Port at The Lyttleton

Port at The Lyttleton

Kate O’Flynn is the best thing about Port.  That’s not to say that the play isn’t great, because once you’re tuned in and inured to the relentless swearing of each and every character, Port is a realistic if brutal portrayal of life in Stockport in the late eighties and nineties.  It’s just that Miss O’Flynn, whilst staying on stage for the entire two and half hours, delivers a performance of outstanding quality and depth.  And no wonder Port delivers a realistic and honest representation of this northern town situated to the south east of Manchester, as both the playwright, Simon Stephens, and the director, Marianne Elliott, grew up here.

Port centres around Kate O’Flynn’s character, Rachael Keats, who we first see as an eleven-year-old sitting in the passenger seat of an old car alongside her mother, Christine, played by Liz White and with six-year-old brother, Billy (Mike Noble) trying to sleep in the back.  They have been locked out of their home by what Rachael describes as their “dead weird” and it transpires, difficult and violent father.  Rachael has a premonition that her cigarette smoking mother is about to abandon them and she couldn’t be more correct, because Rachael’s next scene takes place in the cafeteria of the local hospital and we get to meet Jonathan Keats (Jack Deam) who is now in sole charge.  What follows is an episodic account of Rachael’s adolescence, incorporating her concern for the wayward Billy and marriage to a mirror image of her father (clever touch here, as Jack Deam plays both parts, illustrating how history tends to repeat itself) each period infused with an optimistic slant that life will get better and she will escape.  The final scene transports us back to the car, this time with a twenty-four year old Rachael in the driving seat and Billy beside her.  They’re staring up at their childhood home.  Some things never change, except that this time maybe they will.

All the actors portray their characters with conviction, but Jack Deam is especially menacing as both father and husband.  The scene in the hotel when he and Rachael have a marital row brought on by his jealous paranoia is particularly disturbing.  Mike Noble likewise makes an excellent older Billy, although his portrait of the boy as a child is less believable.  The old adage of “less is more” would work better.  The other top class performance is by Chris Bennett, playing the love of Rachael’s life, Danny.  He has a determination to do the right thing and the effect is extremely moving.

The play was first staged in the round at Manchester’s Royal Exchange in 2002, which has to be a totally different space to the vastness of The National’s Lyttleton Theatre.  Perhaps a more intimate setting would suit the play better, although somehow the enormous Lyttleton stage seems to accentuate the isolation of the characters in their concrete environment. Add to this the soundtrack of songs from the era and the play, although tending towards bleakness, also has a strangely poetic resonance. 

Cocktail Sticks plus People at The Lyttleton

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Privates on Parade at The Noel Coward Theatre

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

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

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

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

The Effect at The Cottesloe

This time around, The Cottesloe has been transformed into a private clinic.  Except it isn’t a normal clinic but one where they carry out drug trials.  As I overheard a lady saying during the interval, why would anyone put themselves through such a thing, especially when the play write, Lucy Prebble, of Enron fame, eloquently shows us what can go wrong.  Of course this is fiction, but fiction of the powerful kind that makes one think about the subject long after the viewing has ended.

This particular drug trial is concerned with finding a cure for depression and Billie Piper, playing a psychology student called Connie and Jonojo O’Neill as Tristan, a laid back Northern Irish drifter, are two of the guinea pigs.  Their mutual attraction is apparent from the onset of the play and they constantly flirt with one another.  The two trialists are under the constant supervision of medic, Lorna, played by a nervy, humourless Anastasia Hille, who, in turn, reports back to the smug, self-important Doctor Toby played by Tom Goodman-Hill.  It is evident quite early on that these two doctors have a history, which has left Lorna less than happy with its outcome.

Having passed the preliminaries, Connie and Tristan are accepted onto the trial and so they begin a course of daily doses of a dopamine based antidepressant.  As the trial progresses, their dosage is increased and what started out as mutual infatuation, turns into full-blown feverish love.  But is the love real or the result of them taking the drug?  Come to that is one of them actually only ingesting a placebo and, if so, which one?  And, in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter if the couple cannot altogether trust their feelings, given that brain chemicals are what make us fall for one another in the first place?  All questions that make you think whilst watching the four actors faultlessly portray their characters.

There is one scene that for me is the highlight of an otherwise nearly perfect play.  Tristan and Connie have escaped the “big brother” atmosphere of the main clinic and find themselves in a large, unused room.  Here, Tristan courts a more cautious Connie by doing an impromptu tap dancing routine to the strains of I’ve Got You Under My Skin.  The wooing is so successful that the growing intensity of their feelings for one another is palpable and I’m sure I won’t be the only female that is likewise charmed. 

Their growing love affair is cleverly balanced by the very unsuccessful relationship between the two Doctors.  It transpires that Lorna who is skeptical about the use of anti-depressants actually drove Toby away because she herself suffers from depression.

The four actors cannot be faulted.  Billie Piper and Jonjo O’Neill are superb and compliment each other perfectly.  One totally believes in their burgeoning love affair as surely as one cannot imagine Tom Goodman-Hill playing anything other than super-smug.  And surely Anastasia-Hille really does have depression problems?  As despair threatens to overcome her character, Lorna, she manages to seemingly bring a corpse-like intensity to her complexion.  Meanwhile Mirian Buether’s design perfectly portray the luxuriousness of the private clinic, whilst, when required, Jon Clark’s lighting imparts an unreal calm and Rupert Goold’s direction is spot on.

This is a play to make you think and enjoy in equal measure.

