The Beast's Pen

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

Continuing her association with the Finborough Theatre, Canadian playwright Colleen Murphy here gives us a sneak preview, in a fully-staged production, of her new one-act play which will get its official World Premiere in Vancouver in October. Corporal Michael Armstrong (Mark Quartley) is a 21 year-old patient in the recuperation wing of an Ottawa hospital, having sustained leg injuries in Afghanistan; but his mental injuries are more serious and we first see him hiding under his hospital bed, talking to a make-believe friend and resisting all contact with outsiders. Halley Armstrong (Jessica Barden), unrelated, is a 12 year-old Pathfinder in the Girl Guides, herself wheelchair-bound following an accident, who is assigned to read from books to the soldier. She aims for a badge which she will earn after six reading sessions and the play is divided into those six meetings. At first the drama seems to be following a well-trodden path – ill-matched pair meet, feud, mellow towards each, form friendship which leads to mutual redemption – but, without an added dimension that is sufficiently different to grab our interest, it seems far too predictable and lacking in real conviction or substance. In the first three meetings, too much time is devoted to reciting passages from a novel (The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane), leaving the characters under-developed and interesting underlying themes unexplored. However, the play really takes off at around the half-way point when the writing becomes much tighter and more focussed, giving two exceptionally talented young actors the opportunity to shine. Both performances are always sensitive and occasionally explosive. What we now see is a study of the fine line between truth and fiction and a celebration of the cathartic power of written words to heal psychological wounds. As more is revealed of the characters’ stories, they come to life and we become absorbed in the different challenges that they both face. Perhaps the apostrophe in the play’s title is wrongly placed, because it is about the battles being fought by two Armstrongs to come to terms with past tragedies and to surmount the obstacles that life has placed in their way. It may be slow to get going, but ultimately it is a rewarding experience.

Seeing this for the first time in the National’s Cottesloe almost exactly a year ago, it came across as an extraordinary work of theatre and left an indelible impression. Now, with a record number of Olivier awards and a sell-out run on Shaftesbury Avenue under its belt, it is well on its way to becoming an all-time landmark production. It has survived the transfer amazingly well; previously performed on a small stage with the audience on all four sides, it is now set in a cube which creates a sense of claustrophobia, reflecting the world of a boy with Asperger Syndrome; it also allows numbers and diagrams to be projected, for characters to climb and walk around walls and it makes the train/tube journey even more realistic and terrifying. There are a few cast changes; Niamh Cusack is still the teacher/narrator, but Johnny Gibbon had taken over from Luke Treadaway at this performance; he and the entire company are all superb. Seeing it again, it is still as thrilling, moving and life-affirming, but what strikes home most is the incredible feat of imagination by director Marianne Elliot in creating such a completely unique theatrical experience.

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

Pitched to a film studio. Oliver Lansley’s one-act comedy could be described as “Rosemary’s Baby meets Mamma Mia”. It tells of six months pregnant Mia who, having been celibate since parting from her boyfriend nine months earlier, is confronted with the possibilities that the father of her child could be God or the Devil; or perhaps there is something she may have forgotten in a drunken haze. This revival of a play premiered at the 2006 Edinburgh Fringe Festival is the first production from newly-formed Thundermaker. By profession, Mia is a dominatrix who aims to pay off her mortgage by working five hours a week; she is accused of being full of sarcastic one-liners, but, as played by Jessica Doherty, she is a dizzy brunette who comes across as rather shallow and tiresome. Equally shallow is her smug, self-obsessed ex-boyfriend (Matthew J Staton) who is now having an affair with her best friend (Amy O’Dwyer, looking panic-stricken), a baby-hating neurotic. They are joined by a nerdy old schoolmate, now an Estate Agent (Phil Featherstone, producing the best comic turn of the evening) who gleefully stakes his tenuous claim to paternity. As Mia grapples with the riddle of what seems to be an immaculate conception, Archangel Gabriel arrives at her door “without warning and without wings” to inform her that she is carrying the son of God. Playing him, Edward Law appears rather like an insurance salesman with a very quick temper. He is followed by Lucifer (Barry Wilson) who claims that the child will be son of the Devil and then, in the play’s funniest speech, turns to the audience to protest that he is not a bad person, rather someone harshly treated by God who did not fall (from grace) but was pushed. Towards the end, as Mia contemplates birth and mortality, she questions the point of it all. At the same time, the audience could well be asking what is the point of this play, which meanders between satirizing religion and modern relationships, often getting side-tracked and seemingly never certain of its targets or its eventual destination. Nonetheless, there are plenty of amusing lines and winning performances, which make it a pleasant enough way to spend 75 minutes.

