Helen McCrory

The Great Catch-Up Post of 2017

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The list of plays I have seen but not blogged about has been growing. And growing. And growing. And now, I am going to draw a line under it. Here is an update with capsule reviews from the past umpteen months, with apologies and definite plans to do better going forward. Probably.

  • Bug (Soho) – James Norton and Kate Fleetwood were mesmerising in this production of Tracy Letts’s play, where Fleetwood heartbreakingly comes to believe in Norton’s delusions. A very uncomfortable theatre in just about every respect, however.
  • Romeo and Juliet (WE) – Lily James was beautiful, flighty and young, as Juliet, and I was thoroughly convinced that she was in love with Richard Madden’s articulate and passionate Romeo. However, I didn’t necessarily believe the reverse, as the chemistry simply wasn’t there on his side. The production was delightful, however, filled with Italian sunshine and gorgeous costumes.
  • My Mother Said I Never Should (St James’s) – Having never previously seen Maureen Lipman on stage, I was very much looking forward to her performance. I was not disappointed. This exploration of the lives of three generations of Northern working class women was beautifully acted and well staged.
  • Threepenny Opera (NT) – Any production involving Rory Kinnear can’t be all bad. But this was decidedly odd, with his intelligent thug a foil for Rosalie Craig’s cunning good girl. Perhaps it’s Brecht’s fault, but this was a puzzling evening.
  • The Deep Blue Sea (NT) – Helen McCrory’s amazing performance in this Rattigan revival cannot be praised enough. Her transparent, intelligent face reflected complete understanding of her situation, longing, infatuation, and utter despair. Strangely uplifting.
  • Breakfast at Tiffany’s (WE) – Dire. Pixie Lott can sing a little, but can’t act for toffee. The worst accents I have ever heard on a London stage. Didn’t return after the interval.
  • The Spoils (WE) – Jesse Eisenberg’s play was, as the kids say, aight. It struck me as being of a very millennial sensibility, with immature young men and the sighing young women who take care of them. Fairly well acted, with particular praise for Katie Brayben, whose New Jersey accent was subtle and excellent.
  • Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (WE) – Much more effective on the stage than on the page. Excellent acting (Noma Dumezweni, Jamie Parker and Paul Thornley all did a great job as the core trio, as did Sam Clemmett as Albus and Anthony Boyle as Scorpius) and some of the simplest and yet most effective stagecraft I have ever seen made these plays an absolute joy to behold.
  • Richard III (Almeida) – I have been enjoying Ralph Fiennes’ frequent appearances on the London stage of late, but this was absolutely the most effective. I saw echoes of his Amon Goeth and his Lord Voldemort in one of the finest Richard IIIs I have ever seen.
  • Aladdin (WE) – Quite the slickest and Disneyest production I have ever seen in the West End. Still trying to figure out how they managed the flying carpet.
  • Groundhog Day (Old Vic) – I enjoyed this thoroughly and Andy Karl did an excellent job of making me forget about Bill Murray (the only exception being the “I am a God” line, but he’s not superhuman). A delightful adaptation.
  • Guys and Dolls WE) – It was the same production as previously reviewed, but minus Jamie Parker and with the addition of Rebel Wilson as Miss Adelaide. She did a lovely job, charming and with unexpected vulnerability.
  • Our Ladies of Perpetual Succour (NT) – I’m not sure exactly why it’s shocking that teenage girls like to drink, smoke and have sex, but they did so loudly, enthusiastically and Scottishly in this energetic production.
  • The Libertine (WE) – I am still not sure why they revived this play. Dominic Cooper was somewhat one note, and the play itself was dull. I was bored stiff.
  • King Lear (Old Vic) – Glenda Jackson made an absolutely stonking return to the stage. She was in clear, stunning voice and brought pathos I had never seen before. A triumph.
  • Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 (B’way) – It turns out that when you take the “war” out of War and Peace, what you’re left with is really rather trite. Josh Groban and Denée Benton were terrific, however.
  • School of Rock (WE) – A light as air musical providing a delightful evening of escapism. The children were absolutely terrific.
  • Nice Fish (WE) – Mark Rylance is incapable of giving a bad performance, but this was a trifle. An enjoyable, disposable evening.
  • Come From Away (Toronto) – I adored it from start to finish. A fabulous ensemble cast, tight production and a story (stranded passengers taken in by a small town in Newfoundland after 9/11) to make you believe in humanity again. Needed now more than ever.
  • Rent (WE) – It has held up well generally, but I felt so OLD. One for the young people, I think.
  • Dreamgirls (WE) – A slick, enjoyable production. Amber Riley sang beautifully.
  • Art (Old Vic) – I certainly didn’t think the play was a masterpiece (it hasn’t aged all that well) but Rufus Sewell, Paul Ritter and Tim Key were fantastic and had amazing chemistry.
  • The Tempest (RSC Stratford) – Simon Russell Beale was his usual marvellous self. The production was innovative in the best way, and the projections were stunning.
  • Amadeus (NT) – An intense evening, somewhat over-acted. As ever, the music was the best part.
  • Hedda Gabler (NT) – Ruth Wilson was head and shoulders above the rest of the cast. I’m not fond of modern Heddas (I want to say “get a job”) but she was excellent.
  • Sex with Strangers (Hampstead) – The play was middling, but Theo James was really rather good (and very handsome). Emilia Fox was inexplicably bad, with a very poor American accent.
  • Much Ado About Nothing (RSC London) – Charming WWI-era production, with top-notch acting and gorgeous sets.
  • Jonas Kaufmann (Barbican) – Not in absolutely top voice, but his technique and feeling made up for it.
  • Twelfth Night (NT) – Gloriously sharp gender-fluid production. Tamsin Greig was a joy to watch.

