A Chorus of Disapproval at The Harold Pinter Theatre

The ingredients are there; a comedy by Alan Ayckbourn, Trevor Nunn directing and a potentially good cast, but somehow A Chorus of Disapproval at The Harold Pinter Theatre disappoints.  Whilst Rob Brydon, as Dafydd ap Llewellyn, the overbearing Welsh director of the Pendon Amateur Light Operatic Society, ticks all the boxes, it’s not quite enough to make this revival first class.  Perhaps it’s just that this company of professional actors don’t adequately portray a company of amateur ones.

The play revolves around Pendon’s production of The Beggar’s Opera and how life often imitates art.  The play opens with the recently widowed Guy Jones, played by Nigel Harman, shining as Macheath on stage but being extremely unpopular off.  As the play progresses we begin to understand why.  The nice guy, Guy, in his naivety, innocence and inability to say no, has become embroiled in concurrent affairs with two wives in the cast and is mistakenly believed to have insider details of a land deal being conducted by his multinational employer.  His rise in the Beggars Opera from the lowly part of Crook-Fingered Jack to the swashbuckling Macheath has less to do with his acting ability and more to do with various cast members taking him into their confidence over the land deal and a series of disasters within the company.   Rather than playing Guy as a timid, unlikely sex god who is as equally enthralled by Dafydd’s unhappy wife, Hannah, as he is the sexual predator Fay Hubbard, Nigel Harman portrays him as a shy but believable seducer.  Also Ashley Jensen’s Hannah, although on paper a polar opposite to Daisy Beaumont’s Fay, doesn’t come across as such here.  Yes, they are different, but the two actresses could very easily swap roles.  All of which seems to be a result of odd casting rather than performance.

Luckily Rob Brydon holds the whole show together and hits all the right notes whether his character is bossing the cast, earnestly urging them on, or slipping into a melancholic gloom as he reminisces about his time spent as a “professional”.  I also enjoyed the supporting roles of Enid Washbrook played by Teresa Banham, her husband, Ted, an excellent Matthew Cottle and Georgia Brown’s very sparky and aggressive Stage Manager Bridget Baines.

There are also no complaints about Robert Jones’ superb design, which flows seamlessly from village hall, to pub to house interiors and, although I was never helpless with laughter on Monday night, there were some very funny moments.  Just not as many as I hoped.

Scenes From An Execution at The Lyttleton

The title isn’t great and I wasn’t that keen to see Scenes from an Execution by the  irascible Howard Barker until I saw that Fiona Shaw was in the main role.  In reality the play is much better than I envisaged and Fiona Shaw is marvellous.

She plays Galactia, an artist, who has been commissioned by the Doge of Venice to paint a massive canvas celebrating the historic victory by the Venetians over the Turks at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571.  Unfortunately for the Doge and his cohorts, her vision of depicting the battle is decidedly different to theirs.  She paints a canvas showing the brutality, futility and, ultimately, denunciation of war, whereas they had envisaged a triumphal picture portraying a glorious conquest.  As a result, Galactia is thrown in gaol and her young lover, Carpeta, also an artist, although far less talented, betrays his love for her by agreeing to paint another version of the battle more in tune with what his clients require.  Fortunately her incarceration is short-lived, as is her liaison with Carpeta and, because he is not a particularly talented artist, the Venetian powers that be don’t want to exhibit his canvas either.  What to do now?  Their final decision would seem to illustrate Carpeta isn’t averse to compromise, as not only does she agree to dine with the Doge but does so wearing a dress with fastenings!

Up until this point, Fiona Shaw commands the Lyttleton stage with breast and often breasts free to do what they will.  Her loose fitting, grubby, open, short shirt leaves nothing to the imagination and she sketches various scenes for her painting with legs akimbo.  There is no doubt in anyone’s mind right from the beginning of the play that this female is one unconventional, earthy woman.  More of a man than her lover Carpeta will ever be.  I can see why this “ballsy” actress was cast in the role;  it would flaw a lesser one.
Meanwhile Tim McInnery makes the most wonderful Doge moving effortlessly from smarmy menace to all encompassing rage and Jamie Ballard is more than satisfactory as the weak but ambitious Carpeta. 

