The Beast's Pen

Ruth Ellis, seems to have lost none of her fascination for dramatists almost 60 years after she became the last woman to be hanged in Britain. Many others, men and women, suffered the same fate, some of them even innocent, but few have stuck so firmly in public consciousness. After a slow and uncertain start, Amanda Whittington’s new play builds to a dramatic crescendo and is unequivocal in advocating that Ellis, although not technically innocent, was very much a victim. Beginning work as a hostess in a seedy Soho night club, Ellis appears as a bubbly if fragile young woman; we then see her gradually transform into a quivering neurotic, totally besotted with her secretly gay boyfriend, her body wrecked through beatings, miscarriages, abortions, drugs and alcohol. The murder she eventually commits is made to look more like an obligation than a crime, although, as the man she kills never appears in the play, we are not given the chance to understand the reason for her infatuation with him. This version of events becomes believable mainly because of a magnificent performance by Faye Castelow as Ellis. However, the play’s main weaknesses are its lack of balance and its failure to paint a wider picture of Britain at a time when rigid post-War morality codes were beginning to clash with the liberal era that was to follow. Without an understanding of the times in which the events took place, modern audiences may be bewildered as to how such a draconian sentence could have been imposed for an offence which, in the circumstances presented here, could result in little more than a reprimand in 2013.

Oscar winning film, now Tony winning musical, this small scale Irish love story punches well above its weight. The single set is a Dublin bar, with a mirror at the back which reflects the audience and it even serves as a real bar with the audience being allowed on stage for interval drinks. The two main characters are an Irish guy (Declan Bennett), a singer/songwriter who is down on his luck and a Czech girl (Zrinka Cvitesic) who helps him to regain his confidence; both performers are excellent as is the supporting cast, playing characters more fleshed out than in the film. The Irish folk/rock songs are tremendous and beautifully performed. This show scores by being different, deftly sidestepping all the familiar cliches of musical theatre and of romantic drama. It is a little slow to get going and, occasionally it becomes so laid back that it almost grinds to a halt, but it has real warmth and charm throughout and it thoroughly deserves the plaudits it has received.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

With the audience seated around the performance area, this is a collection of monologues which effectively become intimate one-way conversations. Three experienced and accomplished actors play very different unnamed characters linked only by the fact they they are residents of California. Firstly Los Feliz, which opens with the character, a travelling salesman who claims to know every road in the State, sitting in a roadside diner finishing his burger and beer. He reflects that this makes a change from pizza and cola in his solitary apartment. He is 34 and he describes a life dominated by a routine but demanding job in which the only prospect for improvement is early retirement. He goes on to tell of a failed marriage, alienation from his daughter and his obsession for a woman who he knows to be out of his league. Playing him, Robin Holden is completely convincing, making him outwardly brash and macho but also giving us glimpses of his low self-esteem and his resignation to being one of life’s losers. Bennie and Joe’s is a reflection on life in a gay bar of that name where the character is a regular amongst the afternoon clientele. He is in late middle age, overweight and the others at the bar are either similar or younger men who aspire to Hollywood stardom; together they drink, gossip and flirt with the handsome barman before going home to “a lover, a pet or a memory”. He is describing a type of family wrapped up in its own concerns and looking on newcomers and passers-through with great suspicion. He talks only of events affecting the others and his own life outside the bar remains a mystery. John Vernon plays him as laid back and cynical, relishing his catty observations and lapsing into a slight stutter at points of tension in the story. Finally, Sunset sees an elderly lady chatting to her absent husband as sunset approaches in the day and perhaps in her life. She remarks on how sad it is that sunsets must always come to an end and remembers her youthful exuberance when first meeting him, the only real love of her life. However, she believes that it was because he later began seeing her as “his homemaker and sour-faced mother of his children” that he entered into a series of infidelities. She responded with a brief affair of her own, but eventually the couple were drawn back together to spend eight blissful years of retirement in the Californian Hills. Carolyn Lyster gives the most touching of the performances, animated and excited when describing the early days, but becoming wistful and melancholy as the story progresses. These monologues are about small lives and, with no dramatic high points, they are low-key and understated. However, each being of the perfect length, fine descriptive writing and skilled acting ensure that our attention never wanders.

Back to Hoxton to continue on from last Saturday. The organisation of this event has been shambolic, with nothing having been known about part 2 when part 1 ended and only a couple of days notice having been given for us to return for our trial. Therefore, no apologies are offered for the derision poured on last Saturday’s proceedings, even though completion allows the whole of the event to be seen in a different light. On this occasion, we believe we are to face trial for an unspecified offence, but arrive to be told that we have already been found guilty of future crimes by “The Machine” (a favourite Kafka-ism obviously) and face cleansing (ie execution). The Machine in this case is an advanced computer, able to predict future events with total accuracy and, as an add-on, it also carries out the cleansing. On a purpose built set, we are led individually through inter-connecting rooms to meet interrogators and confessors before arriving to watch through a two way mirror as The Machine carries out its work. The interactive meetings are inevitably tongue-in-cheek, but the cleansing is quite stark and harrowing. Part 2 turns out to be an altogether more satisfying experience than part 1.

This is the third theatrical interpretation of Franz Kafka seen in just a few weeks. It involved a foray into Docklands on a sunny afternoon, crossing the Thames via cable car to reach disused warehouses directly opposite the O2 Arena. It is a slightly eerie setting that serves as the Project Colony, somewhere South of the Equator. We are there to join a visitor looking around a community that purports to be Utopian. We begin in something like a village school hall, with smiley happy people singing, dancing and playing party games until the celebrations are ended abruptly with a double door opening to let in a glare of light from which white-shirted guards emerge. We are then escorted to an underground prison where we see the true nature of the authoritarian regime that underpins this society. We witness dehumanising processes and a demonstration of “The Machine”, a horrific new device for correcting anyone who steps out of line. Returning to the “school hall”, we see the reality of life in this community and the true effects of the brutality that lies beneath its surface. The production is all about contrasting light and dark, so maybe it worked particularly well at this performance because of assistance from the glorious weather outside. With around 30 young actors involved, it is possible that numerous restaurants will be short staffed for a while.

