How To Hold Your Breath

The Royal Court is one of my favourite theatres and Maxine Peake one of my favourite actresses, but if How To Hold Your Breath is anything to go by, I don’t somehow think I’ll ever say that about Zinnie Harris.

Her new play is billed as a darkly witty and magical thriller that delves into our recent European history.  That synopsis, coupled with the fact that the magnificent Maxine Peake takes the main role of Dana determined that it was a must see.  And to its credit the play starts well enough, with Dana embarking on a one night stand with a guy called Jarron (well played by Michael Shaeffer).  He has a problem with forming emotional attachments, offers her 45 euros for their night together and then claims he is a demon.  She is outraged and refuses to accept.  From then on in, what seems like a straightforward type of morality tale descends into what I assume is a surreal metaphor for Europe’s debt crisis, our preoccupation with money and that there is an easy solution to every difficult situation.   The problem is that the plot is weak, Zinnie Harris’s knowledge of geography isn’t great and there is very little cohesion.  It turns from realism to surrealism in a heartbeat.  What on earth is happening and why?

The basic story is that Dana and her sister, Jasmin (Christine Bottomley) embark on a work related train journey, during which Europe suddenly collapses overnight.  No mention earlier, so how did that happen?  Having spent what little money they have and with no means of getting any, as all the banks are closed, the sisters end up stranded in Hartenharten.  Perhaps Dana should have accepted the 45 euros.  A librarian who Dana met back in Berlin turns up in the same town, offering her various “How To” books (no marks for guessing what the final one is) and we eventually discover that Jasmin is pregnant.  What follows is 110 minutes of material that is deeply depressing, with no hint of the black humour promised in the synopsis.

Thank goodness for the wonderful acting abilities of Maxine Peake, who at least makes Dana a believable and sympathetic character.  She manages to portray vulnerability and femininity on the one hand and strength of character and resilience on the other.  It was worth the price of a ticket just to see her indefatigable gaze and expressive features at close quarters.

Vicky Featherstone, the new Artistic Director at The Royal Court directs How To Hold Your Breath and is a friend of Zinnie Harris.  Does friendship sometimes cloud ones judgement?  A lot of people who see the play will enjoy it and answer, no, but then that’s the delight of live theatre.  It’s all subjective;  one man’s meat and all that.

Whilst I applaud writers who put their point across in a symbolic way and ask the audience to form their own opinion as to what they’re getting at, I get very frustrated when it’s all at the expense of clarity.  I came away thinking that Zinnie Harris is just trying to be too clever by half.  But then maybe I’m just not bright enough to understand.

The Ruling Class at Trafalgar Studios

Jamie Lloyd has certainly transformed Trafalgar Studios.  Thanks to a brave choice of material and excellent direction, his productions in Studio 1 of this great little theatre in Westminster are always interesting, different and hotly anticipated.  His latest offering, The Ruling Class, by the late playwright, Peter Barnes, is yet another notch on his director’s chair.  By casting the mesmerising James McAvoy as paranoid schizophrenic, Jack, 14^th Earl of Gurney, Jamie Lloyd has ensured that this satirical play, written in 1968, is well worth reviving.  It may be entrenched in the sixties (Summer of Love and all that) but the accusations of class privilege are still relevant in 2015.

This black comedy parodying the upper classes might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but as a lover of the likes of Monty Python, I enjoyed every minute.  Well, not exactly every minute, as there is a moment half way through where it does threaten to lose its way and it does tend to flog many of its jokes to death but, hey, who cares, taken as a whole last night was a theatrical treat. 

Jack inherits his title thanks to his father’s (a Judge and peer of the realm) proclivity for dressing up in a tutu, donning a pointed hat and indulging in a spot of auto-erotic asphyxiation.  Needless to say he does it once too often.  No one in the family would mind his untimely death if it weren’t for the fact that his only son, Jack, has spent the last seven years in a psychiatric hospital due to his conviction that he is God incarnate.  Whoops, the head of such a distinguished family can’t seem to be headed by a madman, not such an obvious one at any rate.  Thus follows a plot devised by his Uncle, Sir Charles Gurney (the always watchable Ron Cook), to marry Jack off and make sure a baby soon follows.  A sane heir will mean that the mad father can then be committed.  Job sorted.  But this is fiction, so of course things don’t turn out quite as planned.

