Category Archives: 8/10

The Last Confession – May 2007

8/10

By: Roger Crane

Directed by: David Jones

Venue: Chichester Festival Theatre

Date: Thursday 3rd May 2007

This is a world premiere of the first produced play by a New York lawyer in his fifties. It has seventeen speaking parts, only one double, and has taken ten years to be staged. It was an amazing debut, a fine play, and also proves the Chichester Festival Theatre management are still willing to take risks.

We attended a pre-show talk by the author, which was very informative, and entertaining, although I didn’t manage to hear everything. I’m hoping to eventually download their podcast to re-hear it all, but for now I’ll just mention that it was very funny – he has a good sense of humour – and didn’t give anything away about the plot, apart from suggesting that there’s a twist. Apparently someone had been coming on in a different costume at the end, and people weren’t recognising who he was, so now he comes on in the same costume, and people get it, whatever “it” is. Roger also stressed that he would be available at the end of the performance tonight, and positively encouraged us to come up and tell him how it went. We did so, and he kindly signed our copy of the play text. Wonderful. Now for the play itself.

The play tells the story of the year of the three Popes, as seen by insiders in the Vatican. It’s a story of the power struggle within the Catholic hierarchy (not that different from power struggles anywhere, it must be said), but heightened by the possibility that a Pope has been bumped off to make way for a more malleable or even reactionary pontiff, one who will unravel the gains made by the liberal reformers of recent years. We see the developments through the eyes of Cardinal Benelli, played by David Suchet, who is making his final confession to a monk/priest, and insists on going over the sad events of 1978. He appears to be confessing to killing the emissary of God, but experienced theatregoers such as ourselves take this sort of thing with a large chunk of salt, and don’t assume it’s literally true. (One of these days it will – won’t we be surprised!)

Benelli himself rejects being elected as Pope once Paul dies, and instead engineers the election of Luciani, who takes the name John Paul I. He is a saintly man, more Christ-like than anyone else in the play, or even in the entire Vatican, for that matter. His ideas shock the Curia, the Vatican establishment, and he even plans to replace many of those in positions of power. It is as these plans are being made that the Pope is found dead, in bed, with a heart attack being declared to be the cause of death. Benelli insists on an investigation, but it soon becomes clear that it’s just a superficial attempt to allay public suspicions. No autopsy is done, and there’s a clear possibility that the Pope may have been denied his medicine at a crucial time. In any case, murder cannot be proved, and cannot be ruled out.

That’s one of the joys of this play. It’s good at presenting the facts as far as they are known, with some reasonably inferred glosses, but leaves us entirely to make up our own minds. However, it’s clear Cardinal Benelli’s sense of guilt relates to his manoeuvring Luciani into the Papacy, to whose pressures he then succumbed. We then have the delight of seeing the various political groupings within the Cardinals locking horns over John Paul’s successor, and eventually compromising on the first non-Italian Pope for 500 years, John Paul II. Benelli has lost his chance to be Pope.

There is so much material in this play that it takes a while to absorb a lot of the details. The characters of the various Cardinals are beautifully sketched in – each has their own agenda, and to an extent they overlap, but I felt that dissension and rivalry could burst out anywhere, at any time, over the slightest thing. There was no serious commitment to serving God in any of them, other than Luciani. The Catholic religion was merely the product the Church was selling that year; given time, they might have moved into many other areas, as Marcinkus was doing with the Vatican Bank. Roger Crane mentioned that one senior Church Official, who read his play, considered that he was trying to bring down the Catholic Church. I certainly didn’t get that impression from this production, but in any case, he couldn’t do nearly as good a job as the people in charge of it are doing.

Now for the details. The set was all cages – right angles of iron bars which could be moved around easily to create offices, open spaces, etc. They made the Vatican seem like a prison – heavily fortified, an effect referred to in the text when someone mentions the Pope as being a prisoner in his own apartments. The desks and chairs, etc, were fairly plain, and costumes were naturally based on actual designs – I’m still not sure why some cardinals wear red, and some wear black trimmed with red – perhaps my resident Catholic will enlighten me. (Speaking of which, he gave me a very useful run down of the three Popes storyline before the off, which came in very handy as I didn’t have time to read the program notes beforehand.) [P.S. no, he doesn’t know why there are different colour schemes either.]

Performances. David Suchet was excellent, as always. He oozed power and intelligence, reminding me a bit of the Robert Maxwell portrayal by Michael Pennington (not that weird, we just haven’t seen David Suchet’s version yet (on TV)). Maxwell was the sort of person who might happily have made someone into a Pope, too. Michael Jayston as the confessor had a more difficult job, as he mainly seemed to be devil’s advocate (sorry) to Benelli within the structure of the play, to get him to expand on his views. His character develops in unexpected ways, however, and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing him on stage again.

