Ma Rainey's Black Bottom at The Lyttleton

What an inspired choice on the part of Rufus Norris to stage the wonderful August Wilson play, Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, written in 1984. This marvelous production has everything, laughs, tragedy, fantastic music and very, very accomplished actors, singers and musicians, all imbued with a sense that the entire cast are having a blast.

The play is based around a recording session in Chicago in 1927 with Gertrude ‘Ma’ Rainey and her Georgia Band comprising Cutler, Toledo, Slow Drag and Levee.  The bisexual Ma Rainey, known as the Mother Of The Blues by the rural black community, is a feisty diva and when she finally arrives with her nephew, Sylvester and female squeeze, Dussie Mae, runs rings around her Manager, Irvin and exasperates Sturdyvant, the Music Producer with her intransigence.  Her extremely late arrival means that the band have time to banter, tell stories, joke, philosophise and argue in between rehearsing.  The joshing between the four eventually highlights a tension between hot headed trumpeter, Levee, an ambitious young man who wants his own band and is confident the producers will use his version of Black Bottom, and veteran players Cutler and Toledo.  Ma’s bad time keeping throws Irvin and Sturdyvant into complete disarray, exacerbated by the fact that she wants the stuttering Sylvester to do the voice intro to the title song.  Amidst the laughs and banter there is tension in the air.

Everything about this passionate production is spot on, from Dominic Cooke’s direction to Ultz’s pitch perfect set.  The large Lyttleton stage is used to its full potential and, with the sound booth in the centre, makes the perfect recording studio.  Stairs lead up to this booth and down to the musician’s rehearsal space, which is viewed when the whole stage is raised.

The underlying message from August Wilson is how the white population exploit the blacks.  Although reigning supreme in the studio, it is made clear that Ma holds little sway in the world beyond and that the two white men only tolerate her because of her cash cow status.  The staging also highights white supremacy, for whilst the two producers inhabit their eyrie high above the stage, with a no admittance sign hanging on the stairs, the black musicians are holed up in the bowels of the building.  As Toledo states, the whites view blacks as leftovers from history.

Musically and theatrically, there are no bum notes.  The entire cast are sublime, with Sharon D. Clarke leading the way as a terrific Ma Rainey.  Imperious to everyone, apart from Sylvester (Tunji Lucas) and Dussie Mae (Tamara Lawrance), Ma shows her contempt with Irvin (Finbar Lynch) and Sturdyvant (Stuart McQuarrie) not only verbally, but with a bored roll of an eye and belligerent clenched jaw.  And when she sings, everyone sits up and takes notice.

The four black musicians are also a delight.  O-T Fagbenle swaggers to perfection but also manages to show his insecurity.  When he relates a story from his childhood, his pain is immediately obvious and we’re aware that this unsettled young man could explode at any time.  His polar opposite is pianist Toledo, beautifully played by Lucian Msamati.  This older and wiser man is self-contained, showing his passion solely with words.  Implacable and dogmatic, he always has something to say to counterpoint Levee.  Clint Dyer as Cutter, the trombonist and leader of the band, worn down by continually trying to get Levee to join in and rehearse, is equally fine as is the double-bassist, Giles Terera as Slow Drag, the laid back charmer.

So there it is, a wonderful play by an extremely talented black dramatist for a predominately black cast, that is wholly from a black perspective with no preconceived opinions from a white man.   I was so taken by this first night preview that I’ve booked tickets for the final performance, although I'm sure it won't have improved much; it doesn't need to!

The Master Builder at The Old Vic

Ralph Fiennes has done it again!  Following his success playing the massive part of Jack Tanner in Man and Superman, at The National Theatre, he is now wowing us as Halvard Solness in David Hare’s new adaptation of Ibsen’s The Master Builder.  He really is a tour de force and stands up there amongst the great actors of recent times.

