subsidised theatre

The Wasp, Trafalgar Studios

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Hampstead Theatre does it again with another powerful, thought-provoking transfer after last month’s Four Minutes Twelve Seconds. Heather and Carla went to secondary school together about 20 years ago, live in the same town, but have little else in common. Heather comes from a stable, middle class family, is now married and lives quite comfortably. Carla is working poor, pregnant with her fifth child, and has a drunkard for a husband. Both had a terrible time in high school: Carla came from an abusive home, and Heather became one of a Carla’s targets after a brief friendship in year 7. They haven’t seen each other since school, but out of the blue, Heather asks Carla for coffee and makes her a surprising offer in Morgan Lloyd Malcolm’s both horrifying and enthralling The Wasp.

Myanna Buring as Carla and Laura Donnelly as Heather are an electric pair, as they should be in this relentless two-hander with sudden plot twists that keep the audience guessing. Their characters’ contrast naturally creates tension anyway, and the story generates even more. Most of the play is a hotbed of tension. The layers of lies and manipulation and abrupt reveals are surprising; there are audible gasps from the audience at certain key moments. The script has a fairly formulaic structure, but it’s the content that surprises. Albee’s Zoo Story, Miller’s The Crucible and most of LaBute’s work appear to influence. The characters’ behaviour is shocking, but the realisation that this could be anyone we know, or ourselves, uncomfortably resonates within.

Though there are a lot of big social and psychological issues presented: revenge, infidelity, class difference, abuse, rape and infertility. It doesn’t feel excessive to conflate them, but aids in creating complex characters that feel like genuine people backed up by Buring and Donnelly’s performances. This toxic cocktail of topics emphasises just how easy it is to cause lasting emotional damage in someone unintentionally, be it a family member, friend, partner or acquaintance. Kids especially: we all had tough times at school and treated each other badly but children are so self-absorbed (the ability to empathise is the last part of the human brain to develop) that they don’t often realize the consequences of their actions. And this is why each and every one of us is the hot mess we are, because of how we were treated by others when we were younger. It doesn’t take much more on top of all the baggage we already carry to send us over the edge, and that message resounds loud and clear through the women’s past and present actions that slowly unravel in the intimate Trafalgar 2.

David Woodhead’s set similarly beds in the horror of the characters’ actions. Benign, commonplace objects become aids for capture in his construction that emulates life. There’s an overly lengthy set change, but the transformation from outside a dingy café to Heather’s sitting room is as big a difference as the two women are to each other. The detail and naturalistic design make the story feel all the more like real life, an effective and powerful choice when simplicity and abstraction are the more common styles.

The Wasp presents the capacity for evil within each of us whilst challenging social stereotypes and making powerful comment on how we treat our fellow human beings. Outstandingly committed performances endowed with energy and high emotion and Lloyd Malcolm’s script create a disturbing landscape, disguised in the routine of day to day life, that can be revealed in a moment.

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Beauty & the Beast, Polka Theatre

Beauty and the Beast - Polka Theatre - 20 November 2015 Writer - Charles Way Director - Roman Stefanski Designer - Laura McEwen Music - Julian Butler

Cold, dark days make me want to see feel-good theatre, especially in the run up to the holidays. Bonus points if it’s colourful, has some depth and at least some non-formulaic elements, even in a classic story. Polka Theatre’s Beauty & the Beast for ages 6-12 meets these criteria with a surprisingly complex storyline that keeps adult attention as well as kids’. Despite the target age range, there is some great humour and a touch of innuendo adults will appreciate (kids definitely won’t get it), sumptuous set and lighting and an adapted, relevant script. Some of the performances are wooden from the dated language and there are some dodgy movement-based transitions, but the school group audience was quiet and focused for most of the nearly two hours with interval.

Charles Way’s adaptation of the traditional story gives a much wider context than the Disney film and is more relatable to a modern, young audience. Belle is still the main character, but we get to know her father, Mr Godwin (Simon Holmes) and sister Cassandra (Géhane Strehler) well. Belle and Cassandra are complete opposites: Belle’s bookish, a visionary and frightened by most things; Cassandra loves boys, pretty dresses and adventures. The two bicker regularly and their money-driven merchant father is tired of it, a family dynamic that many children will recognize. Beginning in London and moving to the remote countryside when Mr Godwin loses his fortune, the girls also have to cope with big life changes and overcome adversity.

