Sandy Pritchard-Gordon

Sandy Pritchard-Gordon
Theatre Blog

Tuesday 22 December 2015

The Homecoming at Trafalgar Studios





Whether this 1965 play by Harold Pinter appeals or appalls, there is no doubting its ability to enthrall.  Written during the time when the Kray twins were building their dodgy empire through intimidation and fear, Pinter’s portrayal of a dysfunctional London family mirrors the menace a patriarchal figure can bestow on those around him.  The patriarch in question is Max, a retired butcher and father to Teddy, Joey and Lenny.  Nothing less like a model parent is difficult to imagine and there are heavy hints that ruling his boys with a rod of iron was only one of many despicable things to which they were subjected.  Now an old man, reduced to walking with the aid of a stick, Max still has the power to wound and subjugate with his foul tongue, which he does with abandon.  Sharing his house with his brother and two of his sons, Max is desperate to retain his power over them all.

The homecoming of the title is the visit from the States of third son, Teddy and his new wife, former model, Ruth.  Teddy is a philosophy lecturer who escaped the family power struggle six years before and the years haven’t lessened his anxiety at being in this toxic home environment.  His return highlights Max’s instability; initially rejoicing in his son’s unexpected visit before switching to unaccountable rage. 

Soutra Gilmour’s set is sparse but effectively eerie.  This London house has no creature comforts and the sitting room, where the action is set, couldn’t be more unwelcoming.  The palpable tension is highlighted by the acting space, lit by a malignant red light, and encased in a red steel frame.  One of the few pieces of furniture is an easy chair, placed centre stage in Act Two.  This chair belongs to Max and woe betide anyone else using it.  So when Ruth, the only female in the house breaks the unspoken rule, it’s obvious that a woman has, or is about to take charge.  For the first time?  Who knows, because we learn little about the boy’s mother, apart from hints from Sam that Jessie was no better than a tart.  The trouble is, can we believe him, because everyone has a power struggle with everyone else?  Sam goads his brother, Max.  Lenny goads Ruth and Teddy, whilst Max goads everyone.

For the most part, the cast is excellent.  Ron Cook’s Max, whilst undoubtedly a vicious, evil bastard, never slips into caricature and perfectly conveys the gradual slip of his patriarchal status.   The wonderful John Simm makes Lenny a more menacing character, masking his nastiness behind a sardonic smile.  But it’s a smile without warmth, which never reaches his eyes.  You’re never sure what he might do next and his quick wit is almost always at someone else’s expense.  Keith Allen’s Sam is nicely understated as the effeminate chauffeur brother, whilst John MacMillan makes the slow witted would-be boxer, Joey, thoroughly believable.  Gemma Chan’s Ruth is less so.  Her demure stance at the beginning rings true but not the metamorphosis into something much more sexy.  Inscrutable yes …… erotic, not so much!   Likewise her husband Teddy played by Gary Kemp.  He seems ill at ease throughout, as if he’s not terribly sure what makes his character tick and his performance appears forced.

The Homecoming is full of unanswered questions (not least why Ruth should do an about turn and decide to stay in this acrid environment), which you find yourself trying to work out long after leaving the theatre.  A play that is short on sympathetic characters, but compelling nonetheless.

Friday 11 December 2015

Evening At The Talk House at The Dorfman

I was looking forward to seeing this new play by Wallace Shawn but ended up being mightily disappointed.  The start is promising enough with theatre playwright turned TV script writer, Robert (Josh Hamilton), delivering a wry and witty monologue on his career and setting the scene for what is about to enfold.  The problem is with the enfolding.  It leaves the audience at a loss as to what Wallace Shawn is actually getting at.  Realistic it ‘aint, but it isn’t obviously fantasy either.  It falls somewhere between the two, but told in such a monotonous way that any discourse afterwards as to what Shawn actually does mean is deemed futile.

