Leopoldstadt At Wyndham's Theatre

Tom Stoppard and Director Patrick Marber are once again united, this time at Wyndham’s Theatre.  The production in question is Stoppard’s latest, and most personal play, Leopoldstadt.  It wasn’t until relatively recently that he discovered he was “wholly” Jewish, rather a surprise to this brilliant playwright.  Although born in Moravia, Czechoslovakia, whilst still a young child he, his parents and brother emigrated to England, and he considered himself very much English.

Leopoldstadt (the name given to a district of Vienna that still evokes images of Jewish life)) is the result of this revelation and is loosely based on Tom Stoppard’s family.  The play starts in the year 1899 and includes scenes in the years 1900, 1924, 1938 and, finally 1955.  Centred round a Viennese family, it tells their story of initial optimism that their Jewish life is becoming increasingly secure, through to the realisation that this is definitely not the case.  No wonder Stoppard’s mother was loath to admit to her Jewishness.

There is a huge cast of nearly forty and the play opens and closes with the majority of them on stage.  Firstly to introduce them to us and finally to highlight the horrors that befell so many of them.  In between we’re treated to insights into what it meant to be Jewish during these times, much humour and devastating sadness.  In truth a brilliant essay on humanity (and lack of it), with more than a sprinkling of history.  Patrick Marber gracefully steers each and every cast member, no mean feat with so many bodies on stage, and each scene in whichever year it’s set, is beautifully realised thanks, in part, to Costume Designer Brigitte Reiffenstuel.

In 1899, Vienna is at the hub of art, psychology and mathematics and there is much talk of plans for a Jewish homeland.  Hermann Merz (the brilliant Adrian Scarborough) is a successful businessman and an optimist.  He is convinced that the Jews will soon be assimilated into the social hierarchy of Vienna, and will no longer be confined to the Leopoldstadt.  His wife, Gretl (the excellent Faye Castelow) is a Catholic and Hermann has converted to her faith.  He adores her and the scene set in the following year, when she is seduced, albeit willingly, by Fritz, a young Aryan officer (Luke Thallon) highlights this devotion.  Hermann comes to realise his wife’s betrayal when he self-righteously confronts the young lieutenant about a supposed insult.  What is so clever about Scarborough’s performance is the way he transforms from a man convinced he has the higher moral ground, to one visibly shrinking into utter dismay and nervous unease. Thallon, on the other hand is full of disdain and superiority, declaring the impossibility of a duel taking place, considering Jews have no honour.  In the final act he changes roles and becomes Leo, Ludwig’s grandson, a version of Stoppard himself.  It took me several minutes to realise this transformative actor had earlier been Fritz, such is his metamorphosis from one role to the next.  

Much of the humour is to be found in the year 1938 when one of the infant Merz’s is due to be circumcised.  The scene wouldn’t be that out of place in a farce, as a visiting lawyer is mistaken for the doctor who is due to carry out the procedure. By contrast, when the play moves onto the year 1938, just before Kristallnacht, there are no laughs, just the terrifying realisation of what is going to happen to the family. 

The play isn’t without its faults.  Stoppard imparts many fascinating insights and information regarding what it meant (and to some extend means) to be Jewish.  For the most part, this is done succinctly and fuels the plot rather than impedes it.  However, Ludwig, the mathematician of the family, and well played by Tom Stoppard’s son Ed (a relevant piece of casting) does get rather bogged down in slightly excessive explanation.  However, this is a very minor criticism.  If Leopoldstadt is this eighty-two year-old’s final play (and I very much hope that’s not the case) it is a worthwhile finale.

The Visit at The Olivier

Let’s get the negative out of the way first; The Visit currently playing at The Olivier, is too long and that’s even with half an hour lopped off the initial running time.  The main positive is that the wonderful Lesley Manville is in the title role.

Tony Kushner of Angels in America fame (amongst others) is responsible for adapting this play by Swiss playwright Friedrich Durrematt, whilst Jeremy Herrin is in charge of directing the huge cast.  Vicki Mortimer has designed the lavish set, Paul Constable is responsible for some stunning lighting and various other professionals ensure that the band, choir, dry ice, sumptuous costumes and on stage Ford Thunderbird produce a perfect all singing, all dancing production worthy of the vast Olivier stage.

Lesley Manville’s Claire Zachanassian, is the “richest woman in the world” who, in the mid 1950’s has returned to her hometown of Slurry, New York to seek revenge.  Slurry is dingy, dreary Hicksville, whilst its famous visitor has been ravaged by life and seven ex-husbands, resulting in (not necessarily from) metal legs, fake hand and an overwhelming desire to have her childhood sweetheart, Alfred III (Hugo Weaving), killed.  Unwilling to perform this murder herself, Zachanassian offers the town a billion dollars for one of its inhabitants to do the deed for her.  Slurry is on its uppers and any injection of cash would be more than welcome, but shopkeeper Alfred is a very popular member of the community, so how will the town’s residents react?  Will they be corrupted by the offer of bucket-loads of dollars?

