Author: Vulture

Vulture https://londonculturevulture.wordpress.com I'm a Canadian who has lived in London for over 10 years. I try to soak up as much of the culture here as I can.

Shakespeare in Love

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It is always strange to go to a play or musical based on a film, particularly one you know well. With a book, you know that the adaptation will simplify and change the material of necessity, so it will take on its own life. However, since a theatre production and a film have approximately the same running time, there is always a danger that the play or musical will lose its vitality through lack of originality. The most recent example of this that I can think of is Fatal Attraction, which was utterly dire and which is one of the very few plays I can recall where I left at the interval.

However, in the case of Shakespeare in Love, I was reckoning without two things. The first being that this is a script by Tom Stoppard, and its innate quality is such that it is virtually guaranteed to produce an enjoyable evening. And the second is that the film starred Gwyneth Paltrow, who is an actress of a certain screen presence, but not exactly a distinguished Shakespearean interpreter.

The plot is familiar; a young Shakespeare (Tom Bateman) is starting out, friends with Christopher Marlowe (David Oakes) and attempting to make a name for himself with the various theatre companies in London. Viola de Lesseps (Lucy Briggs-Owen) is a young lady who loves the theatre and wants to act. Her father (Richard Howard) is rich but has made his money in trade, and secures the engagement between Viola and posh-but-poor Wessex (Alistair Petrie). Looming over all is the presence of Queen Elizabeth I (Anna Carteret), a part in which Judi Dench memorably won an Oscar for 8 minutes of screen time.

Stoppard employs many classic Shakespearean devices, but the most prominent is that Viola disguises herself as a young man and is chosen to play the part of Romeo in Shakespeare’s play, which involves (initially at least) many protagonists, including Ethel, the Pirate’s Daughter. Shakespeare is impressed by “his” acting ability but falls in love with the undisguised Viola, when he sees her at her father’s house. The balcony scenes, in which he attempts to woo her, are among the funniest and most delightful in the play. In particular, Stoppard’s sly notion that Marlowe gave Shakespeare some of his best lines is charming.

It is well-acted throughout; Tom Bateman is an earthy, lustful Shakespeare, and we believe him when he bemoans the fact that his wife Anne Hathaway’s bed is cold. He has the ruthlessness of the man devoted to art, even as we do believe that he loves Viola. Lucy Briggs-Owen has a beautiful speaking voice and the speeches are beautiful in her hands, but her facial expressions lack variety. The role of Wessex is particularly well cast, as it was rather difficult to believe Colin Firth in the role in the film. Alistair Petrie is suitably chilly and lacking in appeal.

For me, however, the script is the star of this play. A true love letter to theatre, not without affectionate mocking, we see Stoppard’s gifts at their most whimsical. Not his most intellectual play (although of course still very clever) but a witty, charming and elegant way in which to spend an evening. Oh, and the bit with the dog is very good too.

Wimbledon Women’s Final

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I have been very fortunate to be able to attend Wimbledon several times over the years, most recently for the women’s final on Saturday. Wimbledon, as an experience, is both quintessentially English and somewhat un-English at the same time. The Queue and Henman Hill/Murray Mount are both very English, extremely polite and a little bit crazy (WHY would you choose to sit uncomfortably on a hill to watch a big TV? As the Daily Mail is fond of telling us, most of us have big TVs at home). Wimbledon as an Experience (TM), however, is a Hollywood/Disney version of itself, complete with ludicrously expensive food and drink, celebrities everywhere and not many places to sit when it rains (as it inevitably will).

The experience is very different early in the tournament, compared to later on. Early in the tournament, there are matches taking place on virtually every court, most of which have unreserved seating. As the outside courts often have more interesting and more competitive matches, many of the people with Centre Court and Court No. 1 tickets will choose to spend at least some of their time on the outer courts. It is very crowded and can be enjoyable, although I find it a bit frustrating.