The Talk House of the title is a club where Robert and several of his old theatrical work colleagues have arranged to meet for a reunion ten years after they were all involved in one of his plays.  This genteel, old-fashioned dining club, slightly faded at the edges and somewhat drab and sinister is very well realised by the The Quay Brothers.  Nellie (Anna Calder-Marshall), the original hostess has faded along with her workplace and when we come across Dick, an ageing actor, hiding away in a corner, the “something nasty in the woodshed” atmosphere heightens.   He is sporting various facial bruises, the result of a vicious assault by his friends, but it is never explained why he has become a target.  As everyone else assembles and begins to open up as to what they’ve been doing in the interim years, it becomes clear that the world we’ve entered is a very odd one indeed.  But is it a parody of what we’re enduring now thanks to global terrorism, is it set sometime in the future, is it a criticism of American/our government policy or just a chance to spout forth on the eventual demise of the acting profession?  I really have no idea and, such is the tiresome way in which the cast are made to spill the beans about how they now make a living (carrying out targeted killings on those who mean the country harm) I really don’t care.

Wallace Shawn, himself, is one of the cast, as the poor, unfortunate Dick, who, it turns out was a pretty awful actor in Robert’s play ten years ago.  Maybe that’s why he was beaten up?  Anything is possible and nothing is clear at The Talk House and even the abrupt ending leaves everyone confused as to whether or not the strange conversations by the even stranger conversationalists is over or not.

The Director, Ian Rickson does his best, but even he can’t disguise the mannered, one dimensional quality of these odd people with the even odder raison d’etre.

Tuesday 24 November 2015

Photograph 51 at The Noel Coward Theatre







Photograph 51 highlights the very important role the director plays in making a production a success.  Oh, and of course, the actor playing the lead role.  Because this new play by Anna Ziegler isn’t so much a fully rounded finished article, more a sketch.  It has taken Michael Grandage and Nicole Kidman to turn it into an absorbing piece of theatre that has as much to say about sexism in the workplace as it does science. 

The set itself is a rather gloomy affair, showing, as it does, the bombed out ruins of Kings College, London.  It is here that Rosalind Franklin and her fellow, mail scientists had their laboratory, which was located beneath the quad.  However it does evoke the amount of devastation wrought on London during the blitz.

Based on fact, Photograph 51 tells the story of Rosalind Franklin a British Jewish chemist and X-ray crystallographer, who, although instrumental in helping to “crack” DNA hasn’t been widely recognized as such.  That accolade was heaped upon two of her fellow scientists, Crick and Watson, who garnered a Nobel prize for their efforts.  Sadly, by then, the heroine of the piece had paid the price of continually coming into contact with X-ray beams, by dying of cancer at the age of 37.  Anna Ziegler has utilized her artistic licence in suggesting that Franklin’s discovery was “stolen” by the two men, which is actually not the case.  For, although Franklin (or her assistant, Raymond Gosling to be precise) took photograph 51 that prompted the discovery of the double-helix structure of DNA, it was Crick and Watson who ascertained its significance.  Ziegler’s view of the proceedings does make for a more interesting story, especially as Franklin is portrayed as a tricky blue stocking, who is not at all interested in making friends with her work colleagues.  Single minded to a fault, it is work that drives her, not going out and having fun and it is suggested that it is this failure to interact and take risks that help prevent her enjoying the recognition she deserves. 

It’s not only Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of this highly intelligent, but ultimately buttoned up scientist that highlights her single mindedness, it is very much apparent in her wardrobe.  Attired in a buttoned up shirt dress, sensible brogues, spectacles and with hair dragged back, this character couldn’t be more different from that taken on by Nicole Kidman during her last foray onto the British stage.  But then, she is an actress and, actually, despite the dowdiness, a sexiness does shine through - which isn’t lost on her male counterparts.

Apart from Maurice Wilkins (Stephen Campbell Moore) the remaining male roles aren’t fully fleshed out, but thanks to Michael Grandage the play works and works well.  It is a fluid production not without humour and his staging ensures that one isn’t bogged down by scientific jargon.  Unlike many primarily film actors, Nicole Kidman’s diction is crisp and we hear every word.  She is as perfect in this role as she was in The Blue Room and I am very much a paid up member of her fan club.

Tuesday 10 November 2015

The Hairy Ape at The Old Vic

Poor old Eugene O’Neill’s life was no bed of roses.  He was born and died in a hotel room and his life in-between was suffused with agonising drama.  The one great result of all this suffering was that we are endowed with an endless stream of magnificent plays, which all offer a window into his world.