Hildegard Bechtler’s multi-level set works extremely well .  I say works, although on Press Night, it apparently didn’t work at all for about ten minutes.  No such excitement on the night I went and, from what I could see, no walkouts.  It amazes me why anyone would actually do that.  This may not be the greatest production ever seen at The Lyttleton but, unless one has an aversion to breasts and the rather risible sight of a wounded sailor with a bolt buried in his skull and intestines on display under his coat, it is certainly worth sitting through until the end.  Rather pretentious it maybe – why Gerrard McArthur’s narrator is called The Sketchbook is anyone’s guess – but I like the ingeniousness of installing him in a white box which descends from high up in the ceiling.  The Director, Tom Cairns, keeps the whole play moving along at a brisk pace and it asks the theatre goer some interesting questions about the power of art and the responsibility of the artist to portray the truth.

Berenice at The Donmar

Berenice by Jean Racine should be subtitled “I used to be indecisive but now I’m not so sure”, such is the should I, shouldn’t I dilemma facing the two male leads, Titus and Antiochus.  It’s rather fortuitous that this interpretation by Alan Hollinghurst is relatively short, 1 hour, 40 minutes to be precise, because by the end I didn’t really give a dam whether they did or not.  It’s not the fault of the actors, but of the play.  Racine himself wrote a preface stating that he thought it unnecessary for there to be blood and death in a tragedy, it is sufficient that the action is great, the actors are heroic and the passions are excited.  He felt that majestic sadness is the pleasure of tragedy.  That may be enough for some but I felt somewhat short changed.  There is certainly plenty of sadness on the present Donmar stage, with just one tiny glimmer of amusement but, I’m afraid no great denouement.

The plot, such is it is, is that Titus, on the recent death of his father, will now be Emperor of Rome.  As such, he feels unable to marry the love of his life, Berenice, Queen of Palestine, because the Romans won’t tolerate a foreign queen as Empress.  She must be banished.  Meanwhile she has another man madly in love with her, namely, Titus’s friend Atiochus.  Unfortunately Berenice doesn’t reciprocate his love and only has eyes and heart for Titus, all of which, understandably, makes for a very unhappy trio of characters.

There are positive aspects of this production apart from the excellent cast.  Alan Hollinghurst’s version has dispensed with the original Alexandrine couplets, instead using unrhymed pentameter.  The text is therefore presented in clear, simple language but, unfortunately, the whole piece is rather static.  Unusually for The Donmar, this production is staged in the round and the set by Lucy Osborne is intriguing.  A stage filled with sand, yet more sand drizzling down from the lighting rig and stairs and bridge as if made from wooden chairs.  I am assuming the trickling sand is a metaphor for time running out for Berenice and her two ardent suitors and despite it being a tricky surface on which to work it is a very interesting interpretation.  The Roman costumes also work well and Anne Marie Duff as the barefooted Berenice sporting waist length blonde tresses and a red sheath dress is most becoming.

The actors bring believable and recognisable emotion to the play, especially Anne Marie Duff.  Her Berenice has a wealth of feeling from genuine warmth and palpable love when she wraps Titus in her arms, to almost controlled fury when she learns that his marrying her will not be politically correct.  Furthermore her reaction on discovering it really is the end and she isn’t going spend the rest of her life with Titus is heart breaking to watch.  Stephen Campbell Moore as Titus fairs almost as well, although I did lose concentration during some of his longer speeches, due I think to his slight sing songy approach to the text.  I preferred Dominic Rowan’s Antiochus and felt quite moved during one of his declamations of love for Berenice, especially when a tear trickled down his ruddy cheeks.

