The Beast's Pen

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In many years of theatregoing, I have seen Hamlet portrayed as intellectual, warrior, lunatic, cheeky chappy, gay, to name but a few. I have seen him in period costume, modern dress, a straitjacket and naked, but I cannot recall ever seeing him played as superbly as by Andrew Scott in Robert Icke’s stunning production, here transferring from the Almeida Theatre. Following the “Sherlock” Hamlet, seen in Lindsey Turner’s overblown, numbingly ordinary production at the Barbican in 2015, this “Moriarty” Hamlet is a revelation, controlled but amiable, with only occasional glimpses of Scott’s excitable, manic television creation.

Icke strips the play of excess baggage, leaving barely any superfluous insights into Hamlet’s psychology. The Prince does not imagine his father’s ghost, he sees and hears it; so the play has paranormal elements, get over it! The setting is completely modern, a luxury apartment of the privileged elite, with security guards and various helpers fussing around. Television screens show news reports of the Danish Royal Family, prying into their lives and assessing political developments. When Hamlet needs to defend himself, the weapon of choice is not a dagger but a gun.

Most modern of all is the language. Shakespeare is spoken without the exaggerated actorly tones of, say, Olivier, but as if it is everyday English and, if the beauty of the Bard’s writing is diminished, the clarity and meaning of his words are enhanced. At this performance, how wonderful to hear a diverse audience reacting spontaneously to Shakespeare, because they can really understand what is being said. For the famous soliloquies, Scott steps forward to the front of the stage and enters into quiet conversations with the audience, not debating with himself but asking advice; is it worth his bothering to slog on through his endless depression or should he put a stop to it all there and then?

Scott’s Hamlet typifies young men who are uncertain about how to face up to the many challenges that lie ahead and are daunted by them. He is witty, educated and charismatic, but tormented by the ruthless ambition of Angus Wright’s authoritative Claudius and by the cold duplicity of his mother, Juliet Stevenson’s sophisticated Gertrude. Peter Wight’s nosy, bumbling Polonius is an irritant and a figure of fun to him, but his daughter, Jessica Brown Findlay’s frail, girlish Ophelia is an object of desire, unattainable for reasons that he cannot quite figure out.

Hamlet is a play of many contradictions and it seems unlikely that any interpretation of it could ever fall perfectly into place, without leaving some loose pieces. By focussing on the play’s essentials, Icke’s version feels perfect for about three-quarters of the running time, but loses some of its sharpness in the melodramatic final scenes, particularly after an oddly placed late second interval. That said, this remains as gripping and lucid a production as any that I can remember.

Performance date: 29 June 2017

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Producer Sonia Friedman claims that her Harry Potter… extravaganza generated so great a demand for tickets on the first day of sale that it could have run for 2,000 years. If the time travel machines used by Harry and others in the show go into mass production, this information could be useful, but, even if not, what it tells us is that here we have something that pretty well defines “critic proof”. From a commercial viewpoint, there was no need for it to be even moderately good, let alone as astonishingly good as it actually is, but creator JK Rowling, playwright Jack Thorne and director John Tiffany all have their lofty reputations to defend and there is never the slightest hint of laziness at any stage. The show is now into its second cast, but it is hard to imagine that the first could have been any better.

Rowling has a gift for merging common adolescent angst from the real world and the fantasy of her parallel universe. The former gives emotional power and depth to her enthralling storytelling. Thorne taps into her vision perfectly and all the familiar ingredients are here in spades, possibly captured more vividly than on screen. Theatre can generate magic that leaves CGI standing and Tiffany (with the help of Jamie Harrison) conjures a box of tricks that make the eyes pop – transformations, flying objects and a library scene in part 1 that defies belief. This is not a musical, but Imogen Heap’s background music adds immensely to the drama and spectacle and movement devised by Steven Hoggett brings excitement and energy to many scenes.

Harry (Jamie Glover) is now 40, living a quiet life with wife Ginny (Emma Lowndes), but his scar is starting to hurt and the owls are flying. The couple has three children, of which rebellious 14-year-old Albus Severus (Theo Ancient) is proving to be the most troublesome. He is a rubbish wizard, hates Hogwarts and even the Sorting Hat spots the difference from Harry by placing him in Slytherin House. To make things seemingly worse, he befriends the boy that no one else likes, Scorpius Malfoy (Samuel Blenkin), son of the sinister Draco (James Howard). Wrong as it may be to single out any individual, it has to be said that young Blenkin is absolutely brilliant, possessing an instinctive feel for comedy, and it is his antics as Scorpius that gets the loudest laughs and cheers throughout.

Rakie Ayola as Hermione and Thomas Aldridge as Ron, give perfect adult versions of their characters’ childhood selves. They are now married, with daughter Rose (Helen Aluko), a schoolmate for Albus and Scorpius, making up the triumphant triumvirate for a new generation. Beyond this I am not allowed to go for fear of evil spells as a penalty for giving plot spoilers, but, with time travel being involved, many familiar characters re-appear.  What else is there to say? Well, Tiffany, Thorne, Christine Jones (sets), Katrina Lindsay (costumes), Neil Austin (lighting) and Gareth Fry (sound) already have their Olivier Awards, so nothing needs to be added there. One sad closing thought: as I rarely go to shows for a second time, it seems highly unlikely that I shall ever see inside the Palace Theatre again.

Performance date: 28 June 2017

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This review was originally written for The Reviews Hub: http://www.thereviewshub.com

Tragedy strikes far away and near. In their East London home, Hugh and Tiffany see television news channels leading with reports of many dead in a roller coaster accident in China, but it is the secondary story of a car crash on the M25 that grabs their attention, because the sole fatality was wife to one and mother to the other.

The personal and intimate nature of grieving is the subject of Sarah Kosar’s 80-minute one act play. It is about the need to cling on to a departed loved one, the need to absorb them so that they stay a part of those who mourn their loss. Father and daughter both grieve, but in different ways, Hugh watches Father of the Bride, his wife’s favourite film, while Tiffany recites touching elegies. Hugh wants time to rest and reflect, but his hyper-active daughter berates him for not having begun to make funeral arrangements within hours of the death.

Mum had been a campaigning vegan, bullying her family into observing her own lifestyle. Both crave to indulge their carnivorous instincts, but it comes as a shock to them when a bag of fast food arrives, with a note from Mum telling them that she has left them a “digestive memorial” in the form of burgers made from her own flesh. Should they eat them? Would ketchup, mustard or leftover vegan cheese make them tastier?

Kasar introduces absurdism, but, if there is comedy in her writing, Tommo Fowler’s sombre production rarely finds it and we are left with what could be described as a surreal lament. A greyish curtain hangs across the entire stage in Charlotte Henery’s set design, giving the feel of a tasteful funeral parlour, as no one seems to realise that, in theatre, black humour becomes death far better than respectful mourning. As a consolation, the cooking of burgers with a blow torch whets our appetites, provided we can overlook what they are supposed to be made of.

Rosie Wyatt’s Tiffany is bossy, confrontational and shrill, insisting that the burgers must be eaten even when she is choking on them. Andrew Frame’s morose, lethargic Hugh, walking around in a dressing gown for all but the final scene, has little chance of standing up to her. Neither character elicits sympathy for their loss, ensuring that a play that fails to make us laugh also hardly moves us.

Clearly Kosar is a promising writer, brave enough to challenge audiences to face up to unpalatable truths. However, on this occasion, her play proves to be as indigestible as the mumburgers in her story.

Performance date: 30 June 2017

Photo: Lidia Crisafulli