Leopoldstadt At Wyndham's Theatre

Tom Stoppard and Director Patrick Marber are once again united, this time at Wyndham’s Theatre.  The production in question is Stoppard’s latest, and most personal play, Leopoldstadt.  It wasn’t until relatively recently that he discovered he was “wholly” Jewish, rather a surprise to this brilliant playwright.  Although born in Moravia, Czechoslovakia, whilst still a young child he, his parents and brother emigrated to England, and he considered himself very much English.

Leopoldstadt (the name given to a district of Vienna that still evokes images of Jewish life)) is the result of this revelation and is loosely based on Tom Stoppard’s family.  The play starts in the year 1899 and includes scenes in the years 1900, 1924, 1938 and, finally 1955.  Centred round a Viennese family, it tells their story of initial optimism that their Jewish life is becoming increasingly secure, through to the realisation that this is definitely not the case.  No wonder Stoppard’s mother was loath to admit to her Jewishness.

There is a huge cast of nearly forty and the play opens and closes with the majority of them on stage.  Firstly to introduce them to us and finally to highlight the horrors that befell so many of them.  In between we’re treated to insights into what it meant to be Jewish during these times, much humour and devastating sadness.  In truth a brilliant essay on humanity (and lack of it), with more than a sprinkling of history.  Patrick Marber gracefully steers each and every cast member, no mean feat with so many bodies on stage, and each scene in whichever year it’s set, is beautifully realised thanks, in part, to Costume Designer Brigitte Reiffenstuel.

In 1899, Vienna is at the hub of art, psychology and mathematics and there is much talk of plans for a Jewish homeland.  Hermann Merz (the brilliant Adrian Scarborough) is a successful businessman and an optimist.  He is convinced that the Jews will soon be assimilated into the social hierarchy of Vienna, and will no longer be confined to the Leopoldstadt.  His wife, Gretl (the excellent Faye Castelow) is a Catholic and Hermann has converted to her faith.  He adores her and the scene set in the following year, when she is seduced, albeit willingly, by Fritz, a young Aryan officer (Luke Thallon) highlights this devotion.  Hermann comes to realise his wife’s betrayal when he self-righteously confronts the young lieutenant about a supposed insult.  What is so clever about Scarborough’s performance is the way he transforms from a man convinced he has the higher moral ground, to one visibly shrinking into utter dismay and nervous unease. Thallon, on the other hand is full of disdain and superiority, declaring the impossibility of a duel taking place, considering Jews have no honour.  In the final act he changes roles and becomes Leo, Ludwig’s grandson, a version of Stoppard himself.  It took me several minutes to realise this transformative actor had earlier been Fritz, such is his metamorphosis from one role to the next.  

Much of the humour is to be found in the year 1938 when one of the infant Merz’s is due to be circumcised.  The scene wouldn’t be that out of place in a farce, as a visiting lawyer is mistaken for the doctor who is due to carry out the procedure. By contrast, when the play moves onto the year 1938, just before Kristallnacht, there are no laughs, just the terrifying realisation of what is going to happen to the family. 

The play isn’t without its faults.  Stoppard imparts many fascinating insights and information regarding what it meant (and to some extend means) to be Jewish.  For the most part, this is done succinctly and fuels the plot rather than impedes it.  However, Ludwig, the mathematician of the family, and well played by Tom Stoppard’s son Ed (a relevant piece of casting) does get rather bogged down in slightly excessive explanation.  However, this is a very minor criticism.  If Leopoldstadt is this eighty-two year-old’s final play (and I very much hope that’s not the case) it is a worthwhile finale.

The Visit at The Olivier

Let’s get the negative out of the way first; The Visit currently playing at The Olivier, is too long and that’s even with half an hour lopped off the initial running time.  The main positive is that the wonderful Lesley Manville is in the title role.

Tony Kushner of Angels in America fame (amongst others) is responsible for adapting this play by Swiss playwright Friedrich Durrematt, whilst Jeremy Herrin is in charge of directing the huge cast.  Vicki Mortimer has designed the lavish set, Paul Constable is responsible for some stunning lighting and various other professionals ensure that the band, choir, dry ice, sumptuous costumes and on stage Ford Thunderbird produce a perfect all singing, all dancing production worthy of the vast Olivier stage.

