Present Laughter at The Old Vic

Noel Coward has never been so funny.  Ok, Matthew Warchus may have altered the play slightly in introducing some gender fluidity by switching Henry Lyppiatt into the female Helen and Joanne Lyppiatt into the male Joe, but if you have the wondrous Andrew Scott (Garry Essendine) in the cast anything and everything tends to work. It can also be argued that this alteration is quite a clever ploy considering that Noel Coward (who wrote the part of Essendine for himself) was homosexual, although this was not publicly acknowledged during his lifetime.

That Essendine is an anagram of neediness is, of course, no coincidence, for this talented, self-obsessed actor is the very essence of the word. Wound up like a coiled spring due to a pending tour of Africa, Essendine’s friends, associates and estranged, but still loving wife, Liz (Indira Varma) are all caught up in his agitation.  His anxiety isn’t helped by the fact that he’s about to turn forty, so he tries to sooth his woes by indulging in brief love affairs.  They mean nothing to him, but, unfortunately the same cannot be said for those on the receiving end of his attention.

I can’t find enough expletives to describe Scott’s brilliant portrayal.  We first see him emerge the morning after the night before dressed in the remnants of a pirate costume.  Theatrical with a capital T, Scott, postures and preens, wheedles and twinkles and displays charm when it suits.  He should be profoundly irritating but, such is this actor’s skill, that a vulnerability shines through all the egotistical, boyish vanity.  It’s easy to understand why his separated wife and friends, including long suffering secretary, Monica (Sophie Thompson) always end up forgiving and adoring him.  In fact, the scene between him and Monica, on the eve of his departure to Africa, highlights the maternal nature of their relationship.  I think that most of the female audience members wouldn’t turn down the change to mother him either!

The performances from the entire cast work brilliantly even though a couple land just short of teetering over the top.  Indira Varma (never knowingly underwhelming) is her usual brilliant self.  She certainly knows how to lend weight to words to give maximum impact, as in accusing Garry of “scampering about” and there is never any doubt that, despite her exasperation at his errant behaviour, she will always love him.

Sophie Thompson is always top notch when it comes to a funny part and some of the most delightful moments result from her comic delivery, heightened, in part because her Monica is imbued with a strong Scottish accent.

Mention, too, is warranted for Joshua Hill as Fred, Essendine’s cockney valet, whose upraised eyebrows at his employer’s goings-on are an absolute joy.

This joyful production is staged on Rob Howell’s handsome, predominately blue art deco set and his choice of costumes are spot on, especially those worn by Liz.  How I covet her entire wardrobe.

The whole evening is a complete joy from beginning to end and I pity those naysayers who were able to find fault.  Anything that produces the volume of laughter and number of upstanding audience members at the close of play can only be termed a gigantic hit.

Rosmersholm at The Duke of York's Theatre

Ibsen’s least performed play is currently running at the Duke Of York’s Theatre and is an example of how a depressing plot doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom.  Thanks to Ibsen’s superlative writing, Duncan Macmillan’s lucid adaptation and the fact that the excellent director, Ian Rickson has such an accomplished cast, what could be dour is in fact massively entertaining.  There is humour amongst the angst and I for one was totally enthralled by everything happening on stage.

The plot centres around pastor John Rosmer (Tom Burke) who lives in the Rosmer family’s stately home, Rosmersholm (the title of the play).  Alongside him, his housekeeper, Mrs. Helseth (Lucy Briers) and several staff, lives Rebecca West (Hayley Atwell).  Rebecca is the companion of Rosmer’s late wife, Beata, who committed suicide by drowning a year before the play opens.  It is obvious to all that Rosmer and Rebecca love each other, but both of them deny any romantic affiliation.  The person most concerned about the nature of their relationship is Rosmer’s brother-in-law, Kroll (Giles Terera).  A rigid and extremely judgemental conservative, he believes that his late sister’s husband’s loss of faith and political allegiance with the newly elected liberal  government can be laid at the feet of this radical and “liberated woman”.  He is enraged at Rosmer’s choice to betray the family’s ruling-class roots.

Hayley Atwell has never been better as the free-spirited Rebecca, intent on liberating the ghostly and oppressive Rosmersholm.  In fact the play starts with her opening up the large down stage window in order to let the light into the drawing room enveloped in gloom.  Her Rebecca is passionate about her beliefs but doesn’t come across as manipulative.  She is fragile but sensuous, impulsive and frustrated and when needed can hold back with her views.  This is brought to comic effect during dinner when her extremely malleable face makes clear that she’s itching to make her comments known.  What’s clever about her performance is that we sense the danger should she fail to keep her own counsel.

