Almeida

Catch-up post – The Good

Leave a comment

I’ve been delaying this and just adding to the enormous pile of things to be reviewed. So here it goes, in three posts: The Good, The Bad, and The Opera/Ballet/Classical/Art. We’ll start positively, with The Good.

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (NT)

Now this is the sort of thing the NT ought to be putting on regularly. August Wilson’s masterpiece about Chicago jazz musicians in the 1920s was innovatively staged and beautifully acted. The opening used only a lower, shallow part of the stage, and I was subconsciously waiting for more of the stage to be revealed, only to realise that the cramped, shallow, low-level space occupied by the band (and the stage above and production booth above that, occupied by the white production engineers) was precisely the point. Superlative acting by Clint Dyer, O-T Fagbenle, Tunji Lucas, Lucian Msamati and Sharon D Clarke made this a provocative, thoughtful, enraging and despairing pleasure. August Wilson is up there with the very best of American playwrights, and ought to be revived as regularly as Miller, Williams and O’Neill.

The Master Builder (Old Vic)

I first learned about Ibsen’s masterpiece from Aspects of Love, and had never seen it staged before. Ralph Fiennes dominated the stage, and everyone on it, as the eponymous architect Halvard Solness. Ibsen’s play was imaginatively and impeccably brought to modern life by David Hare. Fiennes’ passionate, successful, insecure Solness brought wistfulness to his unhappy marriage (his wife played beautifully by Linda Emond) and captured Solness’s complex mix of paternal affection, sexual attraction and professorial detachment towards Sarah Snook’s Hilde Wangel. Snook has a beautiful, low speaking voice and was forthright, healthy and hearty. I wished for a little more variety in her manner, and perhaps a trifle more coquettishness and less straightforwardness. But I quibble – it was an extremely enjoyable evening.

The Father (WE)

Florian Zeller has done the virtually impossible. As a young, French playwright, he has managed to bring two plays to the West End and one to Broadway, at the age of 36. And the reason for that is that this play, in particular, is worthy of all the praise it has received. Kenneth Cranham is heartbreaking as Andre, a man suffering from Alzheimer’s, who may or may not have been a tap dancer (more likely an engineer) and who may or may not live with his daughter Anne (Amanda Drew) and/or his carer Laura (Jade Williams). Cranham’s distress is palpable and yet you sense the vital energy and charm that were for so long integral to his life. I identified most closely with Drew, of course, who brought Parisian chic and up-to-the-moment European angst (“Remember, Dad, I moved to London for a job”) to Anne, and whose sadness was both crystal clear and beautifully hidden. Moving, but never patronising.

Uncle Vanya (Almeida)

Robert Icke’s updated and anglicised version of Chekhov’s masterpiece had its problems (mostly the anglicisation), but the astonishingly good acting by this superlative cast conquered all. Vanya became John (Paul Rhys) and Astrov became Michael (Tobias Menzies). Elena (Vanessa Kirby) and Sonya (Jessica Brown Findlay) were permitted to keep their names. But my God, what evocation of human frailty was displayed. Brown Findlay downplayed her beauty to bring Sonya’s naive passion to life, and the chemistry between Kirby and Menzies was electric. Rhys may have been the best of all, with his pathetic, moving speech the embodiment of many an intellectual’s fear. These characters may have been given English names, but their souls were Russian. A joyous production and a celebration of human life. (Especially Menzies dancing in his underwear).

Mrs Henderson Presents (WE)

This divided the critics, but I enjoyed it. I am a complete sucker for a Blitz, bunting and tits musical, and this embodied them all. This story of Mrs Henderson’s nudie review at the Windmill Theatre, which opened in the ’30s and stayed open throughout the war, was based on a charming musical starring Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins. Interestingly, the objections that some critics made to the nudity in the musical didn’t seem to have been made about the film. Tracie Bennett was warm and businesslike as Laura Henderson, following in the impossible footsteps of Dame Judi. Emma Williams’ Maureen was by far the most interesting character on stage, displaying depth of both intellect and feeling. Overall, though, it had the depth of a tea cup. I enjoyed it enormously, whilst recognising its failings. Not everything can be a masterpiece, but audiences will have come out of this with smiles on their faces.