Lesley Manville’s Claire Zachanassian, is the “richest woman in the world” who, in the mid 1950’s has returned to her hometown of Slurry, New York to seek revenge.  Slurry is dingy, dreary Hicksville, whilst its famous visitor has been ravaged by life and seven ex-husbands, resulting in (not necessarily from) metal legs, fake hand and an overwhelming desire to have her childhood sweetheart, Alfred III (Hugo Weaving), killed.  Unwilling to perform this murder herself, Zachanassian offers the town a billion dollars for one of its inhabitants to do the deed for her.  Slurry is on its uppers and any injection of cash would be more than welcome, but shopkeeper Alfred is a very popular member of the community, so how will the town’s residents react?  Will they be corrupted by the offer of bucket-loads of dollars?

Well, it seems that they will, ingratiating themselves as they do with their surprise visitor and then blithely buying on credit anything and everything in the certainty that Alfred will die.

The spending spree is comically presented, whilst the tender moments, thanks to the acting prowess of Manville and Weaving, are extremely powerful.  But it’s difficult to determine whether Kushner has intended the play to be based more on reality than surreality.  He is a playwright who loves excess and, unfortunately, each scene is excessively long.

That’s not to say that The Visit isn’t worth a visit and that’s not just to witness a sublime actress at work; whenever Manville is on stage, she is riveting to watch.  The opening scenes set at the train station are a coup de theatre. Thanks to masses of dry ice and superb sound effects, one can be forgiven for believing that the 10am express from New York has actually found its way onto the Olivier stage.    

Death of England at The Dorfman

Before I comment on the acting prowess of Rafe Spall, I need to pay tribute to his vocal chords.  They are stretched to capacity in his tour de force performance as Michael in Clint Dyer and Roy Williams’s new play The Death of England at The Dorfman.  Alone on a giant St George flag, designed by Sadeysa Greenaway-Bailey and Ultz, Spall never lets up.  When not yelling, sobbing, snorting, or babbling, he takes on the raspy voice of his late father or transforms into the Jamaican mother of his best friend, Delroy. This is a 100 minute monologue that takes no prisoners.

Michael’s father, a racist East End flower seller who voted to leave the EU, has just died.  His death occurred in the pub whilst watching England’s defeat to Croatia in the 2018 World Cup.  Rather an apt way to go, seeing as how his main passion was football or at least West Ham United.  And now Michael has to confront his dad’s death as well as his feelings towards him and towards himself.  For Michael has a very strong sense of self-loathing, not helped by the antagonism from his mother, sister and dear old dad.  Except he’s not sure if his dad was ever dear, his feelings for him veering from love to hate simultaneously.  Likewise his death elicits anger and sadness in equal measure. 

Michael deals with his loss and bewilderment at what to do next, all the while trying to process his inner feelings, by going on an uncontrollable rant.  However, there are quiet moments when this up for a laugh Essex boy tones down his toxic masculinity.  Amongst the props hidden in nooks and crannies around the set are biscuits, which he hands out to audience members, getting them onside by showing he’s an alright bloke.  But we’re aware that this wild, unfiltered, troubled soul could lose it at any minute.  He keeps us all on our toes.

Clint Dyer, the playwright, also directs and he is unflinching in highlighting contemporary racism and political unrest within our current fractured nation. Luckily he also imbues the piece with some sentiment and the phone recording of the dead man’s speech to Michael is very moving. 

There are times when Death of England appears to lose its way a little. But, no matter, the magnificent Spall ensures we don’t lose ours and he keeps us engrossed until the end.

The Welkin at The Lyttleton

Two great productions in quick succession but completely different.  But isn’t that what theatre is all about?

My second theatre trip in ten days was to The National’s Lyttleton to see Lucy Kirkwood’s new play, The Welkin.  Maybe it’s because I’m female and this play has fourteen female (fifteen if you include a child) characters and two token males that I enjoyed it so much?  That could have something to do with it, especially as one of the male characters isn’t allowed to speak during the majority of the play!  But it’s not the extent of it.  Lucy Kirkwood has the ability to tell a bloody good yarn and this play, which on the face of it, could be a gruelling two-and-a-bit hours, is, in fact a hugely entertaining tale.  A tale that highlights a poor woman’s existence all those years ago, but also gets us wondering whether for certain women today that existence has changed all that much.

