My Brilliant Friend at The Olivier

Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels, about the friendship between Elena (Lenu) and Lila, embrace four books.  They are beloved by many, but, sadly, having read the first one, I failed to continue with the remainder.  They’re the sort of books that need total concentration (no dipping in and out) especially as the cast of characters include, amongst others, nine different Italian families.  I obviously wasn’t inclined to invest that amount of effort and maybe this is why I enjoyed Part One of April De Angelis’s adaptation of My Brilliant Friend, currently playing at The National’s Oliver Theatre, far more than Part Two. Being familiar with Lenu’s (Niamh Cusack) and Lila’s (Catherine McCormack) tenement block neighbours, helped me to immerse in the first two-and-a-half hours, that take us from the girl’s school days to young adult hood.  Their mid and elderly years, highlighted in Part Two, became more confusing, especially as many of the cast take on several parts.

That’s not to say that reading the books is a prerequisite for seeing Melly Still’s epic production, which was first shown at The Rose Theatre, Kingston in 2017.  There is much to recommend it.  Soutra Gilmour’s sparse set, comprising four mobile staircases, cleverly evokes the cramped streets housing the tenement blocks of impoverished Naples and the soundtrack depicting the various eras in which each scene is set is wonderful.

The whole story is narrated by Lenu and begins in the 1950’s when she and Lila first begin the friendship that will last a lifetime.  As with many relationships, theirs is not perfect, with competitiveness lying at its heart.  It also begins with a betrayal, for Lila, having persuaded Lenu to trade dolls, proceeds to throw her friend’s through a grille into a cellar belonging to a local loan shark, a man feared by the neighbourhood children.  After the other girl reciprocates, it’s the more headstrong and fearless Lila who decides the two of them need to forget their fears and retrieve their beloved toys. Later, the bond between the two of them is eventually sealed, mafia style, with the mixing of their blood.  This is an early nod to the fact that the mob will infiltrate their whole lives in one way or another.

At the start, it’s clear that precocious Lila is the more brilliant of the two friends.  But fate decrees that her longing to write the perfect novel, like her heroine Louisa May Alcott, is not to be.  Instead it will be Lenu, whose parents allowed her to stay on at school, who will eventually be successful.  Not that all her literary achievements can be attributed totally to her own work, for Lenu isn’t above copying her friend’s original mind. 

And so the story follows Lenu and Lila’s journey through work, marriage, and motherhood amidst social change and Italian politics.  It’s a saga that includes humour, social depravation and much violence.  Melly Still very cleverly uses symbolism to convey the violence meted out to Lila.  She does so by lifting a replica of Lila’s dress above her head and then hurling the disembodied outfit down a flight of stairs, whilst the girl looks on.  The same treatment is used later when she is raped.  What doesn’t work so well is using firstly lycra puppets and then adults to portray Lenu and Lila’s children.

Luckily none of the actors attempt Italian accents and Niamh Cusack’s gentle Irish burr is perfect, as is her portrayal of Lenu’s ordinariness.  Whilst one cannot really fault Catherine McCormack, I didn’t believe in her characterisation of Lila quite so much.  It seems a little forced, but I’m sure I’m in the minority in thinking this. 

Having seen the excellent television adaptation of Books One and Two, I had my doubts as to how My Brilliant Friend would transfer to the stage.  There was no need to worry, for this version remains true to Ferrante’s vision and is well worth seeing.

On Bear Ridge at The Royal Court

Rhys Ifans is his own master class at playing scruffy, if not downright unkempt characters, from Spike in Notting Hill, via rough sleeper, Danny, in Protest Song to his latest offering, John Daniel in Ed Thomas’s On Bear Ridge at The Royal Court.  Commissioned by National Theatre Wales, this post-apocalyptic play premiered at the Sherman Theatre, Cardiff in September.

Set in what once was a butcher’s shop, Ifans, the butcher, John Daniel and his wife, Noni (Rakie Ayola) inhabit this derelict space (designed by Cal Dyfan) alongside their slaughter boy (at least he was when the shop had customers) Ifan William (Sion Daniel Young).  Now no-one comes near and almost the only sound to be heard on Bear Ridge - a remote, mountainous area in what is obviously Wales - is that of jet engines roaring overhead.

This is a somewhat strange play with an inscrutable text that very gradually lets out the fact that it has a preoccupation with loss.  The loss of community, family, society and, importantly, language.  But, wisely, there is also much left unsaid, with Co-Directors Ed Thomas and Vicky Featherstone, allowing Mike Beer’s sound design to fill in the empty spaces.