Tom Burke makes for an excellent guilt-ridden Rosmer.  At times it may seem as if he’s being overshadowed by Atwell, but I feel this is intentional.  His crisis of faith is palpable; a lost soul who is burdened with guilt at the circumstances of his wife’s death and the fact that he is besotted with her best friend.

Giles Terera is a really engaging Kroll.  He is compelling as the authoritative and somewhat aggressive local governor.  Such an accomplished actor, who is as much at home with Ibsen as he is “doing his thing” in Hamilton and Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.  Peter Wight, too (does he ever give a mediocre performance?) as Brendel, Rosmer’s old tutor, helps to enliven the proceedings

Rae Smith’s design and Neil Austin’s lighting are magnificent.  The flaking paintwork and the shrouded ancestral portraits on the walls, all bathed in gloom at the beginning, capture the faded grandeur of a once grand house.  Then, once the paintings are uncovered and the dustsheets removed, the lighting changes to convey a room bathed in sunlight. Rosmersholm has once more come alive.

This play may have been written in 1886 but its theme of how people can be destroyed by political or social systems is still relevant, especially today.  And what delicious parts Ibsen writes for women; a truly feminist playwright?

Rutherford & Son at The Lyttleton

I’m all for using regional accents in productions; that is as long as you can understand what the actors are saying.  Unfortunately, Rutherford & Son, the 1912 play by Githa Sowerby now on at The Lyttleton, doesn’t always tick that box.  As is to be expected, every word uttered by Roger Allam (he with the exquisite voice) as John Rutherford and Sam Troughton as his eldest son John Jnr is as clear as a bell.  Those spoken by a few of the other cast members …. not so much.  And my oh my, what a depressing play this is.

On entering the auditorium it’s clear that what will follow won’t be a bundle of laughs.  There is rain pouring down on the very dimly lit stage and offstage singers treat us to discordant songs bemoaning the north country.

Githa Sowerby obviously knew a thing or two about Northumberland at the beginning of the twentieth century.  Her family owned a glass making company on Tyneside which, thanks to a lack of business acumen on behalf of her father, floundered when Gina was in her late twenties.  It is therefore no surprise that Rutherford & Son, her first play, is based around John Rutherford, the owner of a glass making business.  A patriarchal figure, under no illusion that whatever he says is right, John Rutherford rules his three children with a rod of iron.  Although not prone to shouting, he makes it perfectly clear that what he says goes and anyone who disagrees with him or is apt to sully the Rutherford name, will be out on their ear.  Indeed, by the end of the play, the three children have all gone, leaving behind his sister Ann (the, I’m sorry to say, incomprehensible Barbara Marten), daughter-in-law Mary (Anjana Vasan) and baby grandson Tony.  Virtually ignored by her father-in-law throughout the play, her decision to stay behind with her son is pivotal to the plot.

John Jnr, having been thwarted by his father into trying to save the business through a new invention, decides to chance his arm in Canada.  His younger brother, Richard (Harry Hepple) despised by Rutherford due to his decision to shun glassmaking and take up the church, leaves to preach elsewhere. The interaction between him and his father highlights the fact that Rutherford Senior is sadly lacking in the moral compass department.  Meanwhile Janet (Justine Mitchell), the strong-willed daughter, is banished, having done the unspeakable and fallen for employee Martin (Joe Armstrong).

As I’ve mentioned, thank goodness for the bearded Roger Allum who perfectly encapsulates Rutherford’s absolute horror of social failure and inability to show any hint of warmth.  Sam Troughton highlights his character’s nervous hysteria, whilst Justine Mitchell as the sullen daughter who eventually rebels and Harry Hepple as her brother Richard, equip themselves well.

There is no doubting the importance of Rutherford & Son, written as it was by a woman before the ‘fairer sex’ even had the right to vote and one who was brave enough to incorporate feminism and socialism within the script.  But, Lizzie Clachan’s, undoubtedly atmospheric, but melancholic set and Director Polly Findlay’s determination to give the production total realism in the dialect department, means that it’s a dour three hours.