The Master Builder is a story of a self-made man who has become increasingly frightened of being displaced by the young.  Due to his successful career as an architect, Solness is now a dominant figure in the town and has no wish for his assistant, Ragnar Brovik, to take over the business, or, indeed, set up on his own.  The architect’s marriage to his wife Aline is strained due to the tragedy of them losing their twin babies in a fire in his wife’s beloved childhood home.  She is becoming increasingly convinced that her husband is suffering from mental health issues, so continually summons the family doctor, Herdal, to visit him.  When a young girl called Hilde Wangel arrives unannounced, persuading him to remember that they had met ten years earlier when she was just fourteen-years-old, Solness grows progressively infatuated.  On that occasion he had made advances towards her and promised that ten years on they would meet again and he would offer her a kingdom.  This fey, otherworldly young creature has come to claim these ‘castles in the sky’ but real life gets in the way. Refusing to believe that Solness has a morbid fear of heights, she goads him into climbing the high tower of his latest creation, to devastating effect.

That Solness is a troubled soul, with many issues, is never in any doubt.  Various happenings in his life have given him the belief that he only has to wish for something to happen in order for it to come about.  In his mind, this is a gift bestowed on him from God and that he has been ordained to spend the remainder of his career building churches.  Hilde, in believing the fairytale promise Solness made her all those years ago, becomes his enabler and continually eggs him on.  As the story progresses, we are privy to his confused inner world and symbolism begins to replace the realism of the earlier scenes.  It is very much a play of these two different styles and all credit to David Hare’s excellent adaptation and Ralph Fiennes equally excellent portrayal that the whole production gels so beautifully.  Oh and let’s not forget the third piece of the puzzle that fits it all together, the remarkable directing skills of Matthew Warchus.

The remaining cast is no slouch either and I particularly enjoyed the performances of the American Linda Emond as Aline and Australian Sarah Snook as Hilde.  Their accents are pretty much spot on and Aline is very effecting in the final two acts, when she is slightly less ‘buttoned up’.  Hilde Wangel is a difficult part to play, balancing as she has to the ethereal childlike energy of the young woman with the sexy tease.  For the most part Sarah Snook manages this extremely well.

The Master Builder, although written in 1893, doesn’t feel dated, thanks to David Hare’s interpretation.  The dialogue seems very alive and fresh and the realistic theme of an older man’s infatuation with a young girl will always be relevant.  In fact it is thought that Hilde is based on a blend of three women, Emilie Bardach an eighteen-year-old Viennese student with whom Ibsen had a brief affair, Helene Raff, an acquaintance of Bardach’s and Hildur Andersen, a ten-year-old child of friends who, at the age of twenty-seven, became his constant companion.

This is yet another one of Ibsen’s plays that has recently been produced which more than honours one of the truly great playwrights.

Escaped Alone at The Royal Court

Caryl Churchill is certainly a prolific writer.  Aged 77, she is still churning out plays, even if they’re often of the short one act variety.  Her latest offering at The Royal Court, as part of their sixtieth birthday celebrations, is a prime example, lasting a mere sixty minutes.  Directed by James Macdonald, Escaped Alone features four women drinking tea in the backyard belonging to one of them and discussing personal catastrophes and highlighting the epic kind.

As with all Caryl Churchill plays, Escaped Alone isn’t readily understandable.  Nothing is explained and it’s up to the audience to work out what she is getting at.  Puzzling, certainly, and not for those who want to watch a play with a beginning, middle and end.  She is often named as one of Britain’s most significant living dramatists.  That she has changed the language of theatre is beyond doubt, but I’m afraid I don’t always enjoy her work.  One of her main artistic objectives is to dramatise the abuse of power and to explore sexual politics and feminist themes, which is all very admirable.  The problem for me is that her non-naturalistic techniques often go way over my head and the point she is making isn’t hitting home.

This new play follows the usual path, but it does have its virtues, especially because it is written for a cast of four women within Churchill’s age range and the four actors involved are all exceptional.  Whilst it is definitely an ensemble piece, the magnificent Linda Bassett as Mrs. Jarratt, who chances upon her friend’s tea party, is the one who gets to relate the various catastrophic world-wide happenings.  The other three played by Deborah Findlay, Kika Markham and June Watson respectively solely discuss the personal.  However each of these three break off from the chit-chat to deliver a monologue about an event which has had a catastrophic effect on their daily lives.