What we do discover is that Ifan’s character is, according to him, the last speaker of the much mentioned ‘old language’.  We naturally assume that this is Welsh, but it’s never mentioned, so all we know for sure is that it’s a dead language.  As dead as Noni and John Daniel’s son, a philosophy student who, as his old dad says, ‘is the only one of our family who ever thunk’.  That the previous inhabitants and erstwhile customers of the butcher’s shop are also dead is never specified.  What is plain is that Noni, John Daniel and Ifan William are now the sole inhabitants of this barren area.  This makes the arrival of a stranger quite a traumatic experience, especially as he is a gun toting army Captain (Jason Hughes) seemingly even more traumatised than his hosts.  No-one is quite sure what he’s done, seen and, more importantly about to do with his loaded pistol.

If all this seems too dreary and morbid for words, think again.  There is a tremendous amount of humour, with Ifans masterfully uttering understatement after understatement and turning his scruffy old trousers into almost another character.  Completing his ensemble with red gilet that has seen better days and scruffy old bowler hat, he brings a lyricism to the often poetic nature of Thomas’s script.  It’s no wonder that he was so lauded when playing King Berenger in Patrick Marber’s recent version of Exit The King at The National.

There are tear jerking moments, too, especially when Rakie Ayola touchingly describes what happened to their son.  But hers isn’t a one-dimensional performance.  Noni also has a fire in her belly; she may be filled with a grief that won’t shift, but there’s a sternness to her character that belies her gentleness.

On Bear Ridge can be said to be an elegy to Ed Thomas’s childhood Welsh village and the blurring of his memories of it.  Whatever the criticism might be about its slow-moving pace, there can be no doubt that the play is based on truth and a large dollop of affection and I really enjoyed it.

Lungs at The Old Vic

Duncan Macmillan’s People, Places and Things, starring Denise Gough, was one of my favourite productions of 2015 and he doesn’t disappoint with his play Lungs, currently playing at The Old Vic. 

With Rob Howell’s minimalistic in-the-round set comprising two solar panels and not much else, the spotlight is well and truly on the acting.  Luckily the young couple here, fretting about whether or not they should start a family, are played by the excellent Claire Foy and Matt Smith.  Not only are they brilliant at their craft, but their chemistry (honed from their previous roles in The Crown) sizzles.  In addition, such is their skill, it only takes a minute to forget their roles as The Queen and Prince Philip.

One of Macmillan’s strengths is the natural way his characters speak.  Foy and Smith, the unnamed couple here, spar and vocally jab at each other, moving at speed from the insignificant to the profound.  The baby question, originally posed by Smith, arises in the queue at Ikea and quickly develops into a conversation/argument, that continues when they get home and over the following weeks.  Not that we’re shown their home or anything appertaining to it, as there is nothing naturalistic about this play apart from the emotion. The scenes, such as they are, run into one another, with no change in the lighting, or pauses.  We suddenly realise they must be in the nightclub they talked about (their dance moves providing a visual clue), trying to make their voices heard above the noise and then, without warning it’s obvious they’re back home and probably in bed.

The ease these two actors have in each other’s company is so tangible that there’s no doubt we’re watching a couple deeply in love with each other.  Foy, cutely dressed in grey dungarees, is all relaxed limbs and mind in fast forward with her thoughts darting from one to another in a heartbeat.  Her speech is peppered with swear words, she contradicts herself regularly and every now and again our irritation creeps in.  But not for long, for Foy also imbues her compelling character with a vulnerability and when that appears, we start loving her again.

The equally casually dressed Smith in trainers, t-shirt and jeans, is more measured and is obviously baffled and at times irritated by Foy’s sudden pre-menstrual mood swings.  Is this unsuccessful musician absolutely sure he actually wants to be tied down with a baby?

Under Matthew Warchus’s pitch perfect direction, Lungs is as funny as it is thought provoking and, ultimately, melancholy.  It was written in 2011 and if it was pertinent then, it’s even more so now, thanks, in part, to the high-profile Extinction Rebellion.  However, Duncan Macmillan didn’t originally intend for it to be about climate change.  It was more a personal play that sprang from a specific time in his life and the anxieties he felt then.  These anxieties included whether liberal educated people in the West, like himself, can be truly good people or whether their privilege is dependent on the suffering of others.  As we see here, these concerns are those that resonate with this couple and, I suspect with many others too.

