Sandy Pritchard-Gordon

Sandy Pritchard-Gordon
Theatre Blog

Thursday 28 June 2018

Sea Wall at The Old Vic



This play, well monologue to be precise, was written by Simon Stephens for Andrew Scott.  He says that this is the play that is closest to him and was commissioned by Josie Rourke when she was artistic Director of the Bush Theatre.  He was on the west coast of France with his wife, children and father-in-law when she contacted him and he drew absolutely from that holiday and those characters.  Andrew Scott was the actor he wanted to play photographer Alex, as his physicality, tenderness and humanity freed the playwright from speculation about the world within Sea Wall, to imagining a character. And, alone on the Old Vic stage, apart from a frequently used bottle of water, Andrew Scott is Alex. I can’t imagine any other actor getting as much out of a character during the 35-minute running time as he does.

It’s all credit to Stephen’s writing that one isn’t immediately aware about whom Alex is initially reminiscing.  Could it be his lover, father, friend?  Eventually we discover the man in question is his father-in-law and how the tragedy that devastates Alex centres around him.  

Dressed casually in faded jeans and a well-worn Lacoste polo shirt, Scott’s performance resembles a stand-up.  Immediately engaging the audience as soon as he speaks, we’re enraptured by his dry witty observations and so want his story to have a happy ending.  Scott turns nuance into an art form and handles the half-finished sentences to the manner-born.

I have never seen Andrew Scott deliver a mediocre performance and on this occasion, delivering Simon Stephen’s faultless script, he is breathtakingly brilliant. I for one will never miss seeing him perform. Pure genius.



The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie at The Donmar









I suppose many people, me included, conjure up a young Maggie Smith whenever The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie is mentioned, so iconic was she as the free spirited and highly entertaining Scottish teacher in the 1969 movie adaptation of Muriel Sparke’s novel.  One wonders if Lia Williams felt the same before embarking on inhabiting the role herself.  And inhabit she surely does.  So much so in fact that she has more than made the part her own.
Dressed from top to toe in figure hugging red (and then green after the interval) Williams seductively purrs each line in a soft Edinburgh accent.  Who wouldn’t want to be a part of her gang?  Certainly not her impressionable young girl pupils, used as they have been to the strict disciplinarianism instilled at Marcia Blaine School by headmistress Miss Mackay (Sylvestra Le Touzel).  Suddenly they’re in the thrall of a radical teacher who wants them to enjoy freedom of speech whilst being taught the delights of love, beauty and, more disturbingly, Mussolini.  Miss Brodie’s mantra is ‘give me a girl at an impressionable age and she is mine for life’.  To this end she picks her favourite pupils, or crème de la crème, to be part of her clique, ensuring loyalty and worship in equal measure.  Unfortunately, Sandy (an excellent Rona Morison), her star pupil isn’t entirely hooked, caught as she is between fascination and horror at this new teacher’s radical methods.

And it is Sandy that ultimately brings about the fall of Miss Jean Brodie.  Don’t worry, this isn’t a spoiler alert as David Harrower’s adaptation flits between the girl’s school days in the 1930’s and 1947, the day before Sandy becomes a fully-fledged nun.  She is being interviewed by a journalist (Kit Young) who wants to discover why, having written a successful book, she has chosen this particular journey.  Thus, it is her recollections that steer the production back and forth in time.

One of the most striking aspects of Lia William’s flawless performance is her ability to show the complexity of Brodie.  Thanks to her portrayal, our feelings for this amusing yet ultimately tragic figure are, as Muriel Spark intended, totally ambivalent.  Veering between splendour and ludicrousness, strength and fragility, Williams’s Brodie is never one dimensional, and the subdued woman riddled with cancer at the end of the play bears no resemblance to her vibrant younger self.  Despite her theoretical notions of romance, Brodie fails miserably when it comes to the practicalities.  She has the attention of two male teachers, Mr. Lowther (Angus Wright) the reserved choir master and Teddy Lloyd (Edward Macliam) the louche art master, but they both fail to win her heart.  More than able to extol the virtues of the notion of love, it’s quite another to actually practice what she preaches.