My main thought on leaving the Donmar on Monday evening was that I’m really not in tune with Josie Rourke’s choice of production for my favourite London theatre.  If the play is hardly ever staged or rather obscure she’s in favour of putting it on, if not, forget it.  That’s all well and good but sometimes popular and straightforward are acceptable  I can only hope that her choice of The Weir for next season is a sign of the new times to come.

Twelfth Night at The Globe

-->
Despite feeling decidedly unwell during the first forty-five minutes of Twelfth Night at The Globe and therefore not really concentrating on what was happening on stage during that time, I still rave about the production.  No wonder Sonia Friedman is transferring this and Richard III to The Apollo Theatre in a few weeks time.  Not only because it gives the chance for many more to see the master, that is Mark Rylance at work, but also to watch Stephen Fry in his role of Malvolio.  After all, Mr. Fry’s last foray onto the stage culminated in him doing a runner after only one week, citing depression and doubt. No wonder he breathed a sigh of relief on Twitter after the first preview of this latest showing of Shakespeare's excellent comedy.

He is brave to tread the boards once more, especially playing a character who seems slightly unhinged at times and I applaud him for that and for the fact that he portrays the self important Malvolio really well indeed.  This is an extremely funny Twelfth Night, not least when Mr. Fry comes on stage absurdly attired in very bright yellow stockings, cross gartered and with a gurning grin in exchange for his earlier lugubrious expression.  Laughter continues throughout his disastrous wooing of his mistress, Olivia (the magnificent Rylance, who is reprising the role he last played ten years ago).  This is, again, an all male production but such is the expertise of the whole cast that one never believes there are no females gliding around the Globe stage.  And I do mean gliding!  Especially adept at portraying feminine wiles is Paul Chahidi as Maria, whilst Johnny Flynn’s Viola is excellent and the white faced Mark Rylance is never less than superb.  The vision of his Olivia doing three point turns whenever she has to sit down is worth the ticket price alone.  I found myself longing for him to come back on stage. Also worth a special mention are Samuel Barnett as Sebastian, Liam Brennan as Orsino and Colin Hurley as Sir Toby Belch.

Director Tim Carroll has once again produced a superb period-dress revival, which, as with his equally wonderful Richard III, culminates in the cast showing off their dancing skills.  Please note that  Mark Rylance can even dance like a woman!  Even though the play is over long, thanks in part to James Garnon’s Feste breaking into song more often than I remember, this is yet another play not to be missed.  So much so, I’ve just booked to see it again in the West End.  Fingers crossed I’m fit and well so as not to miss all the bits of business from the cast I failed to take on board this time round. 

Hedda Gabler at The Old Vic

-->
Sheridan Smith is everywhere at the moment and I can see why she’s every Casting Director’s pick.  A chameleon actress, she is as believable as the “tart with a heart” as she is General Gabler’s daughter in the Old Vic’s production of Hedda Gabler.  This is a version by Brian Friel and it is imbued with much humour, especially in the first act.  Although I applaud any play that mixes tragedy with humour (after all there is comedy to be found in virtually any situation) there was the odd moment on Monday night when I felt Mr. Friel strayed a little bit into the modern day, especially when Judge Brack, convincingly played by Darrell D’Silva, broke into his Americanisms.  But that’s a minor bitch at what is, on the whole, an excellent interpretation of one of Ibsen’s famous plays.

Sheridan Smith’s Hedda comes across right from the start as rather unpleasant and a difficult woman with which to empathise.  Her new husband, George Tesman, brilliantly brought to life by the wonderful Adrian Scarborough, is a far more sympathetic character in this production by Anna Mackmin.  Irritating, yes, but devoted to his new bride and generous to a fault when it comes to her wants and needs.  He is also incredibly funny and the scene where he goes into raptures about his embroidered slippers is absolutely hilarious.  Unfortunately his warmth and intelligence is so not enough for the discontented Hedda.  She often treats him with palpable dislike and so believable is Sheridan Smith that I often found myself wincing at her behaviour towards him.  Having perfected little knowing smiles that not so much hint of sarcasm as shout it from the hilltops, she keeps us in no doubt that this lady knows what she’s doing and is very much intent upon doing it.  Meanwhile her attitude towards Tesman’s Aunty Ju-Ju (the always excellent Anne Reid) and Bertha the maid (Buffy Davis) is one of malevolent disdain.  This schoolgirl bully hasn’t learnt that that type of behaviour is unacceptable.