We first see the new Earl dressed in a monk’s habit, impishly peeping out from his hood.  His meek “hello” belies his capabilities.  And what capabilities they are.  Mr. McAvoy dances, unicycles, sings, throws himself about as if on springs and, most importantly, draws us into his parallel universe with glinting blue eyes, beatific smile and an impish charm that had me hooked from the “hello”.  In McAvoys’ hands the Earl’s mad mercuriality is infused with charm and an enormous amount of wit.  His mood swings are unnerving, by turn hanging quietly on his large wooden cross before taking tea, to frenziedly railing against reality. He is totally unhinged and hilarious.

Following an intervention from Jack’s psychiatrist, the Second Act sees Jack no longer under the illusion that he is the God of Love.  Far from it, for he is now endorsing the values of vengeance.  This being more in keeping with the familiy’s own doctrine makes him much more acceptable.   They are thus unable, or unwilling, to see that, rather than being cured of his schizophrenia, he has just done an about turn.  He may have stopped seeing himself as God and, is  espousing the name Jack, but it’s not Jack the Earl of Gurney with whom he’s identifying, but a much more dangerous individual.  

Although James McAlvoy is the main reason most of the audience will gather at Trafalgar Studios, the remaining cast mustn’t be forgotten.  They are all excellent, especially Paul Leonard who plays a variety of roles including the “hanging Judge” and Mrs. Piggot-Jones and Anthony O’Donnell as the closet Marxist butler, Tucker.  On receiving £20,000 from the dead Earl’s will, this hilarious of butlers takes to the bottle and reveals his true feelings about the toffs.  His various bursts into song are a joy to behold.

Subtle this ‘aint, but entertaining it surely is.

The Hard Problem at The Dorfman

What is clear is that Tom Stoppard’s latest play, after a break of eight years, is very wordy.  What isn’t quite so clear, for me at any rate, is what all these words mean.  The characters don’t so much talk to one another as expound theories and, apart from the main character, Hilary (an excellent Olivia Vinall) are, for the most part, one dimensional and unlikeable.  

The play is called The Hard Problem because of the difficulty scientists and philosophers have in working out the nature of human consciousness.  My difficulty is understanding why the God versus Scientist question has to be so damned shallow.  The long speeches and clever debating, with no small talk and proper interaction made by head hurt with all the information overload. 

The play opens with young psychology student, Hilary, having a flirtatious debate about Darwinism and the logical impossibility of altruism with her older tutor, Spike (Damien Molony).  He is helping her prepare for an interview at the Krohl Institute for Brain Science when he’s not climbing into her bed.  Much to his disgust, Hilary likes to kneel and pray before bedtime.  No, it’s not to ask God to make sure she’s successful in the interview but something much more maternal.  For as a teenager Hilary gave her baby daughter up for adoption and is desperate that the child is well and happy.  Praying helps to alleviate the worry and sadness.

Much to her surprise, Hilary lands a job at Krohl and thus comes across the egomaniacal hedge-fund billionaire owner (Anthony Calf) and his daughter, Cathy.  Not to give the game away but what happens later is termed a coincidence but is, to my mind, a contrivance.  But, no matter, at least it does bring some warmth to the proceedings.

As ever Bob Crowley has come up with a stylish and sleek, if minimal, design, aided and abetted by Mark Henderson’s clever lighting.  By the use of lit overhead wires and rods that burst into pretty multi-coloured movement between scenes, we get the impression of a brain whirring.  And Sound Designer, Paul Arditti has added evocative piano music to each scene change.  They, along with Nick Hytner’s impeccable direction ensure that the production isn’t all negative.  It’s just a shame that the excitement surrounding a new play by Sir Tom Stoppard and Sir Nicholas Hytner’s swansong as The National’s Artistic Director isn’t as exciting as it promised to be. 

Mind you, my mind has since whirred like those multi-coloured wires as I try to understand dualism and monism, so that’s a positive outcome from a trip to the theatre.