Richard III at Trafalgar Studios

You wouldn’t necessarily think of Martin Freeman when casting the part of Richard III, but Jamie Lloyd did and it turns out to be a pretty good decision.  He may not be your usual Richard, an obvious villain from the onset, but he does exude a sinister presence.  Cruelty comes in many guises and sometimes the most deadly is disguised behind a veneer of supposed bonhomie.  His psychotic tendencies build to a crescendo once he is crowned king and his lengthy doing away with Lady Anne using a telephone cord, shows he is capable of anything.

Yes, a telephone cord, for this adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s early plays is set in a conference room in the 1970’s, during an imagined military coup.  Our actual Winter of Discontent to be exact.  A clever concept, but the setting of which does present logistical problems, especially during the battle scene.  For the actors continually have to negotiate Soutra Gilmour’s design of desks, swivel chairs and all the other necessary office paraphernalia.  The unlawful killings, of which there are many, for the most part work in this mundane environment.  Drowning the Duke of Clarence in the office fish tank, and various strangulations ending up strewn over the melamine desks work fine.  It is the Battle of Bosworth Field where the set comes unstuck.  There is something rather comical about men doing battle in an enclosed office space.

I also have some difficulty with Maggie Steed’s Queen Margaret.  Her various curses are often accompanied by strange goings-on in the electrical department, with lights fusing and the lift developing a mind of its own.  All very ingenious, but the juxtaposition between the handbag wielding senior office worker and mad old crone, whilst well acted, is very disjointed.

Martin Freeman, on the other hand, is perfectly suited to this office environment.  After all he first came to our attention in a paper merchants office in Slough.  However he has come a long way since then, proving himself to be an actor of some calibre.  It is quite a feat to make this well known Shakespearian character something completely different.  His plotting is done internally, with just a hint of what’s going on under the surface.  He may be a be-suited unassuming bureaucrat, but the odd sardonic smile and flashes of unrivalled cruelty alert us to the fact that this Duke of York is capable of anything.  There is humour, too, understated and sometimes visual, whilst many of his speeches are littered with long pauses for dramatic and often, comic effect.


Gina McKee, always worth watching, doesn’t disappoint here as Queen Elizabeth.  She conveys a quiet dignity that doesn’t hide her grief at the death of her beloved sons.

Whilst this isn’t a great production of Richard III it is certainly a very good one and, if it attracts the younger audience that Jamie Lloyd intends, one which is very worthwhile.  I only wish I could have witnessed Shakespeare tackled this way when I was a student.

Skylight at Wyndhams Theatre

Just when I think I’ve seen the production of all productions another one comes along, which is better.  I’m talking about the wonderful David Hare’s play Skylight now playing at Wyndhams Theatre.  I knew it would be good.  I love Bill Nighy, Carey Mulligan and the playwright but I had no idea how good.  It is one of those rare evenings that you don’t want to end and feel so honoured to be witnessing a near perfect production.

Stephen Daldry directs this revival of Skylight, which was first staged at the National Theatre in 1995 and how brilliantly he does so.  The two hours spent in the company of Bill Nighy, Carey Mulligan and, briefly, Matthew Beard are two hours of absolute joy, such is the believability of their relationships and honesty of their performances.  So real are the goings-on on stage that at times it feels wrong to be witnessing their emotional turmoil.
Written during the Thatcher years, Skylight highlights the two worlds of have’s and have-nots.  Carey Mulligans Kyra Hollis is in her late twenties and teaching maths in a strapped for cash East End school.  Her home is a grotty council flat, a far cry from her privileged upbringing and the six years she spent with Bill Nighy’s Tom Sergeant.  Tom is an extremely successful restaurateur, for whom Kyra started working aged eighteen.  Her work life spilled out into her social one when she stayed with and befriended Tom and his family, eventually becoming his lover.  This passionate affair only came to an end when Tom’s wife discovered what was going on prompting Kyra to disappear and re-invent herself as a reactionary to all ‘the right-wing f***ers’ who belittle teachers and social workers.  She spends her days teaching disadvantaged children and her nights being holed up in the type of accommodation in which they would live.