Well, it seems that they will, ingratiating themselves as they do with their surprise visitor and then blithely buying on credit anything and everything in the certainty that Alfred will die.

The spending spree is comically presented, whilst the tender moments, thanks to the acting prowess of Manville and Weaving, are extremely powerful.  But it’s difficult to determine whether Kushner has intended the play to be based more on reality than surreality.  He is a playwright who loves excess and, unfortunately, each scene is excessively long.

That’s not to say that The Visit isn’t worth a visit and that’s not just to witness a sublime actress at work; whenever Manville is on stage, she is riveting to watch.  The opening scenes set at the train station are a coup de theatre. Thanks to masses of dry ice and superb sound effects, one can be forgiven for believing that the 10am express from New York has actually found its way onto the Olivier stage.    

Death of England at The Dorfman

Before I comment on the acting prowess of Rafe Spall, I need to pay tribute to his vocal chords.  They are stretched to capacity in his tour de force performance as Michael in Clint Dyer and Roy Williams’s new play The Death of England at The Dorfman.  Alone on a giant St George flag, designed by Sadeysa Greenaway-Bailey and Ultz, Spall never lets up.  When not yelling, sobbing, snorting, or babbling, he takes on the raspy voice of his late father or transforms into the Jamaican mother of his best friend, Delroy. This is a 100 minute monologue that takes no prisoners.

Michael’s father, a racist East End flower seller who voted to leave the EU, has just died.  His death occurred in the pub whilst watching England’s defeat to Croatia in the 2018 World Cup.  Rather an apt way to go, seeing as how his main passion was football or at least West Ham United.  And now Michael has to confront his dad’s death as well as his feelings towards him and towards himself.  For Michael has a very strong sense of self-loathing, not helped by the antagonism from his mother, sister and dear old dad.  Except he’s not sure if his dad was ever dear, his feelings for him veering from love to hate simultaneously.  Likewise his death elicits anger and sadness in equal measure. 

Michael deals with his loss and bewilderment at what to do next, all the while trying to process his inner feelings, by going on an uncontrollable rant.  However, there are quiet moments when this up for a laugh Essex boy tones down his toxic masculinity.  Amongst the props hidden in nooks and crannies around the set are biscuits, which he hands out to audience members, getting them onside by showing he’s an alright bloke.  But we’re aware that this wild, unfiltered, troubled soul could lose it at any minute.  He keeps us all on our toes.

Clint Dyer, the playwright, also directs and he is unflinching in highlighting contemporary racism and political unrest within our current fractured nation. Luckily he also imbues the piece with some sentiment and the phone recording of the dead man’s speech to Michael is very moving. 

There are times when Death of England appears to lose its way a little. But, no matter, the magnificent Spall ensures we don’t lose ours and he keeps us engrossed until the end.

The Welkin at The Lyttleton

Two great productions in quick succession but completely different.  But isn’t that what theatre is all about?

My second theatre trip in ten days was to The National’s Lyttleton to see Lucy Kirkwood’s new play, The Welkin.  Maybe it’s because I’m female and this play has fourteen female (fifteen if you include a child) characters and two token males that I enjoyed it so much?  That could have something to do with it, especially as one of the male characters isn’t allowed to speak during the majority of the play!  But it’s not the extent of it.  Lucy Kirkwood has the ability to tell a bloody good yarn and this play, which on the face of it, could be a gruelling two-and-a-bit hours, is, in fact a hugely entertaining tale.  A tale that highlights a poor woman’s existence all those years ago, but also gets us wondering whether for certain women today that existence has changed all that much.

The Welkin (an archaic word for sky or heavens) takes place in 1759, the year of Halley’s Comet, in a village on the Norfolk/Suffolk border. The drama centres around young Sally Poppy (Ria Zmitrowicz) who has been found guilty, with her lover, of murdering the eleven-year-old daughter of a rich local family.  In court she claimed to be pregnant and the only way she can escape the hangman’s noose is for this to be true.  It’s left for a jury of twelve matrons to decide whether or not this is the case.  Holed up in a room in the courthouse, overseen by the silent Mr Coombes (he is forbidden by law to speak to the women) they have to come to a decision and the only woman prepared to defend her is midwife, Elizabeth Luke played by Maxine Peake.

The play opens with the twelve women silhouetted in twelve square boxes of light, repeatedly carrying out their dull, back breaking household tasks, be it washing clothes, sewing linen or tending to children.  Designed by the talented Bunny Christie, these boxes and their inhabitants resemble an old Dutch painting and highlight the mundane existence of each and every woman.  No-one speaks, we just hear the noise of their labours and we’re in no doubt that the daily grind of these rural women is relentless.  Their summoning to court means some respite, although the male powers that be have a rule. The women will be refused food, drink and warmth whilst locked in the jury room, hopefully ensuring that they come to their decision quickly.

