Small Island at The Olivier

Rufus Norris has once again demonstrated how adept he can be at directing an ensemble cast on the vast Olivier stage (London Road being the other great success).  Small Island, the stage adaptation by Helen Edmundson of the late lamented Andrea Levy’s wonderful novel, is a triumph.  If you’ve read the book and/or seen the television version, you will find that this production is every bit as affecting.  And if you haven’t, it doesn’t matter a jot.

The tale about first-generation Jamaican immigrants coming to post-war Britain centres around three main characters, Hortense (Leah Harvey), Queenie (Aisling Loftus) and Gilbert (Gershwyn Eustache Jnr).  Yet again this is a story that largely concerns the lies people tell, the biggest being that Britain would welcome with open arms the arrival of their Commonwealth citizens and be thrilled to utilise their talents.  And it’s to Andrea Levy’s credit that rather than preach she conveys her message about the treatment of these immigrants through the lives of various individuals. 

Act One introduces us to these characters.  Hortense is a buttoned up young school teacher who has been led to believe that because her skin is light, her desire to make something of her life will be easy to realise.  As far as she is concerned, marrying Gilbert, who joins the RAF to help with the war effort in order to help fulfil his dream of one day becoming a lawyer, will enable her to accomplish her expectations.  Queenie, the daughter of a Lincolnshire pig farmer leaves the stifling confines of the family farm to go to London, where she swiftly meets and marries Bernard.  So, we have three people with one goal - to escape to a better life.

The second Act focuses on the naivety of their ambition.  Hortense soon realises that rather than London’s streets being paved with gold, she is being asked to live in a tiny, shabby flat with no bathroom and with a man she hardly knows.  Gilbert in turn has already discovered that the colour of his skin makes him a target for shocking abuse both physically and verbally.  Finally, Queenie sees that not only is Bernard an extremely cold fish but that the war years have turned him from shy to aggressive, especially on realising on his eventual return from the war that his wife has become landlady to a black couple, namely Hortense and Gilbert.

One of the clever aspects of Norris’s production is how he manages to focus in on the lives of these characters without losing the scale and scope of Levy’s novel.  Katrina Lindsay’s very clever design enables the large cast to come and go with ease and the (what’s becoming ubiquitous) large upstage curved screen on this occasion is definitely necessary to requirements.  Jon Driscoll’s projections of a hurricane show the sharp contrast with England’s grimness, but the most affecting image is the appearance of the actual Windrush.  That would be enough to bring a knot to the throat, bearing in mind the scandal we’ve recently lived through, but behind the screen the cast are seen as silhouettes boarding the ship.

The play is long, running as it does at over three hours, but so much happens in this pacey production with humour mixing with sadness, plus a good dose of dancing and singing, that this is not an issue.  It helps, too, that the acting is spot on.  Hortense, with her primness and sense of entitlement, is not an easy character to relate to but Leah Harvey embodies her with a dignity and tenacity which more than makes up for her failings.  Gershwyn Eustache  brings vitality and humour to Gilbert, plus a heavy dose of charisma.  We yearn for Hortense to realise she’s made a good choice of husband and physically feel sick at the disappointments he has to face and the abuse he undergoes.  Aisling Loftus is perfect at portraying Queenie’s working-class resilience and quiet determination not to be kowtowed by her sniffy racist neighbours. 

I was so affected by the whole evening that I left the Olivier smarting with anger that any British person could think of sending any of the Windrush passengers and their families back to the land of their birth.  They went through so much to settle here, many fought for us during the war and our country wouldn’t be the same without them.

Congratulations to Rufus Norris for not only bringing this wonderful novel to the stage at all, but for doing it right now.

Death Of A Salesman at The Young Vic

A few yards down the road from The Old Vic and there’s another Arthur Miller classic playing.  It’s a very different production from a staging point of view but is just as powerful and beautifully done as its neighbour.  Of course, this is to be expected, as Marianne Elliott is in charge of direction alongside Miranda Cromwell.  The set is by designer of the moment, Anna Fleischle and, unlike her staging of Three Sisters at The Almeida, which left me cold, this latest design works a treat.

