Sandy Pritchard-Gordon

Sandy Pritchard-Gordon
Theatre Blog

Wednesday 24 December 2014

Three Winters at The Lyttleton






I didn’t immediately book to see this new play by the Croatian playwright, Tena Stivicic, initially feeling that it wasn’t for me.  How wrong I was and how glad I am that I did eventually book tickets.  My knowledge of Croatian history could be written on one side of a postage stamp and the play emphasises the complexity of the country.  Tena Stivicic’s storytelling is also complex, moving to and fro between 1945, 1990 and 2011.  It charts the progress of one family and their changing attitudes towards Croatia’s move from Communism to Capitalism and is set in one house, almost a character in its own right.

Howard Davies directs and his and the playwright’s subtle approach give the whole thing emotional depth.  Whilst there is very much a political backdrop to the whole proceedings, the play isn’t bogged down by it.  A slow burner to begin with, the excellent performances and humorous light touches ensure the audience soon gets involved.  Although it isn’t immediately clear who is who and what is what, the various strands eventually weave together and we begin to understand what makes this family of strong females tick.

We’re first introduced to Rose, her baby Masha and mother Monika.  Rose is made of stern stuff and because of her closeness (we’re never totally sure of how close) to a general in Tito’s army is able to take advantage of Communism’s property grab.  The house, or at least a room in the house, that she has chosen, is the one in which she was born.  Monika was a servant to the family who originally owned the house and we soon realise that, Karolina, a member of this aristocratic family is still there, in hiding. 

When we jump to 1990, Rose has just died, leaving the house inhabited by her daughter, Masha, two grand-daughters Alisa and Lucia, son-in-law Vlado and Karolina.  The backdrop is the bloody break-up of Yugoslavia and how everyone will be affected.

When the family is visited in 2011, it’s the eve of Lucia’s marriage to a capitalist property man.  Alisa, now a liberal minded PhD student is visiting from England in order to attend the wedding and we’re left in no doubt that the two sisters are like chalk and cheese.  There is talk of evicting the tenants of the house and whilst Alisa abhors the idea, Lucia is all for it.
There are excellent performances throughout.  Siobhan Finneran imbues Masha with a quiet resilience.  She will endure no matter what.  James Laurenson is very effecting as Rose’s surviving old soldier husband, Alexander, whilst Jodie McNee as Alisa and Sophie Rundle as Lucia excellently portray the two modern-day sisters with such conflicting views.
Praise must also be heaped upon the Designer Tim Hatley who, with the clever use of newsreel footage displayed on shifting screens, skilfully and effortlessly changes the scenes backwards and forwards.

The two hours, forty minutes don’t drag for one minute and what a treat to watch an excellent domestic drama with a beginning, middle and end, beautifully acted and staged.

Tuesday 11 November 2014

The Cherry Orchard at The Young Vic


I expected great things from Simon Stephen’s new version of Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard at The Young Vic and I’m sorry to say that I was bitterly disappointed.

Set in modern times, this paired down version (it last two hours with no interval) directed by Katie Mitchell, left me in no doubt that here less is definitely not more.  I felt no connection with what was happening on stage and thereby totally uninvolved.  I’ve seen the play several times, so know the plot and that Chekhov was railing against mass deforestation.  Also in previous productions, the irony and humour has come through.  But not here and my companion, who was new to play, needed to go home and actually read a full length version to gain any sense of the why’s and wherefores. 

Chekhov’s main character, Madam Ranevskaya returns to her childhood home after five year’s absence and discovers that all is definitely not well.  Her affairs have been so badly managed that, not only does her beloved cherry orchard have to go, but also the house that goes with it.  Her only choice is to return to exile in France, but, being in denial, it takes her most of the play to come to terms with this turn of events.

