Category Archives: 6/10

Every Good Boy Deserves Favour – February 2009

6/10

By Tom Stoppard and Andre Previn

Directed by Felix Barrett and Tom Morris

Venue: Olivier Theatre

Date: Friday 13th February 2009

Actually, much of this short play with orchestra merited an 8/10 rating, but then there was the overlong dance interlude, and being dance illiterate I found it dull and pointless. Otherwise, this was an interesting and entertaining look at the Soviet Union’s treatment of dissidents in the 1970s (and even now according to the program notes) through the experience of one man, who had spoken out against the state hospitalizing sane people. This is coupled with another man’s experience of an imaginary orchestra (in which he plays the triangle). Neither man can be released until he denies that which he knows to be true. The dissident is prepared to die for his truth, going on hunger strike and refusing to surrender even when his son pleads for him to say what they want to hear. The triangle player is also quite willing to state that he hears no orchestra, provided the doctor can get them to stop playing! The impasse is resolved by the gaudily uniformed KGB Colonel, sorry, doctor, marching into their cell, sorry, ward, and asking some simple straightforward questions. He asks Alexander Ivanov if he thinks a Soviet doctor would ever commit a sane man to a lunatic asylum, to which the triangle player responds ‘no’. The Colonel/doctor then asks Alexander Ivanov if he hears an orchestra, to which the dissident replies ‘no’. The Colonel/doctor decrees that both men are fit to be released. So, when the Colonel/doctor put two men with identical names in the same room, was he being extremely stupid, or was this a shrewd manoeuvre to get two ‘patients’ off his books? As Steve said, it looked like the first, but was actually the second.

The layout for this performance (I can’t really call it a set) was probably less complicated than it looked. On the revolve sat the orchestra, violins to the left at the start as usual. They wrapped around the conductor’s podium, which was in the centre of the revolve, but there was room at the front for two hospital beds, one occupied by the triangle player (Toby Jones). A light coloured wooden path led from the back wall, in a zigzag pattern, to the side of the beds, and along this path comes the dissident (Joseph Millson). There’s a school desk off to the right, forward of the revolve, and as the revolve turns during the performance, we see another desk, the doctor’s, snuggled in amongst the musicians. There are numerous banks of lights high up around the back wall, and a couple of double bass players are off to the right, also outside the revolve.

The orchestra, after the usual tuning up rituals, began to play silently as Toby rose from his bed, took out his triangle and little metal stick (what do they call those things, anyway?) and listened to the music, waiting for his cue. Gradually, the sound came in, and it was lovely music; in a modern style, with some slight dissonance giving it a bit of an edge but without scaring the horses. The triangle player had to stop them at one point, and told them to restart from the tympani bit, which they did. He strikes the final note on his triangle, and turns around to find a new person is in the room. The dissident has been quiet all this while, trying to figure out which of the two rumpled beds is meant to be his, and eventually plumping for the one Toby’s just left. Triangle player is keen to know what instrument the dissident plays, and isn’t put off by his total lack of experience with any musical instrument. He interrogates him avidly, in between complaining about the standard of the orchestra, and it’s a very funny scene, with lots of clever word play.

From here we get a mixture of music and dialogue, with the dissident explaining in a couple of speeches how he got arrested, and what he’s experienced in prison and hospital, which is what the authorities want to stop him talking about. We also see his son having difficulties in school because he doesn’t conform – his teacher tells him off because he played more notes on his triangle than were in the score – and find out that the doctor is also a part-time violinist in his own orchestra, which all adds to the fun. Then there’s the dance bit, with what looks like various members of the orchestra standing up and dancing a version of kicking the crap out of each other. It may have been good dancing, but it didn’t tell me anything about either Ivanov’s story, or the orchestra experience, so I can only assume it was inserted as some sort of special offer – you get the band, the dancers come for free.

There wasn’t much more after the dance, just the Colonel’s magnificent cure technique and the son finding his father, and then we were done. The orchestra had been leaving their seats gradually during this last bit, so I assume the music was pre-recorded, as I don’t see how they could have kept it going so strongly otherwise, but I’d be happy to learn differently.

And so we return home, reasonably happy with our evening, and hoping the signal failure at Haywards Heath won’t make us too late back. [12:30 a.m.!!! @*&%$£@!!!]

© 2009 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Tons Of Money – February 2009

6/10

Adapted by Alan Ayckbourn from a comedy by Will Evans and Valentine

Directed by Joe Harmston

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Thursday 12th February 2009

Set: standard 20s/30s style living room of the well-to-do. Double doors on the left, fireplace to the right, French windows centre back, with a bit of garden terrace. Sofa centre left, and other chairs and tables round the place or brought on as required.

The set may have been well-to-do, but the couple living in the house certainly weren’t. Aubrey and Louise lived on credit, and had run up so many debts that the husband was due to be declared bankrupt in a week. Into this situation comes a solicitor with news of Aubrey’s brother’s death, and the information that said brother had left him a life interest in his estate, while the capital reverts to a cousin, George Maitland, on Aubrey’s death. It doesn’t take long for the impecunious couple to realise that the life interest, although amounting to several thousands of pounds a year, would soon be gobbled up by the many creditors they’d accrued. Cue a remark or two about the criminality of lending people money and encouraging them to get into debt – I would have thought more people would have laughed. Anyway, the wife is soon hatching a plot for Aubrey to die, then reappear as cousin George, who is believed to have died many years ago in Mexico, though proof has never been forthcoming. All you need to know now is that the butler, Sprules, has overheard part of this plot and snaffles a copy of the will, and that an old school chum of Louise’s, Jean, is due for a visit, at which point she confides that she was also married, briefly, to a man who died out in South America somewhere, and the next two acts pretty much write themselves.

First off, Aubrey reappears disguised as cousin George. Sprules believes this to be his brother Henery, whom he has inveigled to play the part of the missing cousin so they can get the money, and a lot of the humour in these later acts was down to Sprules and his intended, the maid, attempting to communicate with “Henery” using the agreed signals – stroking the elbow, tugging the ear, tapping the nose, and, if all else fails, dropping something, like a tray. There was a lovely scene where Sprules, hidden behind one of the double doors, throws a series of larger and larger trays through the other door in a desperate attempt to alert his brother to danger. Later, when he believes Henery is dead, he’s so caught up in his grief that he completely ignores the real Henery’s signals. It was great fun, and Sprules was beautifully played by Christopher Timothy.

