The Winslow Boy at The Old Vic

I’m not a great fan of Terence Rattigan’s plays, finding his rather mannered characters irritating.  However, The Winslow Boy, especially in this very good production at The Old Vic, is one exception.  The play, based on a true story, is imbued with touching humanity, which the excellent cast at The Old Vic, perfectly interpret, conveying a real and sympathetic family.  We believe in them.

The story, set just before the First World War, concerns a 14-year old naval cadet who is wrongly accused of the theft of a five shilling postal order and is subsequently expelled.  His father, Arthur believes his son to be innocent and begins the arduous campaign to seek a fair trial.  The cost to the family in both financial and emotional terms is great and, as such, makes the audience ultimately question Arthur’s motives in pursuing his quest to achieve justice for his youngest son.

The whole play is set in the Winslow’s London drawing room, so, despite the play revolving around the outcome of a courtroom, we never enter it.  Instead we’re flies on the wall, watching and waiting to see the effect on the whole family of the intransigence of the Establishment in taking two years to finally see justice done.

The secret to the audience totally believing that we’re watching a real family is the interaction between Henry Goodman’s Arthur and Deborah Findlay’s Grace Winslow.  They are totally believable and Henry Goodman in particular shows a loving tenderness towards his family, whilst at the same time letting us know that this is one stubborn man who is not to be trifled with.  It is only towards the end of the play that we observe the terrible toll the whole event is having on his health and determination.  He seems to shrink and weaken before our eyes.  Meanwhile Deborah Findlay, although at times appearing silly and somewhat shallow, never fails to portray the loving mother and her eventual anger at her stubborn husband is brilliantly judged.  The three Winslow offspring also work very well together, from Naomi Frederick as Catherine the Suffragette daughter, Nick Hendrix as Dickie the lazy student to the boy himself, Ronnie, the excellent newcomer, Charlie Rowe.  Peter Sullivan as eminent lawyer, Sir Robert Morton, also gives a strong performance, although I did find his interrogation of young Ronnie a little too heavy handed.

I have never before credited The Winslow Boy as having much humour, but under Lindsay Posner’s excellent direction, there are chuckles to be had, especially during the opening scenes.  Whilst perhaps feeling a tad too long, this is one Rattigan play I did enjoy.

The Audience at The Gielgud Theatre

I feel so lucky and honoured to have been a guest at last night’s press night for The Audience.  Thank you Annie and Playful.  And what a night because Peter Morgan’s new play lives up to its hype and I loved every minute.

The Audience imagines Her Majesty’s weekly audiences with her twelve prime ministers spanning sixty years and cleverly switches time lines rather than showing these meetings chronologically.  Actually only eight PM’s are portrayed, Harold McMillan, Sir Alec Douglas-Home, Edward Heath and Tony Blair, although mentioned do not appear.  Those who do materialise don’t insult us with caricatures, but instead portray the essence of their respective famous selves.  Like Alex Jennings as Alan Bennett in Cocktail Sticks and Hymn, so good is the acting and staging that one is lulled into believing one is privy to the actual private meetings with the actual people.  And Helen Mirren does it better than any.  As one critic has said, “Helen Mirren is now so good at playing The Queen that you could put her on stamps and people would lick them”.  She is effortless in the way she moves from the young Queen Elizabeth to middle-aged to present day and back again.  And so, so plausible whatever period of her reign she’s inhabiting.  Not easy at the best of times, but made even more difficult on stage when the quick costume changes often require her to swap wigs and costumes in full view of the audience.  Actually, not full view, as the dressers stand between her and us, but near enough.  She cannot be faulted and I am in awe of her talent.

As no one else is privy to these weekly audiences, Peter Morgan’s play is all fiction.  But such is his skill and I would think utmost respect for The Queen, that he manages to bring out the human side of this iconic and dutiful woman who is far more than her description, “a postage stamp with a pulse”.  He imbues her with compassion, grace, honesty and humour.  Whilst he is obviously taking liberties with what actually transpires between her and her various PM’s, nothing is cringe making and almost everything is plausible.

The first audience is with Paul Ritter’s affecting John Major.  I admire him greatly, even more so now.  He is very, very funny but also touching, never more so than when he breaks down and Her Majesty offers him a handkerchief.  He is totally believable.  The other plaudit must go to Richard McCabe’s Harold Wilson.  Whilst I’m sure his over familiarity is the stuff of imagination, he makes an extremely believable Wilson.  If, as intimated, he was one of The Queen’s favourite Prime Ministers, basing it on this portrayal, I can quite see why.

During the course of the play, the plummy young Elizabeth, expertly brought to life last night by child actress, Nell Williams, appears on stage and conducts a conversation with her older and wiser self.  The line “No one will ever call you by your name, or look you in the eye” speaks volumes.

Stephen Daldry demonstrates his directorial excellence and directs a pitch perfect production.  No small task, as on first reading the play must have come across as a logistical nightmare.  He is ably aided and abetted by Rick Fisher’s wonderful lighting and Bob Crowley’s atmospheric design.  With just a couple of chairs, a desk, couple of chandeliers and marble pillars, we’re actually in Buckingham Palace.  And the move to Balmoral is equally believable.   Add to the mix the amazing wigs, courtesy of Peter Owen and Ivana Primorac’s wizardry with the hair and make-up and you’re left with one amazing team.

And there is another bonus.  Two corgis bound on stage during the scene at Balmoral.  Who said you shouldn’t work with children and animals?

Quartermaine's Terms at Wyndhams Theatre

I booked late to see Quartermaine’s Terms but on reflection am glad I made the effort, as I really enjoyed the evening. 