One usually feels for the poor woman but here I just wanted her and her retinue to up sticks and leave as soon as possible.  The largely miscast, Kate Duchene is partly to blame, spending far too much time clattering around on the bare wooden floorboard when she isn’t weeping and wailing about her drowned son.  Nothing about her performance is subtle and, like the majority of the cast, so much of her speeches are lost because Katie Mitchell has a thing about making her actors talk upstage with their backs to the audience.  Realism?  Possibly but what’s the point if the audience can’t hear what they’re saying.  Certain actors can accomplish this, but unfortunately not many of these are appearing on the Young Vic’s stage this time around.  Another strange stage direction is to make the majority of the cast enter and exit down stage at what is almost a run.  The floor of the set is bare floorboards, so this results in much clomping and not much subtlety.  Talking of lack of subtlety the governess played by Sarah Malin has it in spades.

There are one or two good performances.  Dominic Rowan makes a believable, Lopakhin, the son of a serf who is the eventual purchaser of the estate, whilst Gawn Grainger is a touching and understated Firs.  In fact he really is the only likeable character and the only one to elicit any sympathy. Paul Hilton as Peter Trofimov is an excellent actor and delivers an amusing performance, as the clumsy perpetual student but, unfortunately, the majority of his funny lines are muffled and inaudible.

The lighting is irritatingly dim, the atmosphere is always depressing and the sounds suggest something spooky in the wood shed.  Chekhov’s lightness of touch is gone, along with the felled trees.

Thursday 6 November 2014

The Play That Goes Wrong at The Duchess Theatre


The clue as to the content of the latest production at The Duchess Theatre is in the title.  In fact it does exactly as it says on the tin and does so even before curtain up.  Whilst the audience are settling into their seats, the stage management team are still putting the finishes touches to the set and enlisting the help of a person in the front row to hold up a mantelpiece that won’t stay up on its own.  This is arguably the funniest part of the whole play with the running gag being that a door won’t keep shut and the aforementioned shelf over the fireplace keeps falling down.

This play highlighting the worst that can happen with am-dram was a great success at Edinburgh and the cast, three of whom wrote it, must be rightly thrilled with it’s transfer to the West End, following stints at The Old Red Lion and Trafalgar Studios.  Although one could say it’s a poor man’s Noises Off and not as clever, it is hilarious in places.  I imagine it has been extended for the London run and this is where it falls down.  The running gags run out of steam, with much of the visual comedy carrying on far too long.  Half way through, the mishaps that happen to the actors and set are all too predictable and although it did manage to make me laugh, I have to say that those people around me seemed to laugh that much more.  But then maybe I’m a jaded old grouch.

The cast play members of the Cornley Polytechnic Drama Society who are trying (and spectacularly failing) to stage a dreadful murder mystery entitled Murder at Haversham Manor.  The set has a mind of it’s own and, as one would expect, there is more ham on stage than in a pork butcher’s shop.

Some of the cast ham it up better than others.  I particularly enjoyed Dave Hearn as Max Bennett, a gangly twerp of the highest order, who is spectacularly good at milking laughs whilst simultaneously upstaging everyone else.  The soundman, played by Leonard Cook, proves what can be done with a lesser role whilst Charlie Russell in trying to portray a vamp (Sandra Wilkinson) postures and preens.  A less sexy female is hard to imagine.  Because the characters being played are useless and thereby irritating, it’s easy for this irritation to cloud everything else.  And, unfortunately, a couple of the cast irritated me so much, I was willing them to be hit by flying scenery and not be seen until curtain call.  For this, read Jonathan Sayer’s butler character, Dennis Tyde.  He, along with, Henry Lewis and Jonathan Sayer wrote the play, which is where his strengths must lay.

The director, Mark Bell, does a handsome job with pace and alacrity, Nigel Hook’s set design works a treat, whilst the costumes designed by Roberto Surace are spot on.
All in all credit must go to the group of graduates from LAMDA who, instead of bemoaning their lot at not getting acting work, founded Mischief Theatre.  Thanks to determination and hard work, they have a ‘Company That Goes Right’.

Thursday 30 October 2014

Neville's Island at The Duke of York's Theatre





The main adjective to describe Neville’s Island now playing at The Duke of Yorks Theatre, having transferred from Chichester but with a different cast, is damp.  Not a damp squib exactly, at least not for the majority of the playing time, but a dampness pervading the stage.  This is because the four employees of a Salford water company (I rest my case) who are on a team building exercise and get lost in the rain, end up on a small island in the Lake District, which the designer, Robert Innes Hopkins, has brilliantly created.   The trees on stage drip, as do the actors, who arrive on stage via a downstage river (well stream) but with enough water in it to send splashes over the audience in the front row. Hence the reason why they’ve been supplied with plastic macs.

