Splendour at The Donmar

This is something you don't see very often; a stage devoid of men! Splendour, written by Abi Morgan in 2000, has an all female cast of four and is currently showing at The Donmar.  Set in a reception room of the presidential palace in an unspecified country, this oddly assembled group begin their meeting with the semblance of affability.

Micheleine, the splendidly regal wife, played with great poise by Sinead Cusack, is holding court whilst waiting for the return of her husband, the president.  Her and her errant hubby are to be photographed by the hard nosed British photo journalist, Kathyrn (Genevieve O’Reilly) who because she doesn't speak the language, has a very light fingered, inept interpreter called Gilma,  played by Zawe Ashton.   Gilma spends most of the play secreting various items into her handbag.  The final member of this quartet is Micheleine's supposed best friend, Genevieve (Michelle Fairley).

Although we never find out in exactly which country this meeting takes place, Micheleine's love of chic shoes and clothes has a whiff of Imelda Marcus.  However Abi Morgan is obviously less concerned with the setting than the obvious precariousness of the four women.  Micheleine’s unease at the lateness of her husband’s return, gathers pace when it becomes obvious that he’s not going to come back at all.   Kathryn, not being au fait with the language being spoken, resorts to using her photographer's sense of sight, luckily so as her interpreter mistranslates at will.  And the bonds of friendship between the two local women are tenuous to say the least. One of them even states, “35 years is a long time to despise one's best friend” ..... Ouch!   

This tension and mutual distrust within the room is heightened by Abi Morgan's unusual structure of the play.  Each scene is replayed from different perspectives (each one signaled by the smashing of a Venetian vase), thus rendering them slightly different each time.  Plus all the women voice their own thoughts.  Add to this the fact that the dialogue lurches backwards and forwards and one’s sense of what’s going becomes rather scrambled, despite the picture that the playwright is painting seems transparent from the outset.

The performances by all four women are exemplary, whilst Robert Hastie’s direction is spot on.  Sinead Cusack, who actually never seems to put a foot wrong in whatever she does, is perfectly cast as the outwardly ice-cool but inwardly flustered Micheleine.  Genevieve O’Reilly excellently portrays the impatient photo journalist, who would much rather by on the front line than hanging around waiting for someone who never appears.  And Zawe Ashton and Michelle Fairley are equally impressive as the acquisitive translator and put upon best friend.

A splendid evening’s theatre.

Three Days In The Country at The Lyttleton

Uniquely, the audience are privy as to how vast the Lyttleton stage is when they go to see its latest production, Three Days In The Country.  Mark Thompson, the Designer, is allowing the wings to be in full view, which ensures that Patrick Marber’s new version of Turgenev’s A Month In The Country is as pacey as it is funny.  There are no pauses as the cast come and go; they just sidestep upstage, stage left or right, whilst their counterpart simultaneously enters the acting arena.  Slickness is the order of the day. 

Patrick Marber is back in full force here at The National, what with new play, The Red Lion playing in The Dorfman and this re-working and re-naming of Turgenev’s best known play in The Lyttleton.  The original is entitled Three Months In The Country and has a running time of around four hours, whilst this offering reduces the period to three days and lasts a much more manageable 150 minutes.  Such is the quality, not only of the writing, but also the direction (Patrick Marber) and performances by the whole cast, that the longer running time actually wouldn’t be at all unacceptable.

The paired down set with its melancholy backdrop of fields, trees and clouds brings into focus that, although this play is a comedy, it also highlights the futility and sadness that can come hand in hand with love and passion.  A haunting red door, seemingly hanging in mid-air and leading, who knows where, is also symbolic of love going nowhere.

The house in the country where the play is set is seemingly happy enough, that is until the arrival of a new tutor for Vera, the owners’ ward.   Young, virile and handsome, Belyaev (Royce Pierreson) sets hearts a fluttering, even that belonging to the middle-aged Natalya (Amanda Drew), mistress of the house.  It soon transpires that this languid, self-indulgent gentle woman, is bored to tears with Arkady (John Light), her rich landowner husband and longs for some sexual excitement.  Her long time friend, Rakitin (Jon Simm), has been invited to inject some frisson into her existence, but to no avail.  He’s just a love struck puppy and no match for the virile Belyaev.  Also smitten are the young Vera (Lily Sacofsky) and the maidservant, Katya (Cherrelle Skeete), although the latter is more than happy for just a bit of “slap and tickle”.  Not so Vera, who falls hook, line and sinker for Belyaev’s charms and changes from a radiant young thing into a white faced introvert on realising her love isn’t reciprocated.  Unrequited love abounds in this large country house, as the socially gauche and professionally inept Doctor Shpigelsky, also fails in the love stakes, being unable to persuade the snuff taking spinster, Lizaveta (Debra Gillett), that marriage to him would be a good idea.  Hysterically played by Mark Gatiss, the Doctor literally falls flat on his face (well knees anyway) during his proposal.  After uttering romantic offerings such as, “I have the heart of a hard pea”, he gets down on one knee before succumbing to severe back pain, which renders him incapable of standing. 