Skylight plays out during one winter’s night, three years after the death of Tom’s wife.  Kyra, about to get into a hot bath, as an antidote to her freezing cold flat, is visited by Edward Sergeant, Tom’s teenage son, all lanky limbs and awkwardness, wonderfully realised by Matthew Beard.  It is immediately evident whose son he is, with his quirky mannerisms and unconscious tics and there is a genuine warmth between him and Kyra.  Even though he only top and tails the play, Edward is an essential ingredient and his thoughtful gesture at the end, is a joy.

It’s a night for visitors as, following the departure of Edward, his father arrives, sad, guilty and hell bent on winning back the love of his life.  But does she want to return to his life of privilege, or is she content with her ‘sackcloth and ashes’ existence in Kensal Rise?  For the remainder of the play we are privy to the couple’s arguments, insults and, above all love.  For there is no doubt that they still love one another.  The writing highlights this but also the chemistry between Nighy and Mulligan.  He may look older than David Hare intended, she younger, but there is no doubting that the age gap means nothing.  One of the main reasons for their separation continuing even though Tom is now single is time.  Kyra has moved on and whether her decision to ‘rough it’ is based on genuine idealism or her way of assuaging her guilt at their affair, it seems there is no going back. Or is there?  Throughout there are glimpses that she maybe succumbing to Tom’s obvious charms, giving the play a will they, won’t they feel to it.  It’s not for me to provide the answer.

Bill Nighy is a physical presence on stage, compared to Carey Mulligan’s stillness, but both are exemplary.  The sharp suited Nighy prowls and performs dance-like moves (several with a chair), whilst veering between grief, rage and tenderness in equal measure.  He is also wonderfully funny, speaking Hare’s fantastic dialogue as only Bill Nighy can.  You hang onto every word, mesmerised.  Meanwhile Mulligan more than holds her own, but in her own still, self possessed way.  There is no doubting her passion, and the moments when she recollects happy times is so painful to watch.  That she loves the older man, despite his many faults is never in question.  That’s not to say that Kyra isn’t capable of anger and her flinging of the cutlery drawer is as spontaneous a show of anger as can be found in any theatre .  Kyra may verge on the irritating, Tom on the controlling but both are real.  David Hare has not only written a political play but a passionate one about love and loss.  We’ve all been there, we all recognise the emotions being played out in front of us.

Not only are the actors at the top of their game.  Director Stephen Daldry, Designer Bob Crowley and Sound Designer Paul Arditti cannot be faulted.  The inside of Kyra’s council flat is perfection, with a water heater that has a life of its own.  Not only that but Bob Crowley has created a backdrop of the outside of matching dingy apartments with Edward and Tom coming and going along what is obviously the ubiquitous outside corridor.  The credibility of such a council estate is cemented by the constant muted sounds of the life outside;  dog barking, child crying, cars coming and going. 

What more can I say, other than that I would love to see Skylight again and again and again. It is perfection.

The Crucible at The Old Vic

The Crucible at The Old Vic

I have seen many productions of Arthur Miller’s superb play, The Crucible, and none have moved me in the way Yael Farber’s offering does.  Everything conspires to turn this account of the Salem witchhunt into the thriller it should be.  From the inspired choice of performing it in the round, drawing in the audience from all sides, to Tim Lutkin’s murky lighting and the spine tingling opening, ensures that the tension is heightened from the word go.  It may last for an extraordinary three and a half hours, but not once does the director lose her grip by letting the tension and oppressive atmosphere lax. 
Arthur Miller wrote the play in the 1950’s as an allegory of McCarthyism, when the US government blacklisted accused communists.  It centres around the Salem witch trials that took place in Massachusetts during 1692 and 1693. 

A god-fearing community is left reeling when several of their young girls are rumoured to be dancing naked in the woods alongside Reverend Parris’s Barbadian slave, Tituba.  Hysteria rises when his, supposedly sick daughter, Betty, is accused of witchcraft.  If she is guilty of such a crime, then the majority of the local girls and women could be too. The main protagonist to all these shenanigans is Abigail Williams who, as a woman scorned, has a hidden agenda.  It transpires that local farmer, John Proctor, had an affair with the young Abigail whilst she worked for him and his then, sick, wife, Elizabeth.  He realises immediately what a mistake he has made, but has no idea at first as to what extent.  Not only is his marriage threatened but eventually his life.