Later in the tournament, however, it is much calmer. Relatively few people will queue up in order to sit on the hill or to see the outside courts, and many of the people with Centre Court tickets are on corporate tickets with private dining facilities. This means that the remainder of the shopping and dining facilities are much less crowded, and you don’t have to queue quite so long for your strawberries and cream. In addition, I noticed the presence of beer this year, which I never had before. My partner tells me that it is part of Stella Artois’ upbranding marketing campaign, in which it is attempting to remake its image from that of a beer best suited to binge-drinking and domestic violence.

I am prevaricating and should say something about the tennis. I was there, of course, to cheer on Eugenie Bouchard, Canada’s first Grand Slam finalist. She has had an amazing year thus far, reaching the semifinals at the Australian and French Open tournaments and blazing through the draw here. She did not play poorly in the final, but Petra Kvitova was utterly dominant and played beautifully, her serves powerful and her play confident and efficient. I am sure Bouchard will return again, considering her young age (20) and her immense talent.

We did not stay long after that match, but I understand that the women’s and men’s doubles matches were both very good. I do think it something of a shame that singles and doubles are now so specialised, as I used to enjoy watching yesteryears’ singles stars play doubles. I have particular affection for Venus and Serena Williams on this point, as I have enjoyed watching them play doubles together several times at Wimbledon.

Wimbledon is a wonderful tennis tournament to experience. I have also visited the US Open, which is, of course, a great tournament in its own right (much bigger, bolder, louder…more American). But I do recommend making the trek to SW19, if you are ever in London during the Wimbledon fortnight.

Twelfth Night re-imagined

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It is not often that I come away from the theatre utterly charmed. Still less does this happen at children’s theatre, which is usually well done but very much for its target audience. However, our group of two adults and a 6- and 7-year old was thoroughly enthralled by this “re-imagining” of Twelfth Night at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre.

It was a blisteringly hot afternoon and we were in full sun, so not ideal conditions for retaining children’s attention (particularly with the repeated singing of “the rain it raineth every day,” which frankly would have been most welcome). The production retained Shakespeare’s language for the most part (albeit heavily redacted) with various instructions for the audience to take part from time to time. We were slightly concerned about how the children would react to this, but they seemed to scarcely notice the anachronistic language and became absorbed in the story. Audience participation was enthusiastic, with the wave, dancing, and blowing the wind done with gusto (including by the adults in the audience, some of whom were well refreshed by the 1:30 start time).

The cast did an admirable job, with Sarah Ridgeway a fabulous Viola. She demonstrated something of the teen idol qualities of Justin Bieber/One Direction/Five Seconds of Summer (see, I’m down with the kids) in her “wooing” of Riann Steele’s Olivia. Nick Malinowski had the most difficult task, playing both Malvolio and Orsino, but he carried both off beautifully. The rest of the cast were also excellent, with particular praise due to the musical talents of Iain Johnstone (Feste/Antonio) and Vera Chok (Maria). The traditional pronunciation of the latter character’s name (“Ma-rye-ah”) was displeasing to a small person seated behind me, who insisted on several occasions that it “should be Ma-ree-ah.”

The duel scene between Cesario (Viola) and Sir Andrew Aguecheek (Guy Lewis, who also played Sebastian) was innovative, with a ringer brought in initially and the duel itself in a format that was age-appropriate and appropriate for the weather, although I would not have liked to experience it on a cold day. The production did an excellent job of explaining the various pairings, with a “love meter” brought in to demonstrate when a character had fallen for another. There were certain lines and motions that were adult in nature (it is Shakespeare, after all) but they were done fairly subtly and in a way in which children would not have picked up on.

I would not have thought, previously, that Shakespeare could have been made accessible for young children. I was wrong; full marks to the production and to Max Webster’s sterling direction. If you would like to introduce children to Shakespeare, this is an ideal way to go about it. Highly recommended.

 

Hotel

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That was certainly intense. Hotel is a new play by Polly Stenham, performed in the temporary space at the National Theatre that used to be called the Shed (I rather liked the name, but unfortunately license agreements, like the space, are temporary and finite).

