The Beast's Pen

It is often said that the 1919 Treaty of Versailles both ended the First World War and started the Second, but Peter Gill’s new play takes that viewpoint even further by arguing that the short-sighted and self-interested actions of politicians at that time set the course for World political, economic and social developments throughout the remaining four fifths of the Twentieth Century. The play is intelligent, engrossing and beautifully written, but its content is too huge to take in on one visit; it needs to be read through afterwards and herein lies one of the problem with it – it is often more a history lesson than a drama. Acts I and III take place in the drawing room of an affluent upper middle class household in Kent. Act II is set in Paris during the negotiations for the Treaty. The central character is Leonard Rawlinson (a simply superb performance by Gwilym Lee), a young civil servant working for the British Government on the Treaty; he is a gay man and many of his developing ideas are articulated in conversations with his dead lover (Tom Hughes), lost in the War. The central theme of a young man working on an historic document that he believes to be fundamentally flawed and then trying to adjust his own life to conform with his progressive ideals is a great one and, when this theme comes to the fore, the play soars. However, Gill clutters his script with too many subsidiary characters who come and go without registering and too many sub-plots that serve only to detract from the main themes. At over three hours (including two intervals) the play is much too long anyway and several sheets of the script belong in the shredder. Also, the political and social discussion is much too wide and generalised. It is very difficult to see how a man speaking in 1919 could foresee conflicts in South East Asia, religious tensions in the Middles East, the rise of Socialism in Britain, women’s and gay liberation, etc, etc. This is self-indulgent writing by Gill, who is expounding his own views from the perspective of the 21st Century, but undermining the credibility of his main character and blurring the play’s focus. The production has an opulent feel and is impeccably acted by a cast headed by grande dames Francesca Annis and Barbara Flynn as family matriarchs. Notwithstanding all the criticisms, there are moments, particularly in the deeply moving final Act, when it feels as if there is a masterpiece struggling to surface, and those moments will live in the memory long after the play as a whole is forgotten

Performance date: 4 April 2014

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

The 1970s once seemed such a jolly decade with brightly coloured outfits, flared trousers, mop haircuts and Abba. Sadly, the light entertainment industry of that era. particularly television, has appeared in a much murkier light in recent times. This show looks at Saturday morning television of 40-ish years ago from a modern perspective. It replicates the fun, but, rather than wallowing in nostalgia, it reflects on some of the darker undertones. The show’s framework is provided by “Looking Back (together)”, a trashy programme with a self-explanatory title – this week’s subject is Kids’ telly (next week it is the Khmer Rouge) – in which presenter Niall Ashdown (the performers use their own names for their main characters) focusses on a fictional BTV (Birmingham Television) show called “Shushi”, devised by a channel that was in a tiswas over how to challenge a ratings topper fronted by a bearded gentleman who later went on to present “Meal Or No Meal”. Running for several years, “Shushi” was an anarchic, slapstick show which featured segments such a “Kick the Vicar” and “Make Your Own Dog”, with guest appearances by prominent pop stars and Queasy the Cat. It all came to a catastrophic end on 8th March 1979 when, after Phil Collins had finished miming to his latest hit, presenter Petra Massey stripped, smothered her body with baked beans and tried to hang herself, all live on air. We are told that television was never the same afterwards and that nothing ever went out live again. So pies collide with faces, buckets of water are poured over heads, bodies crash to the floor and it is all mildly amusing. Of course, too much repetitive slapstick becomes tiresome just as quickly now as it did in the 1970s, but the success of this show comes with the dimension added by its retrospective view, without which it would be as weightless as one of the many plates of foam flung around during its course. The stars of “Shushi” appear in 2014 as a disillusioned bunch of failures, but we are led to believe that they could hardly be otherwise when their lives have been tainted by a show which was built on foundations made of what now look like bullying and ritual humiliation, ingrained with sexism and racism. Okorie Chukwu, Stephen Harper, Dudley Rees and Ged Simmons make up the numbers of an energetic cast who all strike the right balance between zany comedy and pathos. 40/50-somethings will have watched shows like “Shushi” in their formative years and may now ask whether they are themselves tainted by them. Or perhaps they might congratulate themselves on belonging to a generation that brought in more liberal social views and ask whether these shows helped to highlight the need for changes of attitude. Never Try This At Home is lively entertainment, but it also provides food for thought.