Fiddler on the Roof (Broadway)

This may be the best musical of all time. Its themes are universal and yet its setting is so very specific in time and place (Jews in pre-revolutionary Russia). And, let us not forget, the songs (by Bock and Harnick) are so, so good. They are cliches for a reason. It was an utter joy to see it in New York, on Broadway, with an audience for whom Danny Burstein’s modern-day Tevye, investigating his family’s history in his windbreaker at the Anatevka train station at the beginning and end of the show, clearly resonated fully and deeply. Burstein’s Tevye was wise and foolish, handsome and plain, sympathetic and harsh. The rest of the cast, including Jessica Hecht, Alexandra Silber, Adam Kantor, Samantha Massell, Melanie Moore, Nick Rehberger and Alix Korey, was uniformly excellent. Hofesh Shechter’s choreography updated Jerome Robbins’s original choreography beautifully, and put a modern stamp on proceedings. It was with no little sadness that I realised that a similar revival in the West End would be impossible at the present time.

Motown the Musical (WE)

The definition of critic-proof, and yet enjoyable. This was mostly because of Cedric Neal’s outstanding work as Berry Gordy. Neal brought pathos to a man who wouldn’t recognise a neurosis if it bit him. This was a classic, splashy, over-the-top jukebox musical. It had outstanding singing, acting and most of all costumes. Sifiso Mazibuko brought passion and depth to Marvin Gaye, and Charl Brown was a delightfully smooth Smokey Robinson. Lucy St Louis looked beautiful, and sang well enough. No one would have expected her to be Diana Ross, for there can be only one Miss Ross. But I’m afraid I didn’t believe either that she loved Gordy or that she had any reason for leaving him – her acting skills simply weren’t there. Other than that, it was a delightful evening (if somewhat lacking in plot). And how can one complain after hearing pretty much every Motown standard there is, sung by an extremely talented cast.

Les Blancs (NT)

Lorraine Hansberry’s masterpiece is widely acknowledged to be A Raisin in the Sun, but I think this may be even better. Finished after her early death, this exploration of an African state’s uprising against its colonial rulers is staged here to extraordinary effect. The NT makes good use of the Olivier’s vast expanse, with smoke, bones, incense and chanting creating an atmospheric and claustrophobic setting for the inevitable climax of colonialism. Danny Sapani is revelatory as Tshembeh Matoseh, a local man who has left his British wife and baby son in London to return home for his father’s funeral. Elliot Cowan is accurately irritating as Charlie Morris, an American journalist who has come to write about the work of the local mission. Anna Madeley and Sian Phillips represent the types of white women who came to missions such as these – whether they support the mission blindly or for love (whether the love of the people or of the mission head) we cannot tell. Gary Beadle and Tunji Kasim are Tshembeh’s brothers, in vastly different positions in this conflict. Sitting amongst us is a chorus of Xhosa women, who remind us that we cannot remain detached from this, for we have caused it. Sheila Atim haunts the production as The Woman, a separate presence. A haunting and memorable evening.

 

Little Eyolf (Almeida)

Leave a comment

The Almeida has had a good track record lately when it comes to Ibsen. Ghosts was wonderful, with the uber-talented Lesley Manville. I was not previously familiar with Little Eyolf, but am always interested in a new production of the classics. Little Eyolf is about a rural family: father Alfred (Jolyon Coy), mother Rita (Lydia Leonard), and their disabled son Eyolf (Adam Greaves-Neal, at the performance I saw). Alfred’s sister Asta (Eve Ponsonby) lives nearby and often visits, and sympathetic, dynamic Borghejm (Sam Hazeldine), who is romantically interested in Asta, also comes to call.

Alfred has just returned from a hiking trip in the mountains, and has resolved to spend more time with little Eyolf and to make him his life’s work, abandoning the book on which he had been spending the bulk of his time. Rita resents this, and would like for Alfred to devote himself to her, as he had earlier in their marriage (before Eyolf’s birth). There is a great deal of affection between Alfred and Asta, and Rita resents this too. Alfred feels a great dealt of guilt, as Eyolf’s disability is the result of an injury which was suffered when he fell off a table as an infant, neglected as Alfred and Rita were making love.