Whilst the play is often very funny, it also seems rather forced and not sure whether to be comedy, drama, psychological thriller or satire.  The four comic actors, Adrian Edmondson (Gordon), Miles Jupp (Angus), Neil Morrissey (Neville) and Robert Webb (Roy) are all excellent, although their characters not so.  Gordon is a relentless nasty cynic who you long to show one redeeming feature but doesn’t.  Angus is the insecure ‘anorak’ who keeps everything but the kitchen sink in his rucksack.  Neville is the ‘keep everyone happy at all times’ team leader who is keen to appear cleverer than he actually is, whilst Roy is recovering from some kind of nervous breakdown and grieving over the death of his wife.  He is a religious ‘anorak’ who spends much of the play perched up a tree, talking to the birds (in particular a rare breed of falcon). 

It’s a great pity that these four work colleagues are the ones to get marooned together, as there is a general feel that they disliked one another even before they set out.  It is an ensemble piece with each character doing their own thing.  None of them are in tune with each other, thanks in no small measure to Gordon.  He constantly gripes at Neville for thinking each instruction they were given was some kind of cryptic crossword clue, which is the reason they are 180 degrees off course.   He continuously ridicules the poor, hapless Roy, having no sympathy whatsoever for a man teetering on the edge.  And as for his dealings with Angus, he drips feeds several seeds of doubt into Angus’s mind that his beloved wife is playing away whilst he’s away.

Nothing is really resolved during the course of the play and none of the four men appear to learn anything from their experiences.  The only thing it might do is persuade anyone coming to see it that a team building, outward bound exercise is a pointless one.

Monday 20 October 2014

Here Lies Love at The Dorfman



What a transformation!  Not only in the newly refurbished foyer of the old Cottesloe Theatre (now named The Dorfman) but in the theatre itself.  It has been transformed into a nightclub, complete with very trendy DJ, for the production of Here Lies Love.  Yes, The Dorfman is now open and ready for action and action is definitely what’s in store with this new musical, which was originally produced in New York by the Public Theater.
Telling the story of the rise of that famous collector of shoes, Imelda Marcos, Here Lies Love is a disco musical, so named because the ex First Lady of the Philippines (who, by the way, is still alive at 85) once said she wanted this epitaph written on her tombstone.  My abiding memory of Mrs. Marcos is of her passion for shoes but this is not mentioned in this musical about her life, co-devised by the American singer-songwriter of Talking Heads fame, David Byrne and our own Grammy Award winning DJ Fatboy Slim.  Instead, we are drawn into the world of peasant girl made rich, with the help of a pulsating beat, laser lights, psychedelic projections, moveable platforms and a large cast.  The only problem is that, whilst this journey constantly assaults the visual and auditory senses and is definitely entertaining, it left me strangely unmoved and at times bewildered at what was actually happening at certain stages of her life. 
As in all good rags to riches stories, Imelda Marcos grows up in poverty and marries well thanks to good looks.  Her wedding to Ferdinand Marcos takes place in 1954 following an 11-day courtship and in 1965 he is elected president, thanks in no small measure to his wife’s ceaseless campaigning on his behalf.   Corruption, profligate spending and sexual shenanigans on their part blights the couple’s reign as President and First Lady and when the people have had enough and take control of the TV and radio stations, the pair are airlifted to America by US marines.  During their command of the Phillipines, an old flame of Imelda’s, Benigno Aquino, an ambitious reporter who always had political aspirations, is elected opposition leader in 1969.  Despite intervention from Imelda that enables Aquino to travel to the US for a heart bypass operation, he is assassinated as soon as he returns to Manila in 1983.  It is not really clear whether or not the first lady is upset by this turn of events. In fact such is the pace and verve of this disco musical that the quiet and contemplative moments are sparse.  This production resembles a pop video on 'speed' and there is very little dialogue.  The only moving part of the whole evening is at the end when the final song is sung to the accompaniment of a single guitar.
I sat in the balcony, so am sure my view of the whole thing was very different to those whose tickets enabled them to be part of the action ‘on the floor’.  Here they are herded by stewards in pink jumpsuits, making sure no-one gets squashed by the moving podiums and revolving catwalk.  This all looks rather messy from up above but I’m sure makes the evening much more involving for those being herded.  In fact this part of the audience is crucial to the action (being as they are) stand-ins for the Filipino crowds at various rallies etc.
The performances from the cast are excellent, especially Natalie Mendoza who makes a perfect Imelda, nicely highlighting the change from poverty stricken young ambitious girl to rich, dead behind the eyes, middle aged woman.  Gia Macuja Atchison playing Estrella Cumpas, Imelda’s childhood friend and later maid is also excellent.  Her character, the real voice of the people, deserves more time in the spotlight.  All credit, too, to Martin Sarreal who makes a wholly believable DJ.
The Dorfman, with it’s brand spanking new refit (which includes state of the art loos) has opened with a stylish production which, if not worth a handful of stars, is nevertheless a whole load of fun.