Master Harold and The Boys at The Lyttleton

Master Harold and the Boys, currently playing at The Lyttleton, is set in a Port Elizabeth tea-room in 1950, when apartheid was at its zenith.  The tea-room is owned by the teenage Hally’s mother, while Sam and Willie are the two “boys” who work there.  It’s a rainy afternoon and the two black men practice their steps for the finals of a ballroom dancing championship.  We’re introduced to Hally when he arrives at the tea-room from school.  The three of them initially chat and joke, but we soon realise this is an uneasy friendship with Hally frequently adopting a condescending attitude to the two employees.  Then slowly but surely the schoolboy’s patronising builds to a pitch, whereupon Hally turns into Master Harold.

It’s no easy task for a young actor to change from intermittent condescension to downright obnoxiousness and Anson Boon as Hally equips himself well. The boy’s youthfulness is highlighted by Boon’s squeaky, rather irritating voice and petulant manner.  This ensures that the moment when he metamorphosises into Master Harold and we’re privy to the final insult of which Fugard is particularly ashamed, is especially shocking. 

One of the most striking aspects of the play is the patience shown to Hally by both Sam (Lucien Msamati) and Willie (Hammed Animashaun).  Msamati makes for a perfect Sam.  Restrained and dignified in both manner and movement - he initially glides around the stage to the ballroom manner born – his eventual anger at Hally is devastating.

As Willie, Hammed Animashaun is also perfect.  A huge presence when needed, his silences also pack a big punch and he some-how manages to blend into the background when the older man is chatting with his young friend.  A big friendly giant one assumes, except that he admits to beating his woman when she messes up the dancing.  It seems that in South Africa some things never change!

The one thing the two boys have in common is their love for ballroom dancing, or more specifically the upcoming championship.  Sam uses it as a metaphor for world harmony and says at one point that ‘ballroom dancers don’t bump into one another because everyone’s doing the right steps.  If everyone thought about love and acceptance, there wouldn’t be any bumping’.

Rajha Shakiry has designed the perfect tea-room set with atmospheric rain pouring down onto the glass roof and Director Roy Alexander Weise and Choreographer Shelley Maxwell have brought out the best from this excellent trio.  The whole auditorium stood at the end and quite rightly too.

Faith, Hope & Charity at The Dorfman

In Christian tradition, faith, hope & charity are the three theological virtues. In Alexander Zeldin’s new play currently playing at The Dorfman, Faith and Charity are two girls who are talked about but never seen and Hope is in rather short supply.

Natasha Jenkins has cleverly transformed the staging area of the Dorfman Theatre into a run-down community centre.  With no raised staging and the realism of the set, it really does feel as if we’re all visitors to a bona fide soup kitchen.  There’s even a bucket for collecting water from the leaking ceiling, which, on the night I went, was positioned near my left leg and I had to move my bag to prevent it from getting wet!  And so we watch as the multi-cultural waifs and strays come and go, grateful there’s some safe place where they can get a hot meal.

Chief cook, bottle washer and ready listener is Hazel, beautifully portrayed by the excellent Cecilia Noble.  Her unwitting sidekick is Mason (Nick Holder), who turns up to replace the previous volunteer who ran the choir and ends up doing pretty much anything.   Ostensibly an up-beat character, who brings humour to proceedings, Holder also expertly elicits our sympathies on hearing his life, too, hasn’t been easy.

But then this play shines a light on those members of society who don’t find anything easy.  They’re the ones suffering the grim realities of the new age austerity, as did the characters in Zeldin’s previous two plays in his trilogy, namely Beyond Caring (about a group of cleaners working on zero-hours contracts) and Love (a 90 minute piece about homeless people).  Luckily his message about the failings of a seemingly uncaring government doesn’t preach or bully and hits home all the more because of it. 

The various cast members who portray the visitors to the centre don’t act but inhabit their roles.  So much so that when it came to the “curtain call” I found myself wondering where they would go after they left the building!  Even Susan Lynch, who plays Beth, a troubled mother who oscillates between maternal love and a barely contained rage, is totally unrecognisable.  Not for any other reason than that she somehow manages to disappear inside her character. 

There isn’t an actor involved who doesn’t deserve a mention.  Beth’s son Marc is played by an understated but devastating newcomer Bobby Stallwood, whose tiny biography is sure to grow and grow.  He tries to handle his mother as they go to and from the court trying to keep Faith, his sibling, out of care.  He is also given one of the most gut-wrenching lines in the whole play as he explains a strategy to ward off the pain of being too poor to buy food; “when we’re hungry, we go to sleep”.  The oldest visitor is Bernard, played by the eminently watchable Alan Williams who is a mixture of bewilderment, anger, gratitude and apology.  The opponent to Bernard’s generational outlook is Anthony (Corey Peterson) and their ongoing verbal battle is so lifelike one is never sure if they will actually come to blows.