Medea

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You know going into a Greek tragedy that it’s not going to be a barrel of laughs, but Medea is even more emotionally draining than most other Greek tragedies. The story retains its power to shock, in that mothers so rarely kill their own children. Those who do are often reclassified after the fact as being mentally ill (which many of them may well be). Not Helen McCrory’s Medea. Loud, weeping, shrieking, lustful, raging and sometimes bone-tired she may be, but sanity is always present behind those luminous, huge eyes.

The ultimate outcome of this story is never a secret. Michaela Coel’s Nurse tells us in the prologue exactly what is going to happen. The significance here is not what, but how, and why. The production is set in the modern era, with Danny Sapani’s Jason rather sweetly taking a selfie with his two children. The stage is set on two levels, with the domestic drama taking place below and the wedding party of Jason and Kreusa (Clemmie Sveaas) and other public events taking place above. I am not a psychologist, but the significance of that does not escape even me.

Danny Sapani is a virile, strong and selfish Jason. It is eminently believable both that he still loves (and desires) Medea, but he has no compunctions about marrying Kreusa. Like many attractive, self-absorbed men, he wants what he wants and does not understand why the world will not rearrange itself so that he can have it. Medea is under no illusions about him, but she remains under his spell.

The Chorus move about as a unity, grasping their bridesmaids’ dresses at one stage and wearing them the next. They seem a bit young for the roles, as Medea’s appeals are to the women of Corinth as wives and mothers, not just young girls. Martin Turner’s Kreon is a king, but also a bureaucrat, and pales somewhat next to Jason.

The play is 90 minutes long, and that is about the right length for it. The action is somewhat static, as the first hour or so involves mostly backstory and setting up the action for what is to come. But when the terrible action does come, is it worth it. It is not especially gory (a bit of a relief after all the blood on London stages this summer) but it is intense.

I would say that McCrory is a revelation, but that would indicate that I was surprised by her performance, which I was not. I knew she was capable of this extraordinary performance, and have seen glimpses of her Medea in her past roles. She holds attention with her slightest movements and uses the full range of voice, movement and emotion in her arsenal. You see the tenderness and the ruthlessness, not one at a time, but together. The love and the rage are together in her. It gives you, not sympathy, but a new measure of understanding for the character. It is an incredible performance. I recommend it very highly.