Following a visit from the Rat-Woman (Eileen Walsh), where her rat-banishing services are declined and an uneasy feeling left in her wake, a tragedy ensues. The main protagonists are devastated, and the tensions that had been simmering below the surface come to the fore. Alfred and Asta’s relationship is explored, and Alfred and Rita’s relationship will never be the same. The acting was very good generally, but I must admit to thinking that Coy’s Alfred was nowhere near charismatic enough to warrant such excesses of devotion.

The highlight for me was Eve Ponsonby’s Asta, who played the part beautifully and whose highly strung tension was palpable. Her love for her brother shone through, and her nervousness about the situation was illuminated throughout. Lydia Leonard (most recently seen by me in the BBC’s Wolf Hall) was also very good in the fairly thankless role of Rita. It was an interesting role in the sense that it could easily have been a modern woman. There are plenty of women who do not particularly enjoy being mothers, and who resent that their children take some of their husbands’ affection away from them. It is simply not acceptable, in our modern cult of parenthood, to admit it. It does not necessarily take away from one’s love of one’s children to admit that one is not particularly good at raising them, and yet no one would ever dare say such a thing.

It was an interesting play, well staged and well acted. But I was glad it was only 80 minutes long. The emotions were too intense and the play too claustrophobic to warrant more. I enjoyed it, and I’m glad I saw it. But it was not on the same level as Ghosts. That, however, is Ibsen’s fault, rather than that of the production or the actors.

Medea (Almeida)

Leave a comment

Medea is one of those plays that I generally enjoy seeing, as despite its goriness, it is an opportunity for our greatest actresses to show us the full range of their skills. Helen McCrory’s astonishing performance of a couple of years ago will have a long life in my memory. I have always enjoyed Kate Fleetwood’s performances (most recently in a very different role in High Society) so it was with a pleasant sense of anticipation that I set off for  Islington.

The Almeida’s Greeks season has been, to my mind, an unqualified success. Oresteia was stunning and Bakkhai pleasantly memorable (although there was far too much of the chorus). This version of Medea was the most radically changed from the original of all of the Greeks season plays. I enjoyed it and thought it enormously effective, but I do not anticipate a long life for this, as it is vividly and determinedly tied to life in London circa 2015.

Fleetwood’s Medea is an immediately recognisable North London type: beautiful, not in the first flush of youth and very conscious of that fact, and deeply despairing of where her life and energy have gone. Jason (a diffident and frustrated Jason Salinger) has left her for a younger, richer woman, and this is destroying her. She is reevaluating her life and her decision to have children, as many women do (but of course never admit it). She focuses, increasingly, on that part of her children that comes from Jason, and the love and hate for him are transferred to the children in the end. This, again, seemed very realistic to me. It is only natural to respond most strongly to the elements in your children that come from yourself, and to react negatively to those elements that come from your partner and which you don’t particularly like.

This soul-searching is reinforced well by the chorus, transformed into a group of North London yummy mummies, who make it clear that Medea’s questioning does not fit in with the herd. This again rings very true, as I understand that those who have children are often shocked by the conformity required at the school gate. If one doesn’t fit in, life becomes very difficult. Michele Austin added a welcome dose of reality as the Brazilian cleaner who doesn’t have the luxury of ennui enjoyed by the North London privileged brigade. It was interesting to make Richard Cant’s Aegeus a gay man contemplating having children with his partner via surrogate, but it did not add much to the play beyond expanding the discussion of parenthood and felt rather detached and academic.

Andy de la Tour’s outstanding performance as Creon was anything but dry and academic. He now controls Medea’s finances, her lifeline to the outside world. In one devastating scene, he lays bare all of the insecurities that many 40-something women feel, from the loss of their looks to becoming invisible to more intimate physical changes. It was like having one’s soul exposed to the world by a particularly vicious London taxi driver. Rachel Cusk has outdone herself with this play, navel-gazing though it may appear.

Fleetwood’s performance is, of course, outstanding. You truly felt her love, her rage and her anguish. I have never felt such lack of sympathy for Jason, and I have never felt the inevitability of the end of the play more strongly. I am still not sure whether it was a truly extraordinary version of the play or it only seemed extraordinary because it was set so close to my own milieu, but it was, undeniably, gripping and beautifully acted. Closing soon, but highly recommended.