However, neither Henery nor anyone else is dead yet. Once Louise discovers that Jean is married to cousin George, and that Aubrey seems all too ready to get cracking on the honeymoon, she has to think of some other solution to the problem. The solicitor (I assume he’s charging for all these trips from London) informs her that she’s the residuary legatee in the original will – gets all the dosh if George dies first – so she tells Aubrey to go off to the river and drown, as George, then come back later as someone completely different, and then he can marry her, the rich widow.

You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to get a stretch of river all to yourself for a quick spot of drowning, but they manage it in the end. Naturally, Sprules is devastated at losing his brother, and the plot is further thickened when another George Maitland turns up, this time Henery in disguise. He’s also very pleased to find he’s got an attractive wife along with the money, and doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation. While he’s chasing Jean round the garden, another George Maitland arrives, this time the real one. With Aubrey reappearing, disguised as a monk, Brother Brown, the final act tests Louise’s wits to the limit. She finally decides that Aubrey will have to come back to life (he was so dazed by the explosion that supposedly carried him off the first time, that he’s been wandering round the area for weeks not knowing who or where he was), only for the much-travelled solicitor to inform them all that the estate, now realised, comes to the grand sum of one pound, a few shillings and some pence.  Still, at least Aubrey and Louise, and George and Jean have all been happily reunited, as have Sprules and Henery.

We’d seen this before at the National, over twenty years ago, and neither of us could remember it at all. This version left me with two impressions – that the humour was mainly in the performance, and that even with Alan  Ayckbourn’s updates for the National production, the piece was still pretty dated. The cast did good work, and we did enjoy ourselves, but either this production didn’t do the piece justice, or it had reached the historical curiosity stage. It’s surprising, given the current financial situation, that the play didn’t come across better, but that’s theatre for you.

© 2009 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

King Lear – February 2009

6/10

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Rupert Goold

Venue: Young Vic Theatre

Date: Wednesday 11th February 2009

The set was interesting, and needs to be described in detail. We were sitting just to right of centre, in the second row. The seats this time were in a wide horseshoe, with the entrance off to our left. At the back of the stage was a set of concrete steps, some chipped and worn, with grasses and flowers sprouting from them; the effect was something like a disused railway station. There was a doorway back left, and about halfway down on that side there was a platform area, big enough to contain a trapdoor. On the right, there was a broken-off tunnel entrance towards the back, and another entrance nearer ground level. A small door on that side gave access under the stairs. Centre front, and very close to the front row (which is why we sat in the second row), was a water trough, partly filled with water. A curved tap arched over the left hand side of the trough, while the right hand side had a wooden cover, allowing it to be used as a seat. The trough was also used for the stocks. In the opening scene, there was a throne sitting in the middle of the steps, and two plush chairs front left and right. Other furniture was brought on as required, though as most entrances involved steps, it must have involved a lot of planning.

I enjoyed some parts of this production, but not all, and some of the choices left me completely detached. To begin with, there was a mix of accents, mostly northern but with a couple of Irish as well. I found the actors’ delivery was sometimes weak, and this wasn’t always helped by the accents. The performances were mostly very good, and the relationships between the characters were clear and generally believable. I didn’t take to Edmund; with his Irish accent and lack of clarity he didn’t come across so well for me. The smaller parts were fine, but didn’t have much to do, and although I found Cordelia lacking in personality in the early stages, I was aware for the first time towards the end that she’s reluctant to speak to Lear because she doesn’t know how he’ll feel about her.

For the other characters: the fool (Forbes Masson) was excellent, very bitter and clearly getting through to Lear with his comments. He’s also got a lovely singing voice, which was put to good use several times. Goneril was very good. She came across as an older daughter who’s seen her father behaving badly for many years, and has learned to stay quiet and out of the way till his fit is over or he’s left the room, and that’s what she does. She was very still during the love competition, while the others were doing their stuff, and she mostly looked away, at the ground or occasionally at her husband. She’s about seven months pregnant(?), which gives greater emphasis to Lear’s curses later on.

Regan is clearly the middle daughter, jealous because she’s missing out on his affection, and determined to put on a show of being loving, presumably to try and win Lear’s attention if not his love. She starts up a chorus of “for he’s a jolly good fellow” for Lear’s first entrance. Kent was OK, but didn’t come across strongly. He was wearing a dog collar (religious rather than canine), and neither of us could figure out why. I noticed in the scene with Gloucester, he didn’t have his disguising specs on, and when Gloucester refers to “poor banished Kent”, he realises this, slips them out of his pocket and puts them on discretely.

Gloucester himself was more bluff in manner than I’ve seen before, and the emotional changes didn’t come across as clearly as I’m used to – production rather than acting I suspect. On the whole, I got the impression that Rupert Goold didn’t want to be bothered with all that depressing emotional stuff that usually goes on in Lear, but he did want to have some splendid visual stuff instead, preferably gory and with a high yeugh factor. So for the blinding scene – and this is a first, me actually watching any part of this bit – the second eye was removed by Regan herself. Cornwall held Gloucester down while she pressed on the second eyeball with her manicured fingers, finally leaning forward and sucking the eyeball out with ferocity and for quite a long time. She then stood up and slowly, very slowly, moved towards the water trough at the front, mouth unmoving. At last she squirted the fake eyeball out of her mouth and collapsed over the trough, retching away. Pretty yeugh, for me and quite a lot of the audience. And there was more to come, though nothing can be quite as bad as that scene.

When Edgar comes forward promptly (for once) at the third blast of the trumpet (didn’t sound much like a trumpet to me, and the answering blasts on the siren seemed a bit unnecessary), he emerges from below the rear step with a Union Jack wrapped round his face as a mask, carrying a pole with a small yellow flag on it, and with two wooden swords tied to his waist with a twine belt. Edmund and Edgar then start their fight with these swords, but it’s a silly business, swatting each other’s swords like children, and it’s only when they discard the swords that the real fight begins. They grapple pretty viciously, and finally Edgar gets Edmund on his back on the ground. That’s when the swords come back into play. Or at least one of them. Edgar pushes the point of it into Edmund’s mouth to kill him. It’s unpleasant, it’s messy, and it doesn’t strike me as being an effective way of fatally wounding someone so that they’ll be around just long enough for the reconciliation, the (belated) warning about Lear and Cordelia, and some final words about the two dead daughters. But that’s just me. Anyway, they’d lost me on Edgar’s bizarre entrance, and didn’t manage to get me back again before the end.

Neither of us could figure out the reasoning behind that choice of wooden swords during the trip back to the hotel, though in the morning I realised that it might have been due to the use of modern weaponry in this production. How do you square the sudden use of swords when they’ve been brandishing various types of firearm all evening? Personally I don’t have a problem with that idea – people could still fight a duel with swords if they wanted to – but it’s the only idea I could come up with for that choice.