Luciani (Richard O’Callaghan) was superb. His simplicity and strength made the piece work. Roger Crane made some reference to the question of how the Christian churches would react if Christ were to return, and that he feels his play addresses that issue. It certainly does, as Luciani is as close to Christ as you’re likely to get in the upper strata of any major church nowadays. I felt he was a lamb to the slaughter fairly early on, though it was good to see him standing up to the lions and doing a bit of roaring himself. Of the other cardinals, Baggio and Felici made the most impression, although that’s not to diminish my appreciation of the others. Baggio (Bruce Purchase) was the most blunt, and the only one to openly defy the new Pope. Felici (Charles Kay) was more suave, a real politician, who had seen much over the years and learned how to finesse each opportunity to his, or rather the Church’s, greatest advantage.

One final mention for Sister Vincenza (Maroussia Frank), a stroppy nun who really knows how to serve, but doesn’t see any need to soften the blow.

Finally, I must just emphasise how entertaining this was. Often funny, it was also tense, gripping and invariably powerful. The insights into human nature were accurate, and the drama built to a very satisfactory conclusion, in the sense that we knew when it was finished, and felt complete, rather than we thought it was a happy outcome for all concerned. Life’s like that.

I thoroughly enjoyed the evening and would happily see this play again. Hopefully other managements will be courageous enough to stage it, now they know it’s a hit.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Charley’s Aunt – April 2007

8/10

By: Brandon Thomas

Directed by: Mel Smith

Venue: Theare Royal, Brighton

Date: Monday 30th April 2007

This was our first chance to see Stephen Tompkinson dressed in a frock (apart from his priest days, of course). It was great fun, and interesting to see how well the piece still worked. At least, most of it did – the “where the nuts come from” was treated as an old chestnut from the word go, and the whole cast braced themselves very entertainingly each time one hove into view.

The set and costumes were all excellent. With three acts, and completely different settings for each one, the set itself had to be very adaptable. Even so, the changes took a little longer than expected, judging by the slight extensions to each interval. Not a problem, though, and the results were well worth it. The chaps looked average, the women elegant, and the first Charley’s aunt suitably grotesque.

I’d forgotten the plot (we last saw this back in 1987?), but it didn’t take long to pick it up. Mel Smith’s direction is always excellent; he’s good with the physical stuff as well as the gags, and the pace never let up. The cast seemed to be enjoying themselves too, and Stephen Tompkinson must be keeping well fit, throwing himself around as he does.

All the performances were good. I particularly liked the real aunt, played by Marty Cruickshank, as she had a good sense of humour which adds to the fun – she’s only too happy to wind up her impersonator with stories of the dead husband. I found myself wondering whether this play was written before or after The Importance Of Being Earnest, as they’re so similar in format.

Regardless of that, the whole production was very enjoyable, and we had a great evening.

P.S.    Having read a newspaper review, I’m reminded that Stephen Tompkinson did a great job of showing the softer side of his character, in a scene where the woman he loves dearly, and to whose father he deliberately lost all of his money, reveals her love for him, not knowing that she’s speaking directly to the man she loves. His real discomfort at having to hear this desired yet unwanted confession was very moving, and all the more commendable coming in the midst of a lot of funny business, such as the cigar smoking, and setting light to the furniture.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Dying For It – April 2007

8/10

Freely adapted by Moira Buffini from Nikolai Erdman’s The Suicide

Directed by: Anna Mackmin

Venue: Almeida Theatre

Date: Saturday 21st April 2007

The subject of this play is suicide, and the original is by a Russian, so naturally I expected a lot of laughs. I wasn’t disappointed.

Semyon Semyonovich Podseklanikov is a young Russian man, living with his wife (Masha) and mother-in-law (Serafima), in an alcove off the stairwell of a crumbling old building in Stalin’s Russia. His wife has a job and keeps them all, his mother-in-law grumbles for Russia when she isn’t telling the most embarrassingly unpleasant jokes, and poor Semyon is in despair at his own uselessness. As a result, he’s unpleasant to everyone, but especially to his wife, who’s the only one putting food on the table.

The play opens in the dark, with Semyon waking his wife up in the middle of the night to ask for some food, in this case, black pudding. He didn’t eat any at dinner because he felt she was only feeding him to make him feel bad about not earning any money (total nut case), so now he’s hungry. She finally gets up to get him the black pudding, and when it arrives, he throws a hissy fit, blowing out the candles. Along comes mother, woken by the din, with one of the best entrance lines I’ve heard in a long time – “Now, you know I don’t like to intrude…” – which tells us all we need to know about her interfering ways.

