The Effect at The Cottesloe

This time around, The Cottesloe has been transformed into a private clinic.  Except it isn’t a normal clinic but one where they carry out drug trials.  As I overheard a lady saying during the interval, why would anyone put themselves through such a thing, especially when the play write, Lucy Prebble, of Enron fame, eloquently shows us what can go wrong.  Of course this is fiction, but fiction of the powerful kind that makes one think about the subject long after the viewing has ended.

This particular drug trial is concerned with finding a cure for depression and Billie Piper, playing a psychology student called Connie and Jonojo O’Neill as Tristan, a laid back Northern Irish drifter, are two of the guinea pigs.  Their mutual attraction is apparent from the onset of the play and they constantly flirt with one another.  The two trialists are under the constant supervision of medic, Lorna, played by a nervy, humourless Anastasia Hille, who, in turn, reports back to the smug, self-important Doctor Toby played by Tom Goodman-Hill.  It is evident quite early on that these two doctors have a history, which has left Lorna less than happy with its outcome.

Having passed the preliminaries, Connie and Tristan are accepted onto the trial and so they begin a course of daily doses of a dopamine based antidepressant.  As the trial progresses, their dosage is increased and what started out as mutual infatuation, turns into full-blown feverish love.  But is the love real or the result of them taking the drug?  Come to that is one of them actually only ingesting a placebo and, if so, which one?  And, in the grand scheme of things, does it really matter if the couple cannot altogether trust their feelings, given that brain chemicals are what make us fall for one another in the first place?  All questions that make you think whilst watching the four actors faultlessly portray their characters.

There is one scene that for me is the highlight of an otherwise nearly perfect play.  Tristan and Connie have escaped the “big brother” atmosphere of the main clinic and find themselves in a large, unused room.  Here, Tristan courts a more cautious Connie by doing an impromptu tap dancing routine to the strains of I’ve Got You Under My Skin.  The wooing is so successful that the growing intensity of their feelings for one another is palpable and I’m sure I won’t be the only female that is likewise charmed. 

Their growing love affair is cleverly balanced by the very unsuccessful relationship between the two Doctors.  It transpires that Lorna who is skeptical about the use of anti-depressants actually drove Toby away because she herself suffers from depression.

The four actors cannot be faulted.  Billie Piper and Jonjo O’Neill are superb and compliment each other perfectly.  One totally believes in their burgeoning love affair as surely as one cannot imagine Tom Goodman-Hill playing anything other than super-smug.  And surely Anastasia-Hille really does have depression problems?  As despair threatens to overcome her character, Lorna, she manages to seemingly bring a corpse-like intensity to her complexion.  Meanwhile Mirian Buether’s design perfectly portray the luxuriousness of the private clinic, whilst, when required, Jon Clark’s lighting imparts an unreal calm and Rupert Goold’s direction is spot on.

This is a play to make you think and enjoy in equal measure.

Uncle Vanya at The Vaudeville Theatre

On paper this production of Uncle Vanya, translated by Christopher Hampton, should be excellent.  Lindsay Posner directing the stellar cast of Ken Stott, Anna Friel and Samuel West and Christopher Oram designing was, in my view, a must see.   So, it’s odd that I left the theatre last week feeling, to a large extent, unmoved.

Ken Stott is his usual watchable self as Vanya and conveys very well his frustrations at his unrequited love for Anna Friel’s Yelena.  She, in turn, makes a very beautiful, doll-like Yelena and expertly captures her own frustrations at being married to the much older Serebryakov.  The male eye candy of the piece, Doctor Astrov, is a wonderfully brooding, dashing Samuel West, who is emotionally scarred.  The only thing capable of eliciting his passion is the subject of trees!  Yes, he fancies Yelina but doesn’t care about her and is totally dismissive of the lovelorn Sonya.  Her fate is that of Vanya, a life filled with regret at what could have been.  Laura Carmichael plays her adequately enough, although her whiney voice does grate after a while.

This is a witty version of one of Chekhov’s most famous plays and it does have its moments.  What doesn’t help raise it to more than a capable production are the long scene changes.  A bus can be driven through the end of Act I and beginning of Act II.  The curtain stayed down for so long the night I went that we, the audience, were palpably embarrassed, especially on realising that the long wait isn’t actually worth it.  One exquisitely aged and distressed setting in the Russian dacha has been replaced by another one. 

