Ballyturk at The Lyttleton

I don’t profess to have seen every single one of Enda Walsh’s plays but Ballyturk loosely follows the pattern of two that I have, namely The Walworth Farce and Misterman.  This pattern can loosely be determined as a play within a play set in a sealed environment from which there doesn’t appear to be an escape route.  The characters enact various scenarios using the voices of the community in which the “play” is set, whilst giving nothing tangible away as to what is going on.  So far so obscure and that is the rub, according to one reviewer of Ballyturk who wrote, “what’s the point?”.  The point, as far as I’m concerned, is that he’s missing it!  Ballyturk, thanks to the acting abilities (and stamina) of the cast is funny, poignant and, ultimately, entertaining.   Is the fact that one can’t necessarily fathom what Enda Walsh is getting at really that important?  I don’t think so.  It just means that the audience have their own views on what is happening and why.  And there’s nothing wrong with that.

The impenetrable space (that is until Stephen Rea’s character appears) in the village of Ballyturk is wonderfully realised by Jamie Vartan.  It is a bleak, grey room, its walls embellished with naïve pencil drawings of the inhabitants of this fictional place.  Odd pieces of furniture are stacked against one wall, whilst the other is home to a cuckoo clock and fake potted plant.  There is, amongst other paraphernalia, an exercise bike and a hand held vacuum cleaner.  The latter is slavishly used to hoover up spilt cornflakes by Mikel Murfi, which seems a useless exercise seeing as there follows an episode where talcum powder is liberally shaken everywhere.  That the two actors, Cillian Murphy and Mikel Murfi, are fit is without question. Watching them race maniacally through their daily routine, dressing, undressing, dancing to the hits of the 80’s and the younger one occasionally leaping onto a high ledge is exhausting.  Not only are they well matched in the physical aspects of the play, but the chemistry between them is very apparent.  When Number 1 has an epileptic fit, Number 2 (they’re not given names, only numbers) gently hugs him until it passes and the scene is incredibly moving.  All in all it’s a virtuoso performance by them both. 

Stillness descends with the arrival of Number 3.  A quietly spoken, cigarette smoking, Stephen Rea appears when the upstage wall disappears to reveal the world outside.  His stillness is in sharp contrast to what has gone before, as is his language.  Poetically philosophical, he even croons a Chet Baker song following a cup of tea and a biscuit, carefully plucked from a Jenga like tower.  Always eminently watchable, Stephen Rea is brilliantly cast as the be-suited enigmatic stranger and some of the funniest moments occur upon his arrival.

One of the saddest is when one of them, on the instructions of Number 3, ‘it is time for one of you to leave into your passing’, does just that.  The upstage wall re-appears, the outside world disappears once again leaving the remaining actor alone and bereft.

There is more, so much more strangeness from Enda Walsh’s writing and direction, with echoes of Waiting for Godot mixed with Under Milk Wood.  It is a true theatrical experience and one that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Therese Raquin at The Cambridge Arts Theatre

Emile Zola’s Therese Raquin usually conjures up misery on a grand scale and is one to avoid if you’re after a light hearted trip to the theatre.  But when Alison Steadman is playing the role of Madame Raquin, you’re sure it will definitely be alright on the night.  This new adaptation by Helen Edmundson of Zola’s most well known novel is more than alright, it is excellent.  The superb Alison Steadman, aided and abetted by a stellar cast and director Jonathan Munby, ensures that there are periods of lightness and even humour amidst the gloom of this tragic crime of passion.  Added to this are balletic sequences encapsulated within the many scene changes plus several ghostly apparitions, making this a truly mesmeric production.

Alison Steadman’s Madame Raquin, is foster mother of Therese (Pippa Nixon) and doting and interfering mother of Camille (Hugh Skinner).  Deliriously happy at having engineered the marriage of her one natural child to the other, Madame Raquin will eventually come to rue the event.  For Therese has no romantic love for the sickly, unworldly boy and of this we are sure from the outset.  Speaking little and blending into the background, her character only comes alive when introduced to Camille’s friend, Laurent (Kieran Bew).  And, oh my, how alive.  Suddenly this supposedly meek and mild nonentity metamorphoses into a wild child, hungry for all the bedroom delights that the poor Camille is unable to provide but Laurent can.  The only problem is that this all-consuming passion between Therese and Laurent has tragic consequences for everyone concerned.  I will say no more regarding the plot, apart from the fact that it involves murder, followed closely by gut wrenching remorse.