We can wait months, even years for a new American musical to arrive in London, so two in three days have made this a week that is truly blessed! Like “Titanic”, this show won awards and had a long Broadway run and, similarly, the production has been scaled down for a small space, but comparisons end there. “Titanic” had a traditional Broadway score; music in “The Color Purple” is blues/gospel inspired and, even if some of the lyrics and tunes are slightly bland, their overall freshness carries them through. Based on Alice Walker’s novel set amongst the black community in America’s Deep South between 1914 and 1945, this is a story of various forms of slavery after the end of actual slavery, self-empowerment and redemption. It is a huge novel and the first half of the show crams in too much plot with characters appearing briefly before disappearing and everything seeming to move much too quickly; however, by the interval, the main characters have established themselves and the second half moves at a steadier pace with many more fully-developed scenes that are both powerful and moving.  Nicola Highes, Christopher Colquhoun and Sophia Nomvete stand out amongst a uniformly excellent company, but this production belongs to Cynthia Erivo in the central role of Celie. Ageing from young girl to middle-aged woman, displaying desperation, defiance and joy to equal effect, diminutive but with a voice to lift the roof, she gives what is likely to be seen as the performance of the year and it is she who clinches the elevation of this show to five-star status. The Menier is configured as never before, with a stunningly-lit  plain wooden stage, the audience on three sides and only chairs and a white sheet are used as props. The contribution which this small theatre is making to enhancing the quality of musical theatre in London (and beyond) is now more than astounding, it is bordering on phenomenal.

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

Producer Danielle Tarento and Director Thom Southerland have joined forces with Southwark Playhouse on three recent occasions and gained great acclaim for breathing fresh life into what were thought to have been problem American musicals. Now, with this fourth effort, they have surpassed themselves. The original 1997 Broadway production earned five Tonys and a long run, but the problem which could have delayed the UK opening of the show until now is likely to have been connected less with its quality and audience appeal, more with the cost of staging it. The solution offered here is to do away with all the grand sets and special effects and replace them with imagination, thereby putting the focus firmly on the characters, the performances and the music. There can be few who do not know that the Titanic, an ocean liner described here as “a floating city”, hit an iceberg during its maiden voyage in 1912, causing 1,517 fatalities. The ships’s owner, builder and captain (Simon Green, Greg Castiglioni and Philip Rham, all convincing) are seen arguing as the sailing speed is increased and a riskier course is steered, in pursuit of a record Atlantic crossing time, and then bellowing at each other to point the finger of blame for the resulting catastrophe. As with all of the many dramatisations of these events, the interest lies in the individual human stories and this version is based on actual characters. The class structure of the age is highlighted strongly, the passengers’ status being defined by their breeding if they were British or their wealth if they were American. The aristocracy and the super rich occupied the upper decks, closest to the lifeboats, whilst, at the point of disaster, the lowest class were locked in far below them, closest to the rising waters. On the lower decks, we see immigrants to the US dream of a new life, joining together to voice their aspirations in the song Lady’s Maid and a pair of young lovers, endearingly played by Victoria Serra and Shane McDaid, plan their future together. On the middle decks, an eloping couple (Nadim Naaman and Clare Marlowe, both with crystal-clear voices) duet on the lovely I Give You My Hand and a social climber (Celia Graham) plots her way upwards, deck by deck. At the very top, the passengers dine at the Captain’s table, dance to Doing The Latest Rag and, in the most touching of scenes, an elderly couple (Dudley Rogers and Judith Street) proclaim their undying love, singing Still. Unifying them all, James Hume is excellent as an omnipresent steward. Maury Yeston’s varied and vibrant score includes many memorable, lush melodies and rousing choruses, all perfectly orchestrated by Ian Weinberger. Peter Stone’s book is, in turns, witty, truthful and poignant, blending naturally with Yeston’s equally fine lyrics. This is exemplified in a splendid scene in which a lowly engineer (an earnest James Austen-Murray) exchanges humorous banter with the ship’s telegraphist (Matthew Crowe, glowing with self-importance) pleading with him to send a proposal of marriage to his girlfriend at home. The banter turns seamlessly into song as one chants The Proposal, the other The Night Was Alive, each in complete harmony with the other. Simply staged, with a 20-strong company and a six-piece band, the show flows, seemingly effortlessly, being beautifully acted, sung and choreographed throughout. At the end, the audience leaves the theatre by walking across the stage, onto which a list of the names of all the dead is being projected, reaffirming the reality of the tragedy which has just been dramatised. However, on this occasion, it is only the ship that sinks, because this is a musical that floats blissfully on air and often soars.

Following “The Weir” at this theatre, Conor McPherson premieres his new work, which he also directs. Like its predecessor this is ostensibly a conversation piece underpinned by quirky Irish humour; however the characters are far more damaged than in “The Weir” and clinging to each other far more desperately. The setting is a grubby, cluttered Dublin bedsit, occupied by Tommy (Ciaran Hinds), a middle-aged man separated from his family, and various visitors. These characters are so impeccably written and acted that they quickly become real and, from there, the play seems almost to progress on auto-pilot. The drama is punctuated by acts of  violence which provide a stark reminder that these people are not just inventions of Irish whimsy, but inhabitants of a very cruel world. The tone is deliberately understated throughout and, when the climax arrives, it carries enormous emotional power not in spite of this understatement but because of it.

