Aristocrats at The Donmar

Whilst on a road trip around the west coast of Ireland last year, I was astonished to notice the dearth of large smart country houses and preponderance of identical little white ones, recalling Pete Seeger’s song, ‘Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky, little boxes all the same’.  Why?  Apparently, the State of Ireland must be held responsible. Following attacks on these grand houses during the Irish Civil War, they were then taxed up to the hilt and the inhabitants, mostly Anglo-Irish Protestants, left leaving them empty.  Instead of ensuring the houses longevity, the Irish government, in their wisdom, let any which hadn’t already done so, fall down and then encouraged the building of the little white bungalows around the coast.

The central character of Brian Friel’s play, Aristocrats, now playing at The Donmar, is one such country house, Ballybeg Hall in Donegal.  Once the home of siblings, Judith (Eileen Walsh), Alice (Elaine Cassidy), Casimir (David Dawson), Claire (Aisling Loftus) and their parents, it is now only inhabited by Claire, Judith, their father (James Laurenson) and Uncle George (Ciaran McIntyre).  The father, a former judge, lies dying upstairs, Uncle George never speaks and dutiful Judith is at her wits end trying to make ends meet whilst tending to every whim of ‘him upstairs’.  When the play opens, however, the decaying house is fully occupied.  Alice, husband Eamon (Emmet Kirwan) and Casimir have returned in readiness for the old man’s death, whilst Tom Hoffnung (Paul Higgins), an American professor is a temporary guest as he gathers material for his thesis.  

In order to ensure that father’s requests can be heard downstairs, local neighbour Willie Diver (David Ganly) is in the process of installing a speaker to the doorframe. I say door frame, but there is actually no telling where it’s being fixed because, despite the action taking place within the house and its close environs, the stage is bare.  Bare that is except for a suspended doll’s house replicating Ballybeg Hall and an upstage wall that gradually reveals the property in more prosperous times.  Es Devlin hasn’t exactly had her work cut out on this production!

The device used by Lyndsey Turner to ensure we’re aware of where the actors are at any one time, is for the stage directions to be read out loud, thus making a wordy play more so.  Not that this is detrimental to our enjoyment; Brian Friel has a wonderful way with words.  And the actors are, without exception, perfect in their various roles.  Especially so, is David Dawson as the fey Casimir.  With his rapid, jerky movements and ill at ease manner, he evokes pity and amusement.  He calls himself peculiar but Dawson manages to convey that this man is no fool.  Despite his recollections of many, many great artists and writers visiting the house in its heyday being rather skewed (the dates don’t add up) his overwrought behaviour is obviously a product of his upbringing not his intelligence.  One wonders if he is gay.  His obsession with keeping in touch with his German wife and three sons, is unconvincing.

Casimir’s siblings also have a touch of the fantasist.  Elaine Cassidy excels as Alice, the sister far too fond of alcohol and ensconced in what appears to be an unhappy marriage to a man too fond of the odd slap.  But she doesn’t let on to the others.  And then there is the youngest sister, Claire, who spends most of her time playing Chopin on the piano. Sadness is her default button and does she really believe all will be well when she marries her much older suitor?

Not a happy bunch but Aristocrats is not as depressing as it may appear.  The faultless performances, strains of Chopin wafting through the theatre and, of course Friel’s pitch perfect writing make for a very enjoyable evening.  But perhaps it wouldn’t necessarily be the case without the compelling Dawson’s Casimir.

Home I'm Darling at The Dorfman

With her new play, Home I’m Darling, Laura Wade has turned her attention to feminism, using Katherine Parkinson’s character, Judy, as the conduit.  Judy is married to Johnny (Richard Harrington) and, following her voluntary redundancy, has decided to be a stay at home wife.  But this is no ordinary housewife, as Judy has turned herself into a1950’s version, complete with frilled “pinny” and gathered full skirts cinched in at the waist.  There is no escape for the house either, decorated as it is with a riot of primary colours, hideous 50’s furniture and accoutrements including a pineapple ice bucket on top of the cocktail cabinet.  The kitchen also accommodates an authentic fridge of the era.  It’s just a shame that it doesn’t work properly, especially when it had to be collected from Sunderland and the couple live in Hertordshire!  All credit to Designer, Anna Fleischie, for turning the set, where we’re able to see into every colourful room of this nauseatingly twee home, into yet another character.

