higgins and Eliza Doolittle.

The casting, even though McCowen is not the Roman-nosed supremo Forbes-Robertson must have been, is just right. At this stage of the Syrian annexation, Caesar is in his mid-fifties. Shaw infantilised Cleopatra by about six years to eliminate the sex threat and cancel the 'deification of love' he despised in Antony and Cleopatra. Root grows to near-womanliness, acquiring a Judi Dench-style catch in her voice to sublimate the childish, eager tones of the early scenes. A peevish sacrificial murder (the victim, Frank Moorey, is incomprehensibly got up like Widow Twankey) brings McCowen to the boil, and to the furious discharging body still, eyes blazing of the great speech about murders committed in the name of right and honour and peace.

The tone of the playing is perfect throughout: dry, wry and muscular. McCowen sets the pace but is admirably followed by Michael Grandage as the Sicilian carpet dealer Appo-lodorus, Jim Dunk as Rufio and Timothy Kightley as Theodo-tus, who humorously doubles as a bobbing boatman at the Alexandrian quayside. Julian McGowan's witty designs ingeniously match Shaw's impracticable demands for a lighthouse, a palace rooftop and the magical eeriness of the Syrian palace where McCowen is discovered itemising his alone-ness to the Sphinx. His condition is reinforced by events in the play, and his brusque, uncaring departure, with his promise of sending out Mark Antony, is a chill admission of defeat. There is more stylish skirting of history in David Hirson's La Bte at the Lyric, Hammersmith, a Broadway flop fie, the New York Times didn't like it) entirely composed in rhyming couplets on a brilliant white, tilting antechamber devised by the two Richards, Hudson (designer) and Jones (director).

Once you spot that Elomire is an anagram, the rest falls into place: this is Moliere's vagabond company, including the Be art family, on tour in the southern provinces in 1654, several years before Parisian glory at the Palais Royal. The preface to Tartuffe and the issues of the 'Comic War' are previewed in Elomire's defence of the moral purpose of comedy, while the new boy Val-ere, with his crass neologisms and mediocre Spanish farce, embodies the light entertainment imperatives. Whereas Bulgakov, in his Moliere play, pits the successful dramatist against his sponsoring monarch, Hirson a promising 33-year-old New Yorker cleverly launches a theoretical dispute between unknowns within a provincial sponsorship crisis. Elomire has been served a writ by a popinjay Prince. The troupe, against Elomire's wishes, is embroiled in a command performance of Valere's parable of the two boys of Cadiz, and Elomire is left seeth-ingly to contemplate the beast within his comic muse.

The structure is audacious, with an opening half-hour monologue of infiltration for the pretender which is stupendously well executed by Alan Cumming, preening, self-mocking, improvising, teasing, boasting and fawning in a fantastic flood of controlled and campy histrionics. Jeremy Northam's bleary-eyed, half-shaven Elomire can only await the glorious intervention of Prince Conti, whom a tear-drenched Timothy Walker in a poodle wig, mauve stockings and a stage-filling Michael Coveney on true confessions at the National. AMID a ritual bout of fatuous jeremiads concerning the 'state of the West End' what if the managements are pooling their resources (about 17.28) to put on a compilation musical of the compilation musicals? it has been a fascinating week of rescue and revival in theatres that really matter to London: the National, Greenwich and the Lyric, Hammersmith. The Night of the Iguana (Lyttelton, RNT) is Tennessee Williams's last great play of any size or texture. The author had not quite fallen apart with booze and drugs in 1961, and he created a steamy scenario of guilt, demons and sexual confusion among a few lost souls on the veranda of Maxine Faulk's hospitable jungle shack overlooking the Puerto Barrio in Mexico in 1940.

Richard Eyre's production, for which Bob Crowley has filled the stage with plastic jungle greenery and a monster garden shed, is none the less a little lost in the Lyttelton's acoustics, which are unsuitable for confessional intimacies. But it does contain an absolutely knockout performance by Alfred Molina as the tour guide Larry Shannon, a heretic priest from Graham Greeneland who has molested one of his young party of Texan girls and is drying out and lying low in a fever of exultant edginess and hallucination. Molina's performance is weighty and light, full of lungs and twinkle, lit with bright energy and a positive and sympathetic rage. Shannon finds God in other people: in the raunchy Maxine (Frances Barber, not exactly 'bigger than life and twice as unnatural', but impressively joyful) and, especially, in the impecunious artist and spinster Hannah Jelkes, whom Eileen Atkins invests with an astringent melancholy and a moving spiritual toughness. Hannah is tending her 97-year-old poet grandfather (Robin Bailey) who finally expires, with the play, on completing his last, Rilkean verses.