I really cannot fault any performance in this spine tingling production.  The young girls are choreographed to within an inch of their lives.  Frequently speaking as one, writhing and shaking their long hair in unison, screeching and howling, they are a creepy tour de force.  Sitting in the front row, I was transfixed and for a split second wondered if indeed the devil was at work.  This aspect of the play can often seem contrived and embarrassing, but not here. 

 it isn’t all noise and hysteria.  The scene between the brooding hulk, John Proctor (an excellent Richard Armitage), and his wife, Elizabeth (Anna Madeley) is touchingly quiet and still.  Much is said without speech and they portray the wronged wife and guilty husband magnificently.  Their love for one another is never in question and totally affirmed in the final few moments of the play when they embrace for the final time.  Anna Madeley’s dignity is in such sharp contrast to Samantha Colley’s immoral Abigail and all credit to them both.  It is Samantha’s professional stage debut and will surely not be her last.  She is bewitching and my, how you dislike her.  It does seem churlish to single out individual performances but Adrian Schiller as the Reverend John Hale was excellent.  His realisation that justice has definitely not been done is beautifully portrayed.  And Natalie Gavin does an exquisite job playing the terrified Mary Warren.  Her fear of the very scary Abigail is extremely credible.

At times, the shouting can be overused, but this doesn’t detract from the fact that The Old Vic has done it again.  This Crucible is electrifying and because I was so gripped by the happenings on the almost bare, shadowy lit space in front of me, the long running time didn’t matter one jot.

Hotel at The Shed

Polly Stenham is becoming renowned for portraying the modern dysfunctional middle class family.  However her new play, Hotel, now premiering at The Shed, turns this scenario into something rather more terrifying.

House husband, Robert, and Vivienne, his high flying wife, along with their 17 year old son, Ralph and 14 year old daughter, Frankie, have just arrived on a remote, luxury resort somewhere off the coast of Kenya.  The trip has been organised because Vivienne has been forced to resign her post as a secretary for trade because Robert has been caught on the internet with “his trousers down”.  Having sacrificed his career to look after the children, whilst his wife pursues hers, he harbours nearly as much resentment as she does following his stupidity.  Not a harmonious start to a holiday by any stretch of the imagination. The two teenage children are more than aware of what is going on, with their behaviour belying their years and Ralph has promised Frankie he will share a dark secret with his father.  More tension building stuff.  We are certainly in thriller territory here and the disquiet wracks up and up until it blows into something extraordinary.

I don’t want to give too much away except to say that Nala, the black maid, who has us all wondering almost as soon as she appears on stage, harbours even more resentment than the warring couple.  This rancour is directed mainly towards Vivienne and her signing of aid deals affecting the Kenyan flower industry and builds to a destructive climax.  Included in this is a most vicious kicking, which in the small space of The Shed, is really shocking, especially as it is accompanied by real howls of pain and fear.  Not easy viewing by any means, especially when viewed from the front row

And that for me is one of the problems of this play.  Whilst the acting is, for the most part exemplary, the hell this family find themselves in does appear contrived.  Not because we can’t believe such a thing could happen, but by the way it does.  The whole thing appears studied and it’s difficult to ascertain why.  Maybe its because the dialogue at this point in the play shifts from realistic exchanges between the family into short bursts of almost rhetorical speeches on behalf of Nala.

Tom Rhys Harries is a superb Ralph and his relationship with Frankie, the excellent Shannon Tarbet, is utterly believable.  Hermione Gulliford and Tom Beard playing Vivienne and Robert are equally good, whilst Susan Wokoma’s Nala has her moments of excellence.  I totally believed she was suffering excruciating pain.
Naomi Dawson’s very smart hotel set works perfectly and its very elegance helps to highlight the resulting mayhem.  Equally Maria Aberg is expert at hinting at the mayhem to come, causing a rippling unease in the whole theatre from the outset.

It’s just a pity that for me the second half of the play didn’t work quite as well as the first.