Terence Rattigan’s most famous play, dealing with a family’s fight for justice whatever the personal cost, still comes across as beautifully crafted and rich with human emotion. However, at just under three hours, with four acts and numerous sub-plots, it also looks rather old-fashioned. Henry Goodman gives a towering performance as Winslow senior, but Peter Sullivan is rather disappointing as the Barrister, lacking a natural aura of authority; beyond that the acting is excellent, whilst the sumptuous set and costumes reflect the era, exactly a century ago. However, when a great play is staged by a major theatre, expectations are rightly high and this production meets those expectations but never exceeds them. Essentially, this is a routine, straightforward revival which makes no attempts to modernise or to inject topicality and much needed pace. It is a production that could easily have played at the Old Vic 50 years ago.

Pre-West End, this is a revival of Peter Nichols’ Pinteresque play from the early 1980s which studies the strains placed on a middle-aged couple’s otherwise comfortable marriage when a predatory young woman sets her sights on the husband.  The twist is that both spouses appear on stage with their alter egos, who express their inner thoughts, prompt and cajole them throughout. Zoe Wanamaker and alter ego Samantha Bond play the wife, Owen Teale and alter ego Oliver Cotton play the husband; even if the chemistry between them is not yet fully realised, this is an accomplished quartet, all able to give the dialogue the brisk delivery it needs and handle rapid shifts in mood. Annabel Scholey is alluring and mischievous as the younger woman. As seen in this production, the play is difficult to categorise, not funny enough to be a comedy, not serious enough to be a drama; furthermore, it tails off badly in the second half once the novelty of the set up has worn thin, making it a classic example of a one act play stretched out to two. Nonetheless the play contains many thought-provoking ideas and this is a very classy production of it.

This review was originally written for The Public Reviews: http://www.thepublicreviews.com

The title implies a battle between contrasting emotions and the structure of he evening implies a battle of the sexes. In fact, what we see is two one-act plays, both under one hour; the first about hate is written, directed and performed entirely by women; the second about love is written, directed and performed entirely by men. These are stand alone pieces but, if the umbrella title is primarily a marketing device, it also provokes thought as to how love and hate are two sides of the same coin, each fundamental to understanding the human condition. The evening begins with the hate play, entitled Wounds, written by Chantelle Dusette and directed by Zoe Ford. It depicts three generations of a dysfunctional family, headed by the matriarch Grace, the widow of a philandering husband and now an overbearing mother and grandmother. Playing her, Ellie Dickins shows how she struggles to maintain her own vision of dignity but remains insensitive to the concerns of her family. Playing the daughters, Collette Cooper shows resilience and defiance as a recovering drug addict and Terri Dwyer is vulnerable yet determined when her character leaves an abusive marriage and then enters a lesbian relationship. All these characters are wounded by their experiences and, most pointedly, by themselves and the play demonstrates how they use their wounds as weapons against each other with tragic consequences. Set entirely in the family living room and with deft shifts backwards and forwards in time, this is largely a conversation piece, with minimal movement on stage and it is a gripping and convincing drama. In the second half, we see the love play, entitled To The End Of Love, written by Edwin Preece and directed by Sean Turner. It begins with Pink Floyd music being played at the funeral service for a young lady named Stella, after which it becomes instantly clear that the style will more pacy and aggressive, contrasting starkly with the first play. The dialogue is snappy and infused with humour, the scenery is adaptable and there is constant movement by the six actors, all of whom are on stage throughout. Stella has died of cancer and we see her Father (Michael Yale) and three lovers from various times in her life (Darcy Vanhinsbergh, John Pickard and Stevie Raine) enacting scenes from the past and outpouring their emotions to a counsellor. The most moving performance is given by Niall Phillips as her devoted brother who had assumed the role of her protector, both in life and in death. What these characters are expressing is not grief but love which, although not completely fulfilled, is pure in its nature. The writing shows a clear understanding of the pain, regret and even guilt associated with such a loss and it is made all the more effective by its concision. Lonesome Schoolboy Productions takes credit for bringing these two new works to the stage. If it was a real contest, the prize would go to love by a narrow margin, but there are no losers as this proves to be an outstanding showcase for emerging talents.

In his novel of the same name, Franz Kafka created a nightmare world in which the giant State machine turned against one person. This production invites us to immerse ourselves in that world and become the persecuted individual. Taking the format of The Menier’s “Accomplice London”, we are led one-by-one around various locations (not always too close which can be a problem in inclement weather) to meet actors assuming the guises of quirky characters who all try to persuade us that our predicament is becoming increasingly dire. At one stage, we are required to take a 15 minute walk through London’s East End receiving directions over a mobile phone, so there is certainly a real feeling of threat, but perhaps not of the type the producers intended. Beyond that, it is difficult to feel under arrest and the victim of persecution when walking freely in the open air and when we always have it in the back of our heads that, if we really faced torture and worse, Health and Safety regulations would have intervened. A further let down is that we never reach an actual trial, making the conclusion of the journey anticlimactic. Because of this and the absence of credible menace, the characters we meet seem mere comic eccentrics and the essence of Kafka’s work is lost, thereby making the whole experience rather pointless.