Catch-up Post: Plays Part 2

Leave a comment

A View From the Bridge (Young Vic): A tour de force from Mark Strong. His film career means that he is sometimes overlooked as a stage actor, which is an enormous shame. His presence radiated through the audience like an electric shock and the set design was innovative and extremely effective.

The Audience (WE): Kristin Scott Thomas this time. Someone described this play as “critic-proof,” and that is accurate, as it is not a play so much as a celebration of longevity. KST was suitably imperious, but lacked the humanity that Helen Mirren brought to the role.

Bad Jews (St James): A side-splittingly funny exploration of family, faith and sheer pettiness. I hated and loved all the characters in just about equal measure. I laughed like a drain for an hour and a half and saw it again at the Arts. A tonic.

The Twits (Royal Court): Roald Dahl wrote the original story. All of the actors involved were very talented and, I’m sure, did their best. And yet it was unremittingly awful. Incredibly dull. The best bit was watching children react to David Walliams’s presence among them (he was in the audience).

The Hard Problem (NT): The celebrated return of Sir Tom Stoppard. A rising star in Olivia Vinall. I wondered how it could have been written by the same person who wrote Arcadia, as the subtlety with which he explored science and the human condition in that play was all gone. This exploration of a woman scientist’s faith and career was about as subtle as a brick and very simplistic (and, if one were being uncharitable, sexist). A big disappointment.

Golem (Young Vic): As a frequent theatre-goer, it is rare that a production surprises and delights. This exploration of urban life, capitalism and romance addressed these important subjects in a fascinating manner with a light touch. Beautiful projections made this very unusual production a treat for the eye and the mind.

Antigone (Barbican): I need Greek tragedy to be made palatable for me, as the NT’s Medea and the Almeida’s Greeks season have recently done. This was, I’m afraid, static and one-note (shrieking) throughout, despite the luminous presence of Juliette Binoche and direction by the celebrated Ivo Van Hove.

The Play that Goes Wrong (WE): A very silly play within a play, which was hilariously funny and delightfully performed. If you need a pick me up, go to this. I enjoyed its low budget charms enormously.

Blithe Spirit (WE): There’s not much to be said about this that hasn’t already been said. It’s important to note that Angela Landsbury was fantastic not for an 88-year old, but for a performer of any age. A sparkling, charming production.

The Ruling Class (WE): A very odd play indeed, and dated in many respects. Whilst the aristocracy remains with us and have a great deal of power, we can thank our lucky stars (and the Russians, Chinese and Arabs who are our present ruling class) that they do not have the same power they did in the 1960s. James McAvoy was wonderful as always and the star of the show, as one would expect when spending a significant amount of stage time believing oneself (or pretending) to be Jesus Christ. A curate’s egg.

Happy Days (Young Vic): I often struggle with Beckett, although Waiting for Godot can be a great pleasure with the right pair of actors. Juliet Stevenson shone in this exploration of a woman’s very English captivity, although I cannot in all honesty say I enjoyed it. Appreciated is more the right word.

Taken at Midnight (WE): The mother of a captured German dissident during WWII was a great part for Penelope Wilton and I absolutely understand why she took it. That said, and whilst it was very moving, I’m afraid we’ve seen it all before. Its power on stage was remarkable, however.

The Fever (Almeida, in a WE hotel): Tobias Menzies has rather flown under the radar as a stage actor, although his appearance in U.S. TV blockbusters Game of Thrones and Outlander means that his star appears to be rising. This monologue about a wealthy Westerner musing on the developing world was exquisitely performed in the intimacy of a hotel suite. Unfortunately, its internal inconsistencies and lack of intellectual rigour (wealth is not a zero sum game) meant that I spent the evening admiring the acting rather than being moved by the play.

The Three Lions (St James): A play that was very much meant for television, with three actors impersonating David Cameron, Prince William and David Beckham in their (ultimately doomed) efforts to secure the 2018 World Cup. It was quite funny, with the best jokes being aimed by “Cameron” at Boris Johnson. Enjoyable, but missable.

