Sandy Pritchard-Gordon

Sandy Pritchard-Gordon
Theatre Blog

Saturday 29 October 2011

Collaborators at The Cottesloe

It’s always an enormous pleasure watching Simon Russell-Beale in a production, especially when Nicholas Hytner is the Director, and last night was no exception.  Collaborators, a new play by John Hodge is previewing at The Cottesloe, opening on the 1st November.  The play is inspired by historical fact and centres on the Russian playwright, Mikhail Bulgakov, who in 1938 was commissioned to write a play about Stalin.
The play enters the surreal world of Bulgakov, played by the excellent  Alex Jennings, as he leaves the impoverished apartment he shares with his wife and three dissidents to have meetings with the murderous dictator.  Their relationship turns out to be macabre and disturbingly funny and causes those back home to question the whole exercise.
Although the play is funny, there are moments of tension,  especially when Stalin, the wonderful Simon Russell Beale and Vladimir, a member of the Secret Police, expertly portrayed by Mark Addy, play their tactical games of uncertainty.  As John Hodge writes in the programme:  a subtle alteration in job description might lead to arrest weeks later, or, just possibly, it might not.
The surrealist moments in the production weren’t always immediately clear, but having to think is often a good thing and Bob Crowley’s staging, although complicated, worked well.  Mind you, the slope dividing the apartment’s bedroom from the living area, needs careful negotiating;  one actor obviously misjudged it and did an awkward “soft shoe shuffle”.
I thoroughly enjoyed this thought provoking insight into life in Moscow under Stalin’s reign of terror and the chemistry between Simon Russell Beale and Alex Jennings was a joy.

Friday 21 October 2011

The Playboy of the Western World at The Old Vic

Mmmm, The Playboy of the Western World?  Having read several of the “professional” critics’ views on The Old Vic production of J.M. Synge’s historic play, I went along last night with avid anticipation that I would witness something extraordinary.  I’m sorry to say, I was disappointed.  Is it because I have no Irish blood coursing through my veins?  Surely not, after all I adored The Beauty Queen of Leenane at The Young Vic and that has more than a hint of the blarney stone. 

The play centres on Christy Mahon who arrives at a shabby pub and soon becomes the hero of the hour following his confession that he’s just murdered his father.  As in all good tales he is found out as a sham during the second act and those that originally feted him turn into his prosecutors.

It all started promisingly, with a troupe of Irish musicians, women, and men dressed as such, harmoniously delivering an Irish folk song.  Then the shabby shebeen, where all the action takes place, rotated to reveal it’s innards – ah, ha, a great set from Scott Pask, I thought;  so far so good.

The coming apart at the seams started when Ruth Negga as Pegeen  and  Robert Sheehan as Christy Mahon delivered their lines.  Much is said about the lyrical quality of Synge’s writing, but for me these two young actors didn’t deliver anything near.  Instead I strained to understand much of what they were saying.  Neither inhabited or seemed at ease with their roles and I became irritated by Sheehan’s stooping and arm flapping and Nega’s shouting, posturing and lack of any warmth. Thank goodness for Niamh Cusack as the seductive Widow Quin and Kevin Trainor who brought humour and a soaring voice to Pegeen’s wooer, Shawn Keogh.

I’ve just watched a YouTube snippet of Garry Hynes’s 2004 production of ‘Playboy’ with Cillian Murphy as Christy and Anne-Marie Duff as Pegeen.  If I’d seen this version in it’s entirety I’m sure I would also eulogise about this play.  As it is, I’m glad I’ve seen it but it’s not there amongst my favourites.

Tuesday 18 October 2011

Inadmissible Evidence at The Donmar

It was off to The Donmar last night to see Inadmissible Evidence.  My early distraction at losing my stamped car park ticket was immediately dispelled as Douglas Hodge enthralled from start to finish.  He plays Bill Maitland, a seedy, middle-aged lawyer in the throes of a melt down on experiencing the breakdown of his professional and personal life, made all the more devastating as he has only himself to blame.  It is a wonderful, if exhausting part for an actor to play and Douglas Hodge more than does it justice.  By turns, funny, desperate, angry and pathetic, he manages to illicit our sympathy, despite being a nightmare to those around him.   There is wonderful support on hand, particularly from Al Weaver as Jones and Daniel Ryan as Hudson.  It is wordy but in the hands of the director, Jamie Lloyd and his leading man, who gives a damn.  Definitely a must see. 