Performance date: 3 April 2014

Treading the path laid down by Stephen Sondheim with Passion and moving further along it, Nona Shepphard (book and lyrics) and Craig Adams (music) have created a remarkable new work of musical theatre. It is an adaptation of Emile Zola’s novel set in late 19th Century Paris in which the eponymous heroine is trapped in a loveless marriage and embarks on a tempestuous affair with Laurent, her husband’s friend. The show is almost sung-through to the accompaniment only of a single piano and harmonising choruses, the lyrics translating Zola’s prose beautifully and matching the rich, melodic score to perfection. As is often said of Sondheim, the words sing and the music speaks. Laura Cordery’s adaptable set of a small shop and living quarters is an object lesson in how to make maximum use of a tiny space. In the title role, Julie Atherton is a silent prisoner for the first 45 minutes, exuding suppressed passion, but then explodes to life when her lover releases her. As Laurent, Ben Lewis is beefy, brooding and dangerous, whilst Jeremy Legat makes an irksome Camille, Therese’s weak and sickly husband. Also outstanding is Tara Hugo as Camille’s controlling mother. The show’s failing is much the same as that of Passion in that there is too little variation in tone, so that the air of prevalent gloom begins to wear too heavy over the course of two hours and this failing could well impair the show’s popular appeal. Nonetheless, it will be interesting to see if it can be developed further, maybe for a larger venue and with a full orchestra. The potential is certainly there.

Performance date: 3 April 2014

Maybe due to broadening of minds and shifts in the balance of sexual politics, old-fashioned farces are a bit of a rarity these days. Writer Ray Cooney is a veteran of the Brian Rix era at the Whitehall and the 1984 West End run of this play had actors of the calibre of Donald Sinden and Michael Williams in leading roles. So, dated it may be, but not without merit and much of Cooney’s writing provides a masterclass in the mechanics of farce. As usual, the Menier seems to take the view that, if it’s worth doing at all, it’s worth doing well and they have duly delivered a sparkling production, with a superb set and a cast of seasoned comedy performers whose timing is perfection. The plot concerns Richard Willey (a Tory minister naturally), played by Michael Praed, and his shenanigans in adjacent rooms of a Westminster hotel, involving his wife (Josefina Gabrielle), his mistress (Kelly Adams) and his Parliamentary Private Secretary (Nick Wilton). As is usual with such farces, the evening is a mixture of giggles, guffaws and yawns, but, happily, the latter are in relatively short supply. The icing on the cake is an appearance by Cooney himself (now 81), jigging and even falling over, as the Waiter. Taking his bows, he looks genuinely pleased with the production and so he should be.

Performance date: 2 April 2014

Exploring links between warfare in Afghanistan and domestic tensions at home, Pamela Carter’s new play is muddled and disjointed. Four young soldiers, Jackson, Nicey, Chips and “Princess” are killed in a suicide bomb attack and are seen in their after lives coming to terms with their fates; back in England, a forty-something married couple, Louise and Ed are separating and agonising over their troubled son who has an imaginary friend. The only link between the two stories is that Louise had been having an affair with “Princess” prior to him enlisting. The irony in the acting is that the four dead soldiers are all brought to life by well-judged performances, whilst the couple who are living remain dull and uninteresting. Metaphors and symbolism abound to underline Carter’s message about the ravages and pointlessness of war, which are timeless. However, they are also well-worn and, sadly, she has nothing new to say in a play that, ultimately, makes very little sense.

