The Pride at Trafalgar Studios

Easy to blog this one, as there really isn’t anything negative to say.  The play is extremely good and the actors and direction likewise.

A four-hander, The Pride contrasts attitudes towards homosexuality in 1958 and 2008 in an extremely clever and affecting way.  The play opens with Sylvia (Hayley Atwell) a children’s book illustrator, introducing her husband, Philip (Harry Hadden-Paton) a reluctant estate agent, to Oliver (Al Weaver) the author of the book she is illustrating.  It soon becomes clear that the sensitive Oliver is gay, Philip is guiltily and unwittingly attracted to him and Sylvia is aware that her marriage is based on a lie.  The tension is palpable.  Just as we’re trying to see where this state of affairs may lead, wham bam, a Nazi (Matthew Horne) stands centre stage and the play has jumped to 2008.  We soon realize that this Nazi is engaging in role-playing games with the Al Weaver character, also called Oliver.  And thus the changes between the two eras are established.  Although the three main characters have the same names, they are very different.  In 2008 Oliver is a freelance journalist losing his relationship with Philip because of his addiction to casual sex, whilst Sylvia is his long suffering friend who is constantly needed for emotional support.  Matthew Horne, meanwhile, provides comic relief playing not only the Nazi, but a wide-boy editor of a lad’s magazine and a spine chilling doctor who, in 1958, instructs the guilt ridden Philip on aversion therapy in order to “cure” his physical attraction to other men.

Thus we see how these main characters may have lived in the two contrasting eras.  The earlier one is all buttoned up guilty repression, whilst the modern equivalent is gay pride and anything goes.  Because of the strength of the writing and acting, we’re able to connect with the whole cast and also question whether the Olivers of this world are any happier now than they were then.  Repression and guilt can be destructive, but maybe no more so than rampant casual sex.

As I’ve said, the acting is faultless, each actor totally immersing themselves in each of their characters.  Hayley Atwell is painfully sensitive as the wife desperately trying to keep her marriage intact and a spirited, slightly less selfless best friend.  Al Weaver’s Oliver is a heart wrenching lonely soul, who becomes a needy, lost soul in 2008.  Harry Hadon-Paton’s Philip differs slightly less between the two eras, but he is so, so good at portraying the 50’s closet gay.  The scene where his frustration turns to brute force on the poor, hapless Oliver, is almost too painful to watch.  And then when the emotion gets nearly too much to bear, the wonderfully funny Matthew Horne turns up again to provide much needed light relief.

So, there you have it, the young Alexi Kay Campbell’s first play (staged initially at The Royal Court) has it all, originality, humour and profound sadness, all the while providing us with much food for thought.  Couple all this with Soutra Gilmour’s clever design and, once again, Trafalgar Transformed hits the mark perfectly.

Much Ado About Nothing at The Old Vic

It pains me to be less than positive when reviewing anything connected with the superb Mark Rylance, because I admire him so much.  However, I’m afraid I can’t be totally complimentary about his production of Much Ado About Nothing at The Old Vic.

Having seen Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones in Driving Miss Daisy in the West End and admiring their on stage chemistry, Mark Rylance, on meeting them afterwards, made the suggestion that they might like to play opposite one another again.  Liking the idea as long as he was prepared to direct, the plan of casting two mature actors playing Beatrice and Benedick in one of Rylance’s favourite Shakespearian plays was hatched.

Unfortunately, and at the risk of sounding ageist, the finished product doesn’t quite cut it.  Although the two excellent actors do obviously gel, they fail to come across as lovers and the age element jars somewhat when we have to suspend belief that Leonato (Michael Elwyn) is Beatrice’s Uncle.  It would be much more plausible if she were his Aunt.  These little discrepancies wouldn’t matter in the slightest if everything else were tickety-boo but, alas this is not the case.  James Earl Jones has a mellifluous tone to his voice and is a delight to listen to, but, because of his numerous pauses, it’s always in the back of the mind that remembering lines is a problem.  I can forgive him almost anything as he comes across as a delightful man, but oh my, did I worry for him.  Vanessa Redgrave doesn’t pose quite the same problems but it is difficult catching all she says. She brings a fluidity to Shakespeare’s language but isn’t able to emulate Rylance’s ability to speak it quickly, yet always managing to be heard and understood.

What does work is setting the play in 1944.  The day after seeing the production, I returned to The Old Vic to see Mark Rylance in conversation (which, I have to admit, cemented my admiration for him).  He explained that as Vanessa Redgrave and James Earl Jones were the main draw for people seeing the play, he didn’t want them to be restricted by having to change their own natural speech and dialect or adopt a distant historical culture in their behaviour.  Much Ado has a war taking place in the background, hence his decision to set his production around a country house in England during World War II with an American airfield close by.  During the war there were a group of American Airmen, collectively called The Tuskegee Airmen based in the UK, so his decision to make several of the cast black Americans fits nicely.  What a pity that Ultz’s design doesn’t really do the setting justice.