Anna at The Dorfman

On the back of every seat for each performance of Anna, The Dorfman’s latest offering, are a pair of earphones; not an everyday theatre occurrence.  The play, created by playwright Ella Hickson and sound designers Ben and Max Ringham, is a thriller set in communist East Berlin in 1968.  With the everyday surveillance that went on at that time, East Berliners were naturally rather jumpy and, thanks to the earphones, through which is pumped ‘binaural sound’ (for this read audio 3D), the audience also experience that sense of unease.

Natalie Abrahami directs Phoebe Fox as Anna Weber and Paul Bazely as her husband, Hans.  On a set that divides the cast from the audience with a glass screen imitating the windows of the Weber’s apartment, we see Anna (clad in a bright red dress in sharp contrast to the dull coloured apartment) and Hans getting ready to host a party.  The shindig is to celebrate his recent promotion. Han’s fellow workers, plus Elena (Diana Quick), a neighbour from downstairs whose husband has been snatched away by the Stasi secret police, slowly arrive.  Elena’s husband was Han’s former boss and this is the main reason for her being shunned by all the party goers apart from Anna. The arrival of Christian Neumann (Max Bennett), the new “too smooth to move” head honcho causes much consternation to the hostess. Is he someone she knows from her past?  Anna’s nervousness, manifested by mutterings and the odd retching in rooms off stage, is all picked up to great effect through the aforementioned “cans”.  We’re able to listen in to every conversation, which makes even the apparently banal chit chat appear sinister.  And a little later on in the play when the lights all go out (praise for Jon Clark’s lighting design) and we hear every little sound, we get to really experience Anna’s vulnerability and panic.

It’s a short, one-hour long production, but the eventual plot (no spoiler alert here) is quite convoluted.  It is also strangely uninvolving, due to the fact that once it’s revealed we’re just privy to normal dialogue; our spying days are over!  I have to say that the plot is also full of rather improbable coincidences, but all that’s not to say that this claustrophobic tale isn’t engaging. It’s easy to pick holes in a play that is trying new ways to involve an audience and, by and large, Anna perfectly captures how it must feel to spend your whole life being suspicious about everyone and everything.

The cast is a strong one.  Phoebe Fox portrays the brittle Anna’s hysteria well, despite its arrival being rather hurried and Paul Bazeley is perfect as her completely baffled husband.       

The gold star of the production should definitely be awarded to the technical brilliance of the Ringham’s composition and sound design.  Ella Hickson is to be applauded for her ingenuity, but it’s a pity that Vicki Mortimer’s on point 60’s Set and Costume Design is a little let down by the too modern script.

Small Island at The Olivier

Rufus Norris has once again demonstrated how adept he can be at directing an ensemble cast on the vast Olivier stage (London Road being the other great success).  Small Island, the stage adaptation by Helen Edmundson of the late lamented Andrea Levy’s wonderful novel, is a triumph.  If you’ve read the book and/or seen the television version, you will find that this production is every bit as affecting.  And if you haven’t, it doesn’t matter a jot.

The tale about first-generation Jamaican immigrants coming to post-war Britain centres around three main characters, Hortense (Leah Harvey), Queenie (Aisling Loftus) and Gilbert (Gershwyn Eustache Jnr).  Yet again this is a story that largely concerns the lies people tell, the biggest being that Britain would welcome with open arms the arrival of their Commonwealth citizens and be thrilled to utilise their talents.  And it’s to Andrea Levy’s credit that rather than preach she conveys her message about the treatment of these immigrants through the lives of various individuals. 

Act One introduces us to these characters.  Hortense is a buttoned up young school teacher who has been led to believe that because her skin is light, her desire to make something of her life will be easy to realise.  As far as she is concerned, marrying Gilbert, who joins the RAF to help with the war effort in order to help fulfil his dream of one day becoming a lawyer, will enable her to accomplish her expectations.  Queenie, the daughter of a Lincolnshire pig farmer leaves the stifling confines of the family farm to go to London, where she swiftly meets and marries Bernard.  So, we have three people with one goal - to escape to a better life.

The second Act focuses on the naivety of their ambition.  Hortense soon realises that rather than London’s streets being paved with gold, she is being asked to live in a tiny, shabby flat with no bathroom and with a man she hardly knows.  Gilbert in turn has already discovered that the colour of his skin makes him a target for shocking abuse both physically and verbally.  Finally, Queenie sees that not only is Bernard an extremely cold fish but that the war years have turned him from shy to aggressive, especially on realising on his eventual return from the war that his wife has become landlady to a black couple, namely Hortense and Gilbert.