We had watched the Newsnight Review section on this production, and so we were slightly surprised tonight that certain things were different, particularly the loss of the three glass cases which had been used to demonstrate splitting the kingdom. Whether it was for practical or artistic reasons, these were replaced with three pieces of paper, or envelopes. That worked just as well, for me, and prevented the stage being cluttered up with unwieldy props.

There were a number of other interesting or unusual stagings. When Lear is out in the storm, and Gloucester rescues him, he takes them to a potting shed, where instead of a joint stool, we have two pot plants. The actual plants are removed, so only the pots are being put on trial. The bench in this shed is the one used when Gloucester is being blinded. (No need to go into that again.) Earlier, when Edmund is seducing his father to the dark side, it’s staged with Gloucester as the two lads’ trainer, sitting near the top of the steps while they do their exercises and Edgar goes for several laps of the theatre. During his time off stage, Edmund works on their father, and there are glances at Edgar as he goes by during this scene, with Edmund having to restrain the duke on Edgar’s final pass. Edgar is then conveniently present for Edmund to work on alone. This certainly has the advantages of showing us that Edmund is a risk-taker, and letting novices know who Edgar is, but I found it contrived, and as the idea wasn’t used again, it didn’t deepen my understanding of the characters nor the production.

The fool didn’t die in the storm or afterwards; this time he apparently gets to Dover. He’s with Lear in the awakening scene, dressed in a doctor’s white coat, but with his fool’s outfit underneath, his hat (coxcomb) in his hand, and still wearing his makeup. Well, they do say that laughter’s the best medicine. So when Lear is mourning, amongst other things, that his “poor fool is dead”, it’s likely he also has been hanged for being on the losing side.

The storm scene was an unusual combination of music, movement, water and dialogue. Lear used a microphone – there was another one during the “who loves me best” scene – and he is carried on by the cast, initially held aloft and then lowered to the ground. There’s a fine mist of water coming down over the steps where all this takes place, the music is very loud, and what with the cast doing some slow and impenetrable mime or dance during all this, I completely lost the lines and any sense of what was going on, intellectually or emotionally. It may have looked good, temporarily, but so much was lost that I would have to rate this as the worst staging of the storm scene that I’ve experienced. The water, by the way, ran onto the floor space, but didn’t get anyone else wet. And Goneril went into labour at this point, clutching her belly and having to be helped off (I think). When she turns up back home to discover the news about Cornwall being dead and the war about to start, she’s pushing a pram, so the birth was successful, and the baby is soon picked up by Albany – he’s more maternal than Goneril, especially in this production.

At the end of the second section – we had an interval and a pause tonight – Cordelia appears at the back with a soldier, and they do a slow-motion thing, backlit, to show that she’s arrived. OK, but didn’t do a lot for me. The early scenes with Lear’s unruly knights were a bit lacking in the knight department, and in general there was more of the domestic about this production than others I’ve seen. Regan is poisoned by a strawberry French fancy, the only one on the plate (the others are chocolate).

So to the main event, as it were, the central performance itself. Pete Postlethwaite is a tremendous actor, and his performance didn’t disappoint. I felt the production hampered it occasionally, but it still shone through, filled with an intelligent understanding of the human experience and the talent to show us lots of small details in what is a huge performance. The production choices meant that this was more of a working-class Lear, a family man who doesn’t understand what family’s about, and who shows remarkably little interest in his future grandchild, though perhaps grandparenthood only kicks in for some people when the baby’s actually born. His erratic behaviour is corroborated by his daughters’ different responses to him. Certainly, they have different personalities, but their attitudes have been shaped by long years with a temperamental man, who can shower affection one minut, and be a block of ice the next. The set implies that Lear hasn’t been a very good king – everything seems to be going to rack and ruin, and Lear’s comment about not having cared enough for the poor compliments this. Despite this, we have Kent and Gloucester, both of whom are loyal and also surprised when Lear banishes Cordelia. This is always a puzzle, and I felt this production didn’t even attempt to provide an answer. Which is fine, though it doesn’t add to my understanding of the play.

Lear was suitably full of himself at the start, all jolly and looking forward to the wonderful things his daughters were going to say about him, especially Cordelia. He brought on the microphone stand himself, and set it up to the left on the lower steps. Goneril was slow to get started, but did her best, Regan had to think for a bit to outdo her sister, and Cordelia, sitting on the trough, gave us all her asides by leaping into the middle of the stage. Lear’s rage at her refusal to play his game was good, and by throwing the last envelope on the floor, we could enjoy a little tussle between Cornwall and Albany about who gets it first.

Lear’s anger when returning from hunting to find all is not at it should be, came across as bluster more than real rage. He’s so used to being obeyed that he doesn’t know how to handle disrespect. Another sign of a decadent kingdom, when he hasn’t even had any opponents to deal with. As I’ve said, the fool was very bitter this time, and Lear does take his points on board, starting to realise that he’s done a foolish thing. His cursing of Goneril is perhaps more powerful with her being pregnant, but as the text doesn’t include her pregnancy, it actually lost some power for me because the obvious bump in her middle wasn’t being referred to explicitly. She holds it together well while he’s there, but she’s clearly shaken by it.

His descent into madness during the storm was obscured by the effects and music, sadly, though I did find it moving at times, and entirely believable. Later, at Dover, with Gloucester saved from himself, Lear appears in a woman’s front-buttoning dress, a floral print with a low V-neck. It’s very fetching, and sets the tone for the following conversation with Gloucester, which was more humorous in this production than I’ve seen before. It was still an emotional experience, mainly due to Edgar’s comments, but there’s always a risk that too much humour will lighten the mood so much that the darker elements don’t get a chance, and I think that happened a little bit here. Lear has been banging away at his crotch during some of his rants, and just before Gloucester asks to kiss his hand, Lear realises he’s produced some unfortunate substance from his nether regions, and gives it a wipe first.

The rest was all fine, and Lear died on the upper steps, with support from some other characters and Cordelia in his lap. The final lines were OK, though as I say I was out of the loop by that time, and they were running late, but the final touch was a nice one. I was very aware that with the birth of Goneril’s baby, there was now a proper heir to the crown, not the usual situation in this play. Albany’s request to Kent and Edgar, now Duke of Gloucester, to rule the country is therefore asking them to be regents rather than joint kings, and the final sound of the play is that of a baby crying. And why not, given the world his elders have left him?

Ultimately this was a patchy version of the play, with some good ideas and some less than helpful stagings. I’m glad I’ve seen it, and perhaps I won’t be so squeamish about the blinding scene in future – it’s unlikely I’ll ever see anything more unpleasant than this one.