Ballyturk (NT): Sometimes you go to the theatre and watch a play (in this case an Enda Murphy play set in Ireland amongst possibly brilliant and possibly insane people throwing things at each other) and you are left with the conclusion that either you are an idiot in the presence of genius or what happened on stage was nonsensical. With this one, I lean toward the second conclusion, despite energetic acting by Cillian Murphy, Mikel Murfi and Stephen Rea.

Electra (Old Vic): Another one note Greek tragedy. Impeccable shrieking from Kristin Scott Thomas, but there were few nuances to the performance. I have enjoyed her acting in the past, but I feel that perhaps I have seen all of the notes on offer.

Skylight (WE): A very good play, superbly acted by Bill Nighy and Carey Mulligan as former lovers rehashing the past. I found it infuriating, however, as David Hare’s play makes many assumptions about women, the business world and marital fidelity, few of which in my experience are true.

Richard III (WE): I enjoyed Martin Freeman’s Richard III when I saw it, but it is with several months’ distance that I am able to fully appreciate its greatness. He exemplified the banality of evil and the despot lurking in many ordinary men. An unshowy and brilliant performance.

Great Britain (NT): How we waited for the outcome of the Rebekah Brooks trial, so that we would be able to see this play. It was done as befitting a tabloid, cheaply and cheerfully, and with brittle, paper-thin jokes designed for a quick laugh and tomorrow’s fish and chips. Billie Piper was perfect for the role, though, and performed it very well.

Catch-up Post: Plays Part 1

Leave a comment

And here is the post with a few words about all the plays I’ve seen over the past year. Looking back, I saw many good plays and very few poor productions.

Bakkhai (Almeida): Not quite the stunner that Oresteia was, but a very memorable afternoon. Ben Whishaw’s Dionysus was clearly influenced by the likes of Conchita Wurst and Russell Brand, but memorably his own. But it was Bertie Carvel who stole the show for me, both as a buttoned-up Pentheus (channelling Margaret Atwood as he whispered, “It’s very important that the women don’t make fun of me”) and a suitably mad Agave. Compelling, but I could have done with less of the Chorus.

The Heresy of Love (Globe): I had not previously heard of Helen Edmundson’s play, but was entranced by this exploration of love and faith in 17th century Mexico. Naomi Frederick was forthright, elegant, and ultimately very moving as Sor Juana.

The Motherfucker with the Hat (NT): Definitely not the usual National Theatre fare, this New York-set play about infidelity and a conman trying to go straight had a vivid, earthy (and profane) energy. For once, the American accents were spot-on throughout. The acting was very strong, but the play ultimately a trifle shallow.

Everyman (NT): An interesting experiment. Well-acted by a strong cast, including Chiwetel Ejiofor, written by one of my favourite poets (Carol Ann Duffy), and yet it didn’t completely grab me. The subject matter (meaning of life) was a little too well worn.

Oresteia (Almeida): An incredibly strong beginning to the Almeida’s Greeks season. It was very long, but not difficult to sit through as the intervals were well timed. And it was beyond compelling. Lia Williams was mesmerising as Klytemnestra, Angus Wright’s agony as Agamemnon seemed to come from his very bones, and the death of Iphigenia was almost unwatchable. Its West End transfer is richly deserved.

The Elephant Man (WE): I’ll admit it, I was there for Bradley Cooper. And he did not disappoint, contorting his body admirably and speaking with a suitably distorted but accurate mid-Victorian accent. The play, however, was short and so pointless that I couldn’t quite believe it was over, as so little had happened.

Constellations (WE): I had missed this play the first time around, so I was very pleased to see it return to Trafalgar Studios this summer. It was well-acted and the physics was interesting, but I didn’t find the conceit of the repetition as moving as I was clearly intended to. Science and art can be combined beautifully (as in Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, the most sublime example) but sometimes the science can be just a gimmick.

Rules for Living (NT): An uproariously funny play about a dysfunctional family at Christmas, oddly scheduled in the NT’s spring season. It would have been much more suited to a Christmas season. The “rules” were a unique concept and the scoreboard certainly noisy, but not necessary for the family dynamics to play out. A delightful curio.

Temple (Donmar): A play about the dilemma facing the leadership of St Paul’s Cathedral during the time its courtyard was taken over by Occupy. Simon Russell Beale turned the part of the finely tuned senior cleric into an exquisitely tortured man undergoing a profound moral dilemma. Paul Higgins (always a favourite since his legendary Jamie in The Thick of It) was marvellously passionate as the Canon Chancellor.