Alexander Zeldin directs his own play and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if it were required viewing for those members of our society who have a hand in deciding how public money is spent.

Ian McKellen On Stage at The Harold Pinter Theatre

It’s quite a relief that, having been pipped to the post in securing tickets for Ian McKellen’s 80^th birthday celebratory tour, which started in February, I finally got to see the great man at the beginning of his limited season at The Harold Pinter Theatre.  No wonder the whole event has been a complete sell-out, as his almost three-hour solo show is an absolute delight.

This may be a celebration of reaching the grand old age of eighty, but it would be difficult to find anyone less like an octogenarian. He is a wonderful advert for Pilates classes, which he apparently attends twice a week and for keeping his mind and body active by continuing to work.  Upright and sprightly with an astonishing memory for special events in his life, favourite poems and excerpts from his many, many performances, whatever keeps Sir Ian McKellen up to speed should be bottled.

Whilst the great man moves effortlessly across his beloved stage, his audience sit forward in their seats, secure in the knowledge that this most beloved of our great actors will entertain and delight.  This he does exquisitely, infusing the recollections of his life in the theatre so far, with a ready wit and the most perfect timing. 

The show starts in darkness and the voice of Gandalf, McKellen’s most iconic screen role, stating ‘You cannot pass’.  Then the lights come up and we’re taken deep into Middle Earth, whilst he clutches a well-worn copy of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.  We’re then taken back in time to the start of his love affair with the theatre.  From a childhood visit to see Peter Pan, to enjoying Ivor Novello’s  King’s Rhapsody, where he admits to having his first erection whilst sitting in the Dress Circle.  Obviously, this isn’t the only reference to his homosexuality.  He treats us to honest glimpses of various battles he faced against homophobia and how finally coming out took a huge weight off his shoulders. 

Moving from one memory to another is seamlessly done by searching through the label infested trunk (each theatre visited on the tour has its own sticker) to unearth a prop or book.  And each memory is accompanied by a witty anecdote concerning family, friends and fellow actors.

Whilst the first half is semi-autobiographical, the second concentrates on McKellen’s homage to Shakespeare.  Enlisting help from the audience, he invites us to shout out the name of the bard’s entire catalogue.  The relevant play is then found in the trunk and is accompanied by either a witty remark – ‘I haven’t actually read this one’ – or a speech.

If this all sounds like luvvie self-indulgence, it really isn’t that at all.  Instead it’s an unpretentious love letter to the theatre, told with warmth and openness, leaving us in no doubt that Sir Ian is still a Lancashire lad at heart, who is never more at home than when entertaining an audience.  His long-time collaborator, Sean Matthias is his Director and between them they have produced something akin to an immersive cosy chat, with seemingly no barriers between actor and audience. 

In case you’re in any doubt, I loved it.

Hansard at The Lyttleton

A critic on a Radio 4 Arts programme when asked to give her views on Hansard, the first play by the actor Simon Woods, started by criticising The National Theatre.  How was it that a first-time playwright and an Old Etonian to boot, was able to stage his play with two top actors in the large Lyttleton Theatre?  After all, our great theatrical institution is supposed to be operating a policy of diversity and Hansard, with its cast of two middle-class white actors, is most surely aimed at white middle-aged, middle-class Caucasians. 

I took exception to this because as far as I am aware The National, under the auspices of Rufus Norris, has certainly not abandoned their plan to produce plays to appeal to the whole of our society.  But in so doing, wouldn’t it be wrong for them to suddenly preclude anything that might relate to the audience this person criticised for enjoying the play on the night she went? 

Having got that little gripe off my chest, I have to say that I thoroughly enjoyed Hansard, thanks in no small measure to the performances by Lindsay Duncan and Alex Jennings.  Their verbal jousting is timed and executed to perfection, and what is essentially a barrage of sarcasm is turned into brilliantly witty remarks.  It is 1988 and the couple’s bickering starts on Robin Hesketh’s return home from taking part in Any Questions the night before.  Diana, his wife of thirty years, is still in her dressing gown in their Aga filled Oxfordshire country home and metaphorically armed and ready for letting him know her thoughts on the programme and the fact that he is all for Section 28, the controversial part of that year’s Local Government Act that prohibited local authorities from ‘promoting’ homosexuality.  What doesn’t help his cause is that this suave, yes, you’ve guessed it, Old Etonian Tory MP, has married a Labour voter.  And her anger at his stance on said Section 28 is exacerbated by her suspicion that he is having an affair. Added to this arsenal is her scorn for her husband’s privileged background, admiration for Maggie Thatcher and lack of any artistic temperament.