The Hairy Ape, now showing at The Old Vic highlights the ignominy that often blights the working class, for whom O’Neill felt a special empathy.  This particular play of his might not seem as autobiographical as his others, but in fact O’Neill spent many months at sea as a young man.  It is a strange and difficult production to stage, but Director Richard Jones and Designer Stewart Laing manage it perfectly.  With a running time of 90 minutes and no interval, it assaults every sense.  We feel the claustrophobic heat in the bowels of the ocean liner, we’re entirely aware of the humiliation and frustration of the stokers, especially of Yank, and we can almost smell the fumes from the constant burning coal.

Described by O’Neill as a mixture of expressionism and naturalism, The Hairy Ape’s main character is “top” stoker Yank.  All rippling muscle and brute strength, the macho Yank sneers at everyone and everything.  As top dog in the engine room, he knows where he belongs and is happy with his lot.  That is until the spoilt, rich daughter of a steel magnate millionaire decides to indulge herself in a little bit of social work and see what life is like for the poor unfortunates who work below deck.  She is at once repulsed and horror struck at seeing these filthy, partly clothed men and Yank, being first in line, takes the most flak.  Addressing him as, “you filthy beast”, the young girl runs away screaming.  Yank’s new title of Hairy Ape is thus born.  Enraged at her attitude and shocked into realizing that his belief in thinking himself an important cog in society’s wheel is naïve in the extreme, he sets about seeking revenge.

Bertie Carvel is astonishing as Yank.  Seeing him play Doctor Foster’s weak willed, cheating husband on television just recently, it’s hard to believe this astonishing, physical performance is by the same actor.  He is a chameleon actor par excellence.  His Godfatheresque accent is at times difficult to understand but there is no denying the indelible impression he leaves on the audience.  From him swinging, monkey-like from the roof of the yellow steel cage where the stokers reside, to enlisting our sympathies when he is imprisoned and at the way the New Yorkers reject him, we are mesmerised.

Although a lot of the dialogue tends to be smothered, the visuals in this production more than make up for it.  The wealthy stereotypical New Yorkers Yank comes across are dressed alike and masked.  They dance the Charleston in unison, completely oblivious to this angry, common outsider.  Then in the final scene, we’re treated to the spectacle of a scarily life-like caged gorilla (Luke Murphy).  And it is this last cage that finally ensnares our anti-hero.  The symbolism is clear for all to see.

Wednesday 4 November 2015

Husbands & Sons at The Dorfman

The National’s Dorfman Theatre is very much a moveable feast.  Sometimes the action happens on stage, sometimes in the pit, but it is always innovative and never more so than with the latest offering, Husbands & Sons.  Director Marianne Elliott and Designer Bunny Christie have turned the acting space into three different Nottinghamshire households in order to bring to life Ben Power’s adaptation of three D.H. Lawrence plays, A Collier’s Friday Night, The Daughter-in-Law and The Widowing of Mrs Holroyd. The fact that this is a mining community is immediately apparent, as the coal pit is an ever-present force.  We hear it when the play starts and the steel bars surrounding the square pit area assault the senses as they creak upwards, brilliantly miming the noise of a mine shaft descending into the depths (a pit within the pit).  And we see it portrayed as a threatening glow beneath the actor’s feet. 

We, the audience are eavesdroppers on the grimness endured by the mining community Lawrence knew so well.  Each household has a family member who trudges to the pit each day, returning late, covered in black coal dust and fit only for a hot meal and cold beer or several.  The men may have to endure the horrors that their underground work has to offer, but their women folk have to withstand the consequences of the miner’s daily incarceration.

These three plays within a play concern three families, The Holroyds, The Gascoignes and The Lamberts.

Lizzie Holroyd (the always magnificent Anne-Marie Duff) shares her home with Charles (Martin Marquez) her drunken husband and their young son Jack.  Dreading the nightly ritual of Charles returning home, sodden with booze and occasionally accompanied by equally drunk trollops, she welcomes the odd visit from the local electrician.  He would “take her away from all this” at the drop of a hat, but Lizzie knows her duty.