Hotel is set in an upscale tropical resort, the kind where the decor is all white, the views amazing, and the minibar both tempting and extortionate. A family has just arrived. Vivienne (Hermione Gulliford) has had to resign her position as a Cabinet minister, following a scandal involving her husband Robert (Tom Beard). This scenario did not strike me as plausible. We all remember Jacqui Smith of course, but surely the scandalous aspect of her husband’s behaviour was that the pornographic films were claimed on parliamentary expenses, not simply that he had watched them.

In any event, the couple have come, along with their teenaged children Ralph (Tom Rhys Harries) and Frankie (Shannon Tarbet) to take a break and regroup following the revelations. Ralph and Frankie are typically spoilt and somewhat emotionally neglected, stealing drinks and smoking cigarettes in time-honoured forms of rebellion. Ralph fancies the hotel maid, Nala (Susan Wokoma) and flirts somewhat diffidently with her.

The action continues in the family circle, until an unexpected event occurs which ratchets up the tension and takes the play into a more political realm. I will refrain from being more specific. As an aside, theatre is one instance in which I am sympathetic to those who are sensitive about “spoilers.” In all other areas, it is the responsibility of those who do not wish to be “spoiled” to refrain from looking at mainstream or social media, not the other way around. In any event, true art can be appreciated even when one knows what is going to happen. We go to see the classical repertoire again and again despite the presence of “spoilers.” More grown people act like utter infants on this subject than on any other.

The play is a true thriller with lots of action. We are invited to consider questions of colonialism, paternalism, modern politics and of course, racism. The NT’s website describes it as exploring the “cost of integrity.” I didn’t really think that any of the characters displayed particular integrity. I felt that ultimately the play was too sympathetic to the family and to the West generally, dismissing the concerns of the local people as being unsophisticated and, in one instance, not local at all.

In the end, it seemed to come down to me to be a horror story about the ultimate fears of middle class (in this case, upper middle class) people. It was well acted throughout (with Tom Rhys Harries a particular highlight as Ralph), thought-provoking and interesting, but not as balanced or sophisticated as I think it wanted to be. I do recommend it, however, as it is a remarkable experience of pure theatrical intensity.

A Small Family Business

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Ah, the ’80s. It’s difficult to feel nostalgia for an era of greed, but the ’80s look positively quaint compared to the last decade and a half. It’s a timely revival, this attempt of the NT’s at Ayckbourn’s A Small Family Business, originally produced in 1987.

Jack McCracken (Nigel Lindsay) is an honest man who, along with various family members, runs the titular small family business. His youngest daughter Samantha (a suitably petulant Alice Sykes) has just been shoplifting, and a seedy private detective (a delightfully shabby Matthew Cottle) says that he will prosecute unless Jack gives him a job at the business. Jack sends him off, proclaiming his belief in honesty and integrity.

The other women in Jack’s life, wife Poppy (Debra Gillett) and daughter Tina (Rebecca McKinnis) berate Jack for what they deem excessive prudishness, and admit to other, minor crimes they have themselves committed. Jack then begins to discover other corruption at the business, involving his brother Cliff (an amusingly dimwitted Stephen Beckett), his brother-in-law Desmond (Neal Barry, hilariously pathetic) and their spouses, Anita (Niky Wardley) and Harriet (Amy Marston).

Niky Wardley’s Anita is a particular blowsy highlight, having affairs with a number of Italian brothers (all played by Gerard Monaco) and making the very most possible out of a meaty, fun part. Harriet is meant to be a foil to her, but I found the character so off-putting that I sympathised with Desmond’s plans for escape.

Nigel Lindsay plays Jack very well, strait-laced at the beginning but then with increasing desperation as he realises that his family are all in it up to their necks. He remains sympathetic throughout, which can’t be an easy line to walk. Debra Gillett’s Poppy is amusingly matter-of-fact about it all, as she points out that because of Jack’s honesty, they haven’t had the same standard of living as that of their friends and relatives.