Semyon disappears under cover of darkness, and his wife panics, thinking he’s going to kill himself. She wakes up a neighbour (Alexander), who’s got a fancy woman with him (Margarita), and asks him to help her get her husband out of the bathroom – they think he’s locked himself in. In fact, it’s another neighbour from upstairs, Yegor, a postman, the complaining sort who’s got a People’s Medal for Speed and Diligence. Eventually, we see Semyon’s hand appear from under the bed to take the black pudding off the plate – so he’s not so daft after all!

A chat between Semyon and Alexander leads Semyon to the ridiculous assertion that if he could only get hold of a tuba, he’d be fine. He’s found a teach-yourself book under the bed, for the tuba, and fantasises that in a few easy steps, he’ll be giving tuba concerts and raking it in. Fortunately, Margarita owns a coffee shop, and is involved with a female jazz band, Party approved, so she can lay her hands on a tuba at short notice. With the mother-in-law promising to come and clean the gents’ toilets at the club, Semyon gets his tuba.

It’s a little harder than he imagined getting a sound out of it. Fortunately, the author of the book, who wastes no opportunity to promote himself, has given a handy tip on how to blow into the mouthpiece, involving taking a piece from yesterday’s newspaper, putting it on your tongue, and spitting it out. Strange as it may seem, this works, and soon the powerful sound of a tuba is wafting up the stairwell, much to the annoyance of Yegor, who seems to be permanently hovering about. Unfortunately, the tuba master hasn’t covered scales so well, and suggests the eager student should buy a piano and practice on that, transferring the scale to the tuba afterwards. At this point, Semyon realises he’s been had, and throws a tantrum.

He decides he’s going to kill himself, and that’s when things start to go crazy. As word of his plan gets out, all sorts of people turn up to persuade him to use his suicide to make a statement, blaming some group or other in his suicide note. First, there’s an intellectual, wanting him to blame the government. Then an aesthetic vamp turns up – sort of New Age flapper – wanting him to kill himself for love of her beauty, a truly noble cause, in her mind anyway. If he could at least have got a night of sex from her beforehand, it might have been worth it, but she’s the unavailable type, all romance and keeping her legs together. Name of Cleopatra, or Kiki.

Then the priest turns up, and tries to dissuade him from killing himself by spelling out all the horrible tortures he will go through in hell, as God “has no forgiveness for those who despair”. As Semyon doesn’t believe in God, however, he’s not concerned; he sees Hell as being better than what he’s currently got! After this failure, the priest gives up, but as he’s waiting for his tea and biscuit (the main reason why he’s there), he suddenly thinks of an idea. Perhaps Semyon could express his Godlessness in his suicide note, and the priest can use it as propaganda to promote church-going.

When all this excitement has died down, and even Margarita can’t persuade him to call it off, she decides the least they can do for him is to throw a party. A sending-off do. Everyone turns up, including the poet who broke Cleopatra’s heart by rejecting her, and who takes down Semyon’s last words. They’re not bad, actually, and then he heads off into the dark night with his gun, while they all wait, in differing moods. There’s a long wait, then, finally, a distant gunshot. It’s over.

The next act shows us a body lying in the bed, completely covered. Masha comes back – she’d left him the afternoon before – thinking he’s just asleep, but when she throws back the blanket, it’s her mother lying there asleep. She tells Masha the bad news – that Semyon has shot himself, and the rest of them are out searching for the body. Masha is distraught. She didn’t think he would do it, and now she’s lost the man who meant everything to her.

The body is brought in and laid on the bed. There’s a nasty wound on his right temple. The mourners turn up – all the people from last night’s party, plus a photographer and his assistant. The last words have been prepared for printing, slightly revised, and a fancy coffin turns up. A collection is made (Serafima’s quick to pocket the money) and even Cleopatra offers to get the wife and mother-in-law new hats so they won’t look too hideous at the funeral. Unfortunately, we’ve found out that Semyon isn’t actually dead. He was so drunk he couldn’t shoot straight, and missed, knocking himself unconscious in the process. He’d been sleeping it off outside, and so his body was pretty cold when they found it. Naturally, they assumed he was dead. Difficulty is, everyone else wants a dead man to show off to the masses, and he’s not only not dead, he’s actually got over the suicide thing and wants to live. Oops!

As the onlookers are coming up the stairs, he ends up hiding by jumping in the coffin, and playing dead. Serafima is only too happy to play along (this is where she grabs the collection money), but Masha is desperately trying to tell everyone that Semyon is still alive, which means everyone thinks she’s crazy, and in denial about her husband’s death. Eventually, Semyon comes back to life, and the situation is resolved by simply closing the coffin up, and claiming they can’t show the face as it was destroyed in the act of suicide. The crowd outside won’t know the difference, and too many people have too much to lose by telling the truth.

As Semyon and his friends are celebrating his new life, Alexander goes up to invite Yegor down to join them in a drink. When he comes back, it’s to tell them that Yegor has hung himself. He’s left a note, simply saying “Semyon is right. Why live?” And that’s the end of the play.