Next door lives Minnie Gascoigne (Louise Brealey), Joe’s (Joe Armstrong) new wife.  A lady of means, with ideas above her station, according to her overbearing mother-in-law (the marvellous Susan Brown), Minnie’s main task is to wrestle her husband from his mother’s apron strings.

The matriarch of the third family is Lydia Lambert (Julia Ford) a woman who spends her life battling with her thuggish husband, Walter (Lloyd Hutchinson) and adoring her well educated son, Ernest (Johnny Gibbon).  Eaten up with jealousy over Ernest’s relationship with the equally clever, Maggie Pearson (Cassie Bradley), the main focus of her life is to save him from a life down the pit.

Although the grimness can be relentless and the Nottinghamshire accent initially difficult to understand, there is no disputing the fact that this ambitious production holds you in its grip.  And the styling is quite unique.  Although all the props are solid, the opening and closing of doors and windows are mimed, with the sound effects denoting their closure.  The food is invisible, but a real flame cooks it and each actor mimes the putting on and taking off of coats and jackets.  When the focus is on one household, the others remain static and the whole thing moves like a choreographed dance.  It cleverly highlights the drudgery of these strong willed pit wives.  Whilst their men go off every day to source coal, they stay at home to scrub off the residue of the wretched stuff, to no avail.  Housewives often bemoan the repetitiveness of a life spent keeping house but it’s nothing compared to that endured by these pragmatic women.

This truly is a wonderful ensemble piece with excellent performances throughout.  Not a bundle of laughs, tis true, but really worth seeing nevertheless. 

Sunday 25 October 2015

Hamlet at The Barbican


Well, I’ve finally seen the Hamlet that everyone’s been talking about and I tend to agree with all that’s been said.  Benedict Cumberbatch is very, very good, whilst several of his fellow cast members are less so.  Having seen him in After The Dance and Frankenstein, both as monster and his creator, I am well aware that Cumberbatch is no flash in the pan, over-hyped actor.  There is so much more to him than a piece of “hot totty” lusted over by hordes of young girls.  And, although his beautifully spoken Hamlet is never in danger of going over the edge into madness or losing control, it is bestowed with an humaneness and sardonic sense of humour.  I’m not entirely sure why the Director Lyndsey Turner, has him dressed as a toy soldier, hiding away in a toy castle, when he is feigning madness, but it is a very funny moment. 

This being my first trip to The Barbican, I was astonished at the size of the stage, all the more so, when seeing it’s transformation into the dining hall (complete with “Gone With The Wind” stairs”) of a magnificent country mansion.  So luscious is Es Devlin’s design, that it runs the risk of being a show all on its own.  However it has its limitations.  Act I closes with a blizzard billowing huge amounts of grit through all the doors and windows.  Is this to highlight the devastation to come, or as means of portraying the outdoor scenes in Act II?  Possibly an amalgamation of the two, but it doesn’t really work; for me, anyway.  I wouldn’t think Sian Brooke’s Ophelia is that keen on the idea either, as her pre-suicidal departure is taken, barefoot up a steep grit encrusted slope …. Ouch!

It is this rather hit-and-miss feature that seems to highlight this production.  Everything works up to a point but there are several gaping holes, not least the inaudibility of many of the cast.  Even Ciaran Hinds as Claudius mumbles into his beard at times and I’m afraid I didn’t catch any of Horatio’s (Leo Bill) final speech.  Sian Brooke’s Ophelia may be frail throughout, but her descent into utter despair is as underwhelming as her rather reedy voice. The usually brilliant Anastasia Hille is also disappointing.  There is no chemistry whatsoever between her Gertrude and Claudius and no one would ever know she is Hamlet’s mother, so distant is her relationship to him.  It takes her realisation that Ophelia is in danger, to elicit anything resembling warmth of character.

This may all sound damning in the extreme but, thanks to our young Mr. Cumberbatch and the odd revelatory touch by Lyndsey Turner, this latest Hamlet is worth seeing.  I’m glad I didn’t miss his arresting performance and his athleticism when leaping up onto the huge banqueting table is worth the ticket price alone!!  Alas, not so the programme cost.  Eight pounds fifty for a souvenir brochure and no alternative programme, apart from a cast list, is way too steep.