This is fine ensemble acting from all concerned.  Amanda Drew is a perfect Natalya, evolving from the stereotypical rich wife into a much more complex, sad human being, eaten up with envy on realising that Vera has fallen in love with the man she wants.  Likewise, Jon Simm (always excellent in my book) makes Rakitin much more than a man destined never to find happiness with the love of his life.  His affable cynicism at the beginning of the play gradually turns into profound sadness as he confronts the years he has wasted in focusing all his love on the one woman who will never love him back.  Debra Gillett and Mark Gatiss are an exquisite double act, bringing the house down during the proposal scene.

If Rufus Norris continues in this vein, all will continue to be well on the South Bank.

The Red Lion at The Dorfman

No, The Red Lion isn’t about a pub.  It is in fact Patrick Marber’s new play (his first original offering at The National since 2001) concerning a non-league, semi professional football team.  Not that it’s wholly about the sport, focusing as it does on loyalty, belonging and loneliness.  However, it’s obvious from the start that this great playwright has an undeniable love for “the beautiful game” imbuing the piece with a great deal of knowledge and passion. I’m thrilled that Patrick Marber has emerged from his writer’s block and this new play is chock-a-block full of his usual utterly believable dialogue.  

The play is set in the club’s changing room, designed to perfection by Anthony Ward.  There are only three characters, Kidd, the Club’s wheeler dealer, ambitious Manager (the brilliant Daniel Mays), Yates, the loyal kitman (Peter Wight) and Jordan, an up and coming player with obvious flair (Calvin Demba).  Kidd is over excited at the prospect of a new brilliant member of the team, Yates tries to take the new boy under his wing, whilst the boy in question has a dubious background and health issues.  What emerges during the evening is that even small football clubs have the spectre of money hanging over them that corrupts and ultimately causes grief.  There may be lots of football jargon that goes totally over a non-football fan’s head, but what is obvious is that this is a human tale encompassing humour, pathos and ultimately tragedy.  It really is all in the dialogue and, as with the best comedy, there is sadness and plenty of surprises, not all of them pleasant ones.

Daniel Mays never puts a foot wrong in anything he does and on stage here at The Dorfman is no exception.  He oozes nervous, manic energy, perfectly encapsulating a man desperate for his club to reach the bigger heights.  Peter Wight is equally impressive as the old retainer who has given his life for the club and is less concerned about the financial aspect.  Under the surface however he is a depressive soul, somewhat disenchanted with his lot.  Comparative newcomer, Calvin Demba, is no slouch either, imbuing his character with a mixture of shyness and bravado.  He makes it easy for us to believe he is a force to be reckoned with on the pitch.  Add, the brilliance of Director Ian Rickson, and The Red Lion is worth the price of a ticket even if watching a game of football is the last item on your bucket list.

Patrick Marber is back ….. and how!!

The Beaux Stratagem at The Olivier

Did we invent sex?  Of course not.  It was alive and kicking in 1707 when George Farquhar wrote his late Restoration comedy, The Beaux Stratagem.  This play, the playwright’s take on love, marriage and divorce, is a bawdy, innuendo filled comedy, which is currently showing in The Olivier Theatre.  Brilliantly directed with a lightness of touch by Simon Godwin it’s a real tonic.

Performed on a cleverly designed set by Lizzie Clachan, which quickly switches from a timbered inn to a galleried country house and back again several times, The Beaux Stratagem centres on two fortune hunters, Aimwell and Archer.  Although both gentlemen, Archer is posing as Aimwell’s servant and, having blown their inheritances in London the two lovable rogues have travelled to Lichfield to try and secure the affection of two wealthy females.  Played by Samuel Barrett and Geoffrey Streatfield respectively these two insolvents make a fine double act.  The main female character is Mrs. Sullen (a star turn by Susannah Fielding) who is less than satisfied with her “block-head” husband.  Needless to say, she eventually becomes enamoured with Archer, whilst her sister, Dorinda (Pippa Bennett-Warner) is wooed by Aimwell.  A quickie divorce from the passionless, drunkard, Mr. Sullen (Richard Henders) ensues and all live happily ever after.  Hurrah for female emancipation.