Whew, that’s a lot of action to fit in, and yet this brief description of the plot doesn’t actually tell the whole story, nor does it get across the vast amount of humour and perceptive writing there is in this play. The set was suitably drab. Everything was grey and decaying. A stove on the left had a flue pipe running up then across to a window on the right. The pipe had simply been put through the glass, and wadding put round the gaps in the broken pane to keep out the draughts. The spiral staircase was wide and grand, but had been shored up in several places with metal poles. A curtain was all that separated this alcove from the stair, and for most of the performance it was drawn back, allowing us to see all that went on. Alexander’s room was on the floor above, and the stairway continued on upwards, to Yegor’s apartment, and possibly beyond. Serafima’s room was to the left, while the kitchen was downstairs. People also came and went via the lower window.

The performances were all superb. Tom Brooke played Semyon, and reminded me at times of Robert Englund in Babylon 5. He was scrawny, unkempt, but with the light of passion and despair in his eyes. His initial bitching in the dark with his wife was a great start to the play, and his initial delight at learning to play the tuba set us up beautifully for his anger and despair at discovering it wasn’t so easy after all. This is a man who is easily disappointed with life, but then there doesn’t seem to be much to be happy about either, apart from his wife.

Masha, played by Liz White (from Life On Mars), really wanted to have a husband to be proud of. One minute she’s snapping at him for waking her up and complaining about her earnings, the next she’s sitting, looking adoringly at him as he tries to master the tuba. She was genuinely horrified when she thinks Semyon’s dead, and fiercely protective when Cleopatra’s around. (Semyon passes her off as the cook, just in case Cleo fancies coming across). She even goes for Cleo over the coffin, while Semyon is playing dead – learnt a thing or two from Gene Hunt, obviously.

Serafima is a wonderful mother-in-law type. Wonderfully entertaining, that is. Her attempts to cheer Semyon up include a funny story about how they teased a poor foreigner who had the shakes, particularly with his head. He was starving, and they offered him food, but kept taking it away because his head was shaking like he was saying “no”. How she laughed. He didn’t seem to enjoy it much though, ungrateful sod! Still, she had the savvy to keep the money, and the nice new hat Cleopatra had brought her, so she’s got some sense.

Barnaby Kay played Alexander, and I didn’t recognise him at first behind a big bushy beard. He’s a large character, with a large appetite for life, and he makes good use of the demand for Semyon’s services as a suicide – he takes money for passing on individual requests. Some of the money he passes on to Semyon, after taking a large cut, of course. Margarita was played by Sophie Stanton. She’s not just a wanton woman, she’s got a good business head and a heart of gold, but not a scrap of sentimentality. When the crowd are getting nasty over not having a dead body, she’s the one who persuades them to accept an empty coffin by threatening to dump a nasty bucket of shit over anyone who disagrees. Good negotiating skills. (Actually, the bucket only has water in it, so she’s good at bluffing as well.)

The other supporting roles were beautifully done, and the whole ensemble worked very well together. The final revelation, of Yegor’s suicide, changes the atmosphere completely. It’s a shock, but it doesn’t eradicate the enjoyment of the previous couple of hours; it simply gives us a lot to think about.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The Bargain – April 2007

8/10

By: Ian Curteis

Directed by: James Roose-Evans

Venue: Theatre Royal, Brighton

Date: Monday 16th April 2007

This was an amazing play. Inspired by actual meetings between Robert Maxwell and Mother Theresa, it explored some possible areas they might have discussed, and the sort of negotiations that might have gone on between them. As nobody witnessed their meetings, we can’t know for certain what went on, but this play fills in the gaps very entertainingly, and shows some good insights into their characters and situations at the time.

The action is condensed into two meetings and set almost entirely in Robert Maxwell’s riverside flat in London. We see Maxwell and his assistant, called Sidekick, trying to set up the meeting. Maxwell is planning to print an encyclopaedia of world religion, and wants Mother Theresa to provide an introduction. He actually wants a number of other people’s endorsements, but can’t persuade them, so Mother Theresa will have to do.

They finally persuade her to come and visit them, after Margaret Thatcher has turned down Mother Theresa’s request for funding – apparently the homeless and destitute had perfectly adequate provision under the welfare state. They spend a few minutes tidying the place up, removing the booze to pretend Maxwell doesn’t drink, setting up Gregorian chant on the CD player, etc. Sadly, they overlook a large bottle of brandy sitting on the floor by the corner of the sofa.

The first to turn up is Sister, the nun who’s assisting Mother Theresa, and played by Susan Hampshire. Maxwell is down on one knee showing respect when she comes in, real crawler. She explains that Mother Theresa has stopped to give comfort to an old man, as she often does. When Mother Theresa does turn up, Maxwell’s more relaxed and behaving more naturally, so Mother Theresa gets to see him with his guard down.