At first, it’s easy to assume that the play is set in the fifties. It’s only when Judy opens a draw, removes her laptop and starts to type that we realise we’ve been hoodwinked and it’s actually 2018.  Whilst giving the appearance of embracing the simpler post war years to the full, she isn’t 100 percent committed.  Johnny has even less commitment to his wife’s obsession, but nevertheless plays the game to some extent by allowing Judy to overdo the wifeliness.  She bustles round at breakfast to ensure he has his every need, hands him his lunchbox (fifties authentic of course), and kisses him goodbye as he leaves for work. Every man’s dream one might think, except that problems arise of the monetary kind (playing this type of dress-up doesn’t come cheap) and they are having to survive without his wife’s salary.  Perhaps it would be better if Judy were more like her friend Fran (Kathryn Drysdale) who, whilst enjoying the dressing up and attending Jivestock, hasn’t turned her whole life into an episode of Happy Days.

But then Fran doesn’t share her friend’s dysfunctional childhood, comprising a nasty parental divorce and early years spent in a hippie feminist commune.  A factor of Judy’s need for domesticity and the knowledge that there is a place for everything and everything in its place.  Plus, as the compliant domestic goddess, she is as far removed from her latter day Greenham Common mother, Sylvia’s (Sian Thomas) ideal as it’s possible to be.  Not that she doesn’t still think of herself as a feminist, and demonstrates this with her counter arguments whilst being hilariously confronted by Sylvia berating her daughter’s lifestyle choice.  Other feminist issues are also raised. They include the #MeToo movement, as Fran’s husband Marcus (Barnaby Kay) is guilty of sexual harassment in the workplace and the problems Johnny has in dealing with a younger female boss.

Tamara Harvey has done an excellent job directing this terrific ensemble but it is Katherine Parkinson who drives the piece.  She is perfect at playing a character, who despite being on the cusp of descending into absolute despair, does so with an equal amount of hilarity.  Sian Thomas is equally fine and the highlight of the play is her hilarious rant against the subjugation of women.

There are times when the play sags very slightly in the middle, mostly when some cast members break off the dialogue and break into a “Strictly” jive routine, but as a whole this is a very clever take on a very emotive subject.

Does it make one yearn to return to the Fifties way of life?  Absolutely not!

Exit the King at The Olivier

Romanian born, Eugene Ionesco, was a leading light in “The Theatre of the Absurd” and, as such, is possibly not everyone’s cup of tea.  Add to that equation that his play, Exit the King, currently playing at The Olivier, concerns death and you could attest that it’s not a sure-fire box office hit.  However, there are a couple of major pluses.  Rhys Ifans, plays King Berenger, the remaining cast are excellent and Patrick Marber not only directs but has written this new snappy and, at times, very funny version.

In the early nineteen sixties, having recently turned fifty, Ionesco was suffering from recurring bouts of liver disease.  Becoming convinced that he was nearing the end of his life (he actually lived for another thirty years) this most moribund of men told himself that he could learn how to die.  These thoughts eventually transformed themselves into a drama and Exit the King was born in 1962.  It is not the only Ionesco play to feature a character called Berenger.  The name, although not necessarily the same person, crops up in three others and is offered as a kind of Everyman who finds himself reluctantly doing battle with inexplicable forces, in this case death.

The play is set in an unknown kingdom which King Berenger has ruled for over 450 years.  That it’s in its last throes is obvious, even without the references to the devastating effects of global warning.  This is down to Anthony Ward’s set, which has an enormous crack running down the central wall of the throne room. A crack which enlarges as the play progresses.  However, it’s the king who will be the first to utter the last breath; at the end of the play to be precise.  And lest we forget, the time he has left is periodically spoken out loud by a cast member.  The count-down to his demise begins as soon as the play starts.

Needless to say, the king is not a willing participant in this and neither is Queen Maria (Amy Morgan) his second wife.  Sexy and with an inexplicable French accent (perhaps to accentuate her sexiness), Maria doesn’t want to face up to the fact that her husband has only a few hours left.  Queen Marguerite (Indira Varma) his first and more sensible wife, is much more phlegmatic and the contrast between her and the more favoured younger one is played out to joyous effect.  Alongside these we have The Guard (Derek Griffiths) decked out like a toy soldier, The Doctor (Adrian Scarborough) in wizard-like pointy hat and a “prattish” servant called Juliette (Debra Gillett).

Rhys Ifans is unrecognisable.  His long lanky frame, encased in blue PJ’s once his ceremonial robes have been divested, mirrors his long lanky wig.  There is no doubt that the actor who made Spike so memorable in the movie Notting Hill is no one trick pony.  Switching from a Richard III tyrannical despot to a frail old man with legs that won’t hold his weight, Ifans frightens and moves us in equal measure.  And how refreshing that he has no qualms about looking downright ugly, not only here with his make-up smudged, Geisha like face and pull on bobble hat, but also in his recent roles as The Fool to Glenda Jackson’s Lear and Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, both at The Old Vic.  Ionesco states that in learning of his impending death Berenger moves from denial to anger through to bargaining and depression, and Ifans portrays all this to perfection.  A tour de force if ever I saw one.