Wednesday 7 October 2015

Hangmen at The Royal Court


Hangmen at The Royal Court

Could this be the best new Comedy for 2015?  Well, it gets my vote.  Martin McDonagh has written some cracking plays, The Beauty Queen of Leenane and The Cripple of Inishmaan to name but two, and Hangmen is no exception.  He is a master of black comedy and there isn’t a speech in his latest offering that isn’t laugh out loud funny.  Add masses of dramatic tension and you have the recipe for an engrossing tale.

The title and opening scene of a bleakly tiled prison cell with a noose gently swaying in one corner, are, at first sight, not the most auspicious of starts for a comedy.  But the laughs soon come thick and fast and the playwright even provides humour, albeit the painful and uncomfortable sort, immediately after the hangman pulls the lever and the prisoner drops down through the stage floor.  The prisoner in question is called James Hennessy (Josef Davies in his professional stage debut), probably based on James Hanratty, and he is protesting his innocence right up to his shocking demise.  

Full marks, too, to Director Matthew Dunster and Designer Anna Fleischle for the magnificent way the scene then changes and we’re two years in the future.  Slowly but surely, the cell rises, eventually revealing a nicotine stained, dingy northern pub complete with landlord and an unintentionally hilarious crew of regulars.  It immediately becomes apparent that the landlord is Harry Wade (David Morrissey) the still be-suited hangman from Scene One.  Now lording it over his wife, “mopey” teenage daughter and Lancashire customers, rather than his work colleagues, Wade is bemoaning the fact that this is the day that hanging is abolished.  Ever the show-off, it is only when a journalist (James Dryden) is keen to get his thoughts on this momentous occasion ahead of those of his arch rival and number one, hangman, Pierrepoint (John Hodgkinson) that he decides that maybe it’s not such a bad day after all.

Wade may have a menacing air but it is the south London stranger, Mooney (Johnny Flynn) who is the more sinister.  Starting off a bit of a cocky, happy go lucky cockney geezer, with a pretentious manner, there is obviously more to him than the mocking hale fellow well met. Good looking he may be, especially when compared to the pub’s motley regulars, but he is out to cause trouble and the pub’s inhabitants soon become uneasy in the presence of this interloper from down south   It is only Wade’s shy and insecure daughter Alice (Sally Rogers) who is so astounded and flattered that this handsome stranger is paying her attention that she fails to notice anything untoward.

It’s not for me to reveal the various plot twists and revelations but, suffice it to say that the arrival of yet another non-pub regular is a catalyst for what eventually happens.  Syd (Reece Shearsmith) Wade’s former assistant, with a slightly prurient interest in “private” matters, has a few old scores to settle.  The trouble is that teaming up with Mooney isn’t necessarily the right way to go about it.

I cannot fault any performance, as this is the perfect ensemble piece where each performer enhances the other.  Johnny Flynn plays Mooney with just the right amount of creepiness to hint at something darker behind his wise cracking demeanor.  And his first flash of anger comes so out of the blue that it took me completely by surprise.  We’re not used to seeing David Morrissey as a loud nasty bastard, but he brilliantly capture’s Wade’s towering, bullying presence, whist hinting at a man who isn’t totally without feeling.  Reece Shearsmith is the perfect go to actor for an outsider with a nervous disposition, so is spot on in the role of Syd, the unworldly loner who gets completely out of his depth.  Also worth a mention are Ryan Pope as the less than bright Charlie who repeats conversations to his deaf mate, Arthur, played by Simon Rouse who, in turn always gets the wrong end of the stick. Charlie tells him “Inspector says, How old are ya, twelve?  Harry says, Five more like!” to which Arthur replies “Ha, ha, younger I get it”.

The great thing about Hangmen is that it’s being transferred to Wyndhams Theatre in the West End in December.  Thank you Playful Productions, Robert Fox & The Royal Court because it means I’ll be able to see this great production a second time.