The play is very amusing in places and some of the major catastrophes are challenging to listen to but there is one very special moment that is worth the ticket price alone.  This is when the four women break into a pitch perfect rendition of The Crystal’s Da Doo Ron Ron, complete with vocal backing music.  It is utterly delightful and very unexpected.

What is slightly more jarring are the unfinished sentences delivered by each of the women.  Fine in theory, but in practice it is imperative that each actor picks up on her cues super quickly to maintain fluidity.  I was at the first night preview so I’m sure that this will happen as the run progresses.

The Dazzle at Found111

 I am so relieved to have had a second chance to see The Dazzle after being thwarted the first time by an accident closing the M11.  It is an extraordinary production in every way; the subject matter, venue and brilliance of all three actors, especially the incomparable Andrew Scott.

The American dramatist Richard Greenberg wrote The Dazzle as a fictionalised recounting of the lives of the reclusive Collyer Brothers, admitting that he knew almost nothing about them.  What he did know was that their bodies were found buried under mounds and mounds of rubbish (140 tons to be exact) in their Harlem Brownstone mansion in 1947. 

His play opens in 1905 when the brothers, Homer and Langley, relatively young men, are still venturing into the world outside.  Langley (Andrew Scott) is a concert pianist, given to erratic mood swings, whilst Homer (David Dawson) a trained lawyer is his minder, manager and carer.  A third person comes into their lives in the shape of the pretty young and troubled heiress Milly Ashmore (Joanna Vanderham) who puts the cats amongst the pigeons by falling in love with and getting engaged to Langley in Act I and Homer in Act II.  But nothing is straightforward in the cloistered lives of these brothers, who to call eccentric would be an understatement.  By the second half the strangeness of their existence is raised several notches.  The hording of items, useful and anything but, has reached danger level and the only brother to venture outside is Langley and then only after dark when no one else is around.  By now he has become carer, to his older, blind sibling.  But I use the word carer lightly!

At no point does Richard Greenberg judge the lives or personalities of these three tragic human beings.  Rather he opens up a window on their world, and imbues them with humour, a unique if outlandish outlook on life and, ultimately, love for each other.  The setting for this remarkable play gives the audience the feeling that they are actually sitting in the corner of the sitting room in the brother’s house, watching their disintegration unfold.  Designer Ben Stones has located the room, complete with grand piano, amongst many other things, on the top floor of the old Central St Martins building entitled Found111 and it is approached by climbing several flights of concrete stairs.  The room itself is small with mismatched wooden chairs, topped with cushions (thankfully) laid out on three sides.  Thus the actors are never more than a few feet away and the whites of their eyes are constantly visible.  It makes for an intense experience, whilst the ever present, if muted, London hubbub in the background adds to the notion that we are actually in the Harlem brownstone.

Director Simons Evans ensures that the brothers’ performances don’t veer over into sentimentality.  Both actors inhabit their characters, highlighting their differences and ultimately their quirky similarities.  Whilst we, the audience, feel nothing but pity for the pair, we can understand the mistrust that was felt by their New York neighbours and why the Collyer brother’s home became a zoo like prison, with those on the outside leering in at them.  We can almost understand the men’s mounting paranoia that the only safe place to be is hiding within and beneath their hoards of rubbish.  

All three actors aid the director’s vision perfectly.  If anyone thinks that Andrew Scott’s main claim to fame is to play the villain, think again.  He can turn his hand to anything and his portrayal of the younger Collyer brother is wonderfully nuanced.  He perfectly highlights the man’s childlike quality and his highly tuned sensitivity towards everything around him, from an imperceptible incorrect piano note to a tassle (the Dazzle of the title) he hangs on a light fitting.  Unfortunately this sensitivity does not extend towards the other two characters, which proves devastating to both Milly and Homer.

Homer, whilst sharing his brother’s brilliant brain, is a different character altogether.  He tries to mask the hurt unknowingly inflicted by Langley, by sarcastic reposts and quick changes of heart.  But the hurt is there, flickering across David Dawson’s wonderful malleable face.  He is more than equal to the task of sharing a stage with the wonderful Andrew Scott.