Performance date: 31 March 2014

Jon Fosse, we are told, is the most performed living European playwright in the World, but the Norwegian remains little known in the UK.  This production of a dark and baffling play, first seen in 2004, may do little to change things.  Set near the Fjords. a mother and son live alone and are soon to be visited by her daughter and son-in-law. This family is not so much dysfunctional as disconnected; when together, they stand spread at equal distances from each other across the stage, facing the audience, talking, but not as if to each other and their words are spoken in short, staccato sentences often beginning with “yes”. The elephant in the room is the mental state of the son (Danny Horn) who seems to be in the advanced stages of withdrawal from life, maybe due to autism or depression, having given up his cherished guitar and lost his beloved dog; he lies on a wooden bench or stands gazing out of the window barely communicating with his family or an old friend who also visits. His mother (Valerie Gogan) and all the others bicker at him, repeating the same things over and over, honing in on subjects sensitive to him as if picking at open wounds. The dialogue is grating for us to listen to precisely because that is how the mentally disturbed young man hears it; thus we are given an insight into a mind that is drifting loose from ties to the rest of the World and towards insanity. It is a fascinating concept and beautifully acted by the cast of five. Themes of mental disorders and dead dogs bring to mind another recent play, Curious Incident…, but, whereas that was optimistic and filled with human emotion, this is relentlessly bleak and cold. Fosse’s work is loaded with metaphors and symbolism and it is doubtful if any two interpretations of it will be the same. Nonetheless, it is always intriguing and, as with, say,  Pinter or Beckett, the after-play “what was THAT all about” discussion may turn out to be at least as enjoyable as the play itself.

Performance date: 21 March 2014

Fringe theatres may love monologues because they are usually cheap to stage, but they can be one of the most difficult forms of theatre to get right. They rely on a script that tells a story vividly, an actor that can hold an audience enthralled and a perfect fusion of the two. Many who saw Grounded last year may have thought it as good as monologues can get, but here is one to challenge it. It is performed by Rob Ward, the co-writer with Martin Jameson who also directs. Ward plays Kyle, an avid football supporter from a working class background who works as a male escort in an unnamed Northern city (let’s call it Liverpool). In the course of his work, he meets a prominent Premier League footballer and then forms an uneasy relationship with him. The issues surrounding gay participants in professional football and other sports are highly topical and, in the theatre, The Pass, seen recently at the Royal court, highlighted the dilemmas facing the players; this play concerns itself primarily with the collateral damage which a secretly gay footballer may leave in his wake. However, this is not a simple story of an innocent used by a superstar and then cast aside; we see that both characters are victims of conflicts in their lives – the footballer is torn between being true to what nature has made him and the possibility of public humiliation and potential loss of earnings, whilst Kyle treads uncertainly between the lifestyle which he has adopted and a family that only partially accepts who he is. As a result, both have become users of others, one for carnal pleasures, the other for financial gain and it is the expression of Kyle’s growing understanding that there should be more than this to relationships that is the triumph of the play. Ward’s animated performance is little short of phenomenal, progressing from violent football yob and callous exploiter of his clients to a wounded lover, he carries every stage of the play with total conviction. Gripping, truthful, brutal, tender and utterly relevant, rarely has an hour in a theatre passed so quickly.

Performance date: 22 March 2014

It’s taken more than 14 years to get around to this, but better late than never. As expected, it is an extravagant triumph of colour and movement, set design and lighting, costumes and puppetry. Of course, in the intervening years, other productions have borrowed from and further advanced the techniques pioneered here, but Julie Taymor’s legendary production still dazzles. Added to this, Elton John’s score, expanded from the original Disney cartoon, is magnificent. If this show serves to introduce new generations to the world of wonder that theatre can create and to open their eyes to its possibilities, then long may it continue to run. It may matter little that the spoken sections are pedestrian or that, as in the cartoon, the story is very slight; it is the spectacle that counts. However, having been around for so long, the show runs like a well-oiled machine and, somewhere along the line, it may have lost some of its heart and soul, as it is not easy to connect with emotionally. There are carbon copy productions playing and touring all around the world, moving theatre closer to the territory occupied by cinema, driven by visual thrills, supported by mass marketing and merchandising; the result is that, in the end, The Lion King, feels like something that would be more at home in Las Vegas or a theme park, supremely accomplished technically, but lacking some of the key ingredients that make up the full experience of theatre.