Wednesday 8 October 2014

Electra at The Old Vic

I always knew Kristin Scott Thomas was a good actress, I just wasn’t aware how good.  That became apparent on seeing her electrifying Electra in Ian Rickson’s production at The Old Vic. The third in this season of plays in the round at this wonderfully adaptable theatre, is the icing on an exceptional cake.

The expectation that a great evening awaits, is there as soon one enters the auditorium and sees Mark Thompson’s stark set with a free standing tap the only hint of any human activity.  The tree planted on the barren dusty floor is dead and the huge double wooden doors leading to the palace of Argos are shut and unwelcoming.  A sense of foreboding hangs in the air.

Our first glimpse of Electra confirms that Scott Thomas isn’t one of those actresses who is concerned about her looks, although even her transformation into an exhausted, dishevelled, ghost of a woman, ravaged by sleepless nights, can’t totally disguise her renowned attractiveness.  Dressed in a grubby shift dress, she prowls, bare footed around the stage, leaving us in no doubt that her grief at the murder of her beloved father, Agamemnon at the hands of her mother, Queen Clytemnestra and stepfather, King Aegisthus, is all consuming.  We realise that this grief and thirst for revenge have arrested her development.  She is forever a raging adolescent, unable to function and prone to bouts of throwing herself on the ground in frustration and utter despair.  In the wrong hands all this weeping and wailing could become tiresome in the extreme, but Scott Thomas bring so much light and shade to her Electra, with her every emotion etched onto her beautiful face, that one only feels compassion and sorrow.  Her anger, never far from the surface, is at times composed, before erupting into loud, undisguised fury.  She is sarcastic, too, particularly with her mother and, like a child, continually brushes the uncontrollable tears away with the back of her hand.

It is only when she is re-united with her adored brother, Orestes that she comes to life.  Her joy at finally recognising him and thus realising that the stories of his death are untrue, is so uninhibited and real that we all smile with her.  When this joy turns into squeals of delight, we are reminded once more  of her child like quality.  Scott Thomas makes Electra real.
The rest of the cast are good too.  Diana Quick plays Clytemnestra, Electra’s self-righteous mother.  Her regal bearing is in sharp contrast with Electra and her exasperation with this troublesome elder daughter is nicely shown.  Jack Lowden, once again proves what a promising young actor he is (his role as Oswald in the recent Almeida production of Ghosts won him both an Olivier and Ian Charleson Award) by lending Orestes a quiet intensity and, what’s more he his voice has great vocal quality. Peter Wight is always worth watching, no more so than here with his subtle performance as the Servant.

This production of Electra is clear and concise, thanks in equal measure to Frank McGuiness’s adaptation, Ian Rickson’s precise direction and the entire cast.  No-one should let the thought of a Greek Tragedy put them off coming to see this.  Why, there are even one or two laughs in it!!