Fathers and Sons at The Donmar

When a story by a famous Russian is adapted into a play by a famous Irishman one would hope that the outcome is well worth seeing.  When the people in question are Turgenev and Friel that hope is fulfilled and can be currently viewed at The Donmar.  Fathers and Sons, the novel, written by Turgenev in 1862 centres around the nihilist Bazarov and his impressionable friend Arkady who also supports this new philosophy.  The two friends’ beliefs are in sharp contrast to the senior members of their families and thus cause disruption when they all come together.

The play opens with the two friends visiting Arkady’s father, Nikolai, who, it transpires, loves and has sired a son by the housemaid Fenichka.  The rather inept Nikolai is thrilled to see his recently graduated son but this is not a cosy homecoming.  Bazarov manages to unsettle the whole household with his radical views and rather hostile manner.  And Arkady’s uncle Pavel bitterly despises him.  The younger generation however are not so negative in their thoughts, with the plump maid, Dunyasha, reduced to a quivering wreck when in his company.  When the young men then visit Bazarov’s humble parents, we quickly discover how contemptible he is of their values and seemingly embarrassed by their self-evident adoration of him.  Like Turgenev, we’re not sure whether to love or hate Bazarov and it is only when, despite his hatred of love and any display of affection, he quickly succumbs to the charms of the young, wealthy widow, Anna, that we see any hint of warmth in his character.

Although one might argue that not much happens (shades of Chekhov here) during Fathers and Sons, emotions are running riot under the surface and the cast manage to capture this superbly well.  There is also a rich seam of comedy flowing throughout the two and a half hours, mostly supplied by the excellent Tim McMullan as the foppish uncle and Susan Engel as the dotty Princess Olga.  Alongside the humour are periods of painful sadness.  Karl Johnson as Vassily, Bazarov’s father is particularly affecting.  Every one of his lines hit the spot and the lyricism of the writing is oh so safe in his capable hands. There actually isn’t a weak link with any of the cast, but Joshua James as Arkady and Anthony Calf as his father stand out.  Joshua is able to combine Arkady’s youthful idealism with a mature sensitivity and we believe every word he utters.  Anthony Calf, on the other hand, is amusing and utterly convincing as the benevolent ditherer.  The American actor Seth Numrich plays Bazarov, with no trace of an American accent and whilst suitably arrogant and insensitive is not quite as believable as his fellow actors.  Mind you his floppy hair does deserve a particular mention.

Nothing in this ensemble production is forced, thanks in no small measure to Lyndsey Turner’s brilliant direction.  Rob Howell’s clever design and James Farncombe’s superb lighting also help to enhance her work.

If tickets are still available, this production is well worth seeing.

A View From The Bridge at The Young Vic

Praise has already been heaped upon Belgian director Ivo Van Hove’s production of Arthur Miller’s A View From The Bridge at The Young Vic and luckily I managed to get to see it before the run ended last night.  I can’t think of enough superlatives to describe how good a production this is and as practically the whole theatre stood to applaud at the end, they obviously agree with me.

In a three sided, see through empty box, akin to a boxing ring, the barefooted actors pad around and encircle one another often with Faure’s Requiem playing in the background.  There are practical reasons for Jan Versweyveld’s bare staging, all of which are revealed at the end of the mesmerising two hours, when the cast, enveloped in a rugger type scrum get rained upon by a torrent of red “blood”.  Such is the racked-up tension by director Ivo Van Hove that we all know (even those not familiar with Miller’s take on a Greek tragedy) that the denouement won’t be pretty.  And such is the brilliance of the whole cast, that we are caught up, carried along and left exhausted, emotionally spent and elated when the die is cast.

A View From The Bridge centres around Eddie Carbone, inhabited here by the magnificent Mark Strong, who works as a longshoreman in 1950’s Brooklyn.  He and his wife, Beatrice, the equally brilliant Nicola Walker, have brought up her orphaned niece, Catherine since childhood.  Now seventeen, Catherine is ready to spread her wings, but Eddie is not so keen.  Still treating her like the child she often appears to be, we realise that his is a suffocating, all consuming, unhealthy love.  A love which bothers his long suffering wife, Bea and also eventually threatens to alienate the doting niece.  Eddie’s jealousy knows no bounds when Bea’s two Sicilian cousins arrive to stay with them, unleashing a series of events that have terrible consequences.  For Catherine falls in the love with Rodolpho, the younger brother, the love is reciprocated and Eddie is unable to come to terms with it.  Add the fact that the cousins have entered the States illegally and you have a tinder box situation where betrayal, seething resentment and ultimately violence is the outcome.  We, the audience watch appalled as the tragedy unfolds, as does the lawyer who is narrating the story.