Mark Rylance’s wife, Claire van Kampen is Music and Associate Director and she must be congratulated for introducing a wonderful bluesy rendition of “Sigh No More” into Act I and a “GI Jive” dance finale.  Both are a delight.

Meanwhile, the stand-out performance is Peter Wight as an extremely funny Dogberry, aided and abetted by boys dressed as boy scouts making up the majority of the village watch, which is a lovely touch.  He also makes a very lucid Friar Francis.  Also worth a mention is Michael Elwyn’s Leonato and Danny Lee Wynter makes a suitably unpleasant Don John.

I feel disloyal criticising one of my heroes and only hope that by now Beatrice and Benedick are more on top of their lines.  After all, I did see them two days before Press Night.  Fingers crossed that audiences will flock to see two oap’s brave enough to tackle Shakespeare’s text, when some of their lesser counterparts are deciding to stop learning lines altogether.  And all credit to Mr. Rylance for trying something new and not assigning the oldies to the scrap heap.

Edward II at The Olivier

Mmmmm, Edward II at The Olivier.  Where does one start?  I did enjoy it up to a point.  The interpretation is succinct, the acting, in the main, very good, and there are some inspirational touches.  The problem is that the director, Joe Hill-Gibbins seems somewhat unsure as to where his production is going, whilst trying a little bit too hard to be clever.  Some of his bright ideas work, others most definitely do not.  One of the main no no’s is the casting of a small adult female actress as the young Prince Edward.  Sporting a page boy wig, grey flannel shorts and blazer, Bettrys Jones so resembles Wee Jimmie Krankie that her first entrance causes the first of several bouts of uproarious laughter.  More follows when the sylph-like actress Vanessa Kirby playing Queen Isabella picks up her rather tall “child” and proceeds to carry him around, long legs dangling.  Bizarre.

Almost as strange are the costumes, ranging from period long gold robes, leather kilts and helmets to skinny jeans and sharp suit with stiletto heels.  The latter outfit is worn by Kent, who in this version is Edward II’s sister, rather than brother. 

The staging, too, is ‘off the wall’.  The unpainted plywood of the set doesn’t attempt to conceal the backstage area, whilst there are two, what turns out to be screens to either side of the stage.  These screens serve two purposes.  One, to inform us with captions as to what will occur in each scene and two, to portray on live video what is happening backstage and outside on the National Theatre’s concrete balcony.  This footage works well when giving us close-ups of the various characters, especially that of Edward’s face during his imprisonment, but not so well when, before the cameras are switched off, we get a swaying view of the stage’s floor.  Is this meant to happen?  And can someone please explain to me why the on stage pianist plays the hokey-cokey to mark the young Prince Edward’s victory over his father on the battlefield.

The main plus of Jo Hill-Gibbins’s production is the casting of John Hefferman as Edward II, Kyle Soller as his lover Gaveston and to a slightly lesser extent, Vanessa Kirby as Queen Isabella.  Hefferman gives us a petulant, but tortured soul who, despite his wanton disregard for Queen, son and country, somehow manages to illicit our sympathy.  When he gets his final comeuppance via a red hot poker, the theatre is filled with genuine apprehension and terror.  The fact that Hefferman speaks Marlow’s poetic language so well highlights the jangly discrepancies of such lines as “I’ll call you back” delivered by one of the nobles talking on the telephone on hearing of Gaveston’s return.  But returning to the positives.  Despite Kyle Soller using his mother tongue, which is a little disconcerting, he really does make a chilling Gaveston whose mercurial personality we believe is capable of doing anything at any time.  He arrives on the scene somewhat athletically, clambering catlike from the Olivier Circle via one of the handrails.  Because of this it’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t been clothed in period garb.  The skinny jeans are much safer.  Vanessa Kirby, on the other hand, is clothed at one point in a red slinky cocktail dress, with semi-permanent “fag” in one hand and sloshing champagne glass in the other.

One can only wonder what Christopher Marlow himself would think about this production of his play.  One would imagine he was highlighting how a tragic hero is destroyed by erotic obsessions, whereas you could say that this version is showing how a play’s dramatic tension is somewhat diminished by

gimmickry.

Liola at The Lyttleton

Luigi Pirandello is more known for projecting misery and suffering through his plays rather than joyfulness, so his 1916 offering, Liola, was as much a surprise to him as it was to his audiences.  In fact he stated that the comedy is “full of songs and sunshine ….. so light-hearted it doesn’t seem like one of my works”.  It is often attacked as being a misogynist play, despite only having two central roles for men, but in Richard Eyre’s production here at The Lyttleton, Liola comes across as a rather sad figure who would prefer a family life with a loving wife rather than the lonely, serial womanizer he has become.  Liola may contain many more laughs than Pirandello’s other offerings, but there is still pain a plenty beneath the surface.  A recurring theme for this Sicilian is that what you see on the outside bears no resemblance to what is going on inside.