Monday 29 September 2014

Ballyturk at The Lyttleton


I don’t profess to have seen every single one of Enda Walsh’s plays but Ballyturk loosely follows the pattern of two that I have, namely The Walworth Farce and Misterman.  This pattern can loosely be determined as a play within a play set in a sealed environment from which there doesn’t appear to be an escape route.  The characters enact various scenarios using the voices of the community in which the “play” is set, whilst giving nothing tangible away as to what is going on.  So far so obscure and that is the rub, according to one reviewer of Ballyturk who wrote, “what’s the point?”.  The point, as far as I’m concerned, is that he’s missing it!  Ballyturk, thanks to the acting abilities (and stamina) of the cast is funny, poignant and, ultimately, entertaining.   Is the fact that one can’t necessarily fathom what Enda Walsh is getting at really that important?  I don’t think so.  It just means that the audience have their own views on what is happening and why.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.

The impenetrable space (that is until Stephen Rea’s character appears) in the village of Ballyturk is wonderfully realised by Jamie Vartan.  It is a bleak, grey room, its walls embellished with naïve pencil drawings of the inhabitants of this fictional place.  Odd pieces of furniture are stacked against one wall, whilst the other is home to a cuckoo clock and fake potted plant.  There is, amongst other paraphernalia, an exercise bike and a hand held vacuum cleaner.  The latter is slavishly used to hoover up spilt cornflakes by Mikel Murfi, which seems a useless exercise seeing as there follows an episode where talcum powder is liberally shaken everywhere.  That the two actors, Cillian Murphy and Mikel Murfi, are fit is without question. Watching them race maniacally through their daily routine, dressing, undressing, dancing to the hits of the 80’s and the younger one occasionally leaping onto a high ledge is exhausting.  Not only are they well matched in the physical aspects of the play, but the chemistry between them is very apparent.  When Number 1 has an epileptic fit, Number 2 (they’re not given names, only numbers) gently hugs him until it passes and the scene is incredibly moving.  All in all it’s a virtuoso performance by them both. 

Stillness descends with the arrival of Number 3.  A quietly spoken, cigarette smoking, Stephen Rea appears when the upstage wall disappears to reveal the world outside.  His stillness is in sharp contrast to what has gone before, as is his language.  Poetically philosophical, he even croons a Chet Baker song following a cup of tea and a biscuit, carefully plucked from a Jenga like tower.  Always eminently watchable, Stephen Rea is brilliantly cast as the be-suited enigmatic stranger and some of the funniest moments occur upon his arrival.

One of the saddest is when one of them, on the instructions of Number 3, ‘it is time for one of you to leave into your passing’, does just that.  The upstage wall re-appears, the outside world disappears once again leaving the remaining actor alone and bereft.

There is more, so much more strangeness from Enda Walsh’s writing and direction, with echoes of Waiting for Godot mixed with Under Milk Wood.  It is a true theatrical experience and one that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Saturday 6 September 2014

Therese Raquin at The Cambridge Arts Theatre


Emile Zola’s Therese Raquin usually conjures up misery on a grand scale and is one to avoid if you’re after a light hearted trip to the theatre.  But when Alison Steadman is playing the role of Madame Raquin, you’re sure it will definitely be alright on the night.  This new adaptation by Helen Edmundson of Zola’s most well known novel is more than alright, it is excellent.  The superb Alison Steadman, aided and abetted by a stellar cast and director Jonathan Munby, ensures that there are periods of lightness and even humour amidst the gloom of this tragic crime of passion.  Added to this are balletic sequences encapsulated within the many scene changes plus several ghostly apparitions, making this a truly mesmeric production.

Alison Steadman’s Madame Raquin, is foster mother of Therese (Pippa Nixon) and doting and interfering mother of Camille (Hugh Skinner).  Deliriously happy at having engineered the marriage of her one natural child to the other, Madame Raquin will eventually come to rue the event.  For Therese has no romantic love for the sickly, unworldly boy and of this we are sure from the outset.  Speaking little and blending into the background, her character only comes alive when introduced to Camille’s friend, Laurent (Kieran Bew).  And, oh my, how alive.  Suddenly this supposedly meek and mild nonentity metamorphoses into a wild child, hungry for all the bedroom delights that the poor Camille is unable to provide but Laurent can.  The only problem is that this all-consuming passion between Therese and Laurent has tragic consequences for everyone concerned.  I will say no more regarding the plot, apart from the fact that it involves murder, followed closely by gut wrenching remorse.