I’m glad I’ve seen this version of Chekhov’s story of regrets, resentment and lost dreams, but, surprisingly it doesn’t bring anything new.  Competent but nothing more.

The Magistrate at The Lyttleton

This latest production of The Magistrate now showing at The Olivier includes more than a hint of Gilbert and Sullivan and I for one am rather glad.  This farce penned by the Victorian playwright Arthur Wing Pinero, although amusing, isn’t exactly side splitting and the musical interludes performed by a brightly costumed, be-wigged chorus makes the whole evening much more interesting.  Whereas a typical French farce involves a large helping of sex, Pinero’s English equivalent is a little more staid.  The plot revolves around the widowed Agatha Posket, who, after marrying a respected magistrate, knocks five years off her age.  As a result, she is forced to pretend that her son, Cis, is 14 years old, when he is actually nearly twenty.  All well and good, except that Cis is not in on her fib and smokes, gambles and flirts;  not the sort of behavior one expects from a school boy, which, of course, leads to much confusion.  The poor unsuspecting magistrate gets embroiled in one of Cis’s excursions to a shady hotel and chaos ensues.  There are several “Give Us A Clue” innuendos, which, allow the audience a chuckle or two, but this rather tame and, at times, irritating play, is never hilarious. 

The actors equip themselves very well, although I did find the casting of John Lithgow as Posket rather odd.  He is undoubtedly an excellent actor but here he seems ill at ease and rather labored and somehow doesn’t capture that particularly British pompousness which is needed to highlight the magistrate’s eventual loss of dignity.  His wife, however, is played to perfection by Nancy Carroll and she, for me, is the best thing about the evening.  Although bad tempered and cross, she also manages to be convincingly touching and human.  Plaudits, must also go to Joshua McGuire playing the frisky Cis, who with his erect ginger quiff ensures that the innuendo is expertly delivered and Jonathan Coy as Colonel Lukyn in a permanent state of puffed up fury.

Richard Stilgoe’s lyrics are excellent and I very much enjoyed Katrina Lindsay’s pop-up design.  It’s cleverness is almost a show in itself.

Enjoyable, but not amazing Christmas fare.

Constellations at The Duke of York's

Constellations at The Duke of Yorks

I was gutted to miss out on seeing Constellations during its run at The Royal Court, so was thrilled when I heard of its transfer to The West End.  Everything I read about the play had a positive slant and, quite rightly, as it is excellent, due in no small way to the brilliant casting of Rafe Spall and Sally Hawkins playing Roland and Marianne.

The theme of the play, is a theoretical branch of physics that suggests we may actually be living in one of many universes which are co-existing simultaneously.  Difficult to understand, yet alone portray on stage with just two actors.  Yet, the playwright, Nick Payne, manages it and manages it extremely well.  What seems mighty confusing at the beginning of the play gradually makes sense during the 70 minutes running time and, luckily for me, who found Physics quite a challenge at school, it’s not an over the top exploration of Quantum Theory and Quantum Mechanics.

Roland is an ordinary, diffident bloke making the rather extraordinary living of keeping bees, whilst Marianne is an irrepressible and effusive quantum physicist.  They couldn’t be more different, but when they meet at a barbeque, the attraction is mutual and they start a relationship.  At least they may do.  In a parallel universe they meet and immediately part. And this is how the play moves forward.  A scene is played, the lights flicker a bit, the action freezes and then the scene is repeated.  Only this time their reactions change, different words are used and the outcome is slightly different.  This happens at least once more before the story moves forward and the relationship between Roland and Marianne develops.

Hooked?  On paper the repetitive nature of the play doesn’t sound terribly appealing but in reality it is wonderfully clever and extremely appealing.  Due to the excellence of the two actors we the audience care about the outcome of their love affair.  We want a happy ever after but are never sure if we get it.  The play is humorous, sad, touching and thought provoking with the audience not only wondering how on earth “the actors remember their lines” but how they manage to cope with multiple versions of multiple scenes which only vary very slightly.  They are nothing short of inspirational.