More than up to the job of playing Milly is the young Joanna Vanderham, managing to emanate vulnerability and sensuality.  She is a worthy third side of the triangle.

Ostensibly a play about obsessive behaviour, The Dazzle is ultimately a tragic love story and I retraced my steps down the concrete stairs with an enormous lump in my throat and the knowledge that I had witnessed something very special.

Thank you once again Michael Grandage.  You never disappoint.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses at The Donmar

I know I shouldn’t make a comparison, but feel the need because the original production of Christopher Hampton’s adaptation of Choderlos de Laclos’s 1782 novel made such an impression.  Whilst this latest offering at The Donmar is excellent, it doesn’t exert the same menace or sexual frisson as that given off by Alan Rickman and Lindsay Duncan in the mid eighties.

A drama of revenge using sex as the weapon still has the power to shock.  The main perpetrators are La Marquise de Merteuil and her ex-lover, Le Vicomte de Valmont.  Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned was as true then as it is now, with the Marquise instigating the whole sordid plan.  Because La Marquise was thrown to one side by the future fiancée of the ingenue, Cecile Volanges, she aims to get her own back by challenging Valmont to seduce the young virgin.  He easily completes this task, as well as undertaking another for his own benefit. His prime target in this instance is Madame de Tourvel.  The problem is that he hasn’t taken into account that he might actually fall in love with the married lady in the process.  This is bad news for him and La Marquise, who still holds a very bright torch for her partner in crime. 

Tom Scutt’s design suggests a chateau in a state of flux.  The set contains the trappings of wealth but one in desperate need of a make-over.  The walls are scuffed and have paintings leaning against them rather than hung.  It suggests impermanence; what was, is, or soon will be …. gone.  This is affecting.  What is not is the covering of all the furnishings by what appears to be white muslin, but turns out to be some type of plastic.  It works as a covering for the sleeping Cecile but is very disconcerting when the actors have to wade through it.

In my opinion, the evening belongs to Janet McTeer as the controlling Marquise.  Statuesque and languidly elegant in pale grey satin, her flashing eyes prove a window into her soul.  They reflect her initial scheming and final loss, when we realise that this manipulative, supposedly strong woman, is actually truly vulnerable.

Dominic West isn’t (or certainly wasn’t when I saw the play) quite so at ease in his role as Valmont, at least until he succumbs to love in the Second Act.  Whether this is due to him being unsure of his lines, or miscast, I’m not sure, but I hope this excellent actor becomes more sexually predatory as the run progresses.  Maybe it’s the spectre of the sinuous Alan Rickman that’s the problem.  I hope so as Mr. West is undoubtedly one of our great actors who is more than capable of highlighting his steamy side (as shown in the US TV show The Affair).

Elaine Cassidy is an incredibly brittle Madame de Tourvel, but perfectly portrays the terror she feels at eventually surrendering to her sexual desires.   Her melt down in Valmont’s arms is alarming to watch.  I can’t help but wonder how Michelle Docherty would have fared in the role.

The Homecoming at Trafalgar Studios

Whether this 1965 play by Harold Pinter appeals or appalls, there is no doubting its ability to enthrall.  Written during the time when the Kray twins were building their dodgy empire through intimidation and fear, Pinter’s portrayal of a dysfunctional London family mirrors the menace a patriarchal figure can bestow on those around him.  The patriarch in question is Max, a retired butcher and father to Teddy, Joey and Lenny.  Nothing less like a model parent is difficult to imagine and there are heavy hints that ruling his boys with a rod of iron was only one of many despicable things to which they were subjected.  Now an old man, reduced to walking with the aid of a stick, Max still has the power to wound and subjugate with his foul tongue, which he does with abandon.  Sharing his house with his brother and two of his sons, Max is desperate to retain his power over them all.

The homecoming of the title is the visit from the States of third son, Teddy and his new wife, former model, Ruth.  Teddy is a philosophy lecturer who escaped the family power struggle six years before and the years haven’t lessened his anxiety at being in this toxic home environment.  His return highlights Max’s instability; initially rejoicing in his son’s unexpected visit before switching to unaccountable rage. 