Daniel Kitson’s latest one-man show is partly stand-up (well sit-down to be precise) comedy and partly philosophical lecture.  A strange hybrid of Mr Everyman and Oxford Professor, Kitson’s genius lies in his ability to make astute observations that resonate on a personal level with each individual member of an audience that is drawn from all age groups, both genders, all sorts of backgrounds and lifestyles. Many of his observations are hilarious, others are profound; some of the humour is shallow, whilst some of the analysis goes so deep that it cannot be appreciated fully from being heard just once. What matters is the mix and that it all holds together, which this show definitely does. To quibble, the background music is very irritating and over 100 minutes is very long for a one-man show watched from BAC’s very uncomfortable seating. But Kitson is unique, a one-off and it is easy to understand why tickets for his shows are so difficult to come by.

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

Hounded by paparazzi, courted by fashion houses, WAGs (wives and girlfriends, usually of highly paid footballers) have become the icons of modern celebrity culture. But for every one of them there are thousands of aspiring WAGs, ladies who are willing to play home or away, in upper or lower divisions, so long as a spread in Hello! or OK! magazines remains in their sights. This new musical features those who have made it and those who have yet to do so. Inevitably the show is about stereotypes – the WAGs themselves, gay men, thick footballers and more – but instead of deconstructing the stereotypes for satire, the script draws all its humour from reinforcing them, bombarding us with feeble jokes and scraping the barrel for double entendres. Worse still, there are serious underlying issues about the sexual inequality in our society which over-rewards men and casts women in demeaning roles, but, unfortunately, these issues are only alluded to and then left unexplored. The writer is Belvedere Pashun, who includes in his interests camping in the lower Himalayas of his native Tibet. Having generated material like this, he might have been better advised to have stayed there or at least to have written under a pseudonym; but perhaps he did not need such advice. The central characters are assistants on the cosmetics counter of a department store who are both in abusive relationships. Jenny (Daisy Wood-Davis) is the plaything of a married footballer and Sharron (Amy Scott) is suffering physical maltreatment from her partner; both actresses give touching performances, side-stepping the cliches as best they can. The are joined by Zoe, a sales rep, who is on the prowl for a new man after the mid-fielder she has been dating has just been relegated from the Premier League. She is played by Lizzie Cundy, herself once a real WAG, now rehabilitated as a television presenter and actress; she would have been a natural as someone who was a seductress 20 years ago, but a few more lessons, even from SuperWAG Victoria Beckham, might have helped to improve her singing performance. Tim Flavin, who plays a waspish store boss, has a formidable record of great performances in hit shows, so, for the sake of musical theatre, it is to be hoped that he recovers quickly from this embarrassment. The lyrics are simple and the unmemorable tunes are in the bouncy pop style. This is not to say that the songs are all terrible; one is very funny and a few of them could have been good enough to have only narrowly missed qualifying to represent the UK in the Eurovision Song Contest in some years of the last decade. Happily there are two redeeming cameo performances. Katie Kerr is excellent as Blow-Jo, an overweight store assistant who is resigned to life with a chippy rather than one who chips goals and who is persuaded to buy a brand of cosmetics because of a recommendation from “Loraine Kelly off the telly” (the rhymes get no better in this show). Even more striking is a brief appearance by Ariadne the Greek WAG, alter ego of comedy performer Alyssa Kyria, who delivers the show’s funniest song, England, and a string of hilarious asides and one-liners; her performance is a class above everything else on display and she leaves us regretting that the whole evening could not have been built around her. As the ridiculous feel-good ending draws near, the company comes together and, treats us to an anthem of supreme unoriginality, chanting (there’s) Always Tomorrow. We must all pray that tomorrow will bring us many musicals much better than this one.

A collaboration between the National and immersive theatre leaders Punchdrunk, this event took place in a disused Royal Mail sorting office in Paddington, re-named Temple Studios. Taken back in time to the late 1950s/early 1960s, I hid behind a grotesque mask to be plunged into semi darkness and allowed to wander at liberty around the sets, offices and back stage areas of a Hollywood studio; I must have looked like a kid in Hamleys. Spread over four floors, with hidden rooms and passages everywhere, I regularly bumped into performers (the ones without masks) who were enacting, mostly in dance, a torrid story of love, infidelity, jealousy and death, knowing that, for everything I saw and every place I found, there would be a dozen things I missed. So, there seemed little point in trying to follow the story, only in exploring the place and enjoying the performances as they cropped up. The adventure was accompanied throughout by atmospheric film background music and American pop songs from the period. Finally after 3 hours, drained of sweat and nursing a badly bruised shin (failure to get out of the way of a dancer quickly enough), I emerged into the real world in awe at the scale of it all and wondering whether or not to go back for what would be an entirely different experience next time.

It is hard to imagine a more potent anti-war message than that conveyed by the football match played between the Allies and Germans on the front lines on Christmas Day 1914. Here, Alex Gwyther writes and performs a 45-minute monologue which expands on the famous incident and describes various other friendly encounters between opposing forces on the same day during the most horrific war in history. Gwyther is primarily a poet, but this is beautifully written in prose, taking the form of diary entries; it captures all of the poignancy of the events and misses none of the ironies of ordinary people being caught up in a conflict between those who govern them. He is completely convincing as a private soldier, but sometimes the style of the prose does not adapt well to being dramatised, the speech patterns sounding rather unnatural. However, this is just a minor quibble over what is a very impressive and moving piece of work.