The women’s performances are consistently stronger than the men’s. Ritu Arya’s Belle is convincingly performed with a wonderfully dry sense of humour and an excellent character arc that isn’t overly saccharine. She carries the story and its energy well without being a stereotypical children’s performer, dealing with the old fashioned language brilliantly. Géhane Strehler is great contrast, giving young girls two opposite ideals to potentially relate to. Both have flaws, virtues and detail. Emma Cater is a sinister housekeeper for Jason Eddy’s Beast, a gentle man with stylized physicality and an imposing presence. Eddy doesn’t quite manage to carry that through after his transformation, but it’s so close to the end that it doesn’t matter much.

The set is layers of swirling panels that change colour and glow according to location, with the Beast’s castle the richest of them all. Laura McEwen’s set and Ian Scott’s lighting work together in wonderful harmony, with the occasional addition of puppets. Stage combat from RC Annie also adds a visual component, but the fights are slower that fight speed and brief. Some of the transitions lag and have abstract movement to fill the time, but this doesn’t contribute to the story and usually look pretty naff. Costumes, also by McEwen indicate the characters’ circumstances and changes in social class, but the highlight is the headdress and mask for the Beast.

Though there are still age and gender stereotypes, the adapted script empowers the young female characters. The detail and length will occupy adults as well as children and Way’s story is excellently constructed. With wonderfully visual design and a stirring score by Julian Butler, this is a lovely production harking back to the classical story without the glitz of Disney-fication or the panto cheese, and a solid option for a family holiday show.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PayPal.

Measure for Measure, Young Vic

https://i0.wp.com/www.officiallondontheatre.co.uk/servlet/file/store5/item336663/version1/fileservice770/336663_770_preview.jpgThere’s a mountain of inflatable sex dolls on the stage. Shiny, blank faces with gaping, toothless mouths, spherical tits and gargantuan cocks everywhere. The pile is so big that the actors have to wade through the dolls, a metaphor for the seedy Viennese streets where Shakespeare sets his Measure for Measure. Director Joe Hill-Gibbins wrenches this world into the present with a symbolism-laden, visually orgasmic production designed by Miriam Buether, and a great performance by Romola Garai as Isabella. Live video feeds, projection and pulsing beats marry a space that has ghosts of Elizabethan theatre structures, but some choices don’t sit well. Though the visuals are relevant and bold, there’s a disappointing tendency towards shouting, and a dubious (to the point of discomfort) characterization choice for infamous pimp Pompey. As the characters physically and emotionally wrestle through the heavily edited, relentless two hours of sex and religion, there is still a strong feeling that this production values style over substance.

Most modernized Shakespeare I see tacks on a more contemporary setting through costuming whilst changing little else. These sorts of adaptations tend to not generate any new insight on the play, its story or characters. This production manages to escape that trap through fully integrated design that cleverly functions on both a practical and representational level. The sex dolls, the most jarring of the updates, are in turn Angelo’s repressed sexuality, the sinners that Isabella (a novice nun) rejects, prisoners, and the duke’s citizens. The live feed is the media and public perception (as it was in the Old Vic’s 2005 Richard II), the duke’s altered perspective of events, and creates clear boundaries between locations. It’s also very Big Brother, and the audience is the all-seeing, both on and off camera. These design elements are grotesquely amplified, with every pore visible as faces are broadcast and projected at a massive size, and the dolls, well, they’re everywhere and thrown around like a cheap commodity to be used and discarded.