Performance date: 20 March 2014

The best chance that any new musical seems to have of making it to the West End stage right now is for it to be adapted from a successful film. The producers of this one were taking no chances at all, because their story of a suave English confidence trickster and his younger American apprentice has already been made into not one but two films – firstly 1n 1964 (entitled Bedtime Story) with David Niven and Marlon Brando, and then in 1988 with Michael Caine and Steve Martin. The setting is the French Riviera in its heyday, a millionaires’ playground which provides rich pickings for the devious pair. As soon as the curtain rises, it is clear that we are in for a real treat for the eye and rarely can a show and the venue in which it is playing have been so well matched; the opulent art deco sets always look as if they are an extension of the Savoy theatre and the luxury hotel above it. Robert Lindsay is perfect as the vain, over-confident trickster, but he is an actor who can play this sort of comedy sleepwalking. The big revelation is Rufus Hound who, as the American, matches Lindsay step for step and they make a memorable comic duo. Katherine Kingsley and Samantha Bond as their glamorous victims and John Marquez as a corrupt police officer are also excellent. Directed and choreographed by Jerry Mitchell, the production is slick and lively, rarely flagging. Jeffrey Lane’s book and David Yazbek’s lyrics are witty and inventive, producing several hilarious comedy sequences developed from the two films. The one sour note is Yazbek’s score which offers varied and catchy rhythms but, melodically, never rises above the ordinary. As a result, this show can be described as arguably the funniest comedy to hit town since One Man Two Guvnors, but a top drawer musical? Not quite.

Performance date: 19 March 2014

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

Almost 30 minutes pass before the first word is spoken in Anthony Shaffer’s play, which is part thriller, part black comedy. It is almost as if the main part of Norman Bartholemew had been written with Jaques Tati in mind to play it. Exactly what transpires cannot be told, but the opening is an acting (or rather miming) and directorial tour de force, made all the more effective by the close proximity of the audience to the action in this small space. Shaffer’s biggest hit, Sleuth, first appeared in 1970, this play coming five years later and, in between, he collaborated on a film with Alfred Hitchcock. Clear touches of Hitchcock’s macabre sense of humour are evident throughout Murderer, but particularly during the opening scene, with every gruesome deed being enacted with meticulous attention to detail. Hitchcock also shared Shaffer’s love for playing around with dramatic conventions, so the idea of a play in which over a quarter is silent would surely have gained the approval of the Master of Suspense. Sadly, after the first word has been spoken, it is mostly downhill. Norman is an artist who has a fascination for murderers and their techniques. As he also has a loveless marriage and a mistress, little more needs to be said of a plot in which the twists and turns are as see-through as the bathroom wall in Philip Lindley’s nicely detailed 1970s set. Like all plot- driven dramas, when the plot stalls, the play stalls and, on the many occasions when this happens, Shaffer bides time with a great deal of pretentious and not very gripping dialogue. Playing Norman as a vain, capricious and childlike anti-hero, Bradley Clarkson carries most of the evening. He looks none too comfortable in a polo neck sweater and tight fitting flares, but he is great fun to watch as he revives a style of flamboyant acting rarely seen in the last 40 years. Abby Forknall and Zoe Teverson as Norman’s two women are both effective, whilst Andrew Ashford is highly amusing as the obligatory slow-witted uniformed police sergeant, a man who can down two pints of Newcastle Brown Ale in a couple of swigs, but is incapable of spotting what could be a corpse. As he lies in nearby Highgate Cemetery, perhaps Anthony Shaffer will give a smile of satisfaction at Tim Frost’s production which extracts as much entertainment as possible out of his now very dated play. He was a dramatist who excelled in confounding audience expectations and it is fitting that, when most murder thrillers are noted for their final denouements, he has left us with one that is chiefly memorable for its opening.

Performance date: 18 March 2014