Hampstead

Catch-Up Post of Mediocrity (and Occasional Brilliance)

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A Christmas Carol (WE)

Jim Broadbent is incapable of acting badly, but his Ebeneezer Scrooge was essentially phoned-in. And the prices they charged for a rickety set and play-sort-of-within-a-play that didn’t know whether it wanted to be funny or serious were utterly ridiculous. A blatant attempt to rip off the holiday market, and I was not in the mood to be fleeced. A serious disappointment.

Jane Eyre (NT)

This adaptation, brought from the Bristol Old Vic and directed by Sally Cookson, had its moments of pleasure. It was well-acted throughout, with Madeleine Worrall playing Jane from (literally) infancy to adulthood, and Felix Hayes a fiery Rochester. Melanie Marshall’s stunning voice saved the evening for me, as I was not enormously fond of the experimental nature of the production. It also featured the first (but not the last) instance of a person playing an animal (here a dog) that I would see at the NT in January.

As You Like It (NT)

The NT clearly spent a lot of money on this production, and the transition from the first act’s office to the “forest” was visually stunning, and even appeared slightly dangerous for the participants. But playing the first act in an office was unduly constrained and somewhat dull, and I could not see any creative justification for it. Generally well acted, but Rosalie Craig’s Rosalind did not, for me, have her usual luminous brilliance. More people playing animals in this one, sheep this time, which they did almost disconcertingly well. An odd production and, for me, unsuccessful.

Grey Gardens (Southwark)

Sheila Hancock was heartbreaking and hilarious, and Jenna Russell very strong indeed in this stripped-down version of a Broadway hit. Well staged and enjoyable, this rumination on the decay of an American family (cousins of Jackie Kennedy Onassis) provided a great deal of pleasure. A generally strong supporting cast sang beautifully and recreated an affluent inter-war American household with great attention to detail (good accents throughout!). I didn’t love it as it was very uneven, with the second half much better than the first, but I liked it very much.

Husbands and Sons (NT)

Oh my, is it ever grim up North. This combination of three of D.H. Lawrence’s plays about miners and their wives and mothers was beautifully staged, impeccably acted and utter misery from start to finish. I booked for Anne-Marie Duff and she did not disappoint, with her exquisite acting in the final scene just about making up for all the suffering that had gone before. One for the die-hards only.

Ellen Terry with Eileen Atkins (Sam Wanamaker Playhouse at the Globe)

This was a rather wonderful exploration of Shakespeare’s female characters. Based on lectures that the actress Ellen Terry developed with Henry Irving, Eileen Atkins played excerpts from some of Shakespeare’s greatest plays and provided new insights into the motivations of Desdemona, Juliet, Portia, Beatrice and other heroines. I was glad that it was only 70 minutes long, however, as the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse is, while a bijou gem, deeply uncomfortable as a theatre. An acting master class.

Rabbit Hole (Hampstead)

This emotionally devastating exploration of a child’s death has a strong cast, led by Claire Skinner and Tom Goodman-Hill, and is well acted throughout. But I’m afraid the tragedy lost its effect on me because of the terrible American accents (with the honourable exception of Penny Downie’s Nat, whose accent is very good). The play is very strongly set in Westchester County, but many people who live there have generic east coast accents. It’s really not necessary to try for Yonkers when Manhattan will do.

The Homecoming (WE)

A 50th anniversary production of one of Pinter’s most shocking plays. It remains shocking, but possibly for reasons other than those intended. This sordid exploration of men’s lust and women’s power retains its dramatic force, but reveals rather more about the playwright than I suspect he intended. John Simm as Lenny, Ron Cook as Max, Keith Allen as Sam, Gary Kemp’s Teddy and John Macmillan’s Joey are all excellent, with Simm and Cook as particular highlights. But it is Gemma Chan’s Ruth who intrigues us most, as she shows us the woman behind the fantasy. Worth booking for her performance.

The Moderate Soprano (Hampstead)

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I will warn you in advance that this review is unlikely to be objective. I adore Glyndebourne opera in West Sussex and attend several times each summer. I am also an unabashed fan of Roger Allam, and his delightfully dry sarcasm. I have, however, had my differences with playwright David Hare over the years, so was anticipating a class-based critique of Glyndebourne’s early years. (One of the not inconsiderable joys of being a foreigner in the UK is that one is outside of the class system). I was delighted to discover that the play was much more subtle than that. An elegy on art, honour and the nature of love, I found it very moving.

Allam plays John Christie, the founder of Glyndebourne opera house. The notion of country house opera seems to us now to be delightfully eccentric (and typically English) but it was considered utterly crazy in 1933 as there was simply very little opera in the UK at the time. As Professor Carl Ebert (Nick Sampson), a producer imported from Germany, rather unkindly points out, “You have no tradition!” Ebert was joined by Fritz Busch, a conductor (Paul Jesson) and charming young Austrian Rudolf Bing (George Taylor). Indeed, it took representatives from the German and Austrian traditions to build this most English of institutions.