Sunday 4 October 2015

Farinelli And The King at The Duke of York's Theatre









It is often said that an actor is made for a particular role.  Here at The Duke of York’s, Claire van Kempen has organised just that, by creating a part for her husband that fits him like a glove.  Farinelli And The King premiered at The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse earlier in the year and the actor in question is, of course, the superlative Mark Rylance.  He plays the 18th century Spanish monarch, Philippe V, a kind of European equivalent to our King George III, except that the former’s affliction was more manic depression and deep melancholia rather than mental illness.

The Duke of York’s, cosily situated in St Martins Lane, is worlds away from the Globe’s candlelit indoor theatre but, thanks to Director John Dove and Designer Jonathan Fensom, the Playhouse has been lovingly re-created, at least internally.  From the wax dripping on-stage candles to the rearrangement of the seating and stage area, the intimate atmosphere is recaptured.

We first begin to suspect that all is not well with Phillip’s state of mind when we see him lounging, bedecked in a brocade dressing gown, talking to and then trying to capture with a rod and bait, a goldfish in a bowl.  Whimsical?  Certainly.  Funny?  Extremely.  And, as ever with Mark Rylance, his delivery is downplayed and hesitant as if he is struggling with what he wants to say.  In other words, what every actor is trying to do.  Make every sentence sound as if it’s the first time it has been uttered.  One of, no, actually, our best actor does it effortlessly.

But this King is not all languid capriciousness.  There is a sharp tongue lurking within this gentle soul and his wife, Isabella, is often on the receiving end.  Bearing all that’s thrown at her with a quiet dignity, this most patient of Queens eventually decides that something must be done to snap her husband out of his abject inertia.  To stop him exploiting his malady when it suits, just because he has had to endure a role he never desired, that of King of the realm.  Her solution is music, the therapeutic benefits of which have been known for thousands of years.  To this end, she seeks out Farinelli, the world famous castrato, persuades him to change the opera house for the court and thus ensure that Phillipe has beautiful music “on tap”.

We are privy to the beautiful sounds that soothed the depressed King thanks to counter-tenor Iestyn Davies, who alternates with the actor Sam Crane in the role of Farinelli.  Whilst Sam delivers the singer’s lines with a wonderful gravity, Iestyn delivers his music with an ethereal delicacy.  I’ve always maintained that opera isn’t for me, but hearing some of the loveliest arias of the 18th century performed so beautifully, I think I may have to revise my opinion.

It’s not only Mr. Rylance and Mr. Davies who captivate.  Melody Grove as Isabella is also superb.  Her love and devotion to her mercurial husband is unmistakable and she radiates goodness and grace without ever being cloying.

But, as ever, it is the mesmerising Mark Rylance who is the draw in this pitch perfect production.  The man is a genius and I am more than a little in love with him; I and several hundred other women theatregoers!

Saturday 26 September 2015

People, Places & Things at The Dorfman





Much has been written about Denise Gough who stars in the new play, People, Places and Things by Duncan Macmillan at The Dorfman, all of which has been complimentary.  And this is how it should be because she is unbelievably good playing troubled actress Emma, who has alcohol and drug abuse problems.

We first see her in the role of Nina, the ingénue in Chekhov’s play The Seagull and it is soon evident that all is not well.  This is confirmed when the scene swiftly changes to what is obviously a reception area in a (not quite so obvious) rehabilitation unit.  Our flawed heroine has checked herself in to sort herself out, but if becomes clear that she is no model patient.  Wanting, among other things, to rescue her failing career and her sanity, she rails against her rescuers, refusing to give up her propensity for lying, especially when it comes to her actual name.  The clinic’s twelve-step recovery programme, where the patients are advised to avoid peoples, places and things that might trigger temptation is not something to which she’s keen to subscribe.  After all drugs and alcohol have never let her down and have always loved her!  Eventually she does surrender to the detox regime, joining in with a role play session which when played out for real with her parents, varies to such an extent that her decision to beat her addictions is seriously undermined.

In the wrong hands, the portrayal of such an intelligent but damaged soul, veering from one emotional meltdown to the next, could become tiresome.  But this splendid, virtually unknown actress, ensures that her journey from the effects of withdrawal, through sullen unresponsiveness to eventual capitulation, is as harrowing as it is utterly believable.  She sniffs, squints and squirms, her stance indicating terror and rage in equal measure;  every inch the addict. Thanks to Jeremy Herrin’s marvellous direction and Bunny Christie’s minimal but authentic design, we’re privy to the hallucinations Emma feels during her initial detox.  Many versions of herself are seen escaping from her bed and ghostly bulges gape through the clnically white walls.