Simon Gray’s 1981 play is set in the staff room of a school of English for foreigners in Cambridge and centres around St John Quartermaine, played here by Rowan Atkinson.  The various other teachers come and go discussing their personal problems, their social lives and their students, whilst Quartermaine drifts through it all in a good-natured dormouse like daze.  He also has a dozy quality when it comes to his teaching, every so often skipping lessons and being almost totally unaware of the names of any of his present or past students.  When he does start to put his thoughts into words once emitted they fade and die – “these things between people - people one cares for – it’s hard to bear them”.  One critic, who shall be nameless, uttered that he couldn’t understand why someone who teaches English could be so useless at stringing a sentence together.  But surely that is the point.  Poor old Quartermaine doesn't come first in the teaching stakes.  The school for him is not necessarily his place of work but his life.  A sad and lonely figure, one realizes early on in the play that his social life, apart from the odd baby sitting for Mark Sackling, a fellow teacher and would be novelist, played by Matthew Cottle, can be summarized on the back of a postage stamp.  Actually none of the teachers, or indeed the co-owner of the school (one never sees his co-partner, Thomas) are remotely capable of expressing their feelings.  The central irony of the piece exposed, for despite being English language teachers, they’ve all lost their self-editing button and listening skills, if, of course, they ever had them in the first place.

Simon Gray is a master of the character driven play.  Although each character is bereft of the skills mentioned above, he conveys their inadequacies brilliantly.  As such this tragicomedy does connect and, although Quartermaine, and indeed his colleagues come across as boring old whatsits, they still illicit our sympathy.  Credit for this must also go to the excellent cast.  Although one or two very nearly over egg their point, they just stop short of doing so and the play therefore has some extremely funny moments.  Several of these moments are the result of Simon Gray’s use of off-stage characters.  These include the aforementioned Thomas, a philandering husband, an absconding wife and mother from hell.  They become as real as the characters on stage.

Richard Eyre has created a beautiful production, which highlights the dreadful domestic lives of each character.  Few of them seem to want to go home. Malcolm Sinclair’s Eddie Loomis in particular hovers around in his bicycle clips not wanting to leave the confines of the staff room.  Their embarrassment is flinchingly funny, never more so than the relationship between Felicity Montagu’s Melanie Garth and the bicycle riding Eddie.  The awkwardness between them is brilliantly portrayed.  In fact the whole cast is superb with no weak link.  Rowan Atkinson is perfectly cast as Quartermaine with no Bean in sight and his handling of the final few moments of the play is spot on.

Quartermaine’s Terms can be summarized as a metaphor for that particular type of eccentric Englishness where no one actually says what’s bothering them - no one would probably listen if they did - one just knows that something isn’t quite right.

Trelawny Of The Wells at The Donmar

Trelawny of the Wells grew on me.  The first act, during which the cast veers towards ham and caricature irritates somewhat, but the second half explains the reasoning behind Joe Wright’s direction and almost all is forgiven.

The play, Pinero’s love letter to the theatre, tells the story of Rose Trelawny, a popular star at the Barridge Wells Theatre.  The cockney Rose is courted by and falls in love with the aristocratic Arthur Gower.  She leaves The Wells and moves in with Arthur’s grandfather and great-aunt, Sir William and Lady Trafalgar, in their smart, but stifling house in Cavendish Square.  Not a good move, as Arthur’s elderly and very conservative relations are not only dreadfully dull, but also detest Rose’s loud and unrestrained personality.  Unable to stand it any longer, she runs back to her theatre family, abandoning Arthur.  Unfortunately her experience of the ‘real world’ has killed her talent for melodrama and she is unable to recapture the liveliness that made her a star.  There appears to be one way out of her predicament in the shape of an emerging playwright, Tom Wrench, who is keen to write more realistic plays. 

Amy Morgan makes a charming Rose and her and her actress friend, Avonia Bunn, played by the lovely Aimee-Ffion Edwards, have a great rapport.  It’s just a pity that almost every actor at some time or other was placed directly in front of me, blocking everyone else and if that coincided with a speech by Aimee, a lot of the dialogue was lost.  But then maybe I need my hearing investigated.  No such problem occurred with the wonderful Ron Cook who starts the play as Mrs. Mossop, the theatrical landlady and then transforms into Arthur’s grandfather.  I’m not quite sure why he plays both parts but, luckily, in this actor’s capable hands, the fact that he does, works. Maggie Steed also takes on two roles.  That of Mrs. Telfer and Miss Trafalgar Gower.  As Mrs. Telfer, she has a couple of the best lines in the whole production and delivers them with aplomb.  My favourite and arguably the best interruption of a boring speech is, “Sit down, Mr. Gower.  You finished long ago.  Sit down”. Although it may lose something in the telling,  in the flesh gives a master class in delivery.  Her husband, actor manager, James Telfer, is excellently portrayed by Peter Wight, but I’m afraid that on this rare occasion a favourite actor of mine, Daniel Mays, doesn’t quite do it for me this time.  His Ferdinand Gadd, whilst funny at times, does tend to push too hard for laughs.

What also doesn’t work quite so well is the way Joe Wright over exaggerates the artificiality of the actors during Rose’s farewell party at the beginning of the play.  This device is obviously to highlight the change in theatrical styles, as everyone tones down their performance by the second half.  But rather than just highlighting the changes it tends to patronize the characters.  This is Joe Wright’s first foray into directing for the stage and maybe he is trying too hard. When he reins back a little and allows Pinero’s lines and Patrick Marber’s additions and ornamentations to speak for themselves, he fares much better.

There are some very funny moments and Hildegard Bechtler’s clever design, which strips everything away for the final act showing the Donmar’s back wall, helps to highlight the theatrical change.  I’m just not totally convinced that Arthur Wing Pinero is my type of playwright.