Mother Theresa is played by Anna Calder-Marshall, a brilliant performance. She’s short, anyway, and stoops, and really gets across the idea of an old woman with strength and determination. She has that spiritual ability to focus on what she wants, and see clearly what’s going on. She’s not fooled or shocked by Maxwell or his past, and she’s prepared to sup with the devil if it will get her what she wants. A number of times, she says she has a price for helping him with the encyclopaedia, but doesn’t get round to explaining what it is till the end of the play. Meanwhile, Sister has been driving a very shrewd bargain herself for Mother Theresa’s involvement. Sister trained as a doctor for a few years, before switching to accountancy before becoming a nun. Although she radiates simplicity, and is obviously devoted to Mother Theresa, she also sees what’s going on quite clearly, and works out what Maxwell’s scam is. He’s arranged for banned items to be sent behind the Iron Curtain, and wants to get the money back out. By getting the encyclopaedia printed in Estonia, for example, he can cover up the movement of money via the banking facilities he himself provides to the Communist printers.

He, in turn, has got his journos sleuthing round about Mother Theresa, and has dug up all the allegations that have been made about her and her work over the years. He’s threatening to do a big splash in the Mirror, either about how he and she are starting a campaign to raise money for hostels in the UK, or exposing all her dubious practices. The two of them have negotiated their way round all these points, but still she hasn’t told him her price.

She’s established clearly that he’s feeling guilty about surviving the concentration camps during WWII. She tells him about how she sent four nuns to Russia after Chernobyl, to help in any way they could. They had to be sneaked in, as religious orders weren’t allowed in Russia at that time. They helped the locals as much as they could, and took on anyone rejected by the official support agencies. This meant the young and the old, especially the poor, and many of these were Jews. The locals accepted them, grateful for the work they were doing, and no one reported them to the police. Eventually, the local mayor dropped off an old prefab building with a decent roof to replace the damp cellar they were using. Mother Theresa sent more nuns to help, and now she wants Maxwell to use the goodwill he’s built up with the Communist regimes over the years, to persuade Gorbachev to acknowledge them as the first religious house permitted in the USSR. A huge step. Maxwell agrees, and a handshake seals the deal.

For the final scene, the walls lift up and away, and Maxwell walks Mother Theresa along by the river as she heads off for her plane. (Incidentally, Maxwell had ordered Sidekick to tell all sorts of porkies to get her plane delayed, as they were just getting down to the nitty-gritty. Mother Theresa just said “Tell them Mother Theresa wants it.” She may be humble, but she knows she has clout.) At the end, as she tells Maxwell he will sleep better now, and that he must go back to the village where he was born and find some of the old folk and talk with them, she starts to shoo away the birds on the Embankment, just as she did when she was a girl. And the final image is of her standing in front of lots of birds, rising up into the sky – an image she’d described to Maxwell earlier.

The last words belong to Sidekick, however, as he tells us all that Robert Maxwell died three years later, and when his financial dealings were investigated, the only funds he hadn’t plundered were those raised for Mother Theresa’s hostels.

I found this play fascinating. The two main characters were so large, and had such influence in their lifetimes, that even though this was fiction, it still felt very powerful. The key for me was Anna Calder-Marshall’s performance as Mother Theresa. She was so believable, and so centred as a character that it was hard to take my eyes off her when she was on stage. Michael Pennington did a perfectly fine job as Maxwell, but his character, although interesting, didn’t have the same power as Mother Theresa. He even admits at the end that she’s tougher than he is!

The support from Susan Hampshire and Jonathan Coy was excellent, and set up a lot of the humour. But Mother Theresa’s dry humour was wonderful to see. At one point, she and Maxwell are having a pissing contest over who had the more terrible childhood. He informs her that President Kennedy said his was the saddest story he’d ever heard. She said that the Queen had told her much the same about hers. He upped the stakes by mentioning the Pope, at which point she asked “which Pope?”. “The fat one”, was his reply, and she took the wind even more out of his sails by saying that the three Popes she had known had all found her story the saddest they’d ever heard. At this point he realises she’s teasing him, but by now he’s more relaxed with her, and knows he’s not going to impress her with his suffering.

A good play, a good production, and a decent audience made this a much better evening than last week.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Equus – April 2007

8/10

By: Peter Shaffer

Directed by: Thea Sharrock

Venue: Gielgud Theatre

Date: Wednesday 11th April 2007

I was keen to see this play, as I hadn’t seen it before, and it’s often talked about as being really influential. Of course, the prospect of male nudity didn’t put me off at all.

