The Beast's Pen

Exploring our place in the Universe and the Universe’s place in us, Rachel Blackman’s new play, created with her company, at first seems too burdened with grandiose and pretentious ideas.  Our initial meeting with it’s two characters is also unpromising, as they tell of their lives through photographs that we cannot see, not helping us to get drawn in and empathise with them. Both are forty-somethings; Leila (Blackman herself) is a frumpy, clumsy museum assistant, inherently a scientist; Shahab (Jules Munns) is a displaced Iranian aspiring film maker, lacking direction and inherently an artist. The play’s conceit is that, just as we were all created by cosmic collisions, so these two lives are transformed when they, quite literally, collide and, at the point of collision, the drama too is transformed. We now have an intensely human story of how a friendship, always platonic, inspires two people to develop as individuals and realise their full potential in life. Superb music and lighting underpin the production, but, mostly it is the outstanding performances that ultimately make this extremely moving.

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

So the clocks are going back, the gloom of Winter is descending, can there be a more appropriate time for wallowing in a little cynicism? Forget all those songs about love and affection, here is a collection to bomb any rom-com and massacre St Valentine’s Day. The St James Studio is a perfect cabaret venue with a bar in the corner inviting us to drain our half empty bottles and get into the swing of the evening. Already a hit at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, this show is written and performed by Michael Roulston and Sarah-Louise Young, he seated at a grand piano, she taking the lead on most of the songs. They have collaborated as songwriters for seven years, their close rapport being evident in all the numbers and in the amiable banter between them. The pair’s other current show is Julie, Madly, Deeply which is inspired by Julie Andrews, so here they have the perfect antidote to too many spoonfuls of sugar. The anti-romantic mood is established with Let’s Not Fall in Love and, when love threatens to enter the air, Roulston repels it by warning I Play Around. Just as moonlight and roses might inspire some songwriters, in this show the inspiration is the morning after as Young chants Lovers at Breakfast. She moves from here to maternity, delivering the first half showstopper Please Don’t Hand Me Your Baby, the chorus of which leads with the catch line “your baby is ugly”, likely to be repeated by the entire audience for days afterwards. After the interval, Young assumes the guise of her alter ego La Poule Plombee (frumpy pigeon), a suicidal French torch singer. Her set includes a Piaf style rendition of My Little Black Dress and she leads an audience singalong with Malcontent. Returning as herself, Young offers the ultimate put down to any male suitor, singing I Fancy Your Father, the second half showstopper. All the lyrics are bristling with caustic wit, giving us almost a laugh a line, and they are delivered by two seasoned cabaret performers whose presentation and timing are perfection. This was a one-off reprise of the Edinburgh show, but it must surely re-appear. In the meantime, the cd is already available.

A big hit already in New York, Nicky Silver’s acerbic take on dysfunctional family life gets its UK premier here. In Act I, the family gathers around the hospital bed of the dying father (Nicholas Day); the mother (Isla Blair) is a domineering and insensitive matriarch; daughter Lisa (Charlotte Randle) is an alcoholic divorcee with two children; son Curtis (Tom Ellis) is gay and quite seriously disturbed. We watch in discomfort as the four ride roughshod over the sensitivities of each of the others and it is an often hilarious spectacle.  Act II is darker, less funny but more poignant. Events take a darker turn as each member, in different ways, strikes for independence from a family unit that they realise is corroded and corrosive. The production is briskly paced and superbly acted by a British cast, all adopting very convincing New York accents. This is one of the best non-musical productions yet staged at the Menier.

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

Fatherland, along with its companion piece, Motherland, has been conceived by the performance artist Nic Green to explore her Scottish roots and to enhance her understanding of herself in relation to her origins. She performs the piece assisted by three drummers and a piper. When first appearing, she creates a severe image, sporting a sculptured haircut and wearing a natty business suit, but her soft and sympathetic voice quickly belies that image. The performance begins well with a poem about space, describing distance, proximity, detachment and belonging. Green is assisted by male volunteers from the audience who alternate lines or verses with her. The contrasting voices add resonance to the words, making the reading touching and thought-provoking. It is poignant in its content and potent in its style of delivery. Sadly, the poem is much too short and the spoken word is to play very little part in the remainder of the evening. There now follows a protracted sequence in which Green performs steps from a Scottish jig and draws a large chalk circle, presumably defining her personal boundaries and those of her country. She is accompanied by the beating of drums and only the increasing volume of the unrelenting percussion prevents this laborious process from being soporific. Towards the end, any intervention, even that by bag pipes is soothing to the ears. Once enclosed inside her circle, Green performs what could be described as “The Dance of the Seven-Piece Trouser Suit”, removing almost all of her attire. If this dance, like the jig, had originated from the Highlands, it could surely have led to severe cases of frost bite. She prances across the diameter and around the circumference of the circle in a state of near undress, making us feel as if we have stumbled by chance upon some bizarre aerobics class. She seems to be making a bold declaration of the defiance and vulnerability embodied in the Scottish spirit, but she is personifying much less the dignity of her proud nation. In the midst of all the symbolism, we are entitled to ask whether any of this really informs us or even entertains us. Never mind, consolation is at hand as bottles of Scotland’s finest produce are passed around the audience. It hardly matters that being served spirits by a topless waitress belongs more to the heritage of Soho than to that of Scotland, as no-one is complaining. Soon Green exclaims “I don’t know how to end it”, but the temptation to shout back *as soon as possible” is resisted. By now the golden nectar has begun to cast its spell and a more appropriate response seems to be “another dram please”.