Even though the references are dated (sometimes hilariously so), behind the laughs, a larger point is made. We pride ourselves on being a society without a great deal of corruption, but how honest are we really? The little fiddles, the tiny dodges, they all add up. Or perhaps it is not possible to have a society without some amount of corruption. This aspect of the play is as fresh now as it was in 1987.

The production itself is well done, with the Olivier’s stage used well, one generic house standing in for that of all the families. The costuming was a particular highlight. I remember those shoulder pads, those wrap dresses, those shiny fabrics. At least ’80s fashion was distinctive, unlike the incredibly dull ’90s.

Whilst a very professional production, well acted and thought-provoking, I did not find the laughs coming as frequently as I suspect they were intended to. Worth catching, but not unmissable.

World Cup, Brazil

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Apologies for the silence, but I have been away. Not soaking up culture exactly, but enjoying some artistic play (and some not so artistic play) in the form of football. I will not be offering specific critiques of games, both because I’m completely unqualified to do so and because, well, they’re over, but here are some general observations.

I must begin by saying what an inspired choice it was to have Brazil host the tournament. We have all read the doom and gloom stories in the press (which always seems to happen) and I make no promises about the Olympics, which are much more complex to host than a World Cup. But this was an excellent World Cup. The people were friendly and fun, the public transport was efficient and timely, the stadiums generally very good, and the beer relatively cheap. The security presence was certainly heavy handed, with military police checking tickets and regular police on (literally) every street corner, but it added to the sense of safety. It is not my place to comment on Brazilian domestic politics so I will refrain from comment on whether the money should have been spent as it was, but what they achieved in terms of hosting the world’s premier football tournament was considerable.

The atmosphere at the games themselves was one of genuine joy. Everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming. There were, of course, a lot of Americans everywhere, but one could sense the presence of a rising middle class in many other countries, such as Mexico and South Korea. Brazilians generally wore their own team’s shirts, but would customise with face paint supporting one of the countries playing in the game. That did not always last, however, and we were treated more than once to the entertaining sight of a Brazilian fan with a Belgian flag painted on his cheek cheering loudly for South Korea.

People at the World Cup really, really love the wave. I have never seen it entered into with such enthusiasm. And while discussing the wave, please can people in the UK refrain from calling it the “Mexican wave”? It has been almost 30 years since the World Cup in Mexico and no one else calls it that. In addition, whilst everyone was very friendly to us, it was notable that European teams (and that of the USA) were less popular among Brazilians than other teams, which is certainly understandable.

A final couple of notes, some of which are applicable to London theatre as well. First, if you are going to hold up a flag, make sure it’s the right way around to the venue/cameras, not to you. It doesn’t matter if the flag is symmetrical, of course, but we all know what a backwards US flag looks like. In addition, I have noticed a disturbing epidemic of people refusing to stand up to allow others to access their seats. I don’t mind so much once play (or, the play) has begun, but before the performance, there is no excuse. Those are their seats, yes it’s tedious to stand, but it’s how theatres work. Get up and let people in.

Very last observation: James Rodriguez from Colombia is going to be the world’s next superstar. Utterly amazing player. Do watch Colombia’s match against Brazil on 4 July to see what I mean.

Handbagged

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We’ve certainly had plenty of opportunities to revisit the Queen and Margaret Thatcher in recent years, what with the Queen and Iron Lady films and The Audience play. Accordingly, it took me a few minutes to settle in to the idea of someone other than Helen Mirren playing The Queen and Meryl Streep playing Lady T.

The conceit is interesting, as we have two actors each playing the younger and older Queen (Marion Bailey and Lucy Robinson) and Maggie (Stella Gonet and Fenella Woolgar) and two others playing literally everyone else (Neet Mohan and Jeff Rawle, who I remember fondly from Drop the Dead Donkey). Off the top of my head, they took on Denis Thatcher, Prince Philip, Neil Kinnock, Michael Heseltine, Arthur Scargill, Ronald Reagan, Nancy Reagan, Ken Clarke, Gerry Adams, Michael Shea, and many more I’ve forgotten. They also have a bit of banter “as actors” which is amusing.