Lucy Kirkwood has given each juror their own particular voice, from the wonderful Cecilia Noble’s disapproving Emma, to the “nice but dim” Peg, hilariously played by Ayesha Kala whose main worry is getting her leeks planted.  Judith Brewer (Jenny Galloway) is suffering from hot flushes, whilst Helen Ludlow (Wendy Kweh) is barren. Haydn Gwynne is cast as Charlotte Cary, the well-spoken colonel’s widow and the only non-resident of the parish who is nominally put in charge.  Maxine Peake as the feminist Elizabeth is the voice of reason, often trying to make herself heard against the constant bickering and clashing of opinions.  She rails against the patriarchy and is incensed when the matrons think that having Sally examined by a male doctor is a good idea.  Meanwhile the accused keeps up a belligerent rant, entirely unrepentant of her crime and lashing out at everyone like a wild dog.  A motley crew, indeed, but with dialogue and opinions on a woman’s lot so well drawn that we laugh out loud and, all too often, find totally relatable.

The ensemble cast are all excellent.  Despite having the tricky part of playing the most earnest member of the jury, Maxine Peake does her usual excellent job of drawing us in and eliciting true emotion.  She is an extraordinary actress.  Ria Zmitrowicz, too, can’t be praised too highly.  Totally uninhibited, she has no worries that Sally has very few, if any, redeeming qualities.      

The one drawback is that the broad Norfolk accent the majority of the cast use is at times incomprehensible. This is especially true when Sally’s anger reaches its peak.  As a result, I did stumble over some key plot pointers.

The play may be “women heavy” but it’s James Macdonald as Director who is responsible for keeping the story continually captivating.  Although it doesn’t appear to be everyone’s cup of tea, for me, The Welkin is totally compelling and, at times, extremely funny.

Uncle Vanya at The Harold Pinter Theatre

There is much discussion as to whether or not Anton Chekhov’s full-length plays are comedies or tragedies.  A new adaptation of Uncle Vanya by the brilliant Conor McPherson, currently playing at The Harold Pinter Theatre, leaves us in no doubt that this particular play can be downright hilarious. Having Toby Jones and his exquisite timing in the title role helps.  Plus the fact that Ian Rickson directs. This version of the play about foolish characters living in their own little worlds, to the exclusion of all others, is laugh out loud funny, even if the laughter it elicits is often poignant and deeply felt.  McPherson is so adept at stripping back without taking away and this Uncle Vanya is much more accessible than most. Despite the Irishman’s use of contemporary language, Chekhov’s poetry still shines through and the odd swear word and use of slang never grates.

The scene is set right from the start thanks to Rae Smith’s perfectly realised plant encroaching drawing room on a crumbling country estate.  The estate has been satisfactorily run by Vanya and his niece Sonya (the excellent Aimee Lou Wood) but the arrival of her father, Professor Serebryakov (Ciaran Hinds) and his beautiful, but restless, new wife, Yelena (Rosalind Eleazar), has upset the apple cart. Vanya resents the professor, who was married to his late sister, and is totally smitten by Yelena.  He’s not the only one.  Regular visitor, Doctor Astrov (Richard Armitage) has also fallen under her spell, which is particularly upsetting for poor Sonya who is madly in love with him herself.  Unfortunately for her, he has no such feelings and there is a heart-breaking moment when he avoids the kiss she tries to deliver.  Thus the scene is set for trials and tribulations, exacerbated when Serebryakov announces his intention to sell the estate.

Although the laughter abounds, it’s not at the expense of the various characters’ emotions.  Yelena’s discontent and realisation that her marriage to a much older man was a tremendous mistake is keenly felt, thanks to Rosalind Eleazar’s subtle performance.  The scene where Serebryakov stops her piano playing is especially well handled.  Richard Armitage’s Astrov is suitably self- obsessed, whilst Ciaran Hinds’s ability to portray pomposity is put to full use.  Peter Wight, too, who never delivers a mediocre performance is the perfect old retainer Telegin as is Anna Calder-Marshall as Nana. 

But, it’s Toby Jones and Aimee Lou Wood who shine brightest.  I have to admit, that, apart from the fact that Conor McPherson has done the adaptation, it was the casting of Jones in the title role that prompted me to buy tickets back in September.  His lightness of touch and comedic skills make for a totally believable Vanya.  Everything that happens to this man suffering an existential crisis is perfectly feasible in his capable hands and he is irritating, pathetic and lovable in equal measure. It’s all done without a bucket load of sentiment, but you totally feel his longing and capability for deep emotions.   Likewise, Aimee Lou Wood is so good at portraying a lovelorn young girl and it’s all credit to her that her speech at the end of the play is touching rather than sentimentality over the top. 

As you may have gathered, this Uncle Vanya surpasses any others I have seen.  If you’re a lover of Chekhov, and even if you’re not, it’s a great night at the theatre.

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.