A parallel with All My Sons, apart from it being done in period, is the casting of an American actor in the title role of Willy Loman.  Wendell Pierce (Suits and The Wire amongst others) plays the salesman of the title and makes the part his own.  He is aided and abetted by the wondrous Sharon D. Clarke as his wife, Linda and the excellent Arinze Kene and Martins Imhangbe as their sons, Biff and Happy.  And that’s where Marianne Elliot has brought us a definitive Death of a Salesman and one not to be missed.  By making the Lomans an African American family, Arthur Miller’s 1949 play becomes even more relevant.  Not only is Willy having to battle with the ageing process, his seeming irrelevance in the work place and with his sons, but the colour of his skin doesn’t do him any favours in late 1940’s New York.  There is a particular point in the production when this really hits home.  Although no lines have been cut, there is a word I noticed that had been omitted. The original script has Willy relaying to Linda that someone has labelled him a shrimp, but here the sentence is left hanging in mid-air.  Her husband is unable to bring himself to say the name he was called out loud but we’re in no doubt that whatever it was alluded to the colour of his skin.  It’s a powerful moment, actually one of many and Pierce is to be applauded for inhabiting this iconic character so beautifully.

Again, Miller is alluding to the American dream which in Loman’s case is turning into a nightmare.  At 62 years old, he’s tired out with the job that entails him trawling across the country and is becoming increasingly aware that he’s not the expert salesman he thought he was.  Not that those around him have been given any hint that he has any self-doubt.  Miller’s story is heavy on the lies we tell ourselves and others and Loman is no exception.  The upbringing of his sons following the “don’t do as I do, do as I say” concept is as unsuccessful as his determination to be top dog at work. Happy Loman is a rather immature womaniser, whilst his older brother Biff, once a promising baseball player, has no ambition and no clear idea of where his life is going.    

The workplace isn’t the only aspect of Willy’s life where he doesn’t command any respect.  He lost that from Biff, the elder son, a long time ago when the eleven-year-old boy came across something his father was always trying to hide.  Thus, the built-up humiliation from all sides sees the older man cracking under the strain, not helped by the fact that he is more than likely suffering from the onset of some kind of dementia

The one constant in his life is Linda.  Sharon D. Clarke so very successfully portrays this strong, loyal and quietly determined woman as the nuts and bolts that hold the family together.  Such is the chemistry between Kene and Imhangbe that one is left in no doubt that these men, whilst very different in personality, are definitely the product of their father.  Kene is particularly affecting as the emotionally damaged Biff and his final show-down is heart-breaking to watch.  There are light hearted moments as when the play shifts from present to past.  Those historical moments depicting the sons as boys is cleverly realised by having them appear as if in an old-fashioned slide-show, with each new move preceded by a shutter click.  

I read a piece in the programme about Fleischle’s father committing suicide and how this shattering event influenced the way she designed the set.  The way windows and doors shift in and out of view, help to mirror Willy’s shifting state of mind.  Despite the fact that her vision of the Loman’s apartment is very much abstract, one is never in any doubt as to which room a character is inhabiting at any one time. Or that the family, or at least Willy, constantly feel trapped within its walls.  Aideen Malone’s lighting adds to the atmosphere, but it’s the music that most perfectly catches the mood of the play.  It opens with the entire cast singing a gospel hymn (thank heavens we get to hear Sharon D. Clarke and Arinze Kene enthral us with their wonderful voices) and at various stages throughout we’re treated to some jazz and blues courtesy of Musical Director Femi Temowo.  

A definite must see.

All My Sons at The Old Vic

Arthur Miller’s first smash hit, All My Sons is playing at The Old Vic and there has been a certain amount of hype attached to it, as it stars two bona fide Hollywood stars.  On this occasion the finished article really does live up to its build up because Bill Pulman and Sally Field, alongside their fellow cast members and creatives have done Mr. Miller proud.  From the moment the play starts, with an upstage screen depicting scenes from America’s past, and the clapboard middle-class house rolls downstage, it’s a given that we’re in for a very satisfying 2 ½ hours.

Jeremy Herrin hasn’t “messed” with the script or setting in any way and it’s all the better for it.  The piece is set in 1947, the year it was written, and there are no gimmicks or theories on what Miller actually meant.  Instead it’s a brilliantly crafted drama, beautifully told and acted about scepticism of the American dream and the way in which we lie to ourselves.

