The Cane at The Royal Court

For those of us whose schooldays are a distant memory, corporal punishment for certain misdemeanours were a fact of life.  You badly misbehaved, got caught and, likely as not, the result would be an encounter with the dreaded cane.  It’s therefore not so easy to view the subject of Mark Ravenhill’s new play, currently playing at The Royal Court, as shocking.  But then this isn’t a play just about a defunct method of doling out punishment.

Three of our finest actors, Nicola Walker, Alun Armstrong and Maggie Steed make up the cast.  Armstrong’s Edward, a deputy head teacher is about to retire after a career spanning 45 years.  His loyal wife, Maureen (Steed) is looking forward to his celebratory send off, whilst their estranged daughter, Anna (Walker), is paying them a long overdue visit. But this is no jolly trip home to see Mum and Dad.  Anna is not welcome and hasn’t been for a long time.  Plus, the retirement celebrations may well not take place.  Her parents are under siege from a large group of Edward’s pupils who are demonstrating against his role in the school’s adherence to corporal punishment before its ban in 1986.  Edward insists of course that he was only carrying out orders, but did he enjoy dishing out “six of the best”?  He veers between hard-done by exemplary teacher to a man with an extremely short fuse and it becomes clear that wife Maureen is more than a little cowed.  Despite her protestations that the outside demonstrations are totally without validation one wonders if this is what she truly believes.  Anna, meanwhile, whilst seemingly there to try and calm the situation, has other fish to fry.  A local academy to which she is affiliated, is out to make a bid for her father’s ailing school.

Whilst Edward is representative of a patriarchal society, the playwright makes it clear that he’s not in total control.  Help is needed from his wife, especially when he needs to climb the ladder into the loft and from his daughter when he needs to write a report for the school inspectors.  Anna, a supposed representative of modern liberalism, peppers her language with phrases such as “best practice”, suggesting that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree with regard to inflexibility. And her actions at the end of the play show she has maybe inherited more of her father’s traits than she would probably like to admit. Unless, of course, she is just paying him back for his treatment of her whilst growing up.  Much is open to interpretation.

Chloe Lamford has designed a room that is the absolute antithesis of cosy.  With a complete lack of any creature comforts and housing a crumbling staircase and attic that eventually bears down on the cast threatening to squash them, it conjures up desolation to a T.

The three actors are exemplary.  Alun Armstrong effortlessly shifts from school masterly pride in what he has achieved to out and out bully in a heartbeat.  Maggie Steed, pithy at the start, transforms into the archetypal dominated wife and the always brilliant Nicola Walker beautifully hints at the cruelty lying beneath her character’s liberal exterior.  Add to the mix, Vicky Featherstone’s adept direction and The Cane is a play in our #MeToo times that gives the audience many surprises.

A Very Very Dark Matter at The Bridge Theatre

 Politically Incorrect? …. Tick.  Jet Black Humour? …. Tick.  Irreverent? …. Tick.  Funny? …… Absolutely.  If you thought Martin McDonagh’s previous plays crossed boundaries, they are nothing compared to this, his latest offering now playing at The Bridge Theatre. Like The Pillowman, one of McDonagh’s earlier plays, A Very Very Dark Matter centres around those often very sinister nineteenth century fairy tales.  In fact an author of such stories, namely Hans Christian Andersen, played to great effect by Jim Broadbent, is the main character.  Well, to be absolutely correct, he shares the “main” honours with Marjory/Ogechi (the excellent Kundai Kanyama) a Congolese pygamy who just happens to be the actual writer of Andersen’s tales.  Oh and one other thing …. she also just happens to be kept locked in a mahogany and glass box in the Danish man’s attic!  Not that she’s the only one helping out a great literary figure, for Charles Dickens (Phil Daniels) apparently kept Marjory’s sister in much the same way for much the same reason.