The Welkin (an archaic word for sky or heavens) takes place in 1759, the year of Halley’s Comet, in a village on the Norfolk/Suffolk border. The drama centres around young Sally Poppy (Ria Zmitrowicz) who has been found guilty, with her lover, of murdering the eleven-year-old daughter of a rich local family.  In court she claimed to be pregnant and the only way she can escape the hangman’s noose is for this to be true.  It’s left for a jury of twelve matrons to decide whether or not this is the case.  Holed up in a room in the courthouse, overseen by the silent Mr Coombes (he is forbidden by law to speak to the women) they have to come to a decision and the only woman prepared to defend her is midwife, Elizabeth Luke played by Maxine Peake.

The play opens with the twelve women silhouetted in twelve square boxes of light, repeatedly carrying out their dull, back breaking household tasks, be it washing clothes, sewing linen or tending to children.  Designed by the talented Bunny Christie, these boxes and their inhabitants resemble an old Dutch painting and highlight the mundane existence of each and every woman.  No-one speaks, we just hear the noise of their labours and we’re in no doubt that the daily grind of these rural women is relentless.  Their summoning to court means some respite, although the male powers that be have a rule. The women will be refused food, drink and warmth whilst locked in the jury room, hopefully ensuring that they come to their decision quickly.

Lucy Kirkwood has given each juror their own particular voice, from the wonderful Cecilia Noble’s disapproving Emma, to the “nice but dim” Peg, hilariously played by Ayesha Kala whose main worry is getting her leeks planted.  Judith Brewer (Jenny Galloway) is suffering from hot flushes, whilst Helen Ludlow (Wendy Kweh) is barren. Haydn Gwynne is cast as Charlotte Cary, the well-spoken colonel’s widow and the only non-resident of the parish who is nominally put in charge.  Maxine Peake as the feminist Elizabeth is the voice of reason, often trying to make herself heard against the constant bickering and clashing of opinions.  She rails against the patriarchy and is incensed when the matrons think that having Sally examined by a male doctor is a good idea.  Meanwhile the accused keeps up a belligerent rant, entirely unrepentant of her crime and lashing out at everyone like a wild dog.  A motley crew, indeed, but with dialogue and opinions on a woman’s lot so well drawn that we laugh out loud and, all too often, find totally relatable.

The ensemble cast are all excellent.  Despite having the tricky part of playing the most earnest member of the jury, Maxine Peake does her usual excellent job of drawing us in and eliciting true emotion.  She is an extraordinary actress.  Ria Zmitrowicz, too, can’t be praised too highly.  Totally uninhibited, she has no worries that Sally has very few, if any, redeeming qualities.      

The one drawback is that the broad Norfolk accent the majority of the cast use is at times incomprehensible. This is especially true when Sally’s anger reaches its peak.  As a result, I did stumble over some key plot pointers.

The play may be “women heavy” but it’s James Macdonald as Director who is responsible for keeping the story continually captivating.  Although it doesn’t appear to be everyone’s cup of tea, for me, The Welkin is totally compelling and, at times, extremely funny.

Uncle Vanya at The Harold Pinter Theatre

There is much discussion as to whether or not Anton Chekhov’s full-length plays are comedies or tragedies.  A new adaptation of Uncle Vanya by the brilliant Conor McPherson, currently playing at The Harold Pinter Theatre, leaves us in no doubt that this particular play can be downright hilarious. Having Toby Jones and his exquisite timing in the title role helps.  Plus the fact that Ian Rickson directs. This version of the play about foolish characters living in their own little worlds, to the exclusion of all others, is laugh out loud funny, even if the laughter it elicits is often poignant and deeply felt.  McPherson is so adept at stripping back without taking away and this Uncle Vanya is much more accessible than most. Despite the Irishman’s use of contemporary language, Chekhov’s poetry still shines through and the odd swear word and use of slang never grates.