Meanwhile Robin criticises his wife’s drinking habits, laziness and left-wing sensibilities.  Does she not remember that he has asked friends over for lunch to celebrate his birthday?  One wonders why they ever married in the first place.  Except that underneath all the scathing banter is the hint that there was and maybe still is love between them.  The problem is that there is a gigantic elephant in the room, concerning their son, which has affected them both so very deeply. They share their own unspoken guilt regarding his death and it’s only once this is aired that any latent fondness is allowed to creep back into their relationship.

Such is the depth of Duncan and Jennings’s acting ability that they’re both able to make their seemingly unlikeable characters eventually sympathetic.  Underneath Robin’s air of superiority and misogynistic entitlement lies a vulnerable, emotionally flawed man.  Whilst Diana, following the loss of her son, has spent too much time alone, brooding, drinking and pouring out all her frustrations at her husband when he eventually returns home. 

The final moments of the play when the grief they share is unlocked is devastating and in such sharp contrast to the earlier caustic hilarity.

It’s true that there are a few structural flaws in Hansard, but that has also been the case in certain other productions by more experienced playwrights that have been shown at The National.  And, despite the odd criticism, Simon Woods has penned 90 minutes worth of entertaining drama, using two actors at the top of their game who give superb performances under the expert direction of Simon Godwin.

A Very Expensive Poison at The Old Vic

There’s no doubting Lucy Prebble’s capacity for weaving something very different out of a story.  She did it with Enron and has now brought her interpretation of the poisoning of Russian émigré Alexander Litvinenko to The Old Vic stage.  Not for her a straight forward narrative, instead A Very Expensive Poison (also the title of Luke Harding’s book on which the play is based) has more than its fair share of black humour, singing, dancing ….. and puppetry!  Bearing in mind the terrible consequences of dying from a dose of polonium 210 planted in a cup of tea, it’s no bad thing that she’s highlighted the bungling nature of those responsible and has Vladimir Putin (or as he's billed in the programme President and played by the excellent Reece Shearsmith) as the unreliable narrator in the second half.  Without this, the story would be very depressing indeed.  And the different tones she uses to explain what happened enhances rather than diminishes Britain’s shoddy political stance.  Keen not to upset the apple cart with regard to our Russian ties, it took more than eight years for the story to come to light and a public enquiry to be conducted.

The first half is mostly seen through the eyes of Marina Litvinenko, Alexander’s wife, and brings us up to speed on the background of how her husband, a former detective with Russia’s FSB, died in a London hospital in 2006.  The pair of them had fled to Britain following Alexander’s expose of the links between organised crime and the Russian government, but, as we all know, that particular country eventually catches up with those who dare to criticise.  The play highlights the love the couple had for one another and Marina’s tireless determination to make the truth known about his untimely death.

The entire cast are excellent.  None more so than MyAnna Buring as Marina and Tom Brooke as Alexander.  Their touching relationship contrasts sharply with the disingenuous Russian leader who demands revenge at all costs, his incompetent assassins and the attempt at a cover-up by the British.  Whilst the play, because of all the various techniques used, is rather lacking in dramatic force, there are some sit up and take notice moments, not least when we’re played a recording of Theresa May, our then Home Secretary.  She couldn’t have been more evasive if she tried.  Most of the Russian characters are brash, none more so than Peter Polycarpou’s Boris Berezovsky.  He makes Boris Johnson look shy and retiring.  Always the swaggerer, the oligarch even breaks into song in a swanky Mayfair restaurant and struts his stuff on the dance floor.

Prebble’s genre busting play is brilliantly brought to life by the skill and imagination of Designer Tom Scutt.  His complex set smoothly transforms from hospital room to the Litvinenko’s Russian apartment, airport check in to laboratory.  Meanwhile Director John Crowley manages to turn the multiple locations and characters into a cohesive whole.  At 2hrs 40 min, the play is a little lengthy and didn’t always hold my attention, but I applaud the young playwright’s ingenuity.

Appropriate at The Donmar

Appropriate, now running at The Donmar, poses quite a logistical nightmare for the Stage Management team in general and the Props person in particular, for the stage is literally knee deep in paraphernalia when the play opens.  The piles of furniture, boxes and general detritus belong to the dead patriarch of the feuding Lafayette family, who have gathered together to try and sort it all out.  So, just another American family drama?  Actually, no, because black American playwright, Branden Jacobs-Jenkin’s bitterly funny play, cast entirely with white actors, has racism at its heart.