She has released to Larry her virginal experiences in a institutional money, CEL has taken a single speculative step buying the area. Everything else has to be put together incrementally. Public agencies must be engaged, with private investment alongside. Zogolovitch sees advantages in the current climate. 'In recession and depression, institutional investors have got to find By concentrating on lease-back deals and acting as honest broker, 'bringing together key agency players in the city', CEL offers an alternative approach.

Government money is available through the five-year city challenge initiative and there are funds for training and housing, but it all has to be pieced together. CEL has drawn up a master plan and identified the first 'parcel', a corner site on Berry Street and Duke Street, combining historic buildings and vacant backlands. Ingredients include a hotel based upon training in the catering trade, a 'massive' Chinese restaurant, food stalls in a new public square, shops and student flats. Higher education is a growth industry in Liverpool, significantly for the Bold StreetDuke Street area. A full-time student population is an integrated community, people who wish above all to live in the city centre.

Liverpool Polytechnic alone envisages student numbers rising to 22,000 from 12,000 a couple of years ago. Most importantly, a significant number of students are incomers they come to study and then stay. Zogolovitch's ideas chime with Howard Hull, Director of the Liverpool Polytechnic Development Trust: 'A green-field site was seen as the only realistic solution, but we were not interested because of our relationship with the city. The city is our campus. We currently have 26 sites; it would be brilliant if we had As Zogolovitch puts it, 'living in the centre of cities is a very urbane existance.

We are fighting for urbanists, versus the American pattern, "Edge City" and the Where better to fight that battle than in Liverpool, a great city just waiting for something good to happen? Gillian Darley on a new approach to recharge Liverpool. AN ARCHITECT by training, Roger Zogolovitch has become a developer by conviction. 'What intrigues me is how you can affect cities in combination in physical, economic and cultural Zogolovitch's company, Charterhouse Estates Limited (CEL), cut its teeth on three successful studio workshop schemes in London. When, two years ago, it acquired 80 acres of central, historic Liverpool near the Anglican cathedral jaws fell in amazement. Including about 100 listed buildings, it is a district that has long been in slow decline.

Shabby as it is, this is a central area of a major British city, its urban fabric made up of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century buildings of extraordinary variety and quality, including merchant houses complete with counting houses and private warehouses. The streets roll down to the Mersey, only a short walk from the main institutions of the city. The city council sold its land-holding to CEL for 10 million, excluding residential properties. Liverpool in 1990, shorn of its function as a port, a fragile economy nursed by a much depleted population, with the demoralisation of anarchic city politics a very recent memory, was more than glad to find someone prepared to invest energy in its future. The area, bounded by Bold Street and Duke Street, takes in numerous small businesses and shops, and virtually all of Chinatown.

For Zogolovitch that is ideal; 'I am very much a fundamentalist, I believe in the roots of cities, the existing canvas. I wouldn't have dreamt of doing it on derelict land. This is another way entirely of looking at development. If it's an attractive place, it will attract Having escaped redevelopment 30 years ago, the area can be carefully regenerated, mending the fabric and patching in the moth-holes. Backed by in The Night of the Iguana' Photograph by Richard Mildenhall.

Frances Barber ana1 Affied Molina purple cloak, portrays as a bul- lying, hot-headed patron highly gifted in grabbing the wrong end of the stick. The evening is wholly surprising and delicious, and sets new standards for our own busy rhymesters Ranjit Bolt and Jeremy Sams. There are, inevitably, a few longueurs with so much doggerel-into-verse. But has come seriously unstuck on Nigel Gearing's adaptation of George Orwell's Down and Out in Paris and London. Anna Furse's tame production fails to capitalise on the ensemble potential of life among the Paris plongeurs and London tramps, and makes too little of Sally Jacobs's mobile array of eight tin trunks.

Don who howls at the darkling the stage looks ravishing, and Hirson has Moliere's trick of infusing a banal verse scheme with thought, feeline and argument. A bad news postscript from the Salisbury Playhouse, where an admirable project undertaken in concert with Paines Plough and a company based at Chalon-sur-Saone, near Dijon, moon with poise and perception, never indulging in the desperate self-flagellation of most Elviras, despite an unconvincing lapse in Act Two into a kind of mad Ophelia, from which, fortunately, she quickly recovered. As Donna Anna, Carol Vaness was awesome and vengeful, her voice in peak form, like honey shot with glass. For once, in Hans Peter Blochwitz, she had a Don Otta-vio to reckon with. Far from the usual simpering pushover, he showed his own petulant frustrations at being mere consoler-in-chief and was the more convincing for it.