The first part of the play (there is no interval) looks at Christie’s motivation for establishing the opera house and the assembly of the artistic team. We first see Allam as a rich autocrat, but his determination and seriousness are enhanced as the play develops. His battles with Ebert and Busch (and to a lesser extent, Bing) over control are enjoyable, and Allam relishes the opportunity to throw his (metaphorical) weight around.  There is some very funny ruminating on Mozart’s virtues (or lack thereof) and Christie’s decided preference for Wagner. Ebert, Busch and Bing were very well played, with the actors clearly relishing the required accents. Their explanations of the reasons why they had to leave Hitler’s Germany were very affecting.

The play deepens, however, when Christie’s relationship with his wife, the soprano Audrey Mildmay (Nancy Carroll, breaking my heart as usual) is considered. Mildmay had been a member of a touring company before meeting Christie, and (as she puts it) had resisted marriage fiercely before giving in. The scenes where she acknowledges that she must audition for the role of Susanna in the opening season and where she shyly asks Rudolf for the outcome of the audition are poignant. Carroll displays naked vulnerability and yet wisdom, as Mildmay acknowledges what she has given up by marrying Christie. Her touring career may not have been prestigious, but it was all hers. Christie describes her “moderate soprano” as being one that is especially versatile, but it is made clear that she had a small voice but immense charm and an artist’s soul.

The play alternates between the early years, when Glyndebourne was in its infancy, and the postwar period when first Mildmay and then Christie suffered from various ailments. Allam’s portrayal of Christie’s love for his wife is love at its most uncompromising. His resentment at Busch (who refused to cast her in a production in New York during the war, when she was living in Vancouver and badly needed money) is fierce and palpable. His description of how all happy marriages end badly (since one of the parties must leave the other in the end) was incredibly affecting.

I will end where I began, on the notion of class and privilege. In the postwar scenes, Mildmay asks her husband why “they” hate “us,” as a trust was established to assist Glyndebourne (as was not uncommon in the postwar period). It is made clear that Christie is an aristocrat, who thinks that tickets should be expensive and that people should dress up and take the day to experience the opera in order to properly appreciate it. And this is, indeed, a privilege. Modern Glyndebourne has made welcome efforts to provide discounted tickets to younger people and that is, of course, desirable and necessary. But I hope it does not make me an unthinking privileged person to note that the formal dress and all day experience help to make Glyndebourne such a very special place. A delightful play and more thought-provoking than anticipated.

 

Mr Foote’s Other Leg (Hampstead)

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I will make a particular effort to see a play if I know that a favourite actor is in it. Mark Rylance of course, David Tennant, Anne-Marie Duff, Helen McCrory, etc. But there is no actor that I will move heaven and earth more to see than my beloved Simon Russell Beale (I am a very typical middle-aged theatre lover). So it was that in the middle of an extremely busy week, I made the trek up to the charming Hampstead Theatre to see Mr Foote’s Other Leg, a play about which I knew nothing other than that SRB was in it (and that the theatre had set up a special gin bar in celebration, which I must admit was almost as big a draw as the man himself).

Mr Foote’s Other Leg is a play about many things: the Georgian era, the law, and slavery to name but a few. But mostly it is that often slightly depressing thing, a love letter to the theatre. Happily, in this case, it was a sparkling, charming letter, filled with wit and energy and making one almost wish to be transported to the era. (That “almost” is important, as the play does not shy away from the inconvenient truth that the past was a treacherous place filled with dangers at every turn).

SRB was Mr Foote, and he was a delight in the role, which allowed him to be foul-mouthed, vulgar, touching, and his usual intelligent self. His interactions with the newly free Frank Barber (Micah Balfour, in a sensitive performance) were admittedly anachronistic, but very pleasing. Joseph Millson was lean and elegant as David Garrick, and as a person with some knowledge of the law I found his lines to be pithy and witty. (Rather unusually, I seemed to be somewhat alone in my laughter, which is not often the case, so either not many lawyers were present or my pre-show gin was particularly effective).

All the audience joined in the laughter at the lines from Ian Kelly, who was the best Prince George I have seen since Hugh Laurie’s effort in Blackadder. But my favourite performance was Dervla Kirwan’s gorgeous Peg Woffington. I often find Kirwan a bit of an ice queen, but here she was funny, human, very beautiful and deeply moving.

The play itself was by turns hilarious, thought-provoking (particularly about the nature of celebrity, as true today as it was in the Georgian era) and the two hours forty minutes flew by. One caveat – if you are squeamish, perhaps give this one a miss. It is not graphic exactly, but you are made entirely aware of the means by which the play is given its name. Highly recommended for all with strong stomachs.