The scene is set right from the start thanks to Rae Smith’s perfectly realised plant encroaching drawing room on a crumbling country estate.  The estate has been satisfactorily run by Vanya and his niece Sonya (the excellent Aimee Lou Wood) but the arrival of her father, Professor Serebryakov (Ciaran Hinds) and his beautiful, but restless, new wife, Yelena (Rosalind Eleazar), has upset the apple cart. Vanya resents the professor, who was married to his late sister, and is totally smitten by Yelena.  He’s not the only one.  Regular visitor, Doctor Astrov (Richard Armitage) has also fallen under her spell, which is particularly upsetting for poor Sonya who is madly in love with him herself.  Unfortunately for her, he has no such feelings and there is a heart-breaking moment when he avoids the kiss she tries to deliver.  Thus the scene is set for trials and tribulations, exacerbated when Serebryakov announces his intention to sell the estate.

Although the laughter abounds, it’s not at the expense of the various characters’ emotions.  Yelena’s discontent and realisation that her marriage to a much older man was a tremendous mistake is keenly felt, thanks to Rosalind Eleazar’s subtle performance.  The scene where Serebryakov stops her piano playing is especially well handled.  Richard Armitage’s Astrov is suitably self- obsessed, whilst Ciaran Hinds’s ability to portray pomposity is put to full use.  Peter Wight, too, who never delivers a mediocre performance is the perfect old retainer Telegin as is Anna Calder-Marshall as Nana. 

But, it’s Toby Jones and Aimee Lou Wood who shine brightest.  I have to admit, that, apart from the fact that Conor McPherson has done the adaptation, it was the casting of Jones in the title role that prompted me to buy tickets back in September.  His lightness of touch and comedic skills make for a totally believable Vanya.  Everything that happens to this man suffering an existential crisis is perfectly feasible in his capable hands and he is irritating, pathetic and lovable in equal measure. It’s all done without a bucket load of sentiment, but you totally feel his longing and capability for deep emotions.   Likewise, Aimee Lou Wood is so good at portraying a lovelorn young girl and it’s all credit to her that her speech at the end of the play is touching rather than sentimentality over the top. 

As you may have gathered, this Uncle Vanya surpasses any others I have seen.  If you’re a lover of Chekhov, and even if you’re not, it’s a great night at the theatre.

My Brilliant Friend at The Olivier

Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels, about the friendship between Elena (Lenu) and Lila, embrace four books.  They are beloved by many, but, sadly, having read the first one, I failed to continue with the remainder.  They’re the sort of books that need total concentration (no dipping in and out) especially as the cast of characters include, amongst others, nine different Italian families.  I obviously wasn’t inclined to invest that amount of effort and maybe this is why I enjoyed Part One of April De Angelis’s adaptation of My Brilliant Friend, currently playing at The National’s Oliver Theatre, far more than Part Two. Being familiar with Lenu’s (Niamh Cusack) and Lila’s (Catherine McCormack) tenement block neighbours, helped me to immerse in the first two-and-a-half hours, that take us from the girl’s school days to young adult hood.  Their mid and elderly years, highlighted in Part Two, became more confusing, especially as many of the cast take on several parts.

That’s not to say that reading the books is a prerequisite for seeing Melly Still’s epic production, which was first shown at The Rose Theatre, Kingston in 2017.  There is much to recommend it.  Soutra Gilmour’s sparse set, comprising four mobile staircases, cleverly evokes the cramped streets housing the tenement blocks of impoverished Naples and the soundtrack depicting the various eras in which each scene is set is wonderful.

The whole story is narrated by Lenu and begins in the 1950’s when she and Lila first begin the friendship that will last a lifetime.  As with many relationships, theirs is not perfect, with competitiveness lying at its heart.  It also begins with a betrayal, for Lila, having persuaded Lenu to trade dolls, proceeds to throw her friend’s through a grille into a cellar belonging to a local loan shark, a man feared by the neighbourhood children.  After the other girl reciprocates, it’s the more headstrong and fearless Lila who decides the two of them need to forget their fears and retrieve their beloved toys. Later, the bond between the two of them is eventually sealed, mafia style, with the mixing of their blood.  This is an early nod to the fact that the mob will infiltrate their whole lives in one way or another.