The dolls eventually move to a back room, akin to an Elizabethan inner stage, that’s often sealed off by sterile sliding panels, but we are regularly reminded of their presence both on and off camera. The live feed doesn’t let the audience forget about the bad behaviour happening in the concealed prison where Angelo’s offenders await execution. Some of the characters linger on stage even when not in a scene, giving time and space a fluidity but one that is understood to be separate from the action in any given moment. This rejection of set also harks back to Elizabethan performance convention. Projections of medieval art gorgeously juxtapose whirling, close-up photographs of the dolls and projections from the live feed, two worlds colliding in Hill-Gibbins and Buether’s updated Vienna. This contrast pointedly comments on the hypocrisy of modern religious fundamentalism; pro-lifers who are so pro-life that they kill abortion providers immediately spring to mind, though there is a plethora of other examples.

Though Garai’s performance has the power and confidence that Isabella often lacks in more demure interpretations, others in the cast let it down. Zubin Varlo as Duke Vincentio is quick to shout; this soon becomes excessive and a loss of power. Though a great performance from Tom Edden as Pompey the pimp, it’s disturbing that he has been characterized as a stereotypical Jewish New Yorker obsessed with money. However, Ivanno Jeremiah is an excellent Claudio with a quietness that is great contrast to the fiery Isabella. The colour-blind casting proudly shows off the UK’s diverse talent, with a female Sarah Malin as Escalus, PA to the duke and his deputy. Paul Ready as Angelo, the floundering, conservative who covers Vincentio during has absence and tries to bed Isabella in exchange for her brother’s life is definitely despicable but also incredibly conflicted. It’s easy to almost feel pity for him at times.

There is no doubt that this production looks fantastic, particularly in the opening and closing sequences. It updates well and has contemporary relevance on several levels, but there’s little unity across the design elements. This reminds me of Baz Luhrmann’s 1990’s Romeo & Juliet – all angry and dystopian and fast. It’s non-specific to a time and place, just broadly Western contemporary. It’s diverse in race, gender and accent and could easily be London, Paris, New York, or any other sleazy, urban environment. This gives it universality, but also shows laziness. I wonder if the design was initially chosen because it looks lush rather than makes a specific comment. Despite my interpretation of the underlying meaning of the design, I can’t help but to consider that my mind is constructing meaning that isn’t actually there. This was a relentless unease that lingered for the duration of the performance, though it didn’t spoil the experience.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PayPal.

The Notebook, Battersea Arts Centre

https://i0.wp.com/www.forcedentertainment.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/The-Notebook-Forced-Entertainment-Rehearsal-Image-April-2014-photo-Tim-Etchells-DSC04935.jpgNearly everyday we see news of refugees fleeing war torn lands in search of safety abroad. No matter how the press spins objective facts to suit their own agenda and their readers’ opinions, the perspective of these events unfailingly separates “them” from “us”. These people running for their lives are The Other that we must either keep out or allow in. It’s all very black and white, heavily doused with an air of superiority; we either look down on them as vermin that need controlling or as victims that need handling with kid gloves. We never really hear from these refugees, though. It’s all, “me, me, me” and a flamboyant display of either virtue or condemnation.

The Notebook, with a stark simplicity that forces the audience to sit and listen for two unrelenting hours, slowly unpacks the horrors of war that drives people to flee from a first person perspective. It makes us take the focus off ourselves for once and genuinely listen to the stories of those in need. Told by nameless twin boys moved to their grandmother’s home in the Hungarian countryside, they come of age during World War II, the subsequent Russian occupation and descent of the Iron Curtain. Adapted from Agota Kristóf’s novel of the same name, Forced Entertainment strips the story down to a text that’s read from thick notebooks by two identically dressed actors (Robin Arthur and Richard Lowdon) who represent the boys. This is storytelling in its most raw, boiled down form, with language being almost the sole vehicle of communication.

The set is two wooden chairs and the lighting rarely changes. There isn’t much to look at, which makes this show a tough one for those used to constant visual stimulation in both real and theatrical worlds. There were times I internally railed against the form, like a kid with ADD in a lesson that lasts more than three seconds. One woman walked out part way through. Others fidgeted and checked their watches. We just aren’t used to sitting down and just listening for a couple of hours anymore. The story is unquestionably riveting, though. Through use of precisely timed delivery, often in unison, childhood innocence breaks down and is eventually destroyed, despite their mother’s attempts to protect it. Their grandmother’s house is hardly a haven, and they must resort to deplorable behaviour to eek out a sub-par existence even though the bombs are a distant threat. It’s understandable though, considering the abuse they endure from their grandmother, the general public and those in positions of trust. The people in this story are rarely kind; even though it’s unsaid it’s given that it’s not their fault. The human spirit can endure only so much.