Monday 10 October 2011

September

I’ve succumbed to pressure (well three suggestions) from friends to do a theatre blog, seeing as how I spend far too much time, and money (according to certain people) on pursuing my passion.  Well shouldn’t a passion be indulged because, if not, why have one?   And if the passion is healthy, informative, fun and free from mortal sin, even more reason to continue sending yearly subscriptions to The National, Donmar and Old Vic.  So my three, four, sometimes more evenings a month, heading down the M11 to replace all things racehorse with all things thespian will continue ad infinitum with, hopefully, Pen, my partner in crime and Annie, my daughter, in tow.

SEPTEMBER was quite busy, with four new previews at The National and an unprecedented Saturday trip to The Vaudeville.

We started with Arnold Wesker’s The Kitchen at The Olivier.  It was fun to see that wonderful space transformed, thanks to the Designer Giles Cadle, into the Tivoli restaurant, especially as the last time we were there it housed the eerie, sombre world of Professor Frankenstein and his Creature.  I expected a naturalistic piece of theatre but instead, Director Bijan Shelbani cooked up a superbly choreographed dance, no mean feat when in charge of 30 or so characters.  The slight whoosh of gas being lit, glimmer of naked flames and bubbling of imaginary sauces being stirred enhanced the feeling that this was a real kitchen, despite there being no actual food, apart from what looked like olive oil.  The ensemble cast were flawless and the main character of Peter, a strung out German fish cook who persuaded me that he could explode with emotion at any time, was poignantly played by Tom Brooke. Various critiques have criticised the play as being imperfect, but perfection is rare and, for me, The Kitchen, served up an excellent evening.

Next up was Mike Leigh’s new play, Grief, at The Cottesloe. Being a huge fan, I was full of
excited anticipation on Monday, 19th, especially as at this stage we still didn’t know the title of his new offering.  The acting couldn’t be faulted.  Lesley Manville, was at her dynamic best playing Dorothy, the sad, buttoned up mother, helpless as to how to get through to her equally depressed daughter, Victoria, played by a superb Ruby BentallSam Kelly, playing her older, bachelor brother Edwin, was mesmerising, whilst the other characters superbly brought snatches of light relief into this desperate suburban sitting room.  The despair was tangible, thanks to Mike Leigh’s attention to the smallest detail.  Every character was beautifully drawn;  no caricatures here, just tiny subtle gestures speaking volumes.  The many scene changes were not so much changes as rearrangements and, whilst they hindered Annie’s enjoyment, they enhanced mine, helping to portray the repetitive, desolation of this family’s daily life.  The devastating ending, although in a way expected, was still emotionally shattering.  More new plays please Mike – may I call you that?

We had the treble up with goodies, because the third preview, this time at The Lyttleton, was also excellent.  The Veil, Conor McPherson’s new play drew me in and kept me there for the whole 2 hours, 45 minutes.  Even Annie, who wasn’t so sure about the subject matter, namely psychics and hauntings, was completely captivated.  Rae Smith’s spooky Irish country estate house set the scene completely, aided and abetted by Lighting Designer, Neil Austin and Stephen Warbeck’s Sound Design.  I knew from the beginning that we were in for a treat, although, as in all good stories, I didn’t know exactly where it was going and was desperate to find out.  The characters who took us on the journey were beautifully portrayed, although I was rather bemused with Grandie;  presumably she was suffering from dementia?  For me, the three actors who particularly stood out were Jim Norton as The Reverend Berkeley, Peter McDonald playing Mr. Fingal the estate manager and the daughter, Hannah, played by Ursula Jones.  Fingal’s breakdown towards the end of the play moved me to tears and Hannah’s hysteria could so easily have been annoying and contrived in the wrong hands.  I’d also like to say that Peter McDonald is very easy on the eye!

Broken Glass at The Vaudeville was the final play of the month and I have a confession to make.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I admire Arthur Miller, Anthony Sher and Tara Fitzgerald enormously, but this production failed to engage.  I know, I know, it’s had wonderful reviews and, quite rightly, because Anthony Sher as Phillip Gellburg and Tara Fitzgerald as Sylvia, his wife are deeply moving, but, horror of horrors, I had to fight to stay awake.  This will probably stop anyone ever reading anything I write ever again (if they ever did) but I’m not prosecuting the production, more the space in which it is housed.  It was a very hot, muggy night in late September (remember that Indian summer) and our seats were in Row P, meaning that we had the balcony acting as a low ceiling, making the whole experience rather claustrophobic.  I felt as if I were sitting at the back of a long tunnel and totally failed to engage with what was going on on stage.  Maybe if the piece had been staged incorporating more “business”, my attention would have held, but however hard I tried – and try I did – there were long snatches of conversation I missed as my head drooped.  I’m sure if I’d seen it in a more intimate space, where the whites of the character’s eyes were visible, I would have enjoyed it more.  I should have gone to see it at The Tricycle.

Great, first blog done and dusted.  Who said I wouldn't get round to doing it?