A big bonus to the romantic capers taking place on stage, is the lively singing and dancing of the cast alongside several talented musicians.  Michael Bruce, the man in charge of music is to be applauded and Geoffrey Streatfield and Susannah Fielding in particular are in fine voice.

Whilst the whole cast are excellent in their respective roles, the one stand out performance is Pearce Quigley playing Mr. Sullen’s butler, Scrub.  His deadpan delivery is a side-splitting joy.

It’s always a treat when a cast appears to be enjoying themselves as much as the audience and this is the case here.  So whilst this frivolous frolic could perhaps be a tad more frolicsome, it is, nevertheless, a very entertaining night out.

Temple at The Donmar

I’m not a great lover of political or religious plays and Temple concerns both.  Its saving grace for me is that it stars Simon Russell Beale, who, as is to be expected, is marvellous in the role of The Dean.

Temple, written by Steve Waters, is an imagining of what went on behind the scenes in St. Pauls during the Occupy London protests of 2011.  It highlights the emotional and constitutional crisis that went on within the solid walls of this iconic cathedral. 

The Dean, the Right Reverend Graeme Knowles is sympathetically portrayed by the great Mr. Beale.  At the time, he was severely criticised for closing the cathedral, albeit briefly, and also for taking the side of the London Corporation against the camp.  His actions caused the resignation of the “right on” Canon Chancellor, as played here by Paul Higgins. 

The play takes places on the morning of the 28^th October with the cathedral about to re-open.  Set in the Chapter House, the designer Tim Hatley captures the majesty of the building at the heart of the story by having it loom up behind the huge upstage windows. With tom toms beating away in the background, the scene is set to great effect.  Simon Russell Beale’s Dean is in crisis.  Anxious to re-open the church for worship, he is surrounded by problems on all sides.  His resigning Canon Chancellor is not going quietly, the female Verger (Anna Calder-Marshall) is concerned that the building isn’t ready, whilst Malcolm Sinclair’s lofty Bishop, although sympathetic, is hopeful of reaching some sort of agreement with the protestors.  Added to this, he has a new, young and not altogether finger on the pulse, personal assistant (Rebecca Humphries).  Also, and more importantly, he is under pressure from the City of London to evict the protestors.  Not a great start to the day.  Mr. Beale does a wonderful job, as not only does he show the isolation the Dean feels, but also determines that his initial unsympathetic character eventually elicits our sympathy.  We truly believe he is a man of the cloth, communing with his maker during his many active silences.

Steve Waters has written a thought provoking play which highlights aspects of the “occupation” of which I was unaware.  However I do find it hard to believe that the Dean would end up listening to the pearls of wisdom his new PA has to offer seeing as how she appears so dim witted at the start.  It is to Rebecca Humphries credit that she does just manage to change from gawky useless to authoritative voice. I could also have done without the contrivance of bringing on two choir boys towards the end, even though they did sing beautifully.

As usual, Howard Davies does a great job in directing a tightly controlled production with more than a hint of humour, especially when Malcolm Sinclair is centre stage.

American Buffalo at Wyndhams Theatre

For the uninitiated American Buffalo isn't a play about a genus of bovine but concerns a copper nickel five-cent piece.  At least this is the main premise but dig deeper and the play is about much more than that.  David Mamet insists that his characters never mean what they say but always mean what they mean.  So his 1975 play, whilst centering on a plot to steal the coin of the title, is actually about how men interact with one another and the certain codes of contact between them.  It also concerns business, money, friendship and betrayal and, with just three men in the cast, is a true ensemble piece that draws you into their relationship with one another.  The script is littered with expletives, a common occurrence in Mamet’s plays, but there is a beauty to the language.  The swearing is used when the correct adjective or adverb is unknown to the men.  This is not to say they’re totally uneducated, just not terribly literate and why anyone would be offended is beyond me.  It is the language of such men and after a while the words become part of the landscape and are forgotten.

The action takes place in Don Dubrow’s (John Goodman) junk shop. beautifully realised by the Set Designer Paul Wills.  There is no available space, as objects, ranging from old bicycles to various signs and dilapidated toys, hang and lean everywhere. 