The action takes place over Thatcher’s tenure in office, bookended by her visits to the Queen at the beginning and end of her time in office. The younger actors play them at the time, and the older actors offer reflections and observations. The fourth wall is broken constantly, which is a bit disconcerting at first, but you get used to it. I’m not sure whether it was makeup or not, but the older actors bore a much closer resemblance to their characters than did the younger ones. It did not much matter, though, as Fenella Woolgar, in particular, had Maggie’s voice and mannerisms down pat.

The play did not cover anything with which I was not already familiar, but it was interesting to revisit the period. Neet Mohan offers a young person’s point of view, at one point explaining that he had “wiki’d” a particular issue for us. He also acts as the voice of the opposition, bringing up unpleasant subjects, especially for Thatcher, such as the miners’ strike. The play is demonstrably in favour of the Queen’s supposed point of view, but I suppose that is only fair, since she was correct on issues such as the reunification of Germany and apartheid sanctions.

The acting was very good throughout, with particular praise for both Mohan and Jeff Rawle, who offered, amongst other things, a flawless Denis Thatcher and very good Neil Kinnock and Prince Philip. The American accents leaned rather too much towards the Texan for Ron and Nancy, but would have been very accurate for W, had he been around at the time. This continues until 2 August and is worth catching, as it is very funny at times.

 

The Pajama Game

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Sometimes “classics” are best left in the past. That was the conclusion of the gentleman sitting next to me, when we chatted at the interval of The Pajama Game. In some respects I agreed with him, but in others I did not. The Pajama Game is a musical, described by one of its characters as being “about capital and labour.” Well, sort of. It’s a light-as-air concoction, in which management and a union face off, with the two romantic protagonists, Babe and Sid, on opposite sides of the conflict.

Happily, the singing and dancing were fantastic, particularly Dan Burton as Sid (he is the understudy and it was great to see him in the main role). That said, however, there was not an enormous amount of chemistry between him and Joanna Riding as Babe. I would have liked to have seen whether that was present with Michael Xavier in the role. But they gamely did their best, and worked together very well. I also very much enjoyed Gary Wilmot as Hinesy (with one enormous exception that we will come to later) and Alexis Owen-Hobbs was a delightful Gladys.

The songs are the real stars of this show. “Hey There,” “Once-a-year Day,” “Hernando’s Hideaway,” and “There Once Was a Man” are deservedly classics. They were sung well here by a uniformly strong cast. The plot, however, is a bit silly, and the denouement falls somewhat flat, with one side giving in due to fear of exposure, rather than any outcome of negotiation.

But I’m afraid my dislike of this production is for a more serious reason. I understand that there are no First Nations people in the UK, and that actors and directors in London have probably never been exposed to them. However, there is really no excuse, in modern London, for having the character of Hinesy dress up like a dime store Indian during the knife-throwing scene, and make a fool of himself pretending to “Haw” and dance around in an “Indian” manner. It may have been in the original script, I don’t know, but it certainly has no place in 2014. It could easily have been changed, the only casualty being a stupid joke about “savages.” I also cringed slightly during the Hernando’s Hideaway scene, with the characters all wearing Mexican hats, but that wasn’t as bad and was necessary for the plot.

In the end, I think that if classic musicals are going to be revived in the modern era, they have to be carefully reviewed to ensure that the casual racism of the past is no longer present. This is not the fault of the cast, who did a great job, but those in charge need to think about it a little harder.

Clarence Darrow

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Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. That was the somewhat dispiriting conclusion I came to last night, after watching the utterly wonderful Kevin Spacey in his one man Clarence Darrow production at the Old Vic. Don’t get me wrong, it was a stunning, thought-provoking evening and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

However, the subject matter of the play made it clear that the good fight which Clarence Darrow fought must be re-fought every few decades, and not just in the USA. Murder by children, the fight for workers’ rights, the fight against creationism, all these are far from over. The only crusade of Darrow’s that I think is being won is the fight against the death penalty, although its demise is certainly taking a while.