© 2009 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Fairport Convention – February 2009

6/10

Venue: Pavilion Theatre, Worthing

Date: Friday 5th February 2009

Fairport were being supported on this tour by a wacky combo consisting of Ken Nicol (Albion Band, Steeleye Span and solo) and Phil Cool. Weird or what. Actually, they worked very well together; in fact they were probably better than the main act for me, and we bought their album at the end.

Their first song was the Kinks’ Sunny Afternoon. To put this in perspective, this was our first night out for quite a while, given the family circumstances and atrocious weather conditions. Admittedly, Worthing had got off pretty lightly, but it was still cold and damp, so opening with a song about lovely summer weather was definitely counter-intuitive, though good. Ken also gave us a solo instrumental, while Phil entertained us with his impersonations of famous people singing well known songs. This culminated in George W, accompanied by Donald Rumsfeld on banjo (looking suspiciously like Ken Nicol), singing a song about being an oilman. Phil also did an interesting song about Bob Dylan’s electric conversion, called Confiding In Maria. There were a few other songs, and Fairport turned up to form their backing group for their final number (apparently a tradition).

This done, Ken and Phil left the stage to the main band, and for me the enjoyment lessened. I think it just took me a while to warm up to Fairport’s style, plus the balance wasn’t ideal, as the vocals kept being drowned out. Apart from Chris Leslie, I found the singing uninteresting, and so I was quite happy they didn’t go on too long. Reynardine was good, and one or two of the others were OK, but on the whole it wasn’t my kind of music. We did get the CD from last year’s Cropredy festival, and listening to that it may well be that the acoustics were the main problem tonight, although as they had guest singers on the CD, I’ll reserve judgement till I have more evidence.

Ken and Phil returned for the final number, another tradition, and as Ken would be reporting back to Steeleye about the reception they got, we were asked to applaud as loudly as we could so as to get an encore. We were promised there was a special treat in store if we did, and to be fair, the sight of several grown men playing ukuleles, with a washboard and bass guitar rounding it off, was pretty impressive. The song was OK too, though not as special as I would have liked. The sing-along number which preceded the encore was another disappointment, as I didn’t know it, couldn’t make out the words, and very few people seemed to be joining in. Ah well, Steeleye in April, that’ll do me.

© 2009 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Romeo And Juliet – December 2008

Experience: 6/10

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Neil Bartlett

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Wednesday 3rd December 2008

We attended a director’s talk before the show which was very illuminating. He was very emphatic that this play is not about a clash of different cultures. The “two households, both alike in dignity” were very similar families, and with similar attitudes. They set out to show this quite deliberately. Casting a black actress as Juliet was accidental in that sense – he went for the best actress to get the qualities he wanted and it just so happened she was black, but he hadn’t noticed until someone asked him about it.

This Lady Capulet is very unhappy, and apparently we will see that in this production. Capulet has three opportunities to go to bed with her, and avoids all of them. That’s the reason Romeo and Juliet get on so well so quickly – both come from identical circumstances, so they’re in sync from the word go. We were told to watch when each child is with their parents – they don’t speak to their parents much, if at all. Both are only children, and both carry the full weight of family and society’s expectations.

Shakespeare tells us twice that Juliet is thirteen (which may have been Susannah’s age) – why does he do this? Neil reckons she’s at an age where her parents need to do something about her before she grows old enough to make up her own mind.

He was asked about the choice of setting, and he thinks the play needs to be set in Italy. It’s a country ruled by religion, with a very conservative society. The time is the 1940s, but not a specific year. All the women are very sexy, helped by the costumes, which appear demure but are actually very sexy.

In the original story, the priest is forgiven, while the nurse is hung (‘twas ever thus, he murmured). However, he pointed out that this priest is not very upright; he does a lot of lying, as do the others of course. He wanted to get across a society in which violence was a “normal” part of society, where young men hung around on street corners looking for a fight. In our culture, carrying a knife is weird. In Verona, knives are normal. The violence is technically illegal, but happens a lot because everyone is keen on it. Problems only occur when it goes wrong. It’s a macho culture where men expect to fight each other and treat women as possessions. The characters think that violence is sexy, but the director doesn’t.

The language was mentioned. He said any Renaissance text has language difficulties, and this is not a naturalistic drama.  The casting of the two leads was intuitive. They have to have good technical skills, as the parts are vocally demanding, and to get across the idea of two sexually inexperienced young people.

Asked about the connection between love and death, he said he wasn’t conscious of it. He let things come out, and audience can decide for themselves.

Were there tragic flaws in the lead characters, or was the tragedy due to the other characters? Not in the characters themselves, but there are structural problems in the families and religious ideologies. Basically, there was no place for these young people in Verona.

He told us the story of how one marketing chap had asked him if the play had any sex or violence! Have you read the play? was about the only response he could think of.

Now for the play itself. It wasn’t a full house tonight, though there were plenty of school parties.

The whole production was very gray, white and black. I had some problems distinguishing the characters at first because of this, though fortunately I knew what the leads looked like, and knowing the play as well as we do we could work it out pretty quickly. The set consisted of a black wooden floor, with a back wall that was part rough brickwork, part smooth buttresses. For the final scene, the side sections were swung round to form part of the side walls of the tomb, while the central panel rose up to create a high doorway, through which Juliet’s bed, surrounded by a railing, was wheeled onto the stage. For the balcony scene, there was no balcony, which was interesting. Instead Juliet’s bed, with high brass header and footer, was placed centre stage and the rest was up to our imaginations. Good call.

The opening chorus was done using most of the company, and when it was over they took to the chairs at the back to wait for their turn in the fight. I often like this approach, and it was OK here, but it was only used this once so didn’t really add to the production overall. For some reason, the servants who start it all had a radio with them, and turned it on and off. The asides were done with the rest of the action frozen, and sometimes an actor would snap their fingers to get things going again, but here it seemed to be the radio that did that function. With the fight well underway, a telephone was used to summon Capulet and Montague to the fray. The women joined in the fighting, which is clearly a widespread pastime, enjoyed by much of society.

I was very aware that Mr. and Mrs. Capulet have spent very little time with their daughter. The nurse’s comment about them being in Mantua when Juliet was weaned really brought that home. The nurse (Julie Legrand) was very good, the best performance along with Romeo (David Dawson). Juliet (Anneika Rose) was also pretty good – a bit weaker vocally, but she got her emotions across reasonably well. The nurse was especially good when she delivered the news about Tybalt’s death and Romeo’s subsequent banishment. For once, it was clear that it wasn’t clear; that the way the nurse was telling it, it was natural that Juliet would misunderstand at first.