There are outstanding performances from the whole cast.  Mark Strong captures the pain and emotional breakdown of Eddie with such raw emotion that we feel for him whilst at the same time despairing of his actions.    Nicola Walker’s despair at what her husband is doing to the family is heartbreaking to watch, whilst Phoebe Fox manages to portray Catherine’s childishness whilst at the same time highlighting her metamorphosis into a young woman.  Michael Gould as Alfieri the anguished lawyer helps to build the tension and there is also excellent work from Luke Norris as Rudolpho and Emun Elliot as his brother Marco.  Marco’s lifting of the chair in order to show his muscular superiority over Eddie is so threatening that the spine tingles. 

Ivo van Hove has surely produced a superlative piece of theatre and I left the Young Vic feeling I had witnessed something very special indeed.

Good People at The Noel Coward

I defy anyone not to agree that Imelda Staunton is one of our greatest actresses and if anyone is in any doubt they should go and see her playing Margaret in Good People at The Noel Coward Theatre.

Written by David Lindsay-Abaire, this American comedy with an edge explores the theme of “making your luck”, whilst exposing that, horror of horrors, America is guilty of harbouring a class system.  Set in “Southie”, a working class neighbourhood in South Boston, where Lindsay-Abaire spent his early years before escaping via a scholarship to a prestigious private school, Good People opens with Margaret getting the sack from yet another job for bad time keeping.  Her desperation is apparent from the onset. Being the sole carer of her severely disabled daughter, no wages coming in can mean the difference between a roof over their heads and living on the street. 

This desperation causes Margaret to heed the advice of her wise cracking, outspoken friend, Jean and ask an old school friend, Mike for help in the job seeking stakes.  Mike has managed to escape the drudgery of life in Southie by dint of hard work, intelligence and luck.  Enjoying a “comfortable” existence in more upmarket Chestnut Hill, Mike (the “lace-curtain Irish”) is a successful “reproductive endocrinologist” and is less than happy to see Margaret turn up in his smart, sterile office.  Guilt at being unable to add his, as it turns out, ex girlfriend to his payroll, causes Mike to grudgingly invite her to his house party.  After all, there may be someone there who can employ her.

When this party is cancelled at the last minute, Margaret smells a rat and turns up anyway.  What follows is an at times heated confrontation between Mike’s glamorous and uber friendly African-American wife, Kate and the two old flames.  Secrets that Mike would prefer were kept hidden from Kate are uncovered and we begin to doubt if either he or Margaret are “good people”.  This scene highlights the cleverness of Lindsay-Abaire’s writing, for, underneath the sparkling, whip cracking dialogue, nothing is as straightforward as it looks. I’m sorry but a spoiler alert comes into play here so I cannot reveal more about the outcome except to say that one isn’t necessarily always on the side of the underdog.  Margaret’s desperation sometimes makes her vindictive, whilst Mike’s dogged determination to better himself can’t be viewed as totally contemptible.

Imelda Staunton has some of the best lines, which she delivers with her characteristic aplomb.  She may be tiny, but is certainly not short of energy and whether she be wheedling, desperate, momentarily desolate or  wisecracking survivor, Staunton’s Margaret is above all human.

Jonathan Kent ensures that the action never falters.  The pace whizzes along and his excellent cast always come up to the mark. 
 
Alongside Staunton, Angel Coulby achieves a wonderful brittle civility as the glamorous wife to the excellent Lloyd Owen’s Mike.  The support from Susan Brown as Margaret’s ascerbic land-lady, Dottie, Lorraine Ashbourne as the outspoken friend, Jean and Matthew Barker as the bingo loving (but not gay!) dollar store manager is terrific.  Add Hildegard Bechtler’s clever design to this mix and no wonder the West End was so keen to transfer this wonderful production from Hampstead