Don has sold a rare coin, the American Buffalo of the title, to a customer for a mere $90 and is determined to do a bit of business by stealing it back and then re-selling it at a much higher price.  Having found out where the customer lives, he has instructed his “protégé”, Bob (Tom Sturridge), to keep a watchful eye on the potential crime scene in order to ascertain the best time to strike.  The problems arise with the arrival of Walter Cole/’Teach’ (Damian Lewis) who, on discovering the plan, wants to be part of the action instead of Bob.  The trouble is, they, plus the unseen Fletcher, are four of life’s losers and whatever they touch turns to dust.

The three actors are exemplary, although John Goodman appears the most at ease and comfortable in his role as Don.  Being American must surely help, for whilst the other two actors have mastered the US vernacular, their accents do occasionally sound forced.  Damien Lewis, almost unrecognizable in a crumpled rust coloured suit, matching shoes and droopy 70’s moustache, plays the showiest character and expertly manages to portray Teach’s neediness which he tries to hide with ego and bluster.  The young Tom Sturridge gives enough twitchy mannerisms and nervousness to show his vulnerability and dependence now on Don instead of drugs, whilst John Goodman is magnificent.  Don is not the brightest pebble on the beach and has trouble programming his thought process.  Thanks to Goodman’s expressive face we’re always aware of this and his eventual realization that he is betraying Bob. His guilt is as palpable as his compassion at the end of the play. 

These men are life’s losers but they do have feeling.  The ending is unbelievably poignant and even the self-centered and self-pitying Teach portrays a certain degree of self-awareness.

With tight direction from Daniel Evans and star billing all round, this production has no disappointments.

Clarence Darrow at The Old Vic

I missed Kevin Spacey’s performance in Clarence Darrow last year, so was thrilled to discover it was returning for a limited run.  And, goodness me, am I glad I had the chance to witness the great man’s swansong as Artistic Director at The Old Vic.  It is a tour de force that marks him as one of the greats.  He commands the stage and holds the whole audience in the palm of his hand.  No small feat when you alone are playing to the crowd in the theatre’s reconfigured in-the-round space.  It would be so easy for part of the audience to feel disengaged, but Mr. Spacey doesn’t allow this to happen.  He prowls the stage he has owned during his eleven year tenure, stalks amongst the audience and, on the odd occasion even sits down with them.  He has the knack of making you feel he is talking just to you and revels in his role as Civil Rights Lawyer, Clarence Darrow.  He obviously finds this famous American fascinating, having already played him twice before.  Once in a TV film and then in the play Inherit The Wind, directed at The Old Vic by Trevor Nunn and which focuses on the Scopes “Monkey Trial”.

It’s difficult to find Spacey on stage once the lights go up.  Where is the great man?  Eventually he can be found lying underneath his desk fixing something or other.  Nothing is said for quite a while.  A ploy, but a clever one nevertheless, as we’re all hooked, spellbound even.  Before he utters a word, Spacey scans the theatre, taking in his audience.  Such is his skill, we all feel we’ve been noticed, and when he eventually speaks you can hear a pin drop.

The set, designed by Alan Macdonald, depicts Darrow’s office.  It is cluttered with boxes and Spacey spends much of the play delving into them, retrieving photos and memorabilia that remind him of his past life and work.  We’re then privy to these reminiscences, at times believing ourselves to be jurors at his various trials.  So impassioned is he that we believe it’s the crumpled and stooped lawyer himself we’re watching, so much at the pinnacle of his craft that we can almost see the ex-wife, or various defendants to whom he speaks.  With every conspiratorial glance, twinkling eye, cheeky smile and shaken fist Kevin Spacey has us in his thrall.

Darrow himself championed the under dog and defended the little guy, the common folk.  During his tenure as a lawyer, he saved more than 100 lives from hanging, often in the most difficult of circumstances.  He was totally against prejudice of any kind, so often found himself representing African Americans.  He even defended himself on a couple of occasions after having been wrongly indicted on two counts of jury bribery.  So it’s no wonder that David W. Rintels wrote this play in 1974 or that Spacey has been so keen to appear in it.  In fact he first came across it in 1974 when he was in High School and saw Henry Fonda as Clarence Darrow.  In the foreward of the programme, Spacey says that Darrow is a character he has come to know and I suspect admire, mentioning, as he does, his dignity, intelligence and logic.  And wow, does this show during the 1hr 50minutes of his superb performance, brilliantly directed by Thea Sharrock.

Kevin Spacey will be sorely missed at The Old Vic.  Thanks to his wonderful performance in Moon For The Misbegotten, I became a fully paid up member of this great theatre.  My only hope is that this isn’t the last time we’ve seen him on a London stage.