A microphone was used during the party scene – why? It didn’t add anything and was cumbersome to bring on and off, though the photography session with all the guests lined up for a group photo was OK. It allowed Romeo and Juliet to have a few minutes alone together, out of time.

We got the second prologue which is almost always cut – I’m not actually sure if I’ve ever seen it before – and was between the end of the party and Mercutio and Benvolio’s attempts to find Romeo. This time it consisted of the spare women removing the chairs and bringing on Juliet’s bed, and giving us the prologue as they did so. I’m not sure it helped the play particularly, but then it was so novel I would need time to get used to it. We were warned it would be done tonight; I just didn’t know where it came.

During Juliet’s scene before her second wedding – the potion scene – both Steve and I thought she’d taken the stuff before she went through all the possible ways it could go wrong, so I put some of her emotional state down to the fact that she’d already taken an irrevocable step, and possibly even to the effects of the draught itself. However, she then drank it off again in the usual place, so either she had two healthy swigs from a small bottle, or she didn’t actually go the distance the first time round. This could be made clearer.

When she talked about all the ghosts she might encounter when she wakes up in the tomb, various cast members drifted onto the stage, including Tybalt. When this had happened before, during the post-nuptials scene, I found it distracting. The extras were required to help Romeo leap from Juliet’s bed to the ground below and then to remove the bed, but I found it intrusive and clumsy to have them there. This time, although I found it intrusive to begin with, once I realised that they represented the family ghosts in the vault, it worked well for me.

We also got the musicians in full tonight, and at the end of that bit one of the musicians lingered behind to become Balthazar and deliver the bad news to Romeo. With the understudy playing Tybalt as well as his usual role of the apothecary, we had the interesting sight of the murdered man reappearing at the back of the stage, blood still evident on his shirt, putting on the apothecary’s white coat to sell his killer the poison that will exact his revenge. It was a nice touch, and a fortuitous one. For the first time ever that I’ve seen, Lady Montague was present for the final scene in the tomb – this avoids an unnecessary distraction, I feel – and I realised tonight that the friar’s recapitulation of the story was essential, not for the audience, assuming we’ve been awake and paying attention, but for its effect on the people there in the tomb.

At the end, I wasn’t sure how genuine the reconciliation between Capulet and Montague would be. With such a negative take on this society, such a “positive” outcome seemed a little perverse, and I could even see the possibility of both men rejecting the idea and continuing the feud. I was also aware that these two noble houses hadn’t just lost two of their children, they’d lost their entire future, as neither family had an heir. So any reconciliation, however genuine, would be hollow. However, as the two men hugged in joint commiseration, I was reminded of Leontes and Polixenes in A Winter’s Tale, and it seemed fitting that these two men should be ‘brothers’ again, as they may have been before.

In the director’s talk before the show, Neil Bartlett had talked about not liking productions which told the audience what to think. I couldn’t help feeling as  I watched this performance that he’d fallen into the very same trap himself. In deciding so much about the play, and in some areas apparently judging the characters and the choices they make, he seems to have fallen out of sync with Will, who never seems to judge and who usually gives us at least two sides to everything. (Often it’s more like three or four, but then you see another one, and another. Why else do we keep coming back to these plays?) Because of these judgements, I found myself out of sympathy with the characters so much tonight that I was willing, nay wanting, Romeo and Juliet to die horribly so that we could all go home. I’m more accustomed to having a little sniffle somewhere in the finishing straight; this time it was all I could do to stay in my seat for the last half hour.

The performances. I’ve already mentioned the nurse and Juliet. Romeo was very good, though with less emotional input than I’m used to; more thinking than feeling, but at least I was clear about his character and emotional journey. I felt the friar was too theatrical, especially during the post-exile scene with Romeo. Romeo was speaking remarkably calmly and making a lot of sense, expressing his emotions and thoughts very clearly. The friar was raving and gesticulating wildly, looking the very picture of a mad fool which he paints of Romeo, so for once the friar seemed to be the immature one needing help from the wiser young man. Yet I was also aware that it’s the friar who points out to Romeo the positive perspective which Juliet has found for herself – that Romeo’s alive and Tybalt, who wanted to kill him, is dead. The friar seemed to be in another play at this point, and with David Dawson having played Smike in Nicholas Nickleby at Chichester, I decided that the overacting going on in the friar’s performance would have fitted very nicely into the Crummles’ production style. At times it bordered on hammy, though it never quite crossed that line. I assumed this was the manifestation of the director’s view that this was not a naturalistic piece of work, though usually I find the language does all that for you and semaphore practice is not required.

I found Lady Capulet’s accent (the actress is Hungarian) a distraction, as it took some time for me to get the hang of it, and I lost a lot of her lines because of it. Mercutio was quite good, especially in the Queen Mab speech, but alas his role was cut short, as usual. Although I liked his performance, I felt his character didn’t matter so much in this play, where all but the leads and nursy were remarkably undifferentiated. It’s as if none of these people mattered all that much, it was Verona itself that killed them all – a touch of Fuente Ovejuna – but here it doesn’t seem to help the play, leaving it remarkably cold. For such a passionate people, with love, sex, fighting and vendettas constantly on the agenda, that seems inappropriate.

The fight scenes weren’t entirely convincing, but that may be partly because of the understudy, so no criticism intended. The finger clicking to restart the action or denote a change of scene, usually when the scenes were being overlapped, was too erratic to be effective. On the whole, I found that the strange mixture of realism – costumes, knives, music, etc – jarred with the stylistically heightened acting, so that I could never fully engage with the production. I actually felt the Victorian type of ending, as depicted  by Dickens, would work just as well here, as so many of the characters came across as clowns. Paris, for example, with his suit and little ‘tache, reminded me of Captain Darling from Blackadder 4, and his behaviour suggested the similarity may not have been accidental. It’s possible that this production works much better on a proscenium arch stage; if so, I hope they adjust rapidly, as we’re due to see this again during the Winter School, and I’m not sure how I’ll handle it if there aren’t some changes. [Didn’t get to see it again, in fact]

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Mountain Hotel – November 2008

6/10

By Vaclav Havel, translated by Jitka Martinova

Directed by Sam Walters

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Thursday 20th November 2008

This set was more complicated than the first: three cast iron style patio tables with matching chairs (very lightweight – I checked) on three sides. A wooden bench with metal ends sat across the far left entranceway, and a picnic rug filled the rest of the space. There was a thermos flask and some odds and ends (sun tan lotion, hair gel, razor) by the rug.  A canopy had been put up over the entrance far right from us.