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

Emily Bronte’s classic novel has received many film and television adaptations, inspired a Kate Bush hit song and even a Cliff Richard stage musical, but no interpretation comes to mind that is quite as unorthodox as this 60 minute performance piece, first seen at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. With the audience seated on all four sides of the performance area, four men, all bearded and bare-footed, play the characters male and female, the horses, the wind and anything else that needs portraying. They are the creator, Peter McMaster and his collaborators Nicholas Anderson, Thom Scullion and Murray Wason. They use words, movement and music (Kate Bush recordings and traditional folk songs which they sing themselves). This is not a cohesive telling of Bronte’s story, rather it is a collection of sequences drawing inspiration from her characters, settings and themes. The unifying concept is an exploration of masculinity, in which the four men delve into their inner feelings as their characters face various challenges. At times, there is a sense of improvisation, giving rise to uncertainty as to whether the performers are speaking as their characters or as themselves, drawing from their personal experiences and emotions. It is this uncertainty that makes the piece so riveting. In contrast to any perceived improvisation, the movement is balletic and perfectly choreographed. Moments of intensity are followed by moments of levity, we are always expecting the unexpected, always on edge and filled with curiosity. The bleak and harsh landscape of the Yorkshire Moors overhangs every scene. We hear of love and loss, freedom and attachment, wanderlust and belonging to a place. At times our senses are assaulted visually and aurally – decibels rise as a mother harangues her son in a brutal interrogation, all four men have simultaneous coughing fits, the horses neigh loudly as they run across the open moorland. This is an unconventional and at times exciting piece of theatre. The narrative thread and character detail of Bronte’s novel have been jettisoned, but their loss is made up for by the sincerity and energy of the performers who give their all.

The producers and backers of this show are brave people. Nowadays, new musicals are either manufactured using already familiar hit songs or, if they have an original score, they are usually scaled down for smaller, less expensive venues, as with the recent London premiers of “Titanic” and “The Color Purple”. In a large theatre, with a 30+ little known cast, a full orchestra and an original score by an unknown composer, this show completely bucks the trend in modern musical theatre. The only recognisable name on the posters is that of the lyricist, Tim Rice who, since his hay day 30 years and more ago, has hardly been prolific. “From Here to Eternity” was originally a novel by James Jones, then turned into a 1953 film which, although hugely successful in it’s day, may not mean much to many modern theatregoers. It is set in 1941 amongst US soldiers stationed in Hawaii during the period leading up to the Japanese invasion of Pearl Harbour. It tells two parallel love stories: Private Prewitt is a defiant rebel who falls for Lorene, a hooker; Sergeant Warden starts a torrid affair with Karen, the wife of his commanding officer. It matters little that the nature of these relationships now seems dated, but there is an ugly gay sub-plot that clashes more than a little with 2013 sensitivities. Knowing the setting before the curtain rises could lead to expectations for something like “South Pacific”, which had a similar location, similar characters and remarkably similar plot lines. However, it is as if everyone involved realised these similarities at the very beginning and set about avoiding comparisons at all costs. The score includes hardly any Hawaiian influences, which is a pity because there are several sections when an injection of lightness and brightness is much needed. Rodgers and Hammerstein knew what they were doing and the creators of this show could have learned from them without copying them. Worse still are the dreary sets with subdued lighting that makes it seem as if we are viewing through a sepia-tinted lens. It is a mystery why director Tamara Harvey and designer Soutra Gilmour would think that an island paradise looks like the inside of a seedy Soho night club. Lack of spectacle could well lead to the show’s downfall and things are not helped by dance sequences that are, at best, perfunctory. With a company of this size, we are entitled to expect more. From here, the news gets better. Rice has lost none of his skills and his lyrics are first rate even if their integration into Bill Oakes’ book is not as seamless as it could be. Stuart Bravson’s score is full of strong melodies and powerful anthems. It is always a good sign when the audience leaves the theatre humming tunes from the show and appreciation of these songs could well improve with repeated hearings. The leading performances are also excellent. Robert Lonsdale is a stubborn and later pugnacious Prewitt, delivering his big song, “Fight the Fight” with gusto. Darius Campbell (formerly known as Danesh and before that just Darius) has a formidable stage presence and a rich, deep singing voice, so that, even if his acting is sometimes slightly wooden, he is just about perfect as Warden. As Lorene and Karen, Siubhan Harrison and Rebecca Thornhill are both alluring and have beautiful singing voices. Additionally, Ryan Sampson as Angelo, the role famously played by Frank Sinatra in the film, is a bundle of energy, railing against the system until ultimately being defeated by it. The Shaftesbury has, in the past, been the graveyard for many musicals. Although this one is a curate’s egg, it has sufficient quality to merit the hope that those who had the courage to bring it to the stage should be rewarded by not seeing it follow in the path of unfortunate predecessors here. My fear is that it is too old fashioned and does not have enough of the ingredients needed to capture the public’s imagination, but I sincerely hope that I am wrong.