Bearing the above in mind, this play is most definitely not to everyone’s taste and if you’re easily offended it won’t be for you. In fact if I’d taken to heart most critic’s views, I might not have bothered heading along to The Bridge Theatre last night.  Luckily, I ignored their misgivings and found this, albeit undeniably strange play, apparently designed to offend, absolutely hilarious. But McDonagh always knows how to reduce an audience to guilt ridden laughter whilst delivering a serious message within the humour.

Jim Broadbent's Anderson is a vain, self-centred, narcissistic buffoon, everyone's favourite uncle in public, but with a very, very nasty underbelly in private. Only a sadist would cut off his "cash cow's" foot just because he can.  An imperial bully, much like the Belgian King Leopold II who underpins the serious aspects of this macabre piece; the one person Marjorie is determined to ultimately kill in order to prevent his slaughtering up to 10 million people in the Congo.  Wait a minute, this happens ten or so years after the death of Andersen, so time travel is also at work.  How does the lampooining of two great literary figures highlight the horror carried out by a Belgian dictator?  Is there a connection?  On the surface of it no, but McDonagh is nothing if not an accomplished storyteller and perhaps the link is the historical erasure of the misdemeanours of certain powerful figures in history, whilst the accomplishments of others with no power at all are overlooked.  For as Marjorie is at pains to mention, a statue of this brutal King was subsequently erected in his honour, whilst her endeavours with pen and paper will be never be recognised. 

One of the funniest moments is the scene showing Andersen’s famous visit to Dickens, when he outstayed his welcome by three weeks.  Broadbent is at his best highlighting the Danish author’s thick skin with his total lack of awareness at being the most unwelcome of guests with the entire Dickens family.  His complete misunderstanding of everything he’s being told is a joy. The hilarity of the situation is heightened thanks to the portrayal of Dickens and his wife, Catherine by Phil Daniels and Elizabeth Berrington.  We all know that the author liked the ladies a little bit too much, but here the sweary old letch is no match for his equally profane wife, who is under no illusion that she’s married to a serial philanderer.  And neither, come to that, are the couples’ children.

The attic of Andersen’s house is brilliantly realised by Designer Anna Fleischie with help from Lighting Designer Philip Gladwell.  If the dozens of marionettes suspended from the ceiling aren’t enough to foretell an unease of the something nasty in the woodshed variety, then the dim, atmospheric lighting certainly is. In addition the perfect timbre of Tom Waite’s voice as narrator and Matthew Dunster’s ability to realise McDonagh’s vivid imagination makes a play that might divide opinion, but ultimately showcases a playwright of immense ingenuity.

The Wild Duck at The Almeida

Thanks to Robert Icke’s direction of his new modern day adaptation of Ibsen’s The Wild Duck, now playing at The Almeida, there’s no chance of being in the dark as to what’s going on.  At various intervals the actors (especially Kevin Harvey as Gregory) use hand held mics to deliver asides to the audience, filling us in on …. well almost everything!  Whilst not on everyone’s list as one of our young top directors, it’s safe to say that he can be relied upon to always produce something out of the ordinary, especially with classic plays.  I for one, applaud his vision of turning old school adaptations on their heads, often in a radical fashion.  He describes this as “searching for a return to the impulse of the original play, to clear away the accumulated dust of its performance history”.

Icke’s deconstruction of The Wild Duck has had one critic denouncing him as arrogantly misleading us regarding Ibsen’s original premise.  That may be so, I don’t know, but what is hopefully true is that he is opening up a classic play to a younger audience.

The backbone of this 1884 tragi-comic drama is secrets and lies and it begins with the reuniting of old friends, Gregory Woods and James Ekdal (Edward Hogg) at the home of Gregory’s father, Charles (Nicholas Day).  For differing reasons, both men are suffering from a damaged childhood.  Gregory, an idealist, rejects his wealthy father, condemning him for a lifetime of lying, whilst James lives in the shadow of the fact that his father, Francis (the wonderful Nicholas Farrell) has spent time in prison.  Following Gregory’s decision to rent the bottom floor of the apartment inhabited by James, wife Gina (Lyndsey Marshal), thirteen year old daughter Hedwig (Clara Read on the night I went) and Francis, the Ekdal’s life is ripped apart.  Thanks to Gregory’s need to tell the truth no matter what, long held secrets regarding Gina and Charles Woods are given the light of day and unleash the worst possible tragedy.