One of the clever aspects of Norris’s production is how he manages to focus in on the lives of these characters without losing the scale and scope of Levy’s novel.  Katrina Lindsay’s very clever design enables the large cast to come and go with ease and the (what’s becoming ubiquitous) large upstage curved screen on this occasion is definitely necessary to requirements.  Jon Driscoll’s projections of a hurricane show the sharp contrast with England’s grimness, but the most affecting image is the appearance of the actual Windrush.  That would be enough to bring a knot to the throat, bearing in mind the scandal we’ve recently lived through, but behind the screen the cast are seen as silhouettes boarding the ship.

The play is long, running as it does at over three hours, but so much happens in this pacey production with humour mixing with sadness, plus a good dose of dancing and singing, that this is not an issue.  It helps, too, that the acting is spot on.  Hortense, with her primness and sense of entitlement, is not an easy character to relate to but Leah Harvey embodies her with a dignity and tenacity which more than makes up for her failings.  Gershwyn Eustache  brings vitality and humour to Gilbert, plus a heavy dose of charisma.  We yearn for Hortense to realise she’s made a good choice of husband and physically feel sick at the disappointments he has to face and the abuse he undergoes.  Aisling Loftus is perfect at portraying Queenie’s working-class resilience and quiet determination not to be kowtowed by her sniffy racist neighbours. 

I was so affected by the whole evening that I left the Olivier smarting with anger that any British person could think of sending any of the Windrush passengers and their families back to the land of their birth.  They went through so much to settle here, many fought for us during the war and our country wouldn’t be the same without them.

Congratulations to Rufus Norris for not only bringing this wonderful novel to the stage at all, but for doing it right now.

Death Of A Salesman at The Young Vic

A few yards down the road from The Old Vic and there’s another Arthur Miller classic playing.  It’s a very different production from a staging point of view but is just as powerful and beautifully done as its neighbour.  Of course, this is to be expected, as Marianne Elliott is in charge of direction alongside Miranda Cromwell.  The set is by designer of the moment, Anna Fleischle and, unlike her staging of Three Sisters at The Almeida, which left me cold, this latest design works a treat.

A parallel with All My Sons, apart from it being done in period, is the casting of an American actor in the title role of Willy Loman.  Wendell Pierce (Suits and The Wire amongst others) plays the salesman of the title and makes the part his own.  He is aided and abetted by the wondrous Sharon D. Clarke as his wife, Linda and the excellent Arinze Kene and Martins Imhangbe as their sons, Biff and Happy.  And that’s where Marianne Elliot has brought us a definitive Death of a Salesman and one not to be missed.  By making the Lomans an African American family, Arthur Miller’s 1949 play becomes even more relevant.  Not only is Willy having to battle with the ageing process, his seeming irrelevance in the work place and with his sons, but the colour of his skin doesn’t do him any favours in late 1940’s New York.  There is a particular point in the production when this really hits home.  Although no lines have been cut, there is a word I noticed that had been omitted. The original script has Willy relaying to Linda that someone has labelled him a shrimp, but here the sentence is left hanging in mid-air.  Her husband is unable to bring himself to say the name he was called out loud but we’re in no doubt that whatever it was alluded to the colour of his skin.  It’s a powerful moment, actually one of many and Pierce is to be applauded for inhabiting this iconic character so beautifully.

Again, Miller is alluding to the American dream which in Loman’s case is turning into a nightmare.  At 62 years old, he’s tired out with the job that entails him trawling across the country and is becoming increasingly aware that he’s not the expert salesman he thought he was.  Not that those around him have been given any hint that he has any self-doubt.  Miller’s story is heavy on the lies we tell ourselves and others and Loman is no exception.  The upbringing of his sons following the “don’t do as I do, do as I say” concept is as unsuccessful as his determination to be top dog at work. Happy Loman is a rather immature womaniser, whilst his older brother Biff, once a promising baseball player, has no ambition and no clear idea of where his life is going.    