The family’s late, reclusive father has allowed the once grand mansion in Arkansas to fall into disrepair and everything has to be cleared before the mortgage company claims the property.  Bit by bit we’re privy to the fact the house sits in the middle of an old plantation and those slaves unfortunate enough to have worked there, are buried in the grounds, following various lynchings, which have been recorded in an old photo album.  Not the most pleasant of artifacts to be uncovered.  Was dear papa racist and perhaps anti Semitic into the bargain?  Or even more unsettling, a member of the Ku Klux Klan?  This extremely upsetting tome elicits differing reactions from each family member, with newly divorced and bitter Toni (the brilliant Monica Dolan in blistering formidable form) taking the defensive stance.  Her father’s views were and still are not to be questioned. Meanwhile, the young granddaughter, Cassie (Isabella Pappas) is keen to pop the pictures on Instagram, and once it emerges that they might be worth a ton of money, the majority of the family change their horror to excitement.

The remaining members of the clan comprise, Cassie’s father Bo Lafayette (the excellent Steven Mackintosh), her young brother Ainsley, Jewish mother, Rachael (Jaimi Barbakoff), Uncle Franz (Edward Hogg), his very young, ‘crystal waving’ girlfriend River (Tafline Steen) and Toni’s son Rhys (Charles Furness).  Led by Toni’s uncompromising acidic and foul tongued tirades, the siblings are continually at each other’s throats.  Bo, her middle brother is criticised for his insatiable thirst for money, whilst Franz, the youngest, is never allowed to forget his addiction problems and predilection for girls who are just that little bit too young.

Everyone plays their part perfectly and Jacobs-Jenkins, although pushing the boundaries with his dialogue, brings a subtle approach to the racism inherent in the Lafayette’s past.  Rather than labour his grievances over the black people’s treatment at the hand of white slave owners, he chooses to mock this middle-class, white family’s self-pitying greed.

Added to all this is a gothic thriller aspect, suggesting that the house is inhabited by the ghosts of the dead slaves.  Designer, Fly Davis, has not only created the perfect crumbling old homestead, but also the sense that spirits are lurking within its old walls.  Cue plenty of sound effects and jumpy moments!

This is Ola Ince’s debut as director at The Donmar and she helps to ensure that the playwright’s sly humour is never underplayed, we occasionally get the impression we’ve stepped into a ghost story and, importantly, enjoy a play that entertains and imparts a strong message.  I’m sure this is the first of many Donmar productions to have her name in the programme.

Tree at The Young Vic

Tree, currently playing at The Young Vic, elicited a lot of excitement when it was first advertised, not least because it is a collaboration between Idris Elba and the now Artistic Director of the theatre, Kwame Kwei-Armah.  In 2013, Elba returned to South Africa and created the album ‘me Mandela’ inspired by his time in the country playing Mandela and as a dedication to his late father.  His long-time friend, Kwame, inspired by the music, decided to collaborate with him to make a story about the ambition to heal, and to tell it through a combination of movement, music and drama. Following on from the initial buzz, the project then had a bout of negative publicity when Sarah Henley and Tori Allen-Martin made a claim that they conceived the project and were consequently removed from it.  And so it was that I expected much from my latest trip to The Young Vic.

Whilst there is much to be admired about Tree, it doesn’t quite live up to my expectations.  Certainly, it’s a very exciting experience, with Director Kwame Kwei-Armah and Designer Jon Bausor, turning the space into a pulsating disco, with the majority of the audience standing (or should I say dancing, at least at the start) around a large protruding stage.  For the remainder of the play, the actors effortlessly weave in and out of the audience and often seek their help with various props, helping to make the play a truly immersive piece of theatre.  As a result, the two men’s vision of creating a different kind of theatrical experience works a treat.  What it lacks, at least for me, is a strong dramatic narrative and the presence of the ushers, directing the crowd, whilst necessary, is rather distracting.

The story is based around Kaelo (the excellent Alfred Enoch), a Londoner born to an Afrikaner mother and black father.  On the death of his mother Cezanne (Lucy Briggs-Owen) Kaelo decides to visit South Africa (the land of her birth) to scatter her ashes, discover his roots and learn the truth about his father.  He stays with his tough Afrikaner grand-mother (Sinead Cusack at her belligerent best), meets up with his ferocious half-sister, Ofentse (a very sparky Joan Iyiola) and finds out how he, as a mixed-race man is viewed in a country that has known much violence and many divisions.

What helps to make the piece very affecting is the excellence of the choreography by Gregory Maqoma, the visuals by Projection Designer Duncan McLean and the attendant music by Michael ‘Mikey’ J’ Asante.  And the final flourish of the erection of the symbolic tree is spot on.  It’s just a shame that there isn’t even more music and that the script doesn’t quite match the visuals.  One wonders about the quality of the two beleaguered women’s narrative …..