His beautifully refined voice made 'Dalla sua pace' the pleasure it should always be, but too often isn't. Schaaf peasant couple, too, are more self-possessed and assertive than usual. Marta Marquez's Zerlina was sweet-voiced yet robust, her Masetto (Bryn Terfel) impetuous, hiss-ingly angry, proud. By the end, in the new spirit of egalitarian-ism, Schaaf has them both downing cudgels and sipping tea, fingers crooked, with their Fiona Maddocks thrills to the chills of Schaaf's scandalous new Don Giovanni. IT'S NOT that the German producer Johannes Schaaf has no sense of humour, as some maintain.

You only have to see his ingenious use of a naked beauty in the banquet scene of Don Giovanni (all is revealed in tomorrow's live broadcast on BBC2, but there are better reasons to watch) to realise just how witty he is. Rather, he revels in the black, subtle, chilling side of Mozart's art, plundering it for every last nuance of meaning, Elizabethan-Jacobean subfusc ruffs and bloomers; sets are streamlined and modern, reflecting Schaaf own Janus-like approach to production. An austere, charcoal-black box adapts swiftly as needed (ENO's Konigskinder team take note), sides closing in to convey the narrow streets of Seville, or opening out to become a room in Don Giovanni's villa. Windows, doors and glittering mirrors variously cast light. Above, a glowering sky flashes and flickers according to the time of day, or to the emotional turbulence of the characters.

Interviewed on these pages last week, Schaaf called Don Giovanni a work of mourning for an old regime, its central character 'the last great individual hero'. However, for a last great individual hero, and one to whom all other characters so readily and impotently yield, he has surprisingly little to do in an opera which takes his name. We are offered so little insight into what motivates this obsessive nihilist, which is what makes the role so taxing. Allen (left) and Robert Uqyd.Photograph by Neil Libbert. Even a Don with the, experience of Thomas Allen with 102 performances in nine different productions to his credit can appear uneasy, as Allen did on the first night, despite his rapport with the excellent cast, with the producer (in whose Figaro he recently appeared) and with the conductor, Bernard Haitink.

Only after his deliciously tantalising seduction of Zerlina did he seem to relax into the part, every phrase and gesture the more brutal, compelling and, yes, alluring. What girl wouldn't want this man beneath her window? Yet hard though he was to fault, Allen still left a sense of dissatisfaction, perhaps more to do with the riddles at the heart of the work than through any failing on his part. He certainly looks every inch the handsome libertine, as well as singing with the elegance and acuity he brings to all his performances. His women, meanwhile thankless characters all three retaliated with fierce dignity. Patricia Schuman, replacing Karita Mattila as Elvira, sang programmes in the darkness, longing for surtitles.

There is a time for dance critics to refrain from saying, yet again, that ballet dancers lack the earthiness and sculptural weight necessary for modern dance. It may be true but it is a tired complaint, due for a rest. Comelin combines ballet and contemporary dance techniques in his choreographed account of Mozart's Requiem. Hilary Davan Wetton conducted the Wren Orchestra and City of London Choir with four guest artists. The textural density of the voices was in no way matched by the visual canons of the music back, usually taking the responsive ROH orchestra with him.

Elvira's Act Two recitative and aria showed him at his most daring. An exquisitely slow, throbbing recitative was followed by as brisk a 'Mi tradi' as you could hope for. The effect was revelatory. A far better reason, too, for switching on tomorrow night than a surfeit of nubile flesh on the dining table. 'Don Giovanni', 6.50pm tomorrow BBC2.

and Johnny Get close-up for just 9.95 Heartily sick of the cyclical Dinner is served: Thomas social superiors a nicely provocative Schaafian touch. If anything, Giovanni's fatal brush with the Commendatore (Robert Lloyd) was underplayed a powerful white beam of light dispersing into a fiery glow as the Don disappears through the floor upstage, virtually out of sight if you're in the stalls. More intriguing is the survivor, Leporello (Claudio Desderi), who sits alone, scribbling in his book, ultimately Comelin borrowed Gilles Reichert from the Boston Ballet: sleek and beautiful, he was rather too self-assured for the raw demi-god. The three Muses were flirts rather than wild fillies, not so much startling as silly. Musicians and dancers conspired to make Stravinsky and Balanchine seem positively romantic, ironing out all mannerist angularities.

Apollo has continued to change since 1928, but I prefer the objectivity of New York City Ballet's approach to the winsomeness of most European interpretations, including this one. more enigmatic than his master. Leporellos certainly come a lot funnier than Desderi's, but few are so many-faceted, and so vocally at ease. Musically, this was a performance to relish. Haitink exploits the expressive warmth of the score, always the more terrifying for running contrary to the action.