A contemporary from school, Thea Elvsted (excellently brought to life by Fenella Woolgar) fares no better at the hands of this Hedda Gabler and one almost expects her to reprise the role of hair pulling school girl from hell at any moment during their conversations.  Thea’s nervous anxiety whilst in Hedda’s company is touchingly real, although there is more to this independent “wronged” woman than meets the eye and this becomes apparent at the end of the play.

As a result of this, I find it hard to reconcile this Hedda as a victim, trapped in a suffocating marriage to a man she doesn’t love.  How does such a forceful character allow herself to accept the hand of a man so obviously unsure of women in general and Hedda in particular?  But then her father, whose portrait looms large in the middle of Lez Brotherston’s magnificent set, is obviously a dominating force, introducing his young daughter to guns and horses at a very young age but, arguably very little else.  Perhaps he had a hand in orchestrating her doomed marriage?  Maybe she was pregnant?  The reason is not made clear.  What is clear though is that Sheridan Smith does excellently convey signs of Hedda’s regret at the behaviour she is unable to curtail, whilst the tears she sheds when Tesman rejoices the news of her pregnancy are so, so real.

A more obvious source for her affection is the love of Thea’s life, Tessman’s academic rival, Eilert Loevborg (Daniel Lapaine).  A reformed alcoholic, thanks to the love and attention of Mrs. Elvsted, his meeting with Hedda after a long lapse is one of repressed emotion.  Whether sincere or not, we’re certainly left with the impression that his subsequent demise, ultimately engineered by Hedda, is the result of the latter’s jealousy at his relationship with her married friend.

Lez Brotherston’s set with it’s enormous glass walls and billowing curtains and Mark Henderson’s lighting which brilliantly evokes sunshine that is rarely allowed to permeate the gloom of this unhappy home all help to convey impending doom.  When the disaster arrives, we’re left in no doubt as to what has happened.  No off- stage death in this different, but ultimately satisfying production of Hedda Gabler.

Philadelphia Here I Come at The Donmar

Brian Friel’s 1964 play, Philadelphia Here I Come is currently playing at The Donmar and it is a particularly satisfying production. 

The play explores the dilemma facing young Gar O’Donnell; he wants to leave the confines of the parochial small town, Ballybeg, to experience the bright lights and new challenges of the US, but has reservations.  How can he leave without some kind of sign that his undemonstrative father/employer will not only miss his son but also has some measure of love for him.  In fact, if only he would plead with Gar not to go.  He also has to say goodbye to the old family retainer, Madge, who has effectively been the mother figure since the death of his real ma, and his old girlfriend who he has loved and lost to someone else.  The atmosphere in the O’Donnell household is one of repressed emotion.  No one says what they really mean.  In fact they hardly say anything at all, apart from the old man’s litany of banal phrases.  And as for human emotion, forget it.  Gar himself (or at least the public Gar) is equally culpable, but the clever Brian Friel enables us to glimpse the boy’s true feelings by also giving us the private Gar.  This works particularly well as the two actors, identically dressed, perfectly portray the two-sides of the twenty-five year old and Friel has them constantly shuffling the two roles, at times resembling a tennis rally.  We also realise Mr. O’Donnell does do emotion when he opens up slightly to Madge.  If only he was able to do the same to his son.

Gar’s poignant relationship with his silent and be-suited Da, is masterfully played by both Paul Reid and James Hayes.  Their fractured relationship is terribly moving and there was an audible sigh from the audience when the father doesn’t remember an incident in his son’s childhood when the two of them seemed to actually have some kind of close relationship.