He is ably helped by the rest of the cast.  Indira Varma plays icy cool severity brilliantly and is every inch the senior, if not more popular Queen.  Amy Morgan is the perfect opposite and there is no better actor than Adrian Scarborough at portraying pomposity.  Add Debra Gillett’s humorous slapstick servant to the mix and the final dramatic scene, and Exit the King, although undeniably strange and maybe a touch too long, is worth the price of a ticket.   

Allelujah at The Bridge Theatre

A new play by Alan Bennett is always highly anticipated, especially when it’s directed by Nicholas Hytner.  And so it was with great expectations that I booked to see Allelujah at The Bridge Theatre.  Sadly, in this instance, the saying, “never expect”, is never more apt, as the great Mr. Bennett’s latest offering isn’t his best.

The play is set in a geriatric ward, although it often has the feel of an old people’s rest home, in an old style, cradle-to-grave Yorkshire hospital (the Beth) which is faced with closure.  It focuses on several of the elderly patients, Colin (Samuel Barnett), the son of wheelchair bound Joe (Jeff Rawle), Salter (Peter Forbes) the Chairman of the Hospital Trust and Sister Gilchrist (Deborah Findlay).  In order to try and keep the Beth alive, the self- important Salter is waging a sponsored campaign, which includes a two-man

documentary team filming the ward and those connected with it.

The main thrust of the play, apart from the threat of the hospital’s closure, is  its lack of beds and the need, as far as Nurse Pinkney (Nicola Hughes) is concerned to keep the patients’ “spirits up”, by getting them all to sing in her choir.  Add to this a dollop of concern about the lack of visitors, ‘If people love their parents, why do they put them away’ and the less than subtle nod to Brexit and the problem this is likely to cause immigrants like the excellent Dr. Valentine (Sacha Dhawan).  Bennett’s points hit home and we’re in no doubt as to his bugbears.  The trouble is that it isn’t until we get to the Second Act that some sort of plot emerges.  That’s not to say Allelujah isn’t rich with Bennett’s usual witty dialogue, often uttered by the aged patients, and the visuals, when the geriatrics mix their singing with a dance or three, is at times joyous.  I just wish the whole thing wasn’t quite so contrived.

Deborah Findlay is superb as the rather hard-nosed ward sister who has her own, albeit drastic, solution to the freeing up of beds.  She expertly shows how resigned this hard-working nurse has become to the constant daily chores of tending to the old, and only allows some warmth to shine through when tripping the light fantastic with Thatcher hater Joe.  Also doing a great job is Peter Forbes as the puffed-up canary, Salter, feathering his own nest in as officious manner as possible.  And let me not forget Jeff Rawle, Samuel Barnett and Sacha Dhawan, who all ensure their characters are anything but one dimensional.

Bob Crowley has designed a clever set of movable peach coloured walls portraying the various wards, corridors and nurse’s station.  He also extends the playwright’s humorous poke at modernism (William Wordsworth ward is now named Joan Collins) by plonking a blue NHS direction sign ‘Chapel’ above ‘Endoscopy’.

Despite the depressing nature of the play, and my few quibbles, Allelujah still has enough Bennett brilliance to make it enjoyable.  It’s just not quite as entertaining as his previous works.

The Lehman Trilogy at The Lyttleton

The way Sam Mendes brings to life Stefano Massini’s epic play, adapted here at The Lyttleton by Ben Power, is inspired.  Using just three actors, but what a trio, we become privy to how Lehman Brothers turned into the Wall Street institution it was until its spectacular collapse in 2008.

I wasn’t totally sure if a 3½ hour play about a financial corporation was really my thing, but decided the cast and director were worth the gamble.  No need to worry, because rather than being a wordy blow-by-blow account of a bank’s demise, this is a very amusing and pacey synopsis of how and why the whole thing collapsed.

This play has a very unusual and interesting format.  It’s written in a kind of verse, the actors often direct their speeches to the audience and talk about themselves in the third person before moving into dialogue.  It is neither rhyme no prose so has more of an affinity to Greek drama, albeit lighter in tone.  Ben Power has to be given massive credit for succeeding so brilliantly in his massive task of creating this version out of the literal translation of the original, especially if you take into account that Stefano Massini’s drama originally ran for 5 hours and it took him 3½ years to write.  His reason for writing the play, which has since been translated into 11 languages and staged across the world, was his desire to find out how such a massive enterprise as Lehman’s collapsed so spectacularly. 