The cast are exemplary and Icke’s direction allows each and every one of them to display their hidden emotional depths to great effect.  Especially fine is Nicholas Farrell, who expertly portrays the fact that Francis is in the early throes of dementia.  His tender relationship with Hedwig is a joy to behold, helped by the fact that Clare Read is an extremely accomplished young actress.  Edward Hogg makes for a thoroughly believable James, so much so, that there are times when there’s a tremendous urge to bang this self-centred dreamer’s head against the wall!  Praise too for Kevin Harvey who manages to imbue the verbose Gregory with hidden troubled depths, despite there being no hint of anything but a calm exterior at the start of the play.  Meanwhile Lyndsey Marshal leaves us in no doubt that this tragic woman has given her whole life to caring for her infantile husband and frail daughter.

Bunny Christie’s set is also to be applauded.  The metamorphosis from bare stage to habitable living space is effortlessly carried out during the interval and hiding the attic from view until the end a triumph.  The sight of the imagined forest portrayed by fir trees bedecked in twinkling lights is, for me, the most affecting moment in the whole production, rather than the tragic denouement which is just too melodramatic and overstated.

PS. I love the duck!

Stories at The Dorfman

Nina Raine’s last play, Consent, also performed at The Dorfman, threw  light on the legal system, allegations of rape and “who should believe who”.  Alongside these serious issues, there was a heavy dose of wit, highlighting the fact that this playwright is a dab hand at comic dialogue. As a result, my expectations regarding her latest offering, Stories, were pretty high. Her new hot topic concerns a childless, recently dumped woman in her late thirties, who is desperate for a baby and decides to go down the sperm donor route.

Whilst Raine once again deploys her talent at portraying serious issues with a lightness of touch, Stories doesn’t quite live up to its predecessor.

The woman in question, Anna, is played by Claudie Blakley and, although we can’t quite sympathise with her plight (if this is down to the script or her performance or a bit of both, I’m not too sure) she is, nevertheless very watchable.  Her search for a suitable donor is undergone pretty much as if she were casting a play, intentionally so, perhaps, as her career is something in the theatre world.  Each man she “interviews”, plus her ex, is brilliantly played by Sam Troughton, although her choice of father is somewhat suspect.  We have, amongst others, a super-cool movie director knee deep in anecdotes, a bereaved actor who is disappointed that it’s not an acting job she’s offering and some flake from the music business.  What they all have in common is a deep reluctance to commit to anything appertaining to being an adult.

There are also good performances from the actors portraying Anna’s family. Stephen Boxer is her dad, who, although often crass with a default sarcasm is always supportive.  Margot Leicester her mother, is suitably motherly and sympathetic and Brian Vernel makes a very realistic younger brother; honest to a fault and with a good line in sibling bickering.

The set by Designer Jeremy Herbert is very effective.  A stage dividing the Dorfman in two, with sliding geometric shapes is the ideal way of showcasing a play consisting of many short sharp scenes in various locations.

What isn’t so persuasive is that Raine includes another two characters, namely the young daughter of Anna’s best friend and an elderly lady on her deathbed.  The girl is presumably a plot device so that the reading of stories is included in the play, but I can’t understand why she has a surreal intermittent interaction with a couple of the would-be suitors.  The old woman is childless and as she dies at the end of the play, Stories ends on a very downbeat note.  I left the theatre pondering why she is even introduced.  May be an attempt to portray the passages of a woman’s life?  Probably, but the whole device seems strained and last minute.

It’s a pity to be negative about a play written by such a talented playwright and I do wonder if she should have handed the directorial reins over to someone else.