I’ve already mentioned the delights of Alison Steadman, who not only brilliantly depicts the loving mother who can’t stop herself poking her nose in at every opportunity, but also the horrendous state of being locked within her own body after suffering a stroke towards the end of the play.  Pippa Nixon inhabits Therese with every fibre of her body and manages to convey almost every emotion going.  She must be exhausted at the end of every performance.  The two main male actors are also exemplary.  Hugh Skinner infuriates and instils both negative and positive reactions from the audience.  We’re against and for his Camille in equal measure and he ensures we experience a spine tingling spookiness in the second half.  On the other hand, Kieran Bew, playing his eventual nemesis, portrays a natural charm and has no difficulty in persuading us that it is more than possible for Therese to be immediately captivated.

There is also excellent support from the three friends who arrive at the Raquin’s apartment in Paris every Thursday for a game of dominoes and inject a little much needed humour to the proceedings.  Desmond Barrit, is Superintendent Michaud, his niece, Suzanne is played by Charlotte Mills and the obsessive compulsive Grivet, is brought to creepy life by Michael Mears.

There have been many incarnations of this tale of doomed love but I would hazard a guess that this one I saw at The Cambridge Arts Theatre last week, is by far the most ingenious.   

My Night With Reg at The Donmar

As with Beckett’s Godot, Reg doesn’t actually set foot on the stage in this 1994 play by Kevin Elyot.  That it should be revised right now gives this tragi-comedy an air of sadness because its author died in June following a long illness.  I didn’t see the original version staged at The Royal Court before transferring to the West End, but I’m sure Kevin Elyot would have been more than pleased with this version, directed by Robert Hastie.

The idea for this play came to Elyot at the funeral in the mid 80’s of an old flat-mate who had died of Aids and had been intimate with several of the mourners.  Reg is likewise of the promiscuous persuasion and it is his fondness for the carnal that causes panic amongst his closest friends.  The spectre of Aids is at the heart of the play, written as it was when the illness was beginning to take a hold, but there is more to it than that.  For unrequited love, friendship, ageing and, ultimately death, are all here and dealt with so well. 

The structure of My Night With Reg is very clever.  Just one setting, that of the bachelor flat belonging to the very house-proud, Guy, but a time span of four years, brilliantly and subtlety constructed.  In fact so much of this play is a master class in subtlety.  Not all, mind you, for there isn’t much nuance with the language and humour, making the piece so very real and honest and so many of the lines are an absolute joy.  

Poor Guy is the one suffering from the lack of love in his life.  That is to say, he does all the loving, but from afar.  To everyone, including the object of his infections, John, he is Mr Nice Guy.  No one sees him as anything more than a friend.  He was at University with Daniel and John and they’re drifting towards middle-age.  Daniel has moved on from his promiscuous phase and is living with Reg, who, unbeknownst to him, hasn’t.  The handsome, rich but rather disaffected, John, also loves Reg but is keeping it a secret from Daniel. The only one who hasn’t “known” Reg is Guy, for the other couple in the cast, Benny and Bernie have also sampled his charms, albeit briefly.  The final member of this fine ensemble is the youngster, Eric, who meets everyone having been hired to decorate Guy’s flat and he, too, is linked to the ever present but absent Reg.

The whole cast is exemplary.  Jonathan Broadbent plays the nurturing and hurting Guy with just the right amount of pathos, an excellent contrast to Julian Ovenden’s confidently handsome John and Geoffrey Streatfeild’s boisterous Daniel.  The latter is a joy to watch.  Over the top, this camp life and soul of the party shows his hidden depths towards the end of the play.  Richard Cant as Bernie is the intense and rather boring female side of the Benny and Bernie partnership, in sharp contrast to his forthright lorry-driving partner portrayed by Matt Bardock.  Last but by no means least, Lewis Reeves, brings just the right amount of youthful optimism to the role of Eric and nicely highlights the chasm that age brings.

The direction by Robert Hastie is tight and controlled, whilst the Sound Designer, Gregory Clarke and Designer, Peter McKintosh both do a wonderful job.  The meticulous flat, constant patter of rain on the conservatory roof and period music all add to the atmosphere of this iconic gay play, which, with its mix of laughter and tears appeals to all persuasions.  

Great Britain at The Lyttleton

The rehearsals for Richard Bean’s new play, Great Britain, were shrouded in secrecy and the first that members of The National Theatre heard about it was in an email a few days before its opening.  The reason for this was the Levenson Enquiry and the brouhaha surrounding phone hacking and the like.  Because Mr. Bean’s (no not that Mr. Bean) satirical comedy is set in the offices of the daily tabloid newspaper, The Free Press, where all kinds of shenanigans take place (‘we go out and destroy other people’s lives’).  Not that he just has a pop at the press, for the police, politicians and recent scandals are all fair game during his lengthy 2 hours, 24 minutes play.