I had been aware that Darrow defended the child killers Leopold and Loeb, and of course of the Scopes Monkey Trial. I had not been aware of his earlier work as a labour lawyer and his defence of the McNamara brothers, who set off an explosion in the LA Times building in 1911. All of these cases were discussed in some detail in the play, although we were fortunate to hear from Thea Sharrock, the director, who told us that the original 1974 version of the play (written for Henry Fonda) had to be significantly changed to explain things to a modern, London audience.

A case that I had not been aware of in particular was that of Ossian Sweet. In 1925, a white mob in Detroit attempted to drive a black family out of the home they had purchased in a white neighborhood. In the struggle, a white man was killed and the eleven black people in the house were arrested and charged with murder. Dr. Ossian Sweet and three members of his family were brought to trial. The play drew heavily from Darrow’s closing statement, which lasted over seven hours and is seen as a landmark in the Civil Rights movement.

I must, of course, say a few words about Spacey’s performance. It was an absolute barnstormer. I knew a lawyer in New York, who was originally from Virginia and certainly retained the accent, and who would routinely sway juries by saying that he was just a “simple country lawyer.” Spacey had some of this quality of deceptive simplicity, and used it to great effect with the audience.

Striding back and forth, haranguing us like we were a jury, he brought these long-dead cases to vivid, vibrant life. He addressed chairs as though they had people in them (his wife, his clients), which was a surprisingly effective technique. He also used people in the audience to illustrate his points, most memorably plunking down in the middle of an attractive group of young people to demonstrate his belief in “free love.” (I, apparently, have the look of a Presbyterian.) We were supposed to meet him afterwards, but he did not stay long. It did not matter; he had given us everything on stage.  A truly stunning evening. Do catch it if you can.

The Last Days of Troy, Globe

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The story is, of course, well-known, and thematically well-suited to the Globe. The play is a new version by Simon Armitage. The first act has several alternating story lines; first, we follow the Greeks, with Agamemnon and Odysseus bickering with Achilles and Patroclus. On the Trojan side, Helen and Andromache are somewhat stereotypical frenemies, whilst Priam and Hector discuss strategy and Paris whinges. The third story line is meant to be the lightest, with Zeus and Hera a down-at-heel married couple, with Athene their seemingly teenaged daughter.

As seems to be prevalent lately, the second half of the play is much stronger than the first. The Greek and Trojan story lines were strong throughout, but the tone of the gods’ storyline was slightly off. The jokes fell a little flat, and whilst it was well acted, did not seem completely in line with the rest of the story. The use of Clare Calbraith to play Thetis as well as Andromache was somewhat confusing, as the costumes were very similar and it did not seem to me that the character of Thetis was particularly necessary to the plot.

The casting is excellent. Lily Cole was a tall and very beautiful Helen, although it was difficult to tell whether her impassive affect was due to the character’s desire to keep her own counsel or simply to stiff acting. I will choose to believe the former. Clare Calbraith and Simon Harrison were an affectionate and moving Andromache and Hector, and it seemed to me they had better chemistry than Helen and Paris. Tom Stuart was, however, an excellent Paris, perfectly cast and nailing the character’s wispiness, well contrasted with Hector’s dominance.

On the Greek side, David Birrell was a forthright Agamemnon and Colin Tierney a wily and cunning Odysseus, who reminded me physically of a young Ralph Fiennes. Jake Fairbrother was an extremely athletic Achilles, and his grief for Patroclus very affecting. Amongst the gods, Richard Bremmer’s Zeus was tramp-like and bedraggled, and Gillian Bevan a nagging, washer-woman Hera. The gods’ characters were fully developed by the end of the play, but much less so in the first half.

The story is a familiar one. Armitage implies a particular relationship between Achilles and Patroclus, and Helen’s actions suggest that she will miss Andromache the most of all the Trojans. Otherwise, the story is played straight, with plenty of action and some excellent wrestling and sword-fighting. Less bloody than some of the Globe’s productions this season, there was at least one fainter on the day I attended (I suspect due to the heat). This might be a particularly good Globe production for younger audience members, as the language is straightforward and the action constant throughout. Recommended.