The Height of the Storm at Wyndhams Theatre

There is no doubt, Florian Zeller’s latest play, The Height of the Storm, is baffling.  One half of an elderly couple has died but which one?  Is it like Zeller’s previous play, The Father, where we’re seeing events unfold through the eyes of someone with dementia?  Or is the memory just playing tricks?  Is the female visitor really a strong clue that the husband misbehaved during his fifty-year marriage?  Despite scenes jumping back and forth and the uncertainty of whether or not certain characters are ghosts, these questions are answered, but they unfold slowly and you’re never entirely sure that those ones you’ve worked out are indeed correct.  Mind you, there is also no doubt that it would be extremely difficult to see acting of this calibre anywhere else on a London stage.

The couple in question, Andre (interestingly the same name Zeller gave to the main character in The Father) and Madeleine, are beautifully portrayed by Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins (need I say more) and the play opens with Andre staring out of the kitchen window.  His bossy eldest daughter, Anne (Amanda Drew) is unable to get him to engage in conversation, lost as he is in thought or memory.  It’s when an anonymous bunch of funeral flowers arrive that a death in the family is registered.  But whose death, because Madeleine is soon seen peeling mushrooms for lunch.

The other rather scatty daughter, Elise (Anna Madeley) arrives and it’s clear that the siblings are keen to sell the family home, much to the fury of their father.  And no wonder, for Anthony Ward has designed a cosy, if cluttered, provincial, high ceilinged, French house, painted in duck egg blue and lined head to toe with densely packed books.  That books dominate the parts of the house we see is not surprising, as Andre is an eminent writer; or should I say, was?

One soon realises that the only person Andre really wants to engage with is his wife.  He is especially reluctant to meet and react to a woman (Lucy Cohu) a supposedly old lover of his great friend, Georges, whom Madeleine has met whilst shopping and subsequently invited back for tea. For Georges should we read Andre?

If this all sounds too muddled and complicated and not worth the bother, then think again.  The whole play is ingenious and incredibly moving and any fogginess suffered by the audience only serves to heighten Andre’s problem with memory and the beginning of his dementia.

It helps that the performances all round are spot on.  One of my favourite actors, Jonathan Pryce, hands shaking, steps faltering, is consumed with sadness and confusion.  At times awkward and autocratic, but always dependent, this magnetic actor delivers a beautiful nuanced performance.  And one that leaves us in no doubt that his love for Madeleine is deep and sincere, no matter what has happened throughout their fifty-year marriage.  The great Eileen Atkins portrays Madeleine as severe and stiff, yet another wife overshadowed by a very successful novelist husband (Jonathan Pryce seems to be the go to actor for playing brilliant authors right now).  But her subtle shift in the heart-breaking final scene when the hardness dissolves and we’re made aware that her love for Andre is no less sincere, had me grabbing a tissue or three.

  

I’m relieved that it’s not just me who found The Height of the Storm confusing at first.  It’s translator, Christopher Hampton, admits to having needed a second viewing of all Zeller’s plays in order to follow them clearly.  Likewise, Eileen Atkins, when interviewed, said she was rather muddled during her first reading of the script.  What I’m more relieved about is that I have had the chance to see Jonathan Kent’s deeply moving production that studies the pain of losing one’s grip on reality and being the half of one whole who is finally left on their own.

Antony & Cleopatra at The Olivier

The only other theatre production of Antony & Cleopatra that I’ve seen was in 1987 when Peter Hall directed Judi Dench and Anthony Hopkins as the middle-aged lovers.  It was a hot ticket at the time and will be forever in my memory as one of the best Shakespearian productions I have seen.  And now we have Simon Godwin directing Sophie Okonedo and Ralph Fiennes in the same roles in the same theatre.  There wasn’t a spare seat in view on the night I went and I’m guessing this version will also be a must see.

This is an epic production of an epic play that is at once a love story and political thriller.  Antony, one of Rome’s triumvirate, decamps to Egypt and falls head over heels in love with the Queen of the Nile.  This results in a betrayal to end all betrayals when he becomes head of the Egyptian Navy. It is a play about the conflict between public and private and what can happen when a great military man tries his hardest to prove he’s not past his prime.