The set was impressive. Designed by John Napier, who designed the original production at the Old Vic, it was very bare, but with some lovely touches, mainly the horses’ heads. These were formed from steel wire, making a head-shaped basket, with leather straps between some of the wires. Underneath was a cap for fitting the masks on to the actors’ heads. They were beautifully made, and hung round the walls of the set at the start. The centre was a large plinth, all black, with four black blocks set on it – these could be put on any side and moved around easily to create furniture as required. There were also six stable doors evenly spaced round the back and sides of the stage – these only became apparent later.

As well as the main house being packed, there were a couple of rows of seats up behind the stage, also full. On the whole, the audience were fine, despite having a younger average age than we usually see in a midweek matinee. I did have to ask one man to be quiet, as he seemed to think it was OK to carry on a conversation with the person next to him throughout the performance! There was extra loud applause at the end – some of it may have been down to the Harry Potter effect, but mostly it was well earned.

The story is relatively simple, though quite challenging. We gradually learn why a young man has blinded six horses at the stable where he worked. He’s developed a weird sexual attachment to horses, based on an early experience and fuelled by his mother’s insistent religiosity. When he nearly loses his cherry in the stable barn, he’s driven to this extreme act by his fear of what his horse-god has seen. I couldn’t help feeling that if the young lady (a questionable description, in this case) had only chosen somewhere else for his first night of passion, he might have turned out quite reasonably – her choice just happened to be the worst one possible for him.

I liked all the performances, although there wasn’t much for some of the minor characters to do. Richard Griffiths creates a tremendous sense of trustworthiness, and Daniel Radcliffe managed to get across his character’s strangeness very well. His mother and father were also good, especially Jonathan Cullen as the puritanical socialist who gets caught out visiting a porn cinema. The “horses” were also excellent, and the blinding scene, where torches are used for the horses’ eyes and extinguished as they’re gouged out, was both disturbing and beautiful.

It seems a worthy revival of an interesting play, and I was glad to have seen it. Although there had been some rewriting to bring the dialogue up-to-date, the overall feel of the piece was very modern anyway.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

John Gabriel Borkman – April 2007

8/10

By: Henrik Ibsen, in a new version byDavid Eldridge

Directed by: Michael Grandage

Venue: Donmar Warehouse

Date: Thursday 5th April 2007

This was a fascinating play, and an excellent production. The intimate setting of the Donmar worked very well, as the play focused on the peculiar domestic situation of the Borkman family. The senior generation were basically a bunch of loony tunes trying to get by on their delusions, which all come to a sudden, shattering end when JGB’s son finally decides to speak up for himself, and to run off with the woman he loves (and a spare).

The set was simple. A row of windows at the back look out on to some trees, dead now in winter, as snow gently drifts down. A wide bench sofa in the middle has some grey crochet work on it, while to our left is a table and chair. Deborah Findlay, as Mrs Borkman, is restlessly sitting, crocheting, and pacing, as she waits for her son’s arrival. But the first arrival is a woman, unknown to the maid, who is obviously both well known to Mrs Borkman, and seriously disliked by her. Mrs Rentheim (Ella), is played by Penelope Wilton, and it turns out she had taken away Mrs Borkman’s son, Erhart, when JGB was sent to prison, many years ago. He’d used other people’s money to live a more lavish lifestyle than he could afford, and to speculate in the emerging market to exploit Norway’s mineral and other resources. We learn of the women’s rivalry for Erhart’s affection, and how Ella, whose money had been completely untouched by JGB’s depredations, bought the family estate, and allows them to continue living there. Mrs JGB seems particularly obsessed, repeating the idea that her son has a destiny to restore the family name. Like most of the characters in this drama, she feels she has suffered the worst, more than those who lost all their life savings, because she has suffered the loss of the family name. At the very end of the scene, Ella clarifies their relationship, as twin sisters.

Towards the end of their confrontation, Erhart arrives home, with Frida and a Mrs Wilton. They are off to a party at the Hinkel’s. Mrs Wilton is a very sociable woman, and it’s evident that Erhart is smitten with her. Frida heads upstairs to play piano for JGB, while Mrs Wilton takes her leave to go to the party. However, soon Erhart follows her, much keener for her company than his mother and aunt’s.

The second act is set in the upstairs room where JGB spends his days, pacing up and down, and occasionally being entertained by Frida. She plays Danse Macabre – his favourite, apparently. The room is similar to the one downstairs, but the windows are shuttered, and the furniture is different, with several piles of books dotted about the place. After she leaves, by the back stairs, her father, Vilhelm, arrives. He spends his spare time trying to be a poet, and writing a play. From JGB’s reactions, it’s clear he doesn’t think much of these efforts, but he does need an audience for his own views. As we need to hear them too, we’re treated to his megalomaniac diatribe against the forces which brought him down, specifically a lawyer whom he considered a friend, and to whom he’d confided too much. The lawyer, Hinkel (yes, the same one), passed some letters on to the authorities, and JGB was doomed. He’s spent the last eight years going over and over the trial – the evidence, the prosecution’s case, his own defence – and time and time again he comes to the same conclusion – he’s innocent! Yet again, we have a character who feels “more sinned against than sinning”. I suspect Ibsen is having a go at the older generation, perhaps those who seem to be constantly passing the buck for their decisions, and expecting the next generation to make everything better. I don’t know any historical context for this play, but that seems to be the message.