Mind you, the set was a lot less complicated than the play. Surreal doesn’t begin to cover it. The same scene kept repeating, many characters shifted and changed, different stories were presented to us, and the whole performance became like a merry-go-round, with the horses spinning faster and faster until we were almost dizzy with multiple possibilities. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I found it enjoyable and interesting to watch.

To begin with, various actors came on, stood in their positions, and then sat down. The lights were partly up for this. There was also some music playing, and that was used each time the scene changed. The actors went through the same routine for each scene change as well, with most of them changing their positions. Initially, there was a man, Kubik (Stuart Fox), seated with his back to us, just to our left. To his left, a woman, Rachel (Paula Stockbridge), was sitting at the far table, knitting. I confess to being curious about what she was knitting, and occasionally my thoughts were more on that than the play. However, along from her, on the bench, sat Orlov (James Greene), while Pechar (Paul O’Mahony) sat on the picnic rug, sunning himself. To our right, sitting alone at his table, was Kotrba (David Antrobus), who never spoke, and rarely got involved with anyone else. There’s also Tetz (Mike Sengelow), who dashes on, catching a ball, the sporty type, and who sits down next to one of the characters, Orlov I think first time round.

Other characters come and go. Liza (Esther Ruth Elliot) dashes on and off stage regularly. She’s dressed up in a fancy frock, carrying some flowers, and looking a bit distracted. Orlov usually tries to intercept her, insisting that they had a relationship many years ago in Paris, which she denies. As the hurdy-gurdy of the play cranks up its madness, however, we even get to see a scene in which she accosts Orlov, claiming they’d known one another, and he denies all knowledge of her. There’s also Pecharova (Rebecca Pownall), who seems to be the wife of Pechar, fussing over him, insisting he wear a jumper though he wants to sunbathe, bringing him tea which he doesn’t want, and talking about his possible liaison with another woman. This other woman, Milena (Faye Castelow), is the waitress, who regularly brings on some orange juice and offers it round. She seems to be having a relationship with two different men, both of whom are Pechar. With each scene change, Pechar becomes the other man in this triangle, so we get to see the relationship develop with two men in one. It’s totally surreal, but surprisingly watchable and entertaining. Pechar also has a piece of repeated business, and I think it comes at the end of each scene. Milena, or possibly Pecharova, goes off in a huff, and Pechar seems to become aware of everyone watching him, including the audience. He looks around – he’s kneeling at this point – looking mortified at being the centre of attention, and then looks at Kotrba and shrugs. Thanks to Paul O’Mahony’s performance, this worked very well.

Dlask (Philip Anthony) brings on a bottle of wine and two glasses, and joins one of the other characters to share some wine and have a chat. Kunc (Robert Austin) appears every so often and spends some time whispering in Kotrba’s ear; they both have a good laugh at whatever it is that he’s said, and then he leaves without talking to anyone else.  Then there are the director(s) of the hotel, or institute, or whatever else this place represents. Drasar (Jonathan Guy Lewis) and Kraus (Christopher Naylor) take it in turns to be director, while the other one gets to be henchman. Each director comes on, accepts the warm response from the guests(?) and staff(?), then searches for a piece of paper with increasing degrees of panic. They find a small scrap of paper in one pocket, not much bigger than a credit card, which seems to be all they need. They then make a little speech, which includes statements ranging from the philosophical (e.g. unity is strength) to the banal (the light in the downstairs toilet has been fixed). Each statement is greeted as if it were a most important pronouncement, and with each scene we get a different assortment of choice statements, each delivered as if it were the most important thing in the world.

As the characters become more and more mixed, with lines being said by anyone in any order, the whole group stands up and starts dancing. With fewer women, the men have to cut in from time to time. Eventually, the dance stops, the actors stand still, and the lights go out. End of play. It made sense at the time, though describing it makes it seem really weird. Actually it was weird as well, but perfectly in keeping with the rest of the play.

The fun was in the performances, and the way these little cameos built up a larger picture without mapping it out too clearly. I got a sense of people having to be careful about revealing too much of their past, of having to change stories depending on who they were talking to, of reinventing themselves on a regular basis depending on who was now in power. Yet still the standard relationships were there, struggling to maintain normality when everything has gone horribly wrong. There was a subtle sense of menace in the air – characters talked about Kubik having missed some event, and how this would affect him. It was an intriguing play, which had a bit too much repetition in places for my liking, but which I still enjoyed overall.

There was the usual post-show chat, but I find I’ve forgotten most of what was said. There was some confirmation of the way Havel and many other writers chose to use surrealism to mask anti-government writing – if they couldn’t understand it, they couldn’t ban it. I suspect that’s what makes some European drama inaccessible to me – you had to have been there. The amount of beer being drunk in the first play (Audience) was commented on; apparently the timing of each bottle and glass was tricky, but turned out to be crucial to the scene. I do remember there were some long anecdotes by people who had been to Czechoslovakia, which seemed to have very little to add to the experience of the discussion, at least not as much as the actual Czech folk who contributed to the earlier talks, so perhaps that’s why I don’t have a lot more to say here.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Audience – November 2008

6/10

By Vaclav Havel, translated by Carol Rocamora and Tomas Rychetsky

Directed by Geoffrey Beevers

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Thursday 20th November 2008

The set was an office in a brewery. There was a table in the middle of the stage, surrounded by crates and metal barrels, and there were two chairs. The place looked rough – there was an old style radio (old even in the 70s) next to a barrel on our side of the table, and a small ball of twine sat on the barrel itself. To the far left, the door had the usual nude pictures, and a sign above the door said something like if you’re full of beer, you’re full of cheer.

The first of two plays, Audience concerned a meeting between Vanek and the foreman of the brewery he’s working in. When the lights go up, the foreman is snoozing, face down on his desk. When Vanek knocks, he wakes up and invites Vanek to come in and sit down, which he does, eventually. The foreman also offers him a glass of beer. Vanek is a reluctant drinker – we learn he prefers wine – but he does manage to drink a little. He also manages to get rid of a fair bit into the foreman’s glass when he’s away relieving himself. The foreman puts away more than enough for the both of them, though, as he keeps reaching into the crate beside him for another bottle. This became quite funny, and before long he had to disappear through the little door. Sounds of water in various forms, and then he’s back again, adjusting his flies and pulling down his apron. This became the major structural motif for this play.

Verbally, there was a cycle of repetition of what Vanek liked to drink, stories about the brewery, and warnings about Vanek’s relationship with another writer. Gradually, as the foreman became increasingly drunk, the pressure he was under to report on Vanek and his activities was revealed.