His usual reputation for unadventurousness doesn't apply here. He takes risks, coaxing, driving, pulling Meet Arnie JUDGMENT Day is on 17 February. That is the date when Arnold Schwarzenegger returns to video stores as the Terminator. On rental release through Guild Home Video, Terminator 2 Judgment Day (15) has grossed close on 18 million at the UK box office and looks set to be one of the video hits of the year. Director James Cameron's first Terminator film introduced Schwarzeneg however bleak, refusing to swathe all in the sunny resolution which would guarantee his productions a better reception than his London critics usually grant him.

It is no surprise, then, to discover that this new Don Giovanni, the conclusion of his probing Mozart-Da Ponte trilogy for the Royal Opera House which goes to Japan later this year, finds Schaaf at his darkling best. And dark it certainly is. Designed by Peter Pabst and vividly lit by John B. Read, this is a visually imposing production which takes place entirely in deep tenebrist gloom, pierced by shafts of menacing, sharply-focused light. Each tableau is choreographed and lit as if straight from Caravaggio.

Costumes are traditional Guarantee The only customers we want are satisfied customers. If you are not fully satisfied with your Travel Mirror, simply return it to us within 14 days for a full refund. This guarantee is offered in addition to your statutory rights. Order by 'phone now! Simply telephone 0252 860606, quoting reference number AB96 and item code ZN7 1 9D. CUT 1 325, Yateley, Camberley, Surrey I I I 9U the choreography, and Comelin ran out of ideas long before Mozart's final blessing.

The 19 dancers gave everything they had, performing with great sincerity not easy for men wearing only white underpants. The women were more effective angelic figures in long, flaring skirts, arms curved in the shape of wings. Comelin avoided the worst religiose cliches but undermined his best images by repeating them ad nauseam. The company, which is based in Roubaix, is an attractive one, with a range of ages and physiques. For Balanchine's Apollo, Ji' item When it comes to applying make-up, inserting contact lenses or shaving, this clever 2-way extendable mirror gives you the good close-up view you need.

It has telescopic action and flexible arm for adjusting precisely, and features normal and magnified sides for clearer detail. Ideal for bedroom or bathroom (use the suction pads for fixing to any surface). It's also essential for travelling when mirrors often aren't available, and folds for easy carrying. PLEASE Send to: Observer Offers, P.O. Box OU17 7FW Name I Address.

ger as the 'most single-mindedly destructive, conscience-less killing machine', a 'cyborg' sent from a nightmare future to destroy the child destined to lead human resistance to the tyranny of machines. But this time Arnie is a 'good guy', dispatched to save the child an indestructible robot in the service of humanity. We have 30 copies of the video to give away to Observer readers. To e'nter our prize draw, dial 0839 900 903 and answer the following question: Name the other major sci-fi sequel directed by James Cameron. 1 ''i'-1-1'' 1 Jann Parry finds Ballet du Nord's two circular tours de trop.

DON'T you just hate it when dances end as they began and you can see the conclusion coming ages before it does? No, you probably don't, and critics are arrogant to assume that everyone shares the same response. All the same, Jean-Paul Comelin, director of Ballet du Nord, was pushing his luck by including two cyclical pieces in his company's programme at Sadler's Wells. They opened with Jose Limon's There is a Time, which takes verses from Ecclesiastes as its theme a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to keep and a time to cast away (sound advice for choreographers) It was made in 1956, but seems to belong to an earlier period of American modern dance because of its earnest naivety. Limon exploited the power of the inward-looking circle and the linked arms of folk dance motifs which soon become predictable. The dancers are grave and merry, martial and consoling in turn.

The difficulty, if you don't have the relevant verses by heart, lies in recognising those emotions and activities for which dance has no code: how to distinguish speech from silence, for example, or hate flailing hair and an anguished expression from madness. People were peering at their Postcode Daytime Tel item Code Description Qty Price Each Total Price (incl C1.95p ZN719D Travel Mirror 11.90 THE Observer and FoxVideo have 25 videos of the fantasy adventure Edward Scissor-hands (PG) to be won by readers. Starring Johnny Depp and Winona Ryder, this new slant on Beauty and the Beast proved a big hit at the box office with teenagers and families. To enter our prize draw, phone the Observer Prize Line on 0839 900 90S and answer the following question: Name the film which director Tim Burton made immediately before Scissorhands. Please debit my AccessVisa card account number: I Expiry Date The grand total of Signature I OR I enclose a chequepostal order for I (Chequespostal orders should be made payable to OBSERVER OFFERS) PLEASE ALLOW 28 DAYS FOR DELIVERY.

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Surrey GU17 7FW Dressing down: Leslie McBeth upstages the Y-fronts in 'Requiem'. Photograph by SueAdler..