JGB and Vilhelm quarrel, and after Vilhelm leaves, JGB is visited by Ella. She’s determined to have Erhart for her last few months on earth, and she wants JGB to help her convince Mrs Borkman to let him go. When he attempts to help out (and this involves going downstairs, something he hasn’t done since he came back from prison eight years ago), everything falls apart. Mrs Borkman sends for Erhart, to force him to decide between them, but he drops a bombshell of his own. He’s leaving that very night, with Mrs Wilton and Frida. They’re travelling to Europe, where Frida will get further training in music, and probably some other things as well. Mrs Wilton is quite frank about the inevitability of their relationship ending, and Erhart’s eventual need for a replacement – she’s just making sure he’s got one handy. At last Erhart speaks up for himself and renounces all his elders’ plans for him. By this time, even JGB is planning to re-enter the world and rebuild his life, and wants Erhart to go with him. But Erhart will have none of them. He doesn’t want to work, he just wants to have fun. So off they go.

The penultimate scene sees the three older folk outside, looking for the sleigh that will carry Erhart away from them for good. They hear the ringing of silver bells further down the hill, and then Vilhelm appears. He’s come from his house to tell them the good news; that Frida’s off to study music in Europe. Mrs Wilton’s taken her, and there’s a tutor to teach her other subjects as well. JGB explains what’s happened, and he’s delighted – unlike the others, he seems to see good in everything that happens. He was even knocked down by the very sleigh that was taking his daughter away, an event that doesn’t bother him – he’s more impressed by the fact that the sleigh had silver bells, showing how wealthy Mrs Wilton is.

The final scene is JGB and Ella walking through the night to a bench they used to spend time together on. He’s refusing to enter that house ever again. He talks of the opportunities he can feel in his blood, the ores and other riches lying in the cold ground, calling to him to release them and let them fly. His one regret is not having been able to do that. He dies, from the cold, and slumps down on the bench. Mrs Borkman arrives, with the maid, and sends her for help. The two sisters talk, their animosity apparently at an end, but although they speak of holding  hands over the dead body, I noticed that this staging had them at either end of the stage, and showing no signs of getting any closer. (According to the stage directions in the text, they do hold hands over JGB’s dead body.) Interesting.

There’s a lot of good stuff in this play, and the actors portrayed the various characters brilliantly. Their willingness to show total obsession, rampant megalomania, and all sorts of other less popular traits, was admirable. Not a family you’d want to spend time with, but absorbing to watch on stage. None of the characters is appealing, although Ella does at least seem to be more concerned that Erhart should live his own life than any of the others. She was JGB’s great love, but he left her to Hinkel in return for the position at the bank which would allow him to carry out his schemes. She loved JGB, and was devastated when he renounced her. More unnecessary suffering.

I liked the honesty and humour of the production, and the symmetry of the opening scenes – three women confronting each other, and then three men, although Hinkel isn’t physically present. I found my sympathies changing a bit over the performance, though nothing could make JGB remotely likeable. A very enjoyable afternoon.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Sailor Beware – March 2007

8/10

By PhilipKing  and Falkland Cary

Directed by Ian Dickens

Venue: Connaught Theatre

Date: Tuesday 27th March 2007

This is a great example of the perils of in-laws. Albert Tufnell, a sailor who’s been an orphan from his early days, was about to marry Shirley, only daughter of Henry and Emma Hornett. This play covered the afternoon and evening leading up to the big day and the morning itself. Things didn’t go according to plan, at least not to Emma’s plan which was all she seemed to care about.

The play started with Edie, Henry’s sister, and Emma. The wedding cake had just arrived, and in her confusion Edie put the hot teapot down on Emma’s lovingly polished sideboard, leaving a mark. Ructions ensued, as Emma browbeat Edie into polishing the mark to see if she could get it out. At first, I had some sympathy for Emma, as Edie was one of those nervous, bumbling, people who can really get on my nerves, but as events unfolded we came to see Emma as she really was – a domineering woman who didn’t let anyone have a moment’s peace. She felt it her duty to point out everyone else’s mistakes and shortcomings, of which there were many. I thought when Shirley came along we’d see a different type of woman, but amazingly, Albert had fallen for a younger version of Emma! And despite spending a couple of long leaves with the family, as well.