If Rufus Norris wants to ensure that his tenure as head of the National is a success, maybe he should simply appoint Marianne Elliott to direct every production. Returning to the home of her triumphs with “War Horse” and “The Curious Incident…”, she has created a musical show that is, in the first half at least, as magical as anything I have seen in six decades of theatregoing. Taking a children’s story of a princess who loses her gravity and her ability to cry whilst grieving for her mother and then floats around aimlessly until saved by her handsome prince, she has conjured up a world of wonder. The princess defies gravity, birds fly around, small animals inhabit all parts of the stage, characters swim with fish in a lake and it all comes together seamlessly. The “War Horse” trick of using near invisible puppeteers is repeated, but, in this case the princess is often a human puppet and Rosalie Craig in the title role shows astonishing balletic skill. It all provides a stunning spectacle, choreographed to perfection, giving so much magic to a show that, sadly, brings very little magic of its own. The story is as light as the princess herself, the hero and heroine are not consistently sympathetic and the villains are not sufficiently villainous. However, most disappointing of all is Tori Amos’ score which is bland and lacking in both variety and melody; it is difficult to identify songs as such, mostly we just get sung dialogue, but when the characters sing about gravity, it reminds us of another similar show and puts everything here into perspective. Leaving aside the brilliant staging, this is nowhere near as good and nowhere near as much fun as “Wicked”. It also seems crazy that the National is promoting the production as suitable for 13+ ages, thereby excluding a large part of the audience to which it will appeal most; if this is because the story includes a pregnancy out of wedlock, someone needs reminding that this is 2013. In the end the show may be judged as another triumph for Ms Elliott, but perhaps the nature of her achievement should be seen less as creating a hit, more as saving us from the biggest turkey this side of Christmas.

Entering the theatre, there is the smell of freshly sawn wood, befitting a set that looks like the warehouse at IKEA. Exactly what this has to do with 14th Century monarchy never becomes clear, but it is the first of countless eccentric touches to staging, costumes and casting that embellish this version of Christopher Marlowe’s play. As played by John Heffernan, Edward is a hapless figure, pilloried by the nobility over his relationship with his gay lover, Piers Gaveston (Kyle Soller, who, fittingly, also plays the King’s executioner). Joe Hill-Gibbins’ production is lively, inventive, fast-moving and lucid always offering something interesting to catch the eye. Maybe it is not entirely appropriate for the hokey-cokey to be played after a battle or for the Queen to be a chain smoker and, indeed, some of the weird ideas work better than others. However, overall it is fun and, considering the grizzly nature of parts of the story, fun is quite an achievement. A conventional interpretation of this play is likely to have proved more than a little turgid, so the National is to be congratulated.

It is remarkable to realise that a play that delves into infidelity, illegitimacy and the effects of inherited syphilis, and includes suggestions of incest and euthenasia, could have emanated from the late 19th Century, but this is that play. Richard Eyre directs his own new translation of Henrik Ibsen’s work, having streamlined it to a mere 90 minutes with no interval. Eyre’s approach means that the neatly ordered world that we see at the beginning of the play disintegrates completely in a very short and continuous time span, seemingly during the course of one evening. So, suspension of disbelief is essential. However, once that hurdle has been cleared, the rewards are enormous, because this condensed version delivers drama of a rare intensity, culminating in a shattering climax. Eyre’s next masterstroke is the casting of the magnificent Lesley Manville in the lead role of Helene Alving, who describes her home as “a university of suffering”. Her heart-rending performance is complemented well by Jack Lowden as her doomed son, but not so well by Will Keen, who is slightly unconvincing as the oily and hypocritical Pastor Manders. Beyond the acting, the production is impressively mounted; a beautiful set, predominantly dark green with translucent walls, is half lit to suggest a bleak Norwegian Winter during which the sun hardly ever shines. Here is a place that readily invites the ghosts of past misdemeanours to return and destroy the present. This is a top class production, brave and powerful.