Cocktail Sticks plus People at The Lyttleton

Last week The Lyttleton served us two courses of Alan Bennett and the starter was tastier than the main course. Cocktail Sticks, containing material from his memoirs A Life Like Other People’s, is an absolute delight from start to finish.  

Alex Jennings plays Alan Bennett ......... correction ........ is Alan Bennett, such is his total mastery of immersing himself into our wonderful Yorkshire writer. He captures not only Bennett's flat delivery, but also his particular detachment, flashes of dry wit and manages to look just like him.  He is Bennett on the Lyttleton stage regretting a childhood where nothing happened and feeling guilty about constantly being embarrassed by his Mam and Dad.  

His ever curious and socially ambitious Mam, whose later life was dogged by mental-illness is superbly brought to life by Gabriel Lloyd.  We cringe at her worst faux pas, laugh at her amusing ones and cry at her sadness.  Dad excellently portrayed by Jeff Rawle, is happier in his skin.  No social climber him.  Just a gentle man come to terms with his son's sexuality, proud of his adult success and very much in love with his wife, despite the fact that his whole married life was spent holding her handbag slightly away from himself (as if it were something unsavory) whilst she paid a visit to the ladies (dirty places toilet floors). There is no doubting Bennett's parents love for their son, nor his love for them.  The overriding emotion here is guilt.  Bennett's guilt at being so slow to realise that anything can potentially be the stuff of literature and allowing himself to be embarrassed by his parents' social inadequacies.  

What helps to make this play so affecting, apart from the writing and Nicholas Hytner's superb direction is Jennings' ability to suggest profound changes with just the smallest adjustments - sitting motionless next to his ailing mother, playing his 10 year old self with the slightest drop of the shoulder and voice.  The play lasts just over an hour and I wanted it to go on and on, such was its ability to evoke every emotion.  At times Bennett's guilt was indistinguishable from my own.

People, the main course is not quite so satisfactory, despite excellent direction from Nicholas Hytner.  In it Bennett takes a mighty funny but almighty swipe at The National Trust.  Although it isn't one of his best in terms of emotional depth it does have many amusing and touching moments thanks, in no small measure, to Frances de la Tour's haughtily aristocratic but impoverished Dorothy Stacpoole and Linda Bassett’s  long suffering and slyly subversive companion, Iris.  They are both brilliant.

The two elderly spinsters live in the Stacpoole's rapidly decaying stately home near Sheffield, spending their days reminiscing about the past whilst sitting huddled around a lonely electric fire. Dorothy dreams of soaking in a bath in a warm bathroom, whilst Iris remembers war time Canadian Troops.  Lynette Munro, the Costume Designer, is to be congratulated for introducing these two elderly stalwarts dressed respectively in a moth-eaten fur coat, muffler and welly boots and extremely scruffy ancient tweed suit. It sets the scene perfectly, especially when we realise Dorothy was once a society model who obviously wore the same coat in rather more salubrious surroundings.  Every now and then they break into Petula Clark’s Downtown and dance around the room.  Obviously very much in tune with one another over their desire not to hand the decaying pile over to The Natioanal Trust.  Unlike Dorothy's younger sister, June, the splendid Selina Cadell, who as a very bossy, lesbian archdeacon wants to do just that.  Their relationship with her is as arctic as the old house itself.  Dorothy can't think of anything worse than hordes of people traipsing around her childhood home and will contemplate almost anything to prevent it, even considering its purchase by a dodgy sounding conglomerate entitled the Concern.  A camel coated twittish auctioneer played by Miles Jupp is a spokesperson for this shadowy organization whose ethos is that people spoil things.  Here, here agrees Dorothy, although she’s less than pleased with his suggestion that the house be moved to a somewhat nicer location somewhere in the West Country.

Act Two sees Dorothy getting her wish for a warm bath when a blast from her not altogether innocent past appears in the shape of Peter Egan's porn film director.  His film crew, not only turn part of the hall into the set of “Reach for the Thigh”, but also get the radiators working once more.  Life for the two old partners in crime has suddenly become fun again, especially when the filming is disturbed by a myopic bishop who is persuaded it isn't porn they're making but a Women's Institute advent calendar.

The National Trust is represented by an amusing but slightly over the top Nicholas le Prevost.  His enthusiasm over the discovery that the stately pile houses chamber pots left unemptied after their use by previous guests including Kipling, Elgar and Shaw, threatens to spiral out of control.

Bob Crowley's set is a masterpiece, especially when the crumbling house is transformed at the end of the play.  Our two heroines are transformed, too, but not necessarily in the way they would like.

Even if you don’t agree with Bennett’s obvious jaundiced view of our dear old National Trust, or maybe the middle classes who revere it, it’s great fun seeing his views aired on the Lyttleton stage

Privates on Parade at The Noel Coward Theatre

I was very excited at the prospect of seeing the first production of new company, MGC, set up by one of my heroes and starring an actor I rate highly, despite the fact that the play itself didn't particularly inspire me.  As it turns out my expectations were mostly fulfilled and I'm still not convinced about Privates on Parade.  In fact without the excellent direction of Michael Grandage, wondrous performance of Simon Russell Beale and very good characterisation by Angus Wright, I would have left The Noel Coward Theatre rather underwhelmed.  Not disappointed exactly, just underwhelmed.  I always thought it a strange choice before realising that Mr. Grandage directed it during his early years as Artistic Director at The Donmar.  A trip down memory lane!

Peter Nichol's 1977 farce centres around a British military concert party stationed in the Far East following the War.  He was obviously inspired to write it following his experiences in Combined Services Entertainment in late 1940's Malaya although I'm sure the men he worked with couldn't all have been like these stereotypical homosexuals. Simon Russell-Beale, relishing the chance to portray such female icons as Marlene Dietrich, Carmen Miranda and Vera Lynn, etc. makes a magnificent Terri Dennis, the leader of the concert party.  His enjoyment and enthusiasm shines forth and I deny anyone not to be enraptured by his various portrayals.  But it is when he undrags into Noel Coward that he is at his funniest and as the outrageously camp Terri that he manages to convey his inner sadness when talking about the death of his sailor lover at sea.  Mr. R-B can turn from subtle to over the top bawdiness in the wink of an eye. It would be difficult to imagine anyone else in the role.  

The other excellent comic turn is Angus Wright as Major Flack, the stiff, upper lipped officer who fails to see the glaringly obvious, plus I'm sure all the red blooded ladies in the theatre also enjoyed "the privates on parade" during the shower scene.  This provides the most realistic interaction between the concert party members which otherwise does tend to be slightly forced.

As is to be expected, Christopher Oram strikes exactly the right note with with his crumbling colonial set, whilst Grandage effortlessly directs both the physical and verbal comedy. It's just the play that's slightly off key.  It's bawdy references and double entendres were probably shocking when it was first produced but are less so now and the supposed satirical references to British imperialism and racism appear dated. Still it's worth the price of a seat to see Simon R-B dressed up in all his wondrous guises, especially as 100,000 tickets for MGC's season of five plays will sell for £10.