Man and Superman (NT): This should not have worked. Over 3 hours long, with an unrelated and frankly bizarre second act, lots of Shavian repetition and a leading man (Ralph Fiennes) who was much too old for the part. It was wonderful, engaging from start to finish and with beautiful chemistry between Fiennes and Indira Varma. We don’t see enough Shaw. More like that from the NT, please.

The Beaux Stratagem (NT): I should have loved this Restoration comedy. It had elements of country-house farce, which I normally adore, it was strongly acted and had some lovely singing. And yet I was bored stiff and longing for it to be over. There just wasn’t enough zing, and I didn’t care about any of the characters. A dud.

Peter Pan (Open Air): This production made me nervous at the beginning. Linking Peter Pan’s lost boys to the lost boys of WWI was an inspired and moving idea. It was just rather difficult to explain to the child accompanying me, who was understandably asking questions about why the boys were hurt and who was the enemy. But it was a lovely production, if a bit challenging for the lower end of the recommended age bracket.

American Buffalo (WE): Plenty of star power was on offer with this David Mamet three-hander, which involved John Goodman, Damian Lewis and Tom Sturridge. It was very well acted (particularly by Sturridge, who I had never seen before) but the play itself was about stupid people and I found it a rather stupid play. Mamet and I clearly do not get on.

Farinelli and the King (Globe): A gem. Mary Rylance’s performance in this play about the effect of the castrato Farinelli on his King of Spain was a quiet miracle, his eyes alone conveying every emotion that one could wish. Stunning singing from Iestyn Davies. I will go again during the West End transfer but that first experience in the tiny Sam Wanamaker Playhouse will be a treasured memory.

King Charles III, Almeida

Leave a comment

Love them or loathe them, we all think we know the Royals. We nod when they live up to how we perceive them and we discount any evidence to the contrary. It was inevitable that this play would attract a certain amount of media attention. I expected it to be interesting; I didn’t expect it to be moving.

The play is set in an immediately post-Queen world, in which the family is in mourning and the coronation is a long way away. (Philip having predeceased the Queen). Charles, somewhat cluelessly and certainly unwisely, is manipulated into a confrontation with Parliament by the Leader of the Opposition (Nicholas Rowe, suitably two-faced) on the pertinent topic of privacy. This is the least plausible aspect of the play for me, but to a certain extent it doesn’t really matter, as the debate is an interesting one and leads to thought-provoking results.

To a certain extent you forget that you are watching a play about the royals we know, and it becomes a play about a family like any other. Oliver Chris is tall, blond and a little dull as William (so probably quite accurate). Lydia Wilson is a cunning Kate, which is very amusing to watch although again, implausible. A woman who has spent her adult life essentially without a job is unlikely to harbour Lady Macbeth-style plans. Richard Goulding makes a sympathetic Harry, who has an adventure of his own involving a working class girl, well played by Tafline Steen. Margot Leicester is loyal as Camilla, but the character is underdeveloped. Adam James is an honourable Prime Minister (the politicians are not drawn from reality).

Tim Piggott-Smith is an absolute revelation as Charles. He does not stoop to doing an impersonation, but inhabits the character fully. On occasion he will turn around and the expression will be uncannily like Charles, but it is because he has disappeared completely into the character. He is forthright, stubborn and, at the end, very moving.

The play itself is very good, but somewhat uneven. Written in iambic pentameter, which sits a little uneasily with modern speech, it is often very funny. The tone in the second act is variable, and sometimes you are not sure if you are meant to laugh or not. There were some uncomfortable laughs that I suspect were unintentional. However, the substance of the play is pertinent. In the battle for supremacy between freedom of speech and privacy, how should the balance be struck? In the USA, freedom of speech has clearly won, but in Europe, it is less clear cut.

The production is cleverly done, with the Almeida stripped away to the brickwork and the action taking place on a raised plinth. It will be interesting to see how it is done when it transfers to the West End. There is also effective use of music throughout, and it emphasises how important music is to the atmosphere of pageantry on which the Royal family depends. Highly recommended, it is sold out at the Almeida but the transfer begins at the Wyndham’s in September.