The whole cast work extremely well together, but I particularly enjoyed Benny Young’s Canon Mick O’Byrne and Julia Swift as Gar’s Aunt, Lizzy Sweeney.  Her and her husband visit Ballybeg and she’s the one who sows the seeds of Gar’s escape.  Childless and living in Philadelphia, she is desperate for a son, even if he’s the son of her dead sister.  A special mention should also be made of the superb job Valerie Lilley does in playing the equally repressed Madge and Rory Keenan in bringing Gar’s inner voice to life with verve, bubbling anger and no small amount of wit.  In fact both Paul Reid and Rory Keenan are the perfect double act and help to make this production so delicately moving.  Anyone who has lost a parent or has one to whom they’ve never got through, will have their emotions particularly stirred.  All credit to the Director, Lyndsey Turner.

The staging of the play is also impeccable with a very clever design by Rob Howell illustrating the O’Donnell’s business by showing rows of household knick-knacks and groceries and clever lighting by Tim Lutkin.  In fact his lighting is shown to brilliant effect at the end of the play when it is used to emulate an aircraft taking off.  The question is “is Gar on board?”

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time at The Cottesloe

Whoops, I seem to be waxing lyrical about nearly everything, but I’ve been lucky enough to see some wonderful productions just lately, most of them staged at The National.  The Cottesloe’s latest offering keeps up the momentum.  The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, Mark Haddon’s wonderful book, has been lovingly and cleverly adapted for the stage by Simon Stephens.  

I, like countless others, so enjoyed reading the book and was “curious” to see how it would morph into a play.  Thanks to Bunny Christie’s very clever design, Marianne Elliott’s directorial flair and Luke Treadaway’s magnificent portrayal of Christopher Boone, a 15-year-old with behavioural problems (Mark Haddon regrets the phrase ‘Asperger Syndrome’ in his novel) we are treated to a superb theatrical experience.
Walking into the Cottesloe space each time is an experience in itself, as one never knows how it will be configured.  With Curious Incident the action takes place in a sunken, lit square, covered with a grid-like pattern resembling graph paper and bordered by low boxes on which the actors sit when not part of the action.  The one actor who never takes advantage of this is Luke Treadaway, who is the action ….. always.  He is a revelation, drawing the audience completely into his world and making us believe wholeheartedly that he is Christopher Boone. His total concentration, whether in assembling his train set or resolutely telling the truth no matter what, his oh so real epileptic fit and tangible horror at not wanting to be touched moved me as much as I’ve ever been moved in the theatre.   

The production stays faithful to the book and captures the insight and humanity of the original by using various theatrical techniques.  Siobhan (the always watchable Niamh Cusack), a sympathetic teacher at Christopher’s special school, reads aloud parts of the story Christopher has written, starting from his Holmes-like investigation into who killed Wellington, a neighbour’s dog and ending with his travelling to London to find his mother.  Christopher’s obsession with mathematics and love of the night sky, is brilliantly reflected, not only in the floor’s grid patterns, but also in Paul Constable’s wonderful lighting.  And his utter confusion when confronted with the hustle and bustle of London life is beautifully conveyed by the Movement Directors, Scott Graham and Steven Hoggett for Frantic Assembly.  Such is the inventiveness and skill of all concerned that, although the set consists solely of white boxes – oh yes, and a train set - the audience has no problem seeing, amongst other things, the neighbourhood gardens, Christopher hiding on top of a pile of luggage on a train and standing on the edge of a tube platform (the floor cleverly opens up to suggest the electric tube rails).  If the applause is anything to go by, everyone watching was as totally transfixed as myself.

The entire cast are exemplary but I especially enjoyed Paul Ritter’s portrayal of Ed, Christopher’s quick tempered, but ultimately loving father and Nicola Walker as his flawed mother, Judy.  Also, unlike various critics, I wasn’t put off by the appearance of the aahhh factor hidden in a cardboard box.  I was captivated way before the furry, four-legged cast member made its appearance and needed no manipulation to praise this production to the hilt.  It is wonderful.  Oh yes and apparently I'm special as my name equals a prime number;  I shall treasure my prize!!