The End of History at The Royal Court

The majority of us have some kind of issue over our parents and their parenting, but it’s another matter entirely to write a play based on them and admit to doing so.  Jack Thorne, the very successful playwright and script writer has done just that with The End of History at The Royal Court.  Alongside his frequent collaborator, Director John Tiffany, Thorne has produced a very intimate play, the title of which is taken from Francis Fukuyama, the political theorist who coined the phrase in 1989.

David Morrissey and Lesley Sharp play David and Sal, parents to Polly (Kate O’Flynn), Carl (Sam Swainsbury) and Tom (Laurie Davidson) and the action takes place in their overcrowded kitchen in Newbury.  The nonconformist, very left-wing couple’s raison d’etre has always been equality.  Their kids are now adult and so they feel their work with regard to passing on their values, is now accomplished. The utter conviction that their beliefs are the right ones and how this has shaped their family is brought under the microscope in three acts (no interval) at ten-year (1997 to 2007 to 2017) intervals.

Morrissey and Sharp are excellent at radiating the couple’s commitment, imbuing David and Sal with great gusts of passion and humour.  Sharp, in particular, is very funny, especially when discussing anything sexual. As far as she (well actually both of them) is concerned anything goes; there is no filter.  This directness isn’t moderated even when son Carl introduces the family to new, rather smart and rich, girlfriend, Harriet, (well played by Zoe Boyle).  This isn’t to say that Sal is at ease with the visitor and the fidgety Sharp is able to convey a mother’s nerves that perhaps this time she’s overstepped the mark. Underneath the bravado she has become anxious as to what her children think of her.

As with most, if not all, families, each child is different.  The always excellent Kate O’Flynn gives the Cambridge educated Polly an ungainly air and shows her inability to disguise any uncharitable thoughts she may be harbouring.  Laurie Davidson as Tom is superb as the gay, waggish younger son, who is a little too fond of dope and is inclined to give into suicidal thoughts.  Meanwhile, Sam Swainsbury as Carl, portrays a shy, rather depressed older son, all too aware (as are his siblings) that his parent’s judgement of him is not altogether favourable.

Taken as a whole, David and Sal come out as rather daunting parents with a capital D.  Not that we don’t get the sense that, despite the criticism they heap on their children and their strange decision with regard to leaving their inheritance to charity, this Leftie pair do love their brood.  Sal isn’t afraid to show it from the offset, and at the end of the play we get a glimpse of a gentler, less judgemental David as he quietly sits upstage reading a very poignant letter.

It may seem that not much happens in The End of History, and nothing does really.  Just round the table truth telling and sweary banter.  But there is much humour, John Tiffany stages the whole thing with aplomb and he and Movement Director, Steven Hoggett ensure that the ongoing domestic life between the three scenes is beautifully realised.

Perhaps not one of Jack Thorne’s best works but an interesting insight into his background and an homage to his parents, Mike & Maggie who he describes as, ‘ They’re tricky, amazing and brilliant.  I want to shake them sometimes, but I love them very much’.

Peter Gynt at The Olivier

Henrik Ibsen’s play, Peer Gynt was published in November 1867 to divided opinion, with Clemens Petersen, a theatre and literary critic of the time, saying ‘Not real poetry …. full of untenable ideas …. and riddles so empty that there is no real answer to them …. A piece of polemical journalism’.  Not an auspicious start and opinion has been divided ever since.  It’s even mentioned in Noel Coward’s Present Laughter when Liz Essendine says to husband Garry ‘We stopped you in the nick of time from playing Peer Gynt’.  It requires an outstanding actor to portray Gynt and staging it is notoriously difficult.  Oh, and let’s not forget that it is inordinately long.

However, the version currently playing in The Olivier has been re-written by David Hare and Gynt (here named Peter) is played by James McArdle, who was so, so good in Hare’s adaption of Chekhov’s Platonov and in Angels in America, both staged at The National.  There is therefore much to be applauded in this latest production, although it’s not all gold stars. 

Although much of Ibsen’s text still shines through and Hare adheres to its original structure, much has been radically changed so it fits in with today’s world.  There are many references to modern living, such as Peter, here a young Scottish soldier, pointing out that ‘people don’t have lives any more – they have stories’.  Stories that are improvised and where we favour material riches over and above wisdom.  Hence Peter’s default mode of creating his own legend by pinching bits and pieces from the various war movies he has seen; a serial fantasist who eventually adopts many varied personalities from successful capitalist to would be spiritualist via false prophet.  It’s only when he returns home to Dunoon that he realises he is in fact mediocre and his tall tales are just that.