To this end, The Lehman Trilogy starts way back in the 1840’s and Henry Lehman’s (Simon Russell-Beale) arrival in America from Bavaria.  Settling in Montgomery, Alabama, he starts modestly by opening a general store (well actually a one-room shop selling cloth by the inch to those of very modest means).  Soon joined by his brother, Emanuel (Ben Miles) and then Mayer (Adam Godley), they soon move onto loaning money to the plantations, receiving payment in raw cotton which they sell on, at profit, to New York.  Thus the “middle man” is effectively born.   Eventually investing in coffee and railways, they prosper so well that their main commodity is money itself.  In Mendes’s production, the signage depicting the changing face of their business is written with marker pen on one of the glass walls of Es Devlin’s remarkable revolving glass box.  Likewise, the New York skyline, plantation fields and the various catastrophes that threaten their business along the way, but from which they cannily survive, is depicted on Luke Hall’s back video screen.

Just as the three actors portray every character from demure 19^th century Alabama girl to each and every subsequent Lehman family member, so they remain in their original black frock coats.  Very few props are used, but do include cardboard boxes like those used by Lehman employees to remove their belongings from their offices on the 15^th September 2008.  These boxes become a host of other things including towers and podiums; minimalism at its most effective.

But it’s the three actors and their director that ensure this impeccable production is such a joy to watch.  Simon Russell-Beale has never been better as the solidly respectable older brother, Henry and, never one to shirk from harnessing his female side, his transformation into various women is nothing short of brilliant.  With just the slightest of movements, inflections and voice, he can convince you he can be anybody doing anything.

Likewise, Adam Godley, when not portraying the patronised youngest brother, Mayer, plays a mean female   Then, by complete contrast transmogrifies into a fractious toddler and the entrepreneurial Bobbie, dancing as the stockmarket goes haywire.

Then we have Ben Miles, the calm and authoritative middle brother, Emanuel, who turns into various later members of the Lehman clan who are anything but.

The Lehman Trilogy has it all but pared down to the bare minimum.  For one who knows diddly-squat about banking and the like, I came away from the Lyttleton understanding a lot more, especially how easy it was for a family business initially conducting their business with the Jewish ethics they grew up with, ending up with no Lehman involved and ethics going out of the window.

Well worth seeing.

The Lieutenant of Inishmore at the Noel Coward Theatre

Martin McDonagh once described his play, The Lieutenant of Inishmore, as “a violent play that is wholeheartedly anti-violence”.  An addendum to this should read that it is also hilarious, both visibly and because the plot, albeit ‘off the wall’ and script are incomparable.

No-one can dispute that this is comedy at its blackest.  How could that not be the case when the story is based around Mad Padriac (Aidan Turner), the sole member of his own Irish National Liberation Army splinter group who was deemed too mad for the IRA.  That’s not to say that Padriac isn’t without compassion, it’s just that it’s only visible when concerning cats, and one cat in particular, namely “Wee Thomas”.  Currently being looked after by his father, Donny (Denis Conway), Wee Thomas is Padriac’s only friend.  Well aware of this, three INLA members incensed by Padriac’s splinter group and intent on wreaking their revenge, lure him back home by battering the aforementioned moggy to death.

The play opens with Padriac torturing a local drug dealer, James (Brian Martin) strung up by his legs, the better to have his toenails unceremoniously removed.  His ordeal is temporarily halted when a phone call informs his perpetrator that his “Wee Thomas” is in a poor state of health.  Brought to his knees with grief, Padriac is offered veterinary advice, involving ringworm pellets from his torture victim. It’s only on his return home that Padriac realises his cat is a lost cause and no amount of pellets of any description will resurrect him.  Time for revenge and the fear that grips Donny and his ginger-mulleted young pal, Davey (Chris Walley) on the immediate return of the former’s prodigal son is completely founded.  Despite their cunning plan of disguising a ginger cat by polishing him with black boot polish, Padriac smells a rat (well boot polish actually) and it’s time for them to meet their maker.  What follows is a blood fest, but don’t let that put you off.  It’s delivered in such a farcical, laugh out loud way that only those suffering from S.O.H.F. (sense of humour failure) or utter despondency that their beloved Poldark could turn out so malevolent will be shocked into an early exit from the theatre.

There is a nod to female character content in the form of Mairead (Charlie Murphy), Davey’s sister, but at the risk of upsetting the L.G.B.T. community, she’s not your normal girlie girl.  Her idea of stating the case for the cessation of slaughtering animals for food is to shoot out the eyes of cows!  After all, what farmer could sell a blind one!  She is also a passionate advocate for a free Ireland, so Padriac and his ideals are quite a draw. They’re both cut from the same cloth and their relationship, built on the shared passion of a splinter INLA group is likewise broken due to their shared passion of felines.