The workplace isn’t the only aspect of Willy’s life where he doesn’t command any respect.  He lost that from Biff, the elder son, a long time ago when the eleven-year-old boy came across something his father was always trying to hide.  Thus, the built-up humiliation from all sides sees the older man cracking under the strain, not helped by the fact that he is more than likely suffering from the onset of some kind of dementia

The one constant in his life is Linda.  Sharon D. Clarke so very successfully portrays this strong, loyal and quietly determined woman as the nuts and bolts that hold the family together.  Such is the chemistry between Kene and Imhangbe that one is left in no doubt that these men, whilst very different in personality, are definitely the product of their father.  Kene is particularly affecting as the emotionally damaged Biff and his final show-down is heart-breaking to watch.  There are light hearted moments as when the play shifts from present to past.  Those historical moments depicting the sons as boys is cleverly realised by having them appear as if in an old-fashioned slide-show, with each new move preceded by a shutter click.  

I read a piece in the programme about Fleischle’s father committing suicide and how this shattering event influenced the way she designed the set.  The way windows and doors shift in and out of view, help to mirror Willy’s shifting state of mind.  Despite the fact that her vision of the Loman’s apartment is very much abstract, one is never in any doubt as to which room a character is inhabiting at any one time. Or that the family, or at least Willy, constantly feel trapped within its walls.  Aideen Malone’s lighting adds to the atmosphere, but it’s the music that most perfectly catches the mood of the play.  It opens with the entire cast singing a gospel hymn (thank heavens we get to hear Sharon D. Clarke and Arinze Kene enthral us with their wonderful voices) and at various stages throughout we’re treated to some jazz and blues courtesy of Musical Director Femi Temowo.  

A definite must see.

All My Sons at The Old Vic

Arthur Miller’s first smash hit, All My Sons is playing at The Old Vic and there has been a certain amount of hype attached to it, as it stars two bona fide Hollywood stars.  On this occasion the finished article really does live up to its build up because Bill Pulman and Sally Field, alongside their fellow cast members and creatives have done Mr. Miller proud.  From the moment the play starts, with an upstage screen depicting scenes from America’s past, and the clapboard middle-class house rolls downstage, it’s a given that we’re in for a very satisfying 2 ½ hours.

Jeremy Herrin hasn’t “messed” with the script or setting in any way and it’s all the better for it.  The piece is set in 1947, the year it was written, and there are no gimmicks or theories on what Miller actually meant.  Instead it’s a brilliantly crafted drama, beautifully told and acted about scepticism of the American dream and the way in which we lie to ourselves.

All My Sons centres around factory owner Joe Keller and his wife Kate (Pulman and Field) who are being visited by their idealistic son, Chris (Colin Morgan) and his friend Ann (Jenna Coleman).  The trouble is that Ann was the girlfriend of the Keller’s other son, Larry, who went missing in action three years before and Kate can’t, or won’t, come to terms with the fact that he is dead.  The visit would be fine, except Chris has brought Ann home to propose to her.  Cue displeasure from the parents, especially Kate.  More complications come from the fact that Ann was brought up in the house next door to the Kellers and that her father, Joe’s business partner, is currently in jail, possibly taking the rap for his boss.  For, despite Joe’s protestations it looks suspiciously as if he knowingly supplied the US military with defective aircraft parts during the war, that resulted in the deaths of 21 pilots.

Alongside the house, with it’s creaky screen door, Max Jones, has produced what appears to be a pitch perfect back garden.  But don’t look too closely because, as with everything else in the Keller household, nothing is as flawless as it seems. 

The casting is spot on.  There is no doubting that thanks to the brilliance of Sally Field, Kate, despite her inability to admit the truth and apparent vulnerability, is the matriarch. The loss of her son has obviously aged her almost overnight, but, despite the chronic sleeplessness and apparent living in the past, she can explosively return to the present when it suits.  You feel her pain at the beginning but wonder at her compliance at the end.  Likewise, Pullman’s Mr. Nice Guy, Joe is all hail fellow well met when the play opens but, boy, does that change.  Colin Morgan handles Chris’s intenseness and uprightness brilliantly well, whilst one would never know that this is Jenna Coleman’s first stage role.  She gives a perfectly restrained performance, thereby making her Ann difficult to read - the perfect response to the confrontation she receives from both Sue (the next-door neighbour played by Kayla Meikle) and Kate.  Oliver Johnstone also delivers a wonderfully nervy and edgy George, Ann’s brother.  He could be capable of anything!

A great production that does perfect justice to a great play.