After too many beers, the foreman falls asleep, and Vanek puts him back in his chair, the way he was at the start, and leaves. We then get a reprise of the opening, with Vanek knocking on the door, the foreman waking up, etc. This time, Vanek seems more confident, and readily drinks the first glass of beer he’s offered – perhaps he’s learning? – and that’s where the play ends.

This was lovely little piece which showed us the effects of living under a repressive regime. The wariness about saying too much too openly, the recourse to alcohol to deaden the senses, the need for others to conform so as not to cause problems for those around them, all these came across very clearly as we went through another little repetitive dance. Along with the humour, and seeing just how human these people are to remind us that this can happen anywhere, this made for a very enjoyable opening play.

There was the usual post-show chat, but I find I’ve forgotten most of what was said. There was some confirmation of the way Havel and many other writers chose to use surrealism to mask anti-government writing – if they couldn’t understand it, they couldn’t ban it. I suspect that’s what makes some European drama inaccessible to me – you had to have been there. The amount of beer being drunk in the first play (Audience) was commented on; apparently the timing of each bottle and glass was tricky, but turned out to be crucial to the scene. I do remember there were some long anecdotes by people who had been to Czechoslovakia which seemed to have very little to add to the experience of the discussion, at least not as much as the actual Czech folk who contributed to the earlier talks, so perhaps that’s why I don’t have a lot more to say here.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

And Then There Were None – November 2008

6/10

By Agatha Christie

Directed by Joe Harmston

Agatha Christie Theatre Company

Connaught Theatre

Monday 17th November 2008

This was very good fun. We’d seen the production by the same company in London back in 2005 and enjoyed it then, but this was completely recast (and a touring version, so that the set was less elaborate) and it was still an excellent performance. We were particularly interested to see it so that we could look out for the actual murders; several take place on stage, and in full view of the audience, but as Agatha Christie is a master of misdirection, the audience rarely spots them. We did our best and saw a few, but I still missed a number of the killings.

The opening scene was quite light hearted, with all the cast doing their best to make it seem like a 1930s comedy rather than a whodunit. I found one chap, Alex Ferns, difficult to make out as his speech seemed slurred most of the time, but overall the dialogue was easy to hear. The set was pretty good with a huge round window centre back, a fireplace to our left with the poem and the ten little soldiers, and a few chairs about the place. The costumes were also 1930s style, and the whole piece worked very well in that context.

The first death put a bit of a blight on the occasion and then as each extra body was added to the toll, the tension began to rise. One scene was played in total or near darkness as the generator had run down and they had to use candles. It helped with the atmosphere as well as the plot, and the way the story had been slightly altered to keep all of the action in the one room was very good. The London production had introduced a few extra locations but this one stayed put, and I understand from the program notes that this was Christie’s own version of the play. She certainly knew how to keep people guessing.

Of course we knew who the guilty party was from the off, and I did my best to keep an eye on that person throughout, while still enjoying the whole performance. Even knowing who the murderer was, I still felt the pressure mounting at the end, when there are only two people left on the island and it’s clear that one of them has done all the murders. It’s the sign of a good writer, and Agatha Christie’s skill in this area has often been underrated. A good cast helps to get the most out of the characters as well, and tonight’s ensemble did a very good job. The soldiers weren’t disappearing quite as consistently as they did in London, but with the smaller set that might have been difficult to arrange so they tended to go during the scene changes. Not a problem, as the tension comes in other ways, too.

I was very aware of the play’s structure. The opening scene has a series of guests arriving at this island retreat and being introduced to one another, so we get to hear the names a number of times. Excellent. With such a large group of characters, and with a name change due very soon after the start, it’s important to register their names with us, and that’s what we get. Then, as the murders progress, we no sooner hear a guest’s own story, or confession, than they’re bumped off, which helped to balance the concerns I certainly felt about such one-sided retribution. After all, these people haven’t had a chance to speak in their own defence so some of them might be innocent. But there are enough confessions, and enough assertions of innocence supported by details that clearly show the opposite, that we can relax a little with the possibility that none of these people is being killed unjustly. (I think the book makes the guilt of each murderee quite explicit in its closing explanation.)

So this was a very good night out, and I would even like to see it again, to pick up on the murders I missed.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Private View – November 2008

6/10

By Vaclav Havel, translated by Carol Rocamora and Tomas Rychetsky

Directed by Sam Walters

Orange Tree Theatre

Thursday 13th November 2008

This play was part of a double bill, and came after, and was much funnier than, Protest. This was a view of those people who bought into Western materialism, Czech style, in the 70s.

A couple, dressed like 70s hippies, welcome Vanek to their flat for a ‘private view’. The husband, Michael, has gone to a lot of trouble to do it up to their exacting standards, everything except feng shui from the sounds of it, and they want their best friend to see the results before everyone else. His wife, Vera, is very supportive of her husband, and even found the scimitar proudly displayed on the wall to our left, which was just what Michael had wanted. They ply Vanek with drink, and in between showing off various items they’ve bought and boasting about their amazing young son (precocious enough to ask, do frogs drown?), they attempt to do a makeover on Vanek and his wife’s lifestyle, despite his protestations that he and his wife are fine as they are. Michael and Vera even go so far as to assume Vanek will want to watch them making love, as they’re so good at it and he obviously needs some tips.

These are the friends from hell, and there’s some lovely repetition that goes on with the husband asking if he’d like some music, the wife offering some unpronounceable (and probably unpalatable) snack, and then the clock doing its weird musical thing, which both Michael and Vera ignore, but Vanek reacts to. This cycle, interspersed with increasingly desperate attempts by the couple to make Vanek’s life better, gradually build up to a point where Vanek has to tell them to lay off, at which point Vera goes ape-shit, throws his flowers back at him, and tells him to get out if he doesn’t want to be there. He has to make a choice now, and although I would probably have decided differently, he opts for peace at all costs, picks up the flowers (he’s right beside us at this point), puts them back in the vase, and sits down to enjoy some more of their company. With his acquiescence, they’re back to being charming again, and so it goes on, though mercifully we’re spared the sequel by the lights going out.

It was a more interesting and enjoyable play than this description gets across. I liked that another actor was playing the Vanek character this time, indicating that he is an everyman type. The performances were all excellent, which brought out the very dry humour. I suspect I didn’t get all of it, but I still found it good fun, and again I notice that a group of pieces has been arranged to end with the funny one (cf Glaspell Shorts).

During the interval, the set was completely transformed. Using the same basic items, we ended up with one of the black leather chairs in front of us, the large chest to the left of it with a gramophone, the other black chair in the corner, and the drinks trolley along from that. Opposite us was the table, sporting two candlesticks and a small vase, and flanked by two upright chairs. In the middle, on the diagonal, was a big crazy-paved oblong fire pit, with a bear-skin rug this side of it. Four special items hung from the centre of each balcony; an icon in a niche, an icon painting, a clock, which played an unusual tune at odd moments, and a scimitar.