The entire play mercilessly highlights McDonagh’s mockery of the politics of revenge.  The terrorists are shown to be inept and full of sentimental self-righteousness, with more than a hint of the psychopath.  After all, Padriac is a man overwhelmed by grief over the death of his cat but has no compunction about killing his father.  He sighs, “All I ever wanted was an Ireland free .. Free for cats to roam about”.  And the script is littered with delightful understatement.  None more so than Donny’s line when bloody mayhem has ensued, “It’s incidents like this that does put the tourists off Ireland”.

Michael Grandage directs the cast with sure fired accuracy, ensuring that McDonagh’s script loses none of its bite.  It helps that all the actors are exemplary and that Christoper Oram’s set couldn’t be more ‘bog Ireland’ if it tried.  Aidan Turner, wild eyed and blood spattered, makes for an unnerving Padriac but one who is also strangely innocent.   Who knows what a character who utters the line “You never let bygones be bygones you” when talking to Christy whose eye he shot with a crossbow, might do next?  What a good move on his part to leave the Cornish Hills for a while and return to his homeland.  He really isn’t just a pretty face.

Chris Walley, the actor playing young Davey is superb.  His ‘biog’

of  just one previous TV/Film performance, as he has just graduated from RADA, will surely ratchet up after this turn as the hapless young Davey.  Oh and what a stroke of genius to furnish him with a pink bicycle!

Denis Conway is a master at delivering McDonagh’s off the cuff witticisms, whilst Charlie Murphy couldn’t be better as the passionate but flawed adolescent girl.  The INLA men, Will Irvine, Daryl McCormack and Julian Moore-Cook, also play their part in ensuring that whether the laughs are involuntary during a shocking bit or joyous from yet another brilliant quip, they’re there nonetheless.

The futility of all the violence eventually becomes clear, but as it’s a spoiler alert my lips are sealed.  Suffice it to say that like everything else about this production, it is brilliant.

Julie at The Lyttleton

Put simply, this updated version by Polly Stenham of Strindberg’s Miss Julie, didn’t do it for me.  It’s nothing to do with the acting, which is up to the mark, it’s the fact that the dramatic tension usually associated with this play isn’t there.

Stenham’s updated version has Julie (Vanessa Kirby) transported to modern day London. It’s her thirty something birthday and she’s celebrating with a party in the home she shares with her wealthy father.  He’s away, the only members of the household insitu are Jean (Eric Kofi Abrefa), the Ghanian chauffeur and his Brazilian fiancé Kristina (Thalissa Teixara) and drugs are freely flowing.  Julie, the ultimate poor little rich girl, has issues stemming from the death of her mother and regularly imbibes Xanax and Cocaine. This birthday bash is an excuse for her to go wild following a recent break-up.  As such, anything goes, including the chance to engage in a power game with Jean which ultimately ends in rough sex and the decision, albeit constantly changed, to run away together.

The trouble is, unlike the original play, this sexual encounter isn’t a massive deal. Yes, it means Kristina’s dignity and happiness is severely compromised, but in this day and age, sleeping with the staff of whatever nationality isn’t life shattering from anyone’s point of view and certainly shouldn’t bring about the ultimate conclusion viewed here.

Vanessa Kirby is great at showing the disturbed nature of the over indulged Julie and letting us glimpse the changing nature of her relationship with both Jean and Kristina.  At times overly pally and needy, whilst at others imperious and condescending, but never really interested in their lives or how they may be feeling.  Thalissa Teixeira is very affecting as the deceived Kristina and illicits our sympathy in a way that Julie never really can.  Meanwhile Eric Kofi Abrefa expertly conveys his conflicting emotions of desire and distaste towards his employer’s daughter.

Another sticking point is Tom Scutt’s design. The Lyttleton stage is basically cut in half.  The top shows the party in full, somewhat contrived swing, whilst the kitchen in the bottom half has Jean and Kristina bustling around making sure everything’s in order when the boss gets back.  The throbbing base from above is distracting, whilst the kitchen area is far too large for the intimate exchanges between the couple.  Strindberg himself realised his play required a “small stage and small auditorium” which begs the question, why stage it in a theatre which is anything but.

A reason for Stenham updating Miss Julie was to apparently investigate the hypocrisies of middle-class liberals towards their immigrant staff and she would probably have been better writing a play to this effect from scratch.  Maybe those not conversant with the original might enjoy this update more.  It just isn’t for me.