The language doesn’t hold anything back. It is often explicitly graphic with appalling acts emphasised by unemotional delivery. The audience inevitably uses their imagination to make up for the lack of visuals; these images are far worse than anything that could be presented on stage. Though the performance could use shortening, it’s soaked with detail and condenses years into hours. Shaving off half an hour would still maintain impact, but it’s not Forced Entertainment’s job to make us comfortable. Director Tim Etchells wants us to think, empathise and listen, really listen, even if the process isn’t easy. The Notebook is a hard production to watch, but the message of acceptance and universal humanity is a vital one.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PayPal.

Joanne, Soho Theatre

Joanne2We never meet Joanne. We do however, meet four women who encounter her at different points over a crucial 24-hour period of her life, and one that remembers her as a child. We learn that she cuts a tall, striking figure, makes immediate impact on those she meets and she doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere the world. Joanne is homeless and has just been released from prison. Production company Clean Break, founded by 2 female prisoners in 1979 and still producing, recognizes the importance of sharing stories from vulnerable women prone to falling through society’s cracks. Joanne, written by five female playwrights, has some wonderful writing and is skillfully performed in an intimate space but the brevity of the monologues and talking around Joanne distances rather than fully engages.

Tanya Moodie first plays a key worker, then easily slips into a police officer, an NHS receptionist, a hostel cleaner and a teacher. All were moved by Joanne’s plight and wanted to help her, innately sensing her need for support. These women related to something within Joanne, humanizing her and the thousands of other female prisoners like her. Moodie captures the genuine care these women feel, as well as their conflict – police officer Grace isn’t supposed to get attached to her cases, but alludes to her own struggle with finding a place in the world for her and her daughter. I am particularly touched by Kathleen, on the front line of an NHS hospital for 28 years. She makes some pointed critiques of government legislation’s effects on her workplace and its effects on those most needing care. These stories are much more engrossing than Joanne’s because they’re in front of us, as Joanne herself is a shadowy puzzle that we slowly and satisfyingly piece together.

Through written by five different writers, the monologues seamlessly connect but remain stylistically distinct. Told in the past tense through the sharing of memories, they are fine examples of storytelling that Moodie makes active and varied rather than nostalgic. She owns the distinct characterization of these women, skillfully masking Róisín McBrinn’s direction. Colour changing light-up columns and panels add visual variation, but don’t contribute towards meaning or location. Their presence is unimposing, but unnecessary. The otherwise minimal, black set draws all attention onto Moodie, as it should in this production. Audience focus is on Joanne’s attempted helpers and their capacity to empathise; they are more solid and demanding of immediate attention than the silhouetted subject of their stories who leaves nothing but a memory.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PayPal.

Pomona, National Theatre

There’s an abandoned island in the middle of Manchester. One gated and guarded road goes in and out. Zeppo owns it, like much of the land in Manchester, but he doesn’t like to get involved in the goings on at his properties. Too risky. After Ollie’s twin sister disappears, Zeppo tells her to try looking for her on his abandoned island, Pomona. So she does.

A frenetically spiraling video game of a play, Pomona reminds us “it’s impossible to be a good person now” in our modern world where knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss. Particularly when it comes to knowing what our fast food is actually made of. And what some people do for money. And that basically, life is really fucking awful and people treat other people appallingly. The characters that inhabit this dystopian world are brutally flawed and painfully alone in their horrible existences. But it’s a hold-your-breath-and-hang-on-for-your-dear-life, wonderful piece of theatre that captures the nature of existence for the Millennial generation.