I’ve already mentioned the delights of Alison Steadman, who not only brilliantly depicts the loving mother who can’t stop herself poking her nose in at every opportunity, but also the horrendous state of being locked within her own body after suffering a stroke towards the end of the play.  Pippa Nixon inhabits Therese with every fibre of her body and manages to convey almost every emotion going.  She must be exhausted at the end of every performance.  The two main male actors are also exemplary.  Hugh Skinner infuriates and instils both negative and positive reactions from the audience.  We’re against and for his Camille in equal measure and he ensures we experience a spine tingling spookiness in the second half.  On the other hand, Kieran Bew, playing his eventual nemesis, portrays a natural charm and has no difficulty in persuading us that it is more than possible for Therese to be immediately captivated.

There is also excellent support from the three friends who arrive at the Raquin’s apartment in Paris every Thursday for a game of dominoes and inject a little much needed humour to the proceedings.  Desmond Barrit, is Superintendent Michaud, his niece, Suzanne is played by Charlotte Mills and the obsessive compulsive Grivet, is brought to creepy life by Michael Mears.

There have been many incarnations of this tale of doomed love but I would hazard a guess that this one I saw at The Cambridge Arts Theatre last week, is by far the most ingenious.   

Thursday 7 August 2014

My Night With Reg at The Donmar

My Night with Reg



As with Beckett’s Godot, Reg doesn’t actually set foot on the stage in this 1994 play by Kevin Elyot.  That it should be revised right now gives this tragi-comedy an air of sadness because its author died in June following a long illness.  I didn’t see the original version staged at The Royal Court before transferring to the West End, but I’m sure Kevin Elyot would have been more than pleased with this version, directed by Robert Hastie.

The idea for this play came to Elyot at the funeral in the mid 80’s of an old flat-mate who had died of Aids and had been intimate with several of the mourners.  Reg is likewise of the promiscuous persuasion and it is his fondness for the carnal that causes panic amongst his closest friends.  The spectre of Aids is at the heart of the play, written as it was when the illness was beginning to take a hold, but there is more to it than that.  For unrequited love, friendship, ageing and, ultimately death, are all here and dealt with so well. 

The structure of My Night With Reg is very clever.  Just one setting, that of the bachelor flat belonging to the very house-proud, Guy, but a time span of four years, brilliantly and subtlety constructed.  In fact so much of this play is a master class in subtlety.  Not all, mind you, for there isn’t much nuance with the language and humour, making the piece so very real and honest and so many of the lines are an absolute joy.  

Poor Guy is the one suffering from the lack of love in his life.  That is to say, he does all the loving, but from afar.  To everyone, including the object of his infections, John, he is Mr Nice Guy.  No one sees him as anything more than a friend.  He was at University with Daniel and John and they’re drifting towards middle-age.  Daniel has moved on from his promiscuous phase and is living with Reg, who, unbeknownst to him, hasn’t.  The handsome, rich but rather disaffected, John, also loves Reg but is keeping it a secret from Daniel. The only one who hasn’t “known” Reg is Guy, for the other couple in the cast, Benny and Bernie have also sampled his charms, albeit briefly.  The final member of this fine ensemble is the youngster, Eric, who meets everyone having been hired to decorate Guy’s flat and he, too, is linked to the ever present but absent Reg.

The whole cast is exemplary.  Jonathan Broadbent plays the nurturing and hurting Guy with just the right amount of pathos, an excellent contrast to Julian Ovenden’s confidently handsome John and Geoffrey Streatfeild’s boisterous Daniel.  The latter is a joy to watch.  Over the top, this camp life and soul of the party shows his hidden depths towards the end of the play.  Richard Cant as Bernie is the intense and rather boring female side of the Benny and Bernie partnership, in sharp contrast to his forthright lorry-driving partner portrayed by Matt Bardock.  Last but by no means least, Lewis Reeves, brings just the right amount of youthful optimism to the role of Eric and nicely highlights the chasm that age brings.