Michael Longhurst, the director, keeps everything tightly focused and expertly timed, whilst Tom Stutt’s design of white balloons, strings hanging down onto the bare space of the stage is as evocative as Simon Slater’s sound and Lee Curran’s lighting design.

Well worth the wait.

A Chorus of Disapproval at The Harold Pinter Theatre

The ingredients are there; a comedy by Alan Ayckbourn, Trevor Nunn directing and a potentially good cast, but somehow A Chorus of Disapproval at The Harold Pinter Theatre disappoints.  Whilst Rob Brydon, as Dafydd ap Llewellyn, the overbearing Welsh director of the Pendon Amateur Light Operatic Society, ticks all the boxes, it’s not quite enough to make this revival first class.  Perhaps it’s just that this company of professional actors don’t adequately portray a company of amateur ones.

The play revolves around Pendon’s production of The Beggar’s Opera and how life often imitates art.  The play opens with the recently widowed Guy Jones, played by Nigel Harman, shining as Macheath on stage but being extremely unpopular off.  As the play progresses we begin to understand why.  The nice guy, Guy, in his naivety, innocence and inability to say no, has become embroiled in concurrent affairs with two wives in the cast and is mistakenly believed to have insider details of a land deal being conducted by his multinational employer.  His rise in the Beggars Opera from the lowly part of Crook-Fingered Jack to the swashbuckling Macheath has less to do with his acting ability and more to do with various cast members taking him into their confidence over the land deal and a series of disasters within the company.   Rather than playing Guy as a timid, unlikely sex god who is as equally enthralled by Dafydd’s unhappy wife, Hannah, as he is the sexual predator Fay Hubbard, Nigel Harman portrays him as a shy but believable seducer.  Also Ashley Jensen’s Hannah, although on paper a polar opposite to Daisy Beaumont’s Fay, doesn’t come across as such here.  Yes, they are different, but the two actresses could very easily swap roles.  All of which seems to be a result of odd casting rather than performance.

Luckily Rob Brydon holds the whole show together and hits all the right notes whether his character is bossing the cast, earnestly urging them on, or slipping into a melancholic gloom as he reminisces about his time spent as a “professional”.  I also enjoyed the supporting roles of Enid Washbrook played by Teresa Banham, her husband, Ted, an excellent Matthew Cottle and Georgia Brown’s very sparky and aggressive Stage Manager Bridget Baines.

There are also no complaints about Robert Jones’ superb design, which flows seamlessly from village hall, to pub to house interiors and, although I was never helpless with laughter on Monday night, there were some very funny moments.  Just not as many as I hoped.

Scenes From An Execution at The Lyttleton

The title isn’t great and I wasn’t that keen to see Scenes from an Execution by the  irascible Howard Barker until I saw that Fiona Shaw was in the main role.  In reality the play is much better than I envisaged and Fiona Shaw is marvellous.

She plays Galactia, an artist, who has been commissioned by the Doge of Venice to paint a massive canvas celebrating the historic victory by the Venetians over the Turks at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571.  Unfortunately for the Doge and his cohorts, her vision of depicting the battle is decidedly different to theirs.  She paints a canvas showing the brutality, futility and, ultimately, denunciation of war, whereas they had envisaged a triumphal picture portraying a glorious conquest.  As a result, Galactia is thrown in gaol and her young lover, Carpeta, also an artist, although far less talented, betrays his love for her by agreeing to paint another version of the battle more in tune with what his clients require.  Fortunately her incarceration is short-lived, as is her liaison with Carpeta and, because he is not a particularly talented artist, the Venetian powers that be don’t want to exhibit his canvas either.  What to do now?  Their final decision would seem to illustrate Carpeta isn’t averse to compromise, as not only does she agree to dine with the Doge but does so wearing a dress with fastenings!

Up until this point, Fiona Shaw commands the Lyttleton stage with breast and often breasts free to do what they will.  Her loose fitting, grubby, open, short shirt leaves nothing to the imagination and she sketches various scenes for her painting with legs akimbo.  There is no doubt in anyone’s mind right from the beginning of the play that this female is one unconventional, earthy woman.  More of a man than her lover Carpeta will ever be.  I can see why this “ballsy” actress was cast in the role;  it would flaw a lesser one.
Meanwhile Tim McInnery makes the most wonderful Doge moving effortlessly from smarmy menace to all encompassing rage and Jamie Ballard is more than satisfactory as the weak but ambitious Carpeta. 