It boasts a great cast.   Billie Piper is Paige Britain its amoral and highly ambitious news editor, Robert Glenister plays the potty mouthed editor, Wilson Tikkel and Dermot Crowley assumes the role of the Irish proprietor, Paschal O’Leary.  They all have a high old time firing shots at various British institutions, some more obvious than others.  For the Guardener (‘we think so you don’t have to’) read the Guardian, the Dependent, the Independent, Rebekah Brooks, Virginia White, Paschal O’Leary, Rupert Murdoch (as I say some names are more subtle).

Billie Piper’s character, who has no qualms about how she gets to the top as long as she gets there, is at the centre of the whole play.  Her bed fellows include her boss, O’Leary, the Assistant Police Commissioner, Donald Doyle Davidson, played by the excellent Oliver Chris and the Conservative Leader, Jonathan Whey.  She also doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty.  When Virginia White beats her to the post of editor when Wilson Tikkel moves onto television, it’s Paige who does all the dirty work, whilst her new boss escapes to her eerie to run the campaigns close to her heart and suck up to O’Leary.

During the course of the evening we come into contact with ‘Jimmy the Bins’ and Marcus, two of Paige’s ‘informers’.  One sifts through various celebrities’ rubbish (no awards for guessing which one does the sifting) whilst the other dons a multitude of disguises in order to sting the aforementioned celebs.  In this murky world of the tabloids, anything goes and does.  I wonder how Mr. Bean got his ideas?  Amongst many comedic characters, one in particular stands out, namely Commissioner Sully Kassam, a sublimely funny Aaron Neil.  No-one in high office could ever be so hilariously inept and bungling, could they?

Tim Hatley’s design brilliantly evokes a bustling newspaper office, but the clever use of a glass wall separating the editor from his minions is a bit too clever.  When the actors deliver their lines behind the glass a lot of their dialogue is lost which is a great shame as Great Britain is built on superb one-liners and to miss even one is a travesty.  Not that I can admit to ‘getting’ every single joke – too clever for me, mate!!

Whilst Great Britain isn’t as gloriously funny as Richard Bean’s previous scorcher, One Man, Two Guvnors, it’s a very clever expose of much that is wrong with our tiny island.  Stereotypes abound, but as the acting is of the highest quality Mr. Bean’s point is perfectly made.

Medea at The Olivier

Euripides’s Greek tragedy, Medea can’t really be termed an enjoyable play, dealing as it does with infanticide, but Carrie Cracknell’s production of Ben Power’s new version certainly makes it excitingly watchable.  With Tom Scutt’s clever split-level design, modern dress and tone, and the powerhouse that is Helen McCrory in the title role, the National has triumphed yet again.

It is said that the best things come in small packages and as far as Helen McCrory is concerned this is certainly true.  Tiny she may be but hey, does she pack a punch on the huge Olivier stage.  She owns it, prowling the space like a lioness, making us never doubt for one moment that she is a female to be reckoned with, yet one who is having an enormous crisis of confidence.  Despite carrying out an abhorrent act against her two boys, we know she has a mother’s love for them.  But we also know she is a woman who has reached the limit of her endurance and believes killing her beloved sons is the only solution.

And what has driven her to this?  Well a man is involved; strange that!  He is her husband Jason of Argonaut fame (a self-satisfied Danny Sapani) who has decided to abandon Medea and his sons in favour of Kreon, the King of Corinth’s daughter.  That she loves Jason is never in question.  After all she helped him steal the Golden Fleece, betrayed her father and massacred her small brother all for him.  And now he wants to dump her for a younger model, deciding that all he has to do to come out of the mess unscathed is come up with fallacious arguments.  But Medea is not to be fobbed off and has revenge on him and all that is dear to him in mind.  A woman scorned has never shown so much fury and Helen McCrory’s Medea is a formidable opponent.  But this actress is nothing if not versatile, for the realisation that this revenge will mean her ultimate sacrifice is almost too painful to watch. But Medea is one brave woman, although the ending (spoiler alert) highlights her desolate sense of loss.  Has it all been worth it?

Although it is Helen McCrory’s triumph, this production has sterling support all round.  Tom Scutt highlights the gloomy sparcity of Medea’s lodgings, against the gaiety of the wedding celebrations, with his split level design and the upstage gloomy woodland adds to the feeling of menace that pervades the entire 90 minutes.  Carrie Cracknell never lets the pace lapse, keeping our nerves on edge the whole time and by having the two boys on stage at the beginning and at various times throughout, adds to our horror of what we know is going to happen.  The cast as a whole are excellent, although I’m not too sure about the jerky, almost robotic movements of the chorus.  But this is a minor quibble, especially as they dance to music by the wonderful Will Gregory and Alison Goldfrapp, which aids and abets the feeling of unbelievable tension.

This Mediea is a Greek tragedy of the highest order.

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.