Although Denise Gough is undoubtedly the “star of the show”, there are other fine performances.  “You look like my mother”, Emma says to the Doctor.  This is unsurprising, because Barbara Marten takes on this role as well as Therapist and Mum and is totally believable in all three.  And other group member Nathaniel Martello-White as Mark, the deliverer of superb one-liners is excellent.

People Places and Things far from being depressing is witty and not without hope, whilst the ending hits just the right note.  Ambiguous it may be but there is never any certainty that an addict is no longer an addict having gone through rehab.  The only certainty is that Denise Gough is no longer a virtual unknown actress.

Saturday 19 September 2015

Future Conditional at The Old Vic








If the first production by the new man at the helm of The Old Vic is anything to go by, we’re in for an exciting ride during his tenure.  Future Conditional, a new play written by Tamsin Oglesby and directed by Matthew Warchus, Kevin Spacey’s replacement, is excellent.  Not only does it include live rock music courtesy of Ben Lochrie and Carmen Vandenberg on electric guitars, but also lots of laughs, most of which are provided by the excellent Rob Brydon on tip top form.

Future Conditional is basically a play about education, but it doesn’t focus on just one aspect.  One of it’s main narrative strands concerns Alia, a 17-year-old Pakistani who is taught by Rob Brydon’s, Mr Crane in a state school in Sussex.  She’s bright and focused, but should she be admitted to an Oxford college?  When we’re not privy to Crane’s daily problems that teaching in a mixed race secondary school brings, we’re flies on the wall during meetings of an obstreperous committee compiling a report on education and equality.  Because Alia, the outsider, is intelligent as well as innocent, she is deemed to be a perfect candidate for adding her thoughts to this rag tag group.  The third strand transports us to a primary school playground, where a group of disparate mums, are desperately trying to get the best education for their children that they can; even if that means a little manipulation of the system.  In a nutshell it’s a play that explores the turmoil surrounding our fractious education system.

It’s a large cast of twenty-five, if you include the two musicians, and the scene changes are undertaken during guitar riffs by several actors dressed in school uniforms.  It could be chaotic as the scenes change frequently, but under Matthew Wachus’s direction, the whole procedure Is seamless.

Apart from the impressive Rob Brydon, there are several other actors who deserve a mention.   Joshua Maguire plays Oliver one of the committee members and an old Etonian, with a ready but forced smile.  He is an actor who never disappoints and is particularly hilarious here, especially when pitted against the equally good, Brian Vernel, who portrays Bill, a working-class northerner, who definitely didn’t go to any public school, let alone Eton.  No prizes for guessing which one of them rejects the way the privileged few have access to the best education for their offspring.

The tension surrounding the Mum’s gathered in the playground is beautifully realised.  There is Hettie, middle-class through and through whose moral dilemma about sending her child to a pay feeing school, is brilliantly brought to life by Lucy Briggs-Owen.  At the other end of the social scale is the equally affecting Amy Dawson as Kaye, a working class Mum who doesn’t have any choice about where her child goes to school and is, seemingly, not that bothered.  Oh and I also loved Natalia Klamar as the idealistic Suzy.

Future Conditional may not answer any profound questions, but it gets an A+ for energy and entertainment.

Tuesday 8 September 2015

Our Country's Good At The Olivier





On seeing Gary Wood as the lone Aborigine on the huge Olivier stage as I walked into the theatre, I had a gut feeling that this would be a very affecting production of Timberlake Wertenbaker’s 1988 play Our Country’s Good.  And this feeling wasn’t too wide off the mark.

Adapted from a novel by Thomas Keneally, Wertenbaker’s play takes us back to 1788 and the landing of The First Fleet in Port Jackson (now Sydney Harbour).  Second Lieutenant Ralph Clark (Jason Hughes) undertakes to stage a production of George Farquhar’s The Recruiting Officer in an attempt to give some of the convicts a sense of purpose.  Slowly but surely they do start to commit to the project and the regenerative power of drama is highlighted.  As is to be expected, the project doesn’t enlist across the board approval.  Many of the naval officers in charge of this ragtag bunch of supposed no-hopers believe it is punishment and not culture that should be used to bring them to heel.  As a result there is violent conflict amongst the convicts and many of the officers, very much at odds with the redemption of the former taking place during rehearsals.