The rather complicated plot concerns the rich local landowner, Simone Palumbo (James Hayes) who has been unable to produce a child either from his previous wife or his latest young bride, Mia (Lisa Dwyer-Hogg).  His frustration is directed at the desperately unhappy Mia, as he can’t for the life of him admit that he may be the one at fault.  At the other end of the spectrum is Liola (Rory Keenan), a childhood friend of Mia, who can’t seem to stop impregnating anyone in a skirt.  His latest conquest is Simone’s niece, Tuzza (Jessica Regan) who, along with her mother, Croce ( Aisling O’Sullivan) hatch a plan to convince Simone that he should pass the unborn child as his, thus ensuring they get a slice of his fortune.  Keen to show the villagers that it’s not his fault that Mia is childless, Simone agrees, not realizing that two can play at that game, namely Liola and Mia.  The end result hardly enhances the lives of any of the protagonists.

The strange part about this new version by Tanya Ronder is that Richard Eyre, although staging it in its Sicilian setting, has cast it with Irish actors.  So the excellent set, designed by Anthony Ward and complete with large olive tree, has an Italian sun blazing down on a village inhabited by people more used to seeing grey skies.  Once you get your head around this anomaly, however, the exuberance and skill of the actors and musicians, renders their birthplace inconsequential.

The scene is set from the onset.  On stage musicians are playing gypsy music, Liola’s three sons (cared for by him and his doting mother) have planted themselves in the olive tree and the village women are busy cracking almonds when not dancing around the stage.  There is strong characterization from the cast, who, if a little o.t.t. at the start soon settle down into their believable roles.  Rory Keenan, who could well be the type of man Pirandello would have liked to be, is especially good as Liola.  Despite displaying the type of shallow, cocksure manner, which could easily be irritating, he is able to suggest a vulnerability, which ultimately makes him a likeable character.  The other very impressive cast member is Rosaleen Linehan playing Mita’s compassionate aunt Gesa.  Wise and comical in equal measure, she perfectly embodies an elderly peasant woman whose job it is to protect her niece.  Also well worth a mention are Jessica Regan as Tuzza and, Croce, her mother, played by Aisling O’Sullivan.

A good if not a great play, but everyone seemed to be leaving the theatre with a smile on their face which can’t be solely down to the fact that we were out of there in one hour and forty minutes.

A Doll's House at The Duke of York's Theatre

I can perfectly well understand why Hattie Morahan received the Evening Standard Best Actress Award for her portrayal of Nora Helmer in Simon Stephen’s electrifying English Language Version of A Doll’s House, which, after two sell-out runs at The Young Vic has transferred to The Duke of York’s Theatre.  One is transfixed watching her transform from the skittish, child-like captive little bird into a young woman determined to escape the confines of her husband, Torvald’s, claustrophobic grasp.

Carrie Cracknell’s production of this Ibsen classic is powerful, thrilling and, at times, even humorous and gives more of an understanding as to why Nora finally slams the door on her family. The revolving set, designed by Ian Macneil, is very clever, as it conveys perfectly the dolls house of the title.  Like a fly on the wall we’re privy to the comings and goings in every room, including a touching game of hide and seek between Nora and her two sons. We’re aware of life going on within the house beyond the scenes we see.  Another masterful addition is seeing Nora cuddling her youngest child, a baby daughter.  I’ve never seen that young a member of the cast in previous productions but it helps to make the ending even more shocking.  Is there a chance that Nora, on realizing what she’s left behind, will eventually return to her family, but on decidedly more equal terms with her husband?

Although the evening belongs to Morahan, Dominic Rowan is excellent as Torvald.  He starts off as the besotted, if possessive and patronising husband, indulging his “little chaffinch”.  But give him a drink or three and he turns into an unpleasant lecher, who regards the wife he totally misunderstands, as his property.  So self centred, he is totally unaware of where he’s going wrong.

Ibsen’s plays often, if not always, centre around underhand financial goings on and A Dolls House is no exception.  In this instance, Nora has forged a signature in order to get a loan to help Torvald through a period of ill health.  The one time that she asserts herself and it all goes belly up, because the lender, Nils Krogstad, creepily played by Nick Fletcher, threatens to reveal all if she doesn’t pay up forthwith.  Oh what a web we weave ….. and the worry of it all, explains her frantic dancing of the tarantella, leaving us in no doubt at the end of Act 1 that this Nora is spinning out of control.

There is also strong support from Nora’s friend, Elise, played by Mary Drake and although Steve Toussaint is believable as the besotted Dr Rank, his size is rather at odds with the set.  If he were an actual doll in that revolving dolls house, he would always need to be seated.  He is very, very tall!

The explosive, final scene is exemplary.  When Torvald’s true colours are revealed, Morahan drops the wheedling, childish voice and takes on the tone of an adult.  Bravo, Nora we feel like saying, you can escape from your bird cage.

This definitive version may last three hours but there is not one minute that drags.  I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.