All My Sons centres around factory owner Joe Keller and his wife Kate (Pulman and Field) who are being visited by their idealistic son, Chris (Colin Morgan) and his friend Ann (Jenna Coleman).  The trouble is that Ann was the girlfriend of the Keller’s other son, Larry, who went missing in action three years before and Kate can’t, or won’t, come to terms with the fact that he is dead.  The visit would be fine, except Chris has brought Ann home to propose to her.  Cue displeasure from the parents, especially Kate.  More complications come from the fact that Ann was brought up in the house next door to the Kellers and that her father, Joe’s business partner, is currently in jail, possibly taking the rap for his boss.  For, despite Joe’s protestations it looks suspiciously as if he knowingly supplied the US military with defective aircraft parts during the war, that resulted in the deaths of 21 pilots.

Alongside the house, with it’s creaky screen door, Max Jones, has produced what appears to be a pitch perfect back garden.  But don’t look too closely because, as with everything else in the Keller household, nothing is as flawless as it seems. 

The casting is spot on.  There is no doubting that thanks to the brilliance of Sally Field, Kate, despite her inability to admit the truth and apparent vulnerability, is the matriarch. The loss of her son has obviously aged her almost overnight, but, despite the chronic sleeplessness and apparent living in the past, she can explosively return to the present when it suits.  You feel her pain at the beginning but wonder at her compliance at the end.  Likewise, Pullman’s Mr. Nice Guy, Joe is all hail fellow well met when the play opens but, boy, does that change.  Colin Morgan handles Chris’s intenseness and uprightness brilliantly well, whilst one would never know that this is Jenna Coleman’s first stage role.  She gives a perfectly restrained performance, thereby making her Ann difficult to read - the perfect response to the confrontation she receives from both Sue (the next-door neighbour played by Kayla Meikle) and Kate.  Oliver Johnstone also delivers a wonderfully nervy and edgy George, Ann’s brother.  He could be capable of anything!

A great production that does perfect justice to a great play.

Three Sisters at The Almeida

I have no problem with classic plays being modernised, but they have to remain true to the original.  Unfortunately, this is not the case with Cordelia Lynn’s version of Chekhov’s Three Sisters, currently playing at The Almedia, despite her insistence that this is her aim.  Directed by Rebecca Frecknall and designed by Hildegard Bechtler, I was as desperate for the play to finish as the three sisters are to go to Moscow.

In theory, the play promises much, seeing as how the young director is reunited with Patsy Ferran following their stand out success at this theatre with Tennessee Williams’s Summer and Smoke.  In practice I’m afraid it fails to engage and even the expressive moments aren’t enough to compensate for the fact that this particular Three Sisters is very dull indeed.  The stark set containing several chairs, a piano, a ledge on which is perched the sulky older brother, Andrey (Freddie Meredith) and not much else doesn’t help.  Thank goodness there is a vase of flowers to lighten the mood a little. The yearning for a better life, a common theme of Chekhov’s plays, can be a touch dreary, but it doesn’t have to be.  If one feels empathy with his characters and their surroundings aren’t all doom and gloom, this great exponent of “theatre of mood” shows what a wonderful ability he has to highlight a submerged life in the text.

The story concerns the sisters of the title; Olga (Patsy Ferran) the eldest, is a schoolteacher, fussing like a mother hen over her two sisters, the unhappily married Masha (a very sulky Pearl Chanda) and Irina (a fidgety Ria Zmitrowicz).  Love interest is provided by Vershinin (the usually excellent Peter McDonald) who alights in Masha a passion that her husband, Fyodo (Elliot Levoy) has never managed.  The three girls are all bored and frustrated by their lives in a provincial Russian town, but because this adaptation is imbedded neither in Russia’s past nor present but somewhere in-between, there is no sense of their isolation.  Also, the presence of paperback books and a transistor radio diminishes the hopelessness of their situation.  If these items are readily available, couldn’t the sisters just book a taxi out of there?

There are some light moments when the cast break into song and dance around in a jig, and the arrival of Vershinin and the soldiers bring some joy. However, the usual foreboding that Russia is on the cusp of a revolution following Tuzenbach’s speech about “a great storm coming” is as lost as the hint of any military glamour from these soldiers.

Elliot Levoy is excellent as Fyodo and his moments on stage lift the production.  Also I can quite see why Patsy Ferran won the Olivier Award for Best Actress in Summer and Smoke as her nuanced, if underused performance means Olga is a totally believable dutiful elder sister.

It’s just a pity that this time, Three Sisters doesn’t deliver the usual Chekhovian experience.