Hildegard Bechtler’s multi-level set works extremely well .  I say works, although on Press Night, it apparently didn’t work at all for about ten minutes.  No such excitement on the night I went and, from what I could see, no walkouts.  It amazes me why anyone would actually do that.  This may not be the greatest production ever seen at The Lyttleton but, unless one has an aversion to breasts and the rather risible sight of a wounded sailor with a bolt buried in his skull and intestines on display under his coat, it is certainly worth sitting through until the end.  Rather pretentious it maybe – why Gerrard McArthur’s narrator is called The Sketchbook is anyone’s guess – but I like the ingeniousness of installing him in a white box which descends from high up in the ceiling.  The Director, Tom Cairns, keeps the whole play moving along at a brisk pace and it asks the theatre goer some interesting questions about the power of art and the responsibility of the artist to portray the truth.

Berenice at The Donmar

Berenice by Jean Racine should be subtitled “I used to be indecisive but now I’m not so sure”, such is the should I, shouldn’t I dilemma facing the two male leads, Titus and Antiochus.  It’s rather fortuitous that this interpretation by Alan Hollinghurst is relatively short, 1 hour, 40 minutes to be precise, because by the end I didn’t really give a dam whether they did or not.  It’s not the fault of the actors, but of the play.  Racine himself wrote a preface stating that he thought it unnecessary for there to be blood and death in a tragedy, it is sufficient that the action is great, the actors are heroic and the passions are excited.  He felt that majestic sadness is the pleasure of tragedy.  That may be enough for some but I felt somewhat short changed.  There is certainly plenty of sadness on the present Donmar stage, with just one tiny glimmer of amusement but, I’m afraid no great denouement.

The plot, such is it is, is that Titus, on the recent death of his father, will now be Emperor of Rome.  As such, he feels unable to marry the love of his life, Berenice, Queen of Palestine, because the Romans won’t tolerate a foreign queen as Empress.  She must be banished.  Meanwhile she has another man madly in love with her, namely, Titus’s friend Atiochus.  Unfortunately Berenice doesn’t reciprocate his love and only has eyes and heart for Titus, all of which, understandably, makes for a very unhappy trio of characters.

There are positive aspects of this production apart from the excellent cast.  Alan Hollinghurst’s version has dispensed with the original Alexandrine couplets, instead using unrhymed pentameter.  The text is therefore presented in clear, simple language but, unfortunately, the whole piece is rather static.  Unusually for The Donmar, this production is staged in the round and the set by Lucy Osborne is intriguing.  A stage filled with sand, yet more sand drizzling down from the lighting rig and stairs and bridge as if made from wooden chairs.  I am assuming the trickling sand is a metaphor for time running out for Berenice and her two ardent suitors and despite it being a tricky surface on which to work it is a very interesting interpretation.  The Roman costumes also work well and Anne Marie Duff as the barefooted Berenice sporting waist length blonde tresses and a red sheath dress is most becoming.

The actors bring believable and recognisable emotion to the play, especially Anne Marie Duff.  Her Berenice has a wealth of feeling from genuine warmth and palpable love when she wraps Titus in her arms, to almost controlled fury when she learns that his marrying her will not be politically correct.  Furthermore her reaction on discovering it really is the end and she isn’t going spend the rest of her life with Titus is heart breaking to watch.  Stephen Campbell Moore as Titus fairs almost as well, although I did lose concentration during some of his longer speeches, due I think to his slight sing songy approach to the text.  I preferred Dominic Rowan’s Antiochus and felt quite moved during one of his declamations of love for Berenice, especially when a tear trickled down his ruddy cheeks.

My main thought on leaving the Donmar on Monday evening was that I’m really not in tune with Josie Rourke’s choice of production for my favourite London theatre.  If the play is hardly ever staged or rather obscure she’s in favour of putting it on, if not, forget it.  That’s all well and good but sometimes popular and straightforward are acceptable  I can only hope that her choice of The Weir for next season is a sign of the new times to come.