The staging of the play by Director Jonathan Kent and Designer Richard Hudson is very adroitly done and they’re helped by having the enormous Olivier stage at their disposal.  It’s used to the max and Peter’s journey from Scotland (undertaken following his abduction of a young bride and desertion of the doting Sabine, a young immigrant) to far flung corners of the globe is cleverly realised; especially his time on a storm lashed ship.  A sticky problem when putting on Peer Gynt is the depiction of the terrifying trolls, headed by the Troll King, played here by an excellent Jonathan Coy.  Jonathan Kent has the trolls all wearing large pig snouts and their kingdom is presented as a dimly lit, steeply inclined high table, as if this is some kind of nightmarish dream. 

Hare’s script is amusing and his decision not to alter two defining moments in Ibsen’s version, namely when Peter returns home to comfort his dying mother and when he is finally confronted by the The Button Moulder (Oliver Ford Davies), is the right one.  McArdle imbues the default self-obsessed Peter with a tenderness and warmth whilst cradling his mother in his arms and a true contriteness on hearing Ford Davies’s quiet explanation of the difference between self-discovery and self-improvement.

The production may be long, too long, but its saving grace is McArdle’s limitless energy and the excellent support from the large cast.  Where it lets itself down is in some of the gimmicky scenes, aka dancing cowgirls, and the attendant music which, for me doesn’t work.  Give me Grieg’s original score every time!

Bitter Wheat at The Garrick Theatre

When I saw that John Malkovich was to appear in a brand-new David Mamet play in the West End, there was no question that I would buy a ticket.  But then the “proverbial hit the fan” when it became obvious to whom Barney Fein (the main character) alluded.  A Twitter storm ensued with supporters of the #MeToo Movement strongly criticising the fact that a middle-aged successful man had the temerity to write “their” story.  Whilst having a certain amount of sympathy for their argument, I wasn’t prepared to make judgement until after seeing the production and certainly had no intention of boycotting it.

And I’m really glad I did go as it was quite an honour to see an actor of Malkovich’s calibre transform himself into a monster.  And there is no doubt that Barney Fein is a monster of the highest order.  In the programme is a statement saying that “This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental”.  Whilst they would say that, wouldn’t they, it would need a theatre goer who has spent many years living in a cave not to link Fein with the film producer Harvey Weinstein.

John Malkovich, complete with fat suit, portrays an egotistical, bullying and extremely nasty movie mogul, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever.  As he shuffles, walrus like, around his penthouse office (designed by Christopher Oram) sarcastically bringing down everyone within a metre radius, we wait for a chink in his relentless nastiness, but none appears.  His doctor (a very weirdly bearded Teddy Kempner) panders to his every request for illegal pills for his ailing mother and pills and injections to aid his sexual drive, whilst his P.A. (a brilliant Doon Mackichan) although obviously disdainful of her boss, does nothing to prevent a young, rising actress, Yung Kim Li (Ionna Kimbook) falling prey to his molestations.

The play opens with Fein lambasting a screenwriter, refusing to pay him his dues because the work he’s done is “a piece of shit”.  On threatening to report the mogul to the Writers’ Guild, the response he gets is “The Writers’ Guild would drink a beaker of my mucus if I asked them to”. 

We then move onto his lascivious nature when he arranges to meet Yung Kim Li, the young Korean who has just arrived on a flight from her home in Kent.  If you’re not repulsed by Fein’s bullying nature, the scene with Yung Kim Li will definitely do the trick.  Any laughter from Mamet’s uncompromising and usual coruscating wit, dies during this scene in an hotel room, to be replaced by a very uncomfortable silence as we will her to get the hell out of there.  The crude dialogue is imbued with a little lightness when the wheedling Fein, uses a seduction technique of promising the girl a role in a Korean Gone With The Wind or a gay version of Anne Frank.  When she doesn’t immediately fall for his “charms”, the mogul resorts to whining that the only reason he’s being rejected is because he is fat.  That old chestnut is also resurrected following the young girl’s complaint to the police about his behaviour, when he laments that “the overweight get no sympathy”.

Mamet ensures that Fein gets his just deserts with the mogul’s career and life imploding following the police intervention, but what is strange is the sub plot he devises concerning a Syrian with a gun.  Odd?  Very.

But, despite these reservations and the relentless hideous nature of Fein’s personality, I am more than happy to have seen Bitter Wheat.  The cast are excellent and you can’t help but applaud John Malkovich for agreeing to portray such an unsympathetic character and David Mamet for his thick skin in penning one, even though this particular play is not his best work.