At the start, it’s clear that precocious Lila is the more brilliant of the two friends.  But fate decrees that her longing to write the perfect novel, like her heroine Louisa May Alcott, is not to be.  Instead it will be Lenu, whose parents allowed her to stay on at school, who will eventually be successful.  Not that all her literary achievements can be attributed totally to her own work, for Lenu isn’t above copying her friend’s original mind. 

And so the story follows Lenu and Lila’s journey through work, marriage, and motherhood amidst social change and Italian politics.  It’s a saga that includes humour, social depravation and much violence.  Melly Still very cleverly uses symbolism to convey the violence meted out to Lila.  She does so by lifting a replica of Lila’s dress above her head and then hurling the disembodied outfit down a flight of stairs, whilst the girl looks on.  The same treatment is used later when she is raped.  What doesn’t work so well is using firstly lycra puppets and then adults to portray Lenu and Lila’s children.

Luckily none of the actors attempt Italian accents and Niamh Cusack’s gentle Irish burr is perfect, as is her portrayal of Lenu’s ordinariness.  Whilst one cannot really fault Catherine McCormack, I didn’t believe in her characterisation of Lila quite so much.  It seems a little forced, but I’m sure I’m in the minority in thinking this. 

Having seen the excellent television adaptation of Books One and Two, I had my doubts as to how My Brilliant Friend would transfer to the stage.  There was no need to worry, for this version remains true to Ferrante’s vision and is well worth seeing.

On Bear Ridge at The Royal Court

Rhys Ifans is his own master class at playing scruffy, if not downright unkempt characters, from Spike in Notting Hill, via rough sleeper, Danny, in Protest Song to his latest offering, John Daniel in Ed Thomas’s On Bear Ridge at The Royal Court.  Commissioned by National Theatre Wales, this post-apocalyptic play premiered at the Sherman Theatre, Cardiff in September.

Set in what once was a butcher’s shop, Ifans, the butcher, John Daniel and his wife, Noni (Rakie Ayola) inhabit this derelict space (designed by Cal Dyfan) alongside their slaughter boy (at least he was when the shop had customers) Ifan William (Sion Daniel Young).  Now no-one comes near and almost the only sound to be heard on Bear Ridge - a remote, mountainous area in what is obviously Wales - is that of jet engines roaring overhead.

This is a somewhat strange play with an inscrutable text that very gradually lets out the fact that it has a preoccupation with loss.  The loss of community, family, society and, importantly, language.  But, wisely, there is also much left unsaid, with Co-Directors Ed Thomas and Vicky Featherstone, allowing Mike Beer’s sound design to fill in the empty spaces.

What we do discover is that Ifan’s character is, according to him, the last speaker of the much mentioned ‘old language’.  We naturally assume that this is Welsh, but it’s never mentioned, so all we know for sure is that it’s a dead language.  As dead as Noni and John Daniel’s son, a philosophy student who, as his old dad says, ‘is the only one of our family who ever thunk’.  That the previous inhabitants and erstwhile customers of the butcher’s shop are also dead is never specified.  What is plain is that Noni, John Daniel and Ifan William are now the sole inhabitants of this barren area.  This makes the arrival of a stranger quite a traumatic experience, especially as he is a gun toting army Captain (Jason Hughes) seemingly even more traumatised than his hosts.  No-one is quite sure what he’s done, seen and, more importantly about to do with his loaded pistol.

If all this seems too dreary and morbid for words, think again.  There is a tremendous amount of humour, with Ifans masterfully uttering understatement after understatement and turning his scruffy old trousers into almost another character.  Completing his ensemble with red gilet that has seen better days and scruffy old bowler hat, he brings a lyricism to the often poetic nature of Thomas’s script.  It’s no wonder that he was so lauded when playing King Berenger in Patrick Marber’s recent version of Exit The King at The National.

There are tear jerking moments, too, especially when Rakie Ayola touchingly describes what happened to their son.  But hers isn’t a one-dimensional performance.  Noni also has a fire in her belly; she may be filled with a grief that won’t shift, but there’s a sternness to her character that belies her gentleness.

On Bear Ridge can be said to be an elegy to Ed Thomas’s childhood Welsh village and the blurring of his memories of it.  Whatever the criticism might be about its slow-moving pace, there can be no doubt that the play is based on truth and a large dollop of affection and I really enjoyed it.