A large cast is assembled here at The Olivier and, for the most part, there isn’t one dud note.  Even Cerys Matthew’s musical score is nearly always in tune with what is happening on stage.  Two performances in particular are well worth a mention.  Liz Morden, beautifully brought to life by Jodie McNee is the most belligerent of the convicts.  A raging Scouser, who detests everyone and everything, she metamorphoses into a woman with a quiet dignity, which, thanks to McNee is totally and utterly believable.  The other is Ashley McGuire playing Dabby Bryant, a girl from the West Country who poignantly longs to return to her beloved Devon.  Sadly she never will.

Designer Peter McKintosh makes full use of the Olivier Stage, using its revolve to rise up and show the convicts in the cramped, claustrophobic hold during the first few minutes of the play.  Plus he has created a wonderful backdrop, which perfectly illustrates what their first impression of this new land must have been.  The bands of bright yellow, orange and red, very much in the style of an aboriginal painting, signify the blistering Australian sun.  We’re immediately in tune with the suffering they’ve endured and the problems they have yet to encounter.

As I’ve said, the music mostly does justice to this iconic play, especially when Matthews uses traditional ballads and Josienne Clarke delights us with her beautiful voice.  The only problems are that she also includes songs, which have a tendency to sabotage the play’s emotional depth and, their inclusion doesn’t help the lengthy running time.

These are minor quibbles.  Nadia Fall’s production is, on the whole, a delight.

Wednesday 26 August 2015

Splendour at The Donmar



This is something you don't see very often; a stage devoid of men! Splendour, written by Abi Morgan in 2000, has an all female cast of four and is currently showing at The Donmar.  Set in a reception room of the presidential palace in an unspecified country, this oddly assembled group begin their meeting with the semblance of affability.

Micheleine, the splendidly regal wife, played with great poise by Sinead Cusack, is holding court whilst waiting for the return of her husband, the president.  Her and her errant hubby are to be photographed by the hard nosed British photo journalist, Kathyrn (Genevieve O’Reilly) who because she doesn't speak the language, has a very light fingered, inept interpreter called Gilma,  played by Zawe Ashton.   Gilma spends most of the play secreting various items into her handbag.  The final member of this quartet is Micheleine's supposed best friend, Genevieve (Michelle Fairley).

Although we never find out in exactly which country this meeting takes place, Micheleine's love of chic shoes and clothes has a whiff of Imelda Marcus.  However Abi Morgan is obviously less concerned with the setting than the obvious precariousness of the four women.  Micheleine’s unease at the lateness of her husband’s return, gathers pace when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to come back at all.   Kathryn, not being au fait with the language being spoken, resorts to using her photographer's sense of sight, luckily so as her interpreter mistranslates at will.  And the bonds of friendship between the two local women are tenuous to say the least. One of them even states, “35 years is a long time to despise one's best friend” ..... Ouch!   

This tension and mutual distrust within the room is heightened by Abi Morgan's unusual structure of the play.  Each scene is replayed from different perspectives (each one signaled by the smashing of a Venetian vase), thus rendering them slightly different each time.  Plus all the women voice their own thoughts.  Add to this the fact that the dialogue lurches backwards and forwards and one’s sense of what’s going becomes rather scrambled, despite the picture that the playwright is painting seems transparent from the outset.

The performances by all four women are exemplary, whilst Robert Hastie’s direction is spot on.  Sinead Cusack, who actually never seems to put a foot wrong in whatever she does, is perfectly cast as the outwardly ice-cool but inwardly flustered Micheleine.  Genevieve O’Reilly excellently portrays the impatient photo journalist, who would much rather by on the front line than hanging around waiting for someone who never appears.  And Zawe Ashton and Michelle Fairley are equally impressive as the acquisitive translator and put upon best friend.

A splendid evening’s theatre.