Originally at the Orange Tree last year and now at The National, 27-year-old playwright Alistair McDowall’s play captures the Millennial generation’s pace of life, attention span, inability to have meaningful interactions with others and hopeless despair as they try to build a life of happiness in a crumbling world. A circular framework and an escapist D&D game quest provide some structure to the plot whilst drawing attention to the futility of the lives of both the misfit characters and an entire generation. The story manages to evade predictability, again mirroring the lives of young and youngish people trying to carve out a career, homeownership and a family from never-ending debt and exponentially increasing costs of living.

All of the characters are likeable in a painfully human sort of way, even if some are rather despicable. Though the play’s set in Manchester, it has a universality that could be anywhere. The minimalist set allows the audience to focus on the language and the story, and the actors to move around at high speed. Short scenes, loud noises and abruptly lit transitions evoke a video game, or comic book film. The ending reveal reminds us that its impossible to ever really know someone, and a person’s life is a many-sided dice of personalities and roles.

As a conventional, “audience sits down and watches actors” piece of theatre it works brilliantly, but there is potential to expand beyond the form. With a game within a play and numerous small choices that dictate the characters’ outcomes, I can’t help but feel there’s scope to develop an alternative, interactive version where the audience is able to follow their own paths within the story’s framework, like a video game/choose your own adventure book. McDowall’s language is highly visual as Ollie (Nadia Clifford) uncovers more and more information in her sister’s story, this could be seen as well as heard.

Pomona encapsulates a generation’s experience but is also a stunningly crafted piece of theatre that skillfully uses language and dynamic characters to tell a fascinating, albeit unpleasant story. As a piece of theatre and a social commentary, it is simply a must-see.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.

Song from Far Away, Young Vic Theatre

Willem is 34. He moved from Amsterdam to New York City 12 years ago. After an inconveniently timed phone call from his mother on a cold New York morning, he goes home for his younger brother Pauli’s funeral. He is greeted by his father’s disappointment, his sister’s lectures and the disorientation of not knowing where “home” is anymore. Much has changed, yet so much has remained the same.

I’m 33 years old. Eleven years ago, I moved to the UK from New York City. I use the term “home” fluidly because I don’t know where that place is anymore. So far I haven’t had to suddenly return for a family funeral, but that time will come. I know too well that disarming, unnamed feeling of simultaneous comfort and sadness from remembered places and people, those that have stayed the same and those have changed or disappeared altogether. There are many things that I miss, but much that reinforces my choice not just to leave, but to stay away.

I should have been in tears by the end of Song from Far Away, especially as I saw the 11 September performance, a day indelibly impressed on my memory with an anniversary no easier to bear with each passing year. Willem unexpectedly lost his little brother to an undiagnosed heart condition; I fortunately lost no one in 9/11. I was moved at times, by Simon Stephens’ delicate language, Mark Eizel’s folksy travelling tunes, and Eelco Smits’ honest portrayal of Willem’s understated struggles. Frustratingly, I never received the cathartic cry I sought from this production though, and I should have, considering how keenly I relate to Willem.

The performance and design elements are subtly beautiful, but the production is skeletal. The changing light and shadows of time passing have more connection to the present than the character does, who is more at home in transit than in the arrival at a place. The production seems to want to be minimalist in the extreme in order to draw attention to Willem’s displacement in the world, but in doing so creates an ethereal anti-theatre that doesn’t manage to come close to the audience’s heartstrings. Willem’s extended monologue in the form of letters to Pauli opens his heart to us as he (literally) bares all, but his world is so insular that we are excluded. We can witness, but not engage.

Stephens’ script sounds like it would read better on the page than performed as a theatre piece, at least with Ivo van Hove’s chosen directorial concept. The language is undeniably beautiful and human, and creates a wonderful character, but the production concept distances and isolates him from us, reinforced in the final moments of the play. A Song from Far Away is just that – too distant to hear the details of a faintly mourning cry on cold winter’s day in New York City. We want to comfort the singer, but he is moving further out of our grasp the longer we listen.

The Play’s The Thing UK is an independent theatre criticism website maintained voluntarily. Whilst donations are never expected, they are hugely appreciated and will enable more time to be spent reviewing theatre productions of all sizes. Click here to make a donation with PalPal.