The post-show brought out some interesting points. Apparently Vanek was used by other writers once Havel had created him, so he has a bigger life than just these plays. Since he had such a big cast for the whole season, Sam Walters decided to cast three different Vaneks, and the general feeling on this seemed to be positive.

The moral dilemmas of the first play were discussed in some depth, and covered all of the points I had thought of and a few more. We were asked whether we thought Stanek should have signed the petition or not. I voted for, but wasn’t entirely happy with that; I didn’t think he “should” have, though it might have been the more courageous thing to do. Either way, the complexities of the situation came across even more, and I can only respect those who went through such times, regardless of their choices.

The second play was also appreciated, but there was less to say about it. The choice Vanek makes at the end was commented on; apparently that’s the choice many Czech people would make to keep the peace with friends. One other point from the first play – Vanek removes his shoes, and that’s a point of etiquette to remember if I’m ever in the Czech republic (and a number of other European countries as well, apparently). Although hosts will tell their guests they don’t have to take their shoes off, DO NOT BELIEVE THEM. It’s a huge social gaffe to keep shoes on in someone’s house, and they won’t be your friends if you do.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Protest – November 2008

6/10

By Vaclav Havel, translated by Carol Rocamora and Tomas Rychetsky

Directed by Sam Walters

Orange Tree Theatre

Thursday 13th November 2008

This was the first of two playlets today, both by Vaclav Havel. It’s a two-hander exploring the reasoning of those who avoid taking a stand against tyranny and oppression, or despotism, as it’s referred to in the play. It’s not one-sided though, as the character of Stanek, who could come across as a cowardly chap who wants others to fight his battles for him, is given some thought provoking speeches which certainly made me aware that he was in a much more complex situation than any I’ve experienced.

The story is very simple. Vanek arrives at Stanek’s house which appears to be in the country. Vanek has spent some time in prison for his dissident behaviour, and has only recently been released. Stanek is a successful writer who gets his work on TV, but he’s obviously had to make a number of moral compromises along the way, and not just in terms of his work. His daughter is pregnant by a musician, one of the current rock stars, who has been arrested for telling some improper joke at a concert – they didn’t tell us the joke, sadly, but I do remember some reference to a penguin, which always gets a laugh. Stanek wants Vanek’s help to stir up some sort of protest so that the young man will be released. He says he’s done all he can behind the scenes, but without result so far. Vanek already has a petition with him about that very thing, and has brought it with him in the hope that Stanek will sign it to add weight to the 50 signatures already obtained. The meat of the play is Stanek’s deliberations, out loud, of the pros and cons of signing.

Vanek is a very blank character, which gives Stanek every opportunity, and even the need to express himself to us. For people living under that sort of oppressive regime, the choices may have been limited – as in, to sign or not to sign – but the ramifications were amazingly varied. Apart from the obvious consequences of losing his job and his son not being allowed to go to university, there was the factor of his son’s respect for a man who would speak out on such a matter, the possibility that by upsetting the authorities they might take a harder line, and a somewhat complicated consideration about his name being so unusual in the world of dissidents, that it might distort the intention of the petition altogether. It made sense when he was explaining it, but I’m not sure I can get it down clearly. The idea seemed to be that when there was such a tight-knit group of protesters, the usual suspects if you will, adding his name would be a political statement that the equilibrium had changed, that  even non-dissidents were now getting involved in these matters. In effect, no one would talk about the release of the rock star, because they’d all be too busy talking about his signature and what that meant for the political climate. In this reasoning, his signature could do more harm than good.

While this might seem like the sort of equivocating spin that many politicians come up with nowadays (I was strongly reminded of Timon Of  Athens, and the ridiculous excuse given by the third chap he approaches for some financial assistance, i.e. I’m so upset that you came to me last that I won’t give you anything!), but Vanek’s reaction, which indicated an understanding that these were valid points, made me realise that we were being shown deeper aspects of political manoeuvring than I’d seen before. I got the impression that Vanek, having been through the jail experience, understood all the nooks and crannies of these arguments, and judged no one for their choices.

As it turned out, a phone call came after Stanek decided not to sign, from his daughter – the rock star had been released and was with her. Perhaps the negotiations behind the scenes had worked after all. I was certainly more aware with this play that the possibility of influencing the authorities in private could be a useful tactic, rather than the opt-out that we smug liberals often consider it.

There were also some interesting points in the early parts of the scene, where Stanek appeared to be trying to get some idea of just what Vanek had told his interrogators in prison, and I even wondered just how safe it was to give any information to him, as he might have been willing, or even planning to use it to his own advantage. This makes me much more aware of how difficult relationships must be in those circumstances; if I could have those passing thoughts during a fifty minute play, what must it have been like for those living permanently with such doubts?

Now I’ll describe the set; starting from where we sat and going clockwise, there was a big, square black leather easy chair in the middle of the row, and the next side had a long wooden chest with some sort of radio on it. Across the far diagonal was a dark wooden table, richly carved in a middle European style, and adorned with a typewriter and other desk accoutrements. The chair was of the wheeled variety, and a much more modern design. Further round, roughly opposite us, was a drinks trolley, and to our right another black leather chair with a small chest this side of it. There was a large rug with an asymmetrical geometric pattern on it filling the centre of this space.

The post-show brought out some interesting points. Apparently Vanek was used by other writers once Havel had created him, so he has a bigger life than just these plays. Since he had such a big cast for the whole season, Sam Walters decided to cast three different Vaneks, and the general feeling on this seemed to be positive.

The moral dilemmas of the first play were discussed in some depth, and covered all of the points I had thought of and a few more. We were asked whether we thought Stanek should have signed the petition or not. I voted for, but wasn’t entirely happy with that; I didn’t think he ‘should’ have, though it might have been the more courageous thing to do. Either way, the complexities of the situation came across even more, and I can only respect those who went through such times, regardless of their choices.

The second play was also appreciated, but there was less to say about it. The choice Vanek makes at the end was commented on; apparently that’s the choice many Czech people would make to keep the peace with friends. One other point from the first play – Vanek removes his shoes, and that’s a point of etiquette to remember if I’m ever in the Czech republic (and a number of other European countries as well, apparently). Although hosts will tell their guests they don’t have to take their shoes off, DO NOT BELIEVE THEM. It’s a huge social gaffe to keep shoes on in someone’s house, and they won’t be your friends if you do.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me