Soutra Gilmour’s set is sparse but effectively eerie.  This London house has no creature comforts and the sitting room, where the action is set, couldn’t be more unwelcoming.  The palpable tension is highlighted by the acting space, lit by a malignant red light, and encased in a red steel frame.  One of the few pieces of furniture is an easy chair, placed centre stage in Act Two.  This chair belongs to Max and woe betide anyone else using it.  So when Ruth, the only female in the house breaks the unspoken rule, it’s obvious that a woman has, or is about to take charge.  For the first time?  Who knows, because we learn little about the boy’s mother, apart from hints from Sam that Jessie was no better than a tart.  The trouble is, can we believe him, because everyone has a power struggle with everyone else?  Sam goads his brother, Max.  Lenny goads Ruth and Teddy, whilst Max goads everyone.

For the most part, the cast is excellent.  Ron Cook’s Max, whilst undoubtedly a vicious, evil bastard, never slips into caricature and perfectly conveys the gradual slip of his patriarchal status.   The wonderful John Simm makes Lenny a more menacing character, masking his nastiness behind a sardonic smile.  But it’s a smile without warmth, which never reaches his eyes.  You’re never sure what he might do next and his quick wit is almost always at someone else’s expense.  Keith Allen’s Sam is nicely understated as the effeminate chauffeur brother, whilst John MacMillan makes the slow witted would-be boxer, Joey, thoroughly believable.  Gemma Chan’s Ruth is less so.  Her demure stance at the beginning rings true but not the metamorphosis into something much more sexy.  Inscrutable yes …… erotic, not so much!   Likewise her husband Teddy played by Gary Kemp.  He seems ill at ease throughout, as if he’s not terribly sure what makes his character tick and his performance appears forced.

The Homecoming is full of unanswered questions (not least why Ruth should do an about turn and decide to stay in this acrid environment), which you find yourself trying to work out long after leaving the theatre.  A play that is short on sympathetic characters, but compelling nonetheless.

Evening At The Talk House at The Dorfman

I was looking forward to seeing this new play by Wallace Shawn but ended up being mightily disappointed.  The start is promising enough with theatre playwright turned TV script writer, Robert (Josh Hamilton), delivering a wry and witty monologue on his career and setting the scene for what is about to enfold.  The problem is with the enfolding.  It leaves the audience at a loss as to what Wallace Shawn is actually getting at.  Realistic it ‘aint, but it isn’t obviously fantasy either.  It falls somewhere between the two, but told in such a monotonous way that any discourse afterwards as to what Shawn actually does mean is deemed futile.

The Talk House of the title is a club where Robert and several of his old theatrical work colleagues have arranged to meet for a reunion ten years after they were all involved in one of his plays.  This genteel, old-fashioned dining club, slightly faded at the edges and somewhat drab and sinister is very well realised by the The Quay Brothers.  Nellie (Anna Calder-Marshall), the original hostess has faded along with her workplace and when we come across Dick, an ageing actor, hiding away in a corner, the “something nasty in the woodshed” atmosphere heightens.   He is sporting various facial bruises, the result of a vicious assault by his friends, but it is never explained why he has become a target.  As everyone else assembles and begins to open up as to what they’ve been doing in the interim years, it becomes clear that the world we’ve entered is a very odd one indeed.  But is it a parody of what we’re enduring now thanks to global terrorism, is it set sometime in the future, is it a criticism of American/our government policy or just a chance to spout forth on the eventual demise of the acting profession?  I really have no idea and, such is the tiresome way in which the cast are made to spill the beans about how they now make a living (carrying out targeted killings on those who mean the country harm) I really don’t care.

Wallace Shawn, himself, is one of the cast, as the poor, unfortunate Dick, who, it turns out was a pretty awful actor in Robert’s play ten years ago.  Maybe that’s why he was beaten up?  Anything is possible and nothing is clear at The Talk House and even the abrupt ending leaves everyone confused as to whether or not the strange conversations by the even stranger conversationalists is over or not.

The Director, Ian Rickson does his best, but even he can’t disguise the mannered, one dimensional quality of these odd people with the even odder raison d’etre.