Although the accolades are mostly reserved for Lia Williams, praise must also be bestowed on the other members of the cast.  Rona Morison not only shows us that her highly intelligent Sandy is constantly surveying Brodie but that she has an underlying coldness, even ruthlessness.  Nicola Coughlan perfectly captures the neediness and desperation of her character, Joyce and Angus Wright is perfect as the diffident Mr. Lowther.  Sylvestra Le Touzel also deserves a mention.   Her buttoned up Miss Mackay is the archetypal old-fashioned headmistress, the exact opposite of Miss Brodie.

There is only one criticism in what is otherwise a pitch perfect production by Polly Findlay.  Why is it necessary to sit several of the stall’s audience in the uncomfortable wooden classroom chairs?  Despite the atmospheric bell ringing summoning the girls to classes and nuns to cloisters, Lizzie Clachan’s design doesn’t necessarily resemble either a nunnery or 1930’s school room.  Apart from the aforementioned chairs, it is far too modern.


Thursday 21 June 2018

Translations at The Olivier



Several recent productions staged in the National’s Olivier Theatre have failed to comfortably inhabit its vast space.  Not so Ian Rickson’s brilliant portrayal of Brian Friel’s wonderful 1980 play, Translations.  Designer Rae Smith’s highly evocative set occupies every bit of the huge space, without compromising the fact that the focus of the play takes place down stage in the local hedge school.

A backdrop of skudding clouds and swirling mist, courtesy of Neil Austin’s atmospheric lighting, leave us in no doubt that we are in rural Ireland, County Donegal to be precise.  Translations is set in 1833 and Brian Friel more than succeeded in writing a play that, according to the extracts from his “sporadic” diary wasn’t to be just about Irish peasants being suppressed by English sappers, totally about land surveying, re-naming place names or a lament on the death of the Irish language.  Although portions of these are all relevant, each is part of the atmosphere in which the real play lurks and Friel has brilliantly written a simple story that hides complicated meanings.  To be precise, Translations is about the power of language and its ability to divide.

Hedge Schools in rural Ireland were unlicensed and set up in makeshift locations with the lessons conducted in Irish.  The year in which this play is set is one of historical transition when these schools are due to be replaced by State run ones where English will be the official language.  Alongside this change, Ireland has been “invaded” by British soldiers who are tasked with completing an Ordance Survey map of Ireland and changing Irish place names into English.  Helping two of the Sappers in the role of interpreter is Owen (Colin Morgan), recently returned from six years in Dublin and the bilingual son of the hedge school’s alcoholic headmaster, Hugh (Ciaran Hinds).  Meanwhile his older brother, Manus (Seamus O’Hara) has never left home, is the unpaid assistant to his father and is desperately in love with local girl Maire (Judith Roddy).  Add to this mix, Lieutenant Yoland (Adetomiwa Edun) a handsome romantic entranced by Ireland and the Irish (or at least one in particular) and the scene is set for an emotional upset.

It would be wrong to single out a particular performance because the entire cast are exemplary.  However, Translation’s famous love scene between Maire and Lieutenant Yoland deserves a particular mention.  It is exquisite and effortlessly depicts the way their unfolding love for one another transcends any language barriers.  Likewise, the scenes between Manus and Sarah (Michelle Fox) when he is encouraging her to overcome her serious speech defect are a total delight.  Much of the humour of the piece is supplied by Dermot Crowley as the “unwashed” JimmyJack Cassie, well versed in Latin and Greek but not so au fait with soap and water.  It goes without saying that Ciaran Hinds excels in his role as Hugh, whilst Colin Morgan subtly conveys his delicate position as temporary helper to the British and permanent betrayer of his birthplace.

One of the best productions under the mantle of Rufus Norris and well worth the cost of a ticket.