Simon Godwin’s production, aided by Hildegard Bechtler’s lavish set, more than does justice to the size and scope of the Olivier.  He also cleverly starts the play at the end, so that our first sighting of Antony and Cleopatra together is with the former kneeling beside his lover’s body and awakening her with a kiss.  The sexual chemistry between them is palpable from the outset and who wouldn’t fall in love with a Cleopatra as dazzling as this?  Okonedo’s beautiful costumes don’t hinder her ability to seduce and Evie Gurney must be congratulated for dressing this beguiling Queen of the Nile in outfits that wouldn’t look out of place in the Golden Age of Hollywood.  It also helps that the fifty- year old (who can believe that) actress has the figure to set them off to perfection.  She is also perfect at highlighting Cleopatra’s contradictory nature and the fact that alongside her wilfulness this Queen has a keen sense of fun.  Act One definitely belongs to her.

Act Two sees Ralph Fiennes in military mode, having abandoned his Egyptian holiday gear which, unfortunately showed a little too much middle-aged spread.  He has also reclaimed his neck to some degree – earlier on his Antony was a little too stooped for comfort.  This is the Fiennes we know and love and he seems much happier in uniform (maybe relief at ditching the stomach flashing rig-out has something to do with it).  We start believing that Antony really has been revitalised by his “armourer of my heart”. Intense and full of purpose now that he is on the battlefield, we more than understand his ultimate distress on realising there is a major difference between the legend he was and the reality of what he is now.  His is a real living, breathing Antony, warts and all. Talking of battlefield, the highlight of this second half is the brilliantly choreographed battle scene; I have never seen one executed better. 

The supporting cast help to make this a stirring Antony & Cleopatra, especially the very amusing Fisayo Akinade playing Eros and Katy Stephens’ Agrippa. Praise too, to Michael Bruce, for supplying the wonderfully atmospheric music.  There are times when the effect is spine tingling.

This version of Shakespeare’s hefty tragedy beautifully captures the mightiness of war alongside an intimate love story doomed to failure.  Despite its monumental three-and-a-half hours and overlong death scenes, I can’t recommend it highly enough.  Mind you I’m glad I didn’t have a front row seat as, thanks to my aversion to snakes the real live one used by Cleopatra would have been too close for comfort.

Dance Nation at The Almeida

When the play opens to a troupe of dancers doing a routine whilst dressed as escapees from an early production of South Pacific, I wasn’t aware the actors of various ages were actually portraying pre-teens.  However, it soon becomes clear that this troupe, comprising six girls and a boy, are full of teenage angst.  The angst is heightened because the world of American dance competition is fierce and intense and it’s this world that Clare Barron is highlighting in her new play, Dance Nation, currently playing at The Almeida.

Spurred on by their dance teacher, Pat (Brendan Cowell) to be the ‘best in show’ at their next local dance competition, the troupe do their utmost to put together a tribute to Gandhi.  And this despite the fact that the majority of them have never heard of the man.  The slightly creepy and very camp Pat has a favourite pupil, Amina (Karla Crome) who, not surprisingly, happens to be the star dancer (funny that).  She is driven as well as gifted, which doesn’t help her friend, Zuzu (Ria Zmitrowicz) who, desperate to pursue dance as a career, resorts to acts of self-harm on realising that she will always be second best.

The play not only charts the troupe’s journey towards said competition but also highlights the difficulties they encounter with their various friendships and the turmoil of their impending adolescence.  Barron doesn’t shy away from focusing on the messy side of female puberty or the language the girls use.  ‘Pussy’ appears to be their favoured word and there’s no holds barred when the top-notch Kayla Meikle gives her emotional monologue on how she views the world and it views her.  This is the absolute highlight of a play which is as strong on visuals as it is pre-teen language and how they view their burgeoning sexuality

Dance Nation is helped enormously by the direction of Bijan Sheibani, who brilliantly brings to life Barron’s look at the difficult path between childhood and adulthood.  The brutal, immensely scarey, intoxicating and at times messy journey is one we all go through and this terrific cast bring it all back, warts and all.  Strange at times and subversive always, Dance Nation is a play which deserves the accolades it received when premiered earlier this year in New York.