The direction by Robert Hastie is tight and controlled, whilst the Sound Designer, Gregory Clarke and Designer, Peter McKintosh both do a wonderful job.  The meticulous flat, constant patter of rain on the conservatory roof and period music all add to the atmosphere of this iconic gay play, which, with its mix of laughter and tears appeals to all persuasions.  

Sunday 3 August 2014

Great Britain at The Lyttleton


The rehearsals for Richard Bean’s new play, Great Britain, were shrouded in secrecy and the first that members of The National Theatre heard about it was in an email a few days before its opening.  The reason for this was the Levenson Enquiry and the brouhaha surrounding phone hacking and the like.  Because Mr. Bean’s (no not that Mr. Bean) satirical comedy is set in the offices of the daily tabloid newspaper, The Free Press, where all kinds of shenanigans take place (‘we go out and destroy other people’s lives’).  Not that he just has a pop at the press, for the police, politicians and recent scandals are all fair game during his lengthy 2 hours, 24 minutes play.

It boasts a great cast.   Billie Piper is Paige Britain its amoral and highly ambitious news editor, Robert Glenister plays the potty mouthed editor, Wilson Tikkel and Dermot Crowley assumes the role of the Irish proprietor, Paschal O’Leary.  They all have a high old time firing shots at various British institutions, some more obvious than others.  For the Guardener (‘we think so you don’t have to’) read the Guardian, the Dependent, the Independent, Rebekah Brooks, Virginia White, Paschal O’Leary, Rupert Murdoch (as I say some names are more subtle).

Billie Piper’s character, who has no qualms about how she gets to the top as long as she gets there, is at the centre of the whole play.  Her bed fellows include her boss, O’Leary, the Assistant Police Commissioner, Donald Doyle Davidson, played by the excellent Oliver Chris and the Conservative Leader, Jonathan Whey.  She also doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.  When Virginia White beats her to the post of editor when Wilson Tikkel moves onto television, it’s Paige who does all the dirty work, whilst her new boss escapes to her eerie to run the campaigns close to her heart and suck up to O’Leary.

During the course of the evening we come into contact with ‘Jimmy the Bins’ and Marcus, two of Paige’s ‘informers’.  One sifts through various celebrities’ rubbish (no awards for guessing which one does the sifting) whilst the other dons a multitude of disguises in order to sting the aforementioned celebs.  In this murky world of the tabloids, anything goes and does.  I wonder how Mr. Bean got his ideas?  Amongst many comedic characters, one in particular stands out, namely Commissioner Sully Kassam, a sublimely funny Aaron Neil.  No-one in high office could ever be so hilariously inept and bungling, could they?

Tim Hatley’s design brilliantly evokes a bustling newspaper office, but the clever use of a glass wall separating the editor from his minions is a bit too clever.  When the actors deliver their lines behind the glass a lot of their dialogue is lost which is a great shame as Great Britain is built on superb one-liners and to miss even one is a travesty.  Not that I can admit to ‘getting’ every single joke – too clever for me, mate!!

Whilst Great Britain isn’t as gloriously funny as Richard Bean’s previous scorcher, One Man, Two Guvnors, it’s a very clever expose of much that is wrong with our tiny island.  Stereotypes abound, but as the acting is of the highest quality Mr. Bean’s point is perfectly made.

Tuesday 29 July 2014

Medea at The Olivier





Euripides’s Greek tragedy, Medea can’t really be termed an enjoyable play, dealing as it does with infanticide, but Carrie Cracknell’s production of Ben Power’s new version certainly makes it excitingly watchable.  With Tom Scutt’s clever split-level design, modern dress and tone, and the powerhouse that is Helen McCrory in the title role, the National has triumphed yet again.

It is said that the best things come in small packages and as far as Helen McCrory is concerned this is certainly true.  Tiny she may be but hey, does she pack a punch on the huge Olivier stage.  She owns it, prowling the space like a lioness, making us never doubt for one moment that she is a female to be reckoned with, yet one who is having an enormous crisis of confidence.  Despite carrying out an abhorrent act against her two boys, we know she has a mother’s love for them.  But we also know she is a woman who has reached the limit of her endurance and believes killing her beloved sons is the only solution.