Uncle Vanya at The Vaudeville Theatre

On paper this production of Uncle Vanya, translated by Christopher Hampton, should be excellent.  Lindsay Posner directing the stellar cast of Ken Stott, Anna Friel and Samuel West and Christopher Oram designing was, in my view, a must see.   So, it’s odd that I left the theatre last week feeling, to a large extent, unmoved.

Ken Stott is his usual watchable self as Vanya and conveys very well his frustrations at his unrequited love for Anna Friel’s Yelena.  She, in turn, makes a very beautiful, doll-like Yelena and expertly captures her own frustrations at being married to the much older Serebryakov.  The male eye candy of the piece, Doctor Astrov, is a wonderfully brooding, dashing Samuel West, who is emotionally scarred.  The only thing capable of eliciting his passion is the subject of trees!  Yes, he fancies Yelina but doesn’t care about her and is totally dismissive of the lovelorn Sonya.  Her fate is that of Vanya, a life filled with regret at what could have been.  Laura Carmichael plays her adequately enough, although her whiney voice does grate after a while.

This is a witty version of one of Chekhov’s most famous plays and it does have its moments.  What doesn’t help raise it to more than a capable production are the long scene changes.  A bus can be driven through the end of Act I and beginning of Act II.  The curtain stayed down for so long the night I went that we, the audience, were palpably embarrassed, especially on realising that the long wait isn’t actually worth it.  One exquisitely aged and distressed setting in the Russian dacha has been replaced by another one. 

I’m glad I’ve seen this version of Chekhov’s story of regrets, resentment and lost dreams, but, surprisingly it doesn’t bring anything new.  Competent but nothing more.

The Magistrate at The Lyttleton

This latest production of The Magistrate now showing at The Olivier includes more than a hint of Gilbert and Sullivan and I for one am rather glad.  This farce penned by the Victorian playwright Arthur Wing Pinero, although amusing, isn’t exactly side splitting and the musical interludes performed by a brightly costumed, be-wigged chorus makes the whole evening much more interesting.  Whereas a typical French farce involves a large helping of sex, Pinero’s English equivalent is a little more staid.  The plot revolves around the widowed Agatha Posket, who, after marrying a respected magistrate, knocks five years off her age.  As a result, she is forced to pretend that her son, Cis, is 14 years old, when he is actually nearly twenty.  All well and good, except that Cis is not in on her fib and smokes, gambles and flirts;  not the sort of behavior one expects from a school boy, which, of course, leads to much confusion.  The poor unsuspecting magistrate gets embroiled in one of Cis’s excursions to a shady hotel and chaos ensues.  There are several “Give Us A Clue” innuendos, which, allow the audience a chuckle or two, but this rather tame and, at times, irritating play, is never hilarious. 

The actors equip themselves very well, although I did find the casting of John Lithgow as Posket rather odd.  He is undoubtedly an excellent actor but here he seems ill at ease and rather labored and somehow doesn’t capture that particularly British pompousness which is needed to highlight the magistrate’s eventual loss of dignity.  His wife, however, is played to perfection by Nancy Carroll and she, for me, is the best thing about the evening.  Although bad tempered and cross, she also manages to be convincingly touching and human.  Plaudits, must also go to Joshua McGuire playing the frisky Cis, who with his erect ginger quiff ensures that the innuendo is expertly delivered and Jonathan Coy as Colonel Lukyn in a permanent state of puffed up fury.

Richard Stilgoe’s lyrics are excellent and I very much enjoyed Katrina Lindsay’s pop-up design.  It’s cleverness is almost a show in itself.

Enjoyable, but not amazing Christmas fare.

Constellations at The Duke of York's

Constellations at The Duke of Yorks

I was gutted to miss out on seeing Constellations during its run at The Royal Court, so was thrilled when I heard of its transfer to The West End.  Everything I read about the play had a positive slant and, quite rightly, as it is excellent, due in no small way to the brilliant casting of Rafe Spall and Sally Hawkins playing Roland and Marianne.

The theme of the play, is a theoretical branch of physics that suggests we may actually be living in one of many universes which are co-existing simultaneously.  Difficult to understand, yet alone portray on stage with just two actors.  Yet, the playwright, Nick Payne, manages it and manages it extremely well.  What seems mighty confusing at the beginning of the play gradually makes sense during the 70 minutes running time and, luckily for me, who found Physics quite a challenge at school, it’s not an over the top exploration of Quantum Theory and Quantum Mechanics.

Roland is an ordinary, diffident bloke making the rather extraordinary living of keeping bees, whilst Marianne is an irrepressible and effusive quantum physicist.  They couldn’t be more different, but when they meet at a barbeque, the attraction is mutual and they start a relationship.  At least they may do.  In a parallel universe they meet and immediately part. And this is how the play moves forward.  A scene is played, the lights flicker a bit, the action freezes and then the scene is repeated.  Only this time their reactions change, different words are used and the outcome is slightly different.  This happens at least once more before the story moves forward and the relationship between Roland and Marianne develops.

Hooked?  On paper the repetitive nature of the play doesn’t sound terribly appealing but in reality it is wonderfully clever and extremely appealing.  Due to the excellence of the two actors we the audience care about the outcome of their love affair.  We want a happy ever after but are never sure if we get it.  The play is humorous, sad, touching and thought provoking with the audience not only wondering how on earth “the actors remember their lines” but how they manage to cope with multiple versions of multiple scenes which only vary very slightly.  They are nothing short of inspirational.

Michael Longhurst, the director, keeps everything tightly focused and expertly timed, whilst Tom Stutt’s design of white balloons, strings hanging down onto the bare space of the stage is as evocative as Simon Slater’s sound and Lee Curran’s lighting design.

Well worth the wait.