And what has driven her to this?  Well a man is involved; strange that!  He is her husband Jason of Argonaut fame (a self-satisfied Danny Sapani) who has decided to abandon Medea and his sons in favour of Kreon, the King of Corinth’s daughter.  That she loves Jason is never in question.  After all she helped him steal the Golden Fleece, betrayed her father and massacred her small brother all for him.  And now he wants to dump her for a younger model, deciding that all he has to do to come out of the mess unscathed is come up with fallacious arguments.  But Medea is not to be fobbed off and has revenge on him and all that is dear to him in mind.  A woman scorned has never shown so much fury and Helen McCrory’s Medea is a formidable opponent.  But this actress is nothing if not versatile, for the realisation that this revenge will mean her ultimate sacrifice is almost too painful to watch. But Medea is one brave woman, although the ending (spoiler alert) highlights her desolate sense of loss.  Has it all been worth it?

Although it is Helen McCrory’s triumph, this production has sterling support all round.  Tom Scutt highlights the gloomy sparcity of Medea’s lodgings, against the gaiety of the wedding celebrations, with his split level design and the upstage gloomy woodland adds to the feeling of menace that pervades the entire 90 minutes.  Carrie Cracknell never lets the pace lapse, keeping our nerves on edge the whole time and by having the two boys on stage at the beginning and at various times throughout, adds to our horror of what we know is going to happen.  The cast as a whole are excellent, although I’m not too sure about the jerky, almost robotic movements of the chorus.  But this is a minor quibble, especially as they dance to music by the wonderful Will Gregory and Alison Goldfrapp, which aids and abets the feeling of unbelievable tension.

This Mediea is a Greek tragedy of the highest order.

Monday 21 July 2014

Richard III at Trafalgar Studios




You wouldn’t necessarily think of Martin Freeman when casting the part of Richard III, but Jamie Lloyd did and it turns out to be a pretty good decision.  He may not be your usual Richard, an obvious villain from the onset, but he does exude a sinister presence.  Cruelty comes in many guises and sometimes the most deadly is disguised behind a veneer of supposed bonhomie.  His psychotic tendencies build to a crescendo once he is crowned king and his lengthy doing away with Lady Anne using a telephone cord, shows he is capable of anything.

Yes, a telephone cord, for this adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s early plays is set in a conference room in the 1970’s, during an imagined military coup.  Our actual Winter of Discontent to be exact.  A clever concept, but the setting of which does present logistical problems, especially during the battle scene.  For the actors continually have to negotiate Soutra Gilmour’s design of desks, swivel chairs and all the other necessary office paraphernalia.  The unlawful killings, of which there are many, for the most part work in this mundane environment.  Drowning the Duke of Clarence in the office fish tank, and various strangulations ending up strewn over the melamine desks work fine.  It is the Battle of Bosworth Field where the set comes unstuck.  There is something rather comical about men doing battle in an enclosed office space.

I also have some difficulty with Maggie Steed’s Queen Margaret.  Her various curses are often accompanied by strange goings-on in the electrical department, with lights fusing and the lift developing a mind of its own.  All very ingenious, but the juxtaposition between the handbag wielding senior office worker and mad old crone, whilst well acted, is very disjointed.

Martin Freeman, on the other hand, is perfectly suited to this office environment.  After all he first came to our attention in a paper merchants office in Slough.  However he has come a long way since then, proving himself to be an actor of some calibre.  It is quite a feat to make this well known Shakespearian character something completely different.  His plotting is done internally, with just a hint of what’s going on under the surface.  He may be a be-suited unassuming bureaucrat, but the odd sardonic smile and flashes of unrivalled cruelty alert us to the fact that this Duke of York is capable of anything.  There is humour, too, understated and sometimes visual, whilst many of his speeches are littered with long pauses for dramatic and often, comic effect.


Gina McKee, always worth watching, doesn’t disappoint here as Queen Elizabeth.  She conveys a quiet dignity that doesn’t hide her grief at the death of her beloved sons.

Whilst this isn’t a great production of Richard III it is certainly a very good one and, if it attracts the younger audience that Jamie Lloyd intends, one which is very worthwhile.  I only wish I could have witnessed Shakespeare tackled this way when I was a student.