Thanks to Edie, with whom Albert flirted outrageously, he found out that Emma had put down a deposit on a house three doors along the road, and with Shirley’s connivance. He’d been planning to move a few miles away to get work when his stint in the Navy was finished, and he wasn’t at all happy to hear this news. He gave Shirley several opportunities to tell him about it, but she flunked them all. He spent the night thinking about this, and decided not to go to the wedding the next morning. He came back to the house afterwards though, to ask Shirley to marry him but on his terms. She agreed, and the play ended with the family heading back off to the church for the wedding.

There was lot to enjoy in the play and in the performances. I liked the balance between the characters, and the fact that there was no black and white – everyone had their good points. Edie was annoying, but kind. She’d been left at the altar herself, so she decided there’s a curse on the family when the same thing happened to Shirley. Henry was seriously henpecked, but did speak up for himself increasingly as the play goes on. His final outpouring, after Albert and Shirley had come to an understanding, was great fun, especially as he didn’t just rubbish his wife for making everyone’s lives miserable. He knew she was also the one who made the comfortable home he was living in, who had put up with Edie for over twenty years, and who had his meal on the table every evening; there was a reference to other wives who are down the pictures when their husbands come home, with fish and chips in the oven for them – the Reverend winced when he mentioned this. Henry coped by having his ferrets to look after – they’re a good deal more affectionate than his wife. One of Rosie’s litter died on the morning of the wedding, and there was some fun when Henry and Edie tried to hide the body from Emma.

Emma herself was quite a character, and held the whole plot together. This performance was excellent and got across her personality, warts and all. There were too many good bits to list them all, but a special mention must go to the scene where the Reverend wanted a quiet word with Albert and Shirley and Emma naturally assumes that meant her as well!

Albert was the other main character in this comedy. He was the first person to stand up to Emma since she was born, from the looks of things, and he came across as being lively but with good common sense. Now that he’d put his foot down, hopefully Shirley won’t turn out like her mother.

The rest of the characters weren’t so significant, but there were some good performances all the same. Carnoustie, Albert’s Scottish pal from the Navy who was going to be his best man, was an uptight puritanical type to begin with, but he loosened up after Daphne made a play for him. She was Shirley’s cousin and one of the bridesmaids, and game for anything by the looks of her. Shirley was quite snippy with her at first – after all, she walked in the room to find Albert holding Daphne’s rather shapely leg. Shirley was a close copy of her mother, but was obviously feeling guilty about not telling Albert about the house deposit. She managed the change into a more reasonable human being very well.

The next door neighbour made a few appearances, always when there was a pot of tea arriving at the table. She even swiped the cup intended for Shirley, after the trauma of being jilted. The main problem I had was not being able to hear her dialogue very well, while all the others came across loud and clear. Finally, there was the Reverend, who only turned up towards the end. I found this performance rather out of keeping with the rest of the production – a bit over the top, with a loud voice and clumsy gestures. I got the impression it’s an understudy’s part – not too much to do, so the ASM can take it over if the understudy’s called on for a bigger role. There were still plenty of laughs, but I felt there was more there.

It was a very entertaining evening, and a cut above the Connaught’s usual fare. Even though it was obviously of its time, this play had a directness to it that made it seem very modern. Good fun all round.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Venus And Adonis – March 2007

8/10

By: WIlliam Shakespeare

Directed by: Greg Doran

Company: Little Angel/RSC

Venue: Swan Theatre

Date: Saturday 17th March 2007

This was a wonderful hour of poetry and motion, with music. Towards the back of the Swan stage was a smallish puppet theatre, about four feet high and maybe seven feet across. (Sorry, 1.3 metres and 2.2 metres respectively.) In front of it stood a bench, and to either side a chair. The guitarist sat to our left, and Harriet Walter, as narrator, sat on the right. With some classical guitar music, we were off, and Harriet spoke the intro to Venus and Adonis, the dedication to the Earl of Southampton.

As I’d been watching the guitarist, I was surprised to look back and see Will Shakespeare had popped up from behind the bench, and was sitting to one side, penning the introduction. Behind him, the curtains of the puppet stage opened, and the Earl was revealed. I didn’t quite follow why Queen Elizabeth then came on and spent some time with the young Earl – I’ll have to look up the poem when I get home.

Then the poem itself started with Venus arriving on stage in a conch shell carriage, pulled by two doves – a lovely picture. Meantime, Adonis arrives on his horse. He’s a pretty boy (Adonis, that is, although the horse wasn’t bad either), but with absolutely no manners. Venus fancies him on sight, pulls him off his horse (and sends the animal packing), and Adonis doesn’t even want to kiss her! She pleads, she cajoles, she strokes and kisses various parts of his anatomy, all without raising his interest. Finally, she swoons, and, worried that she’s dead, he approaches her to check for signs of life. Apparently this involves kissing her, just to see if she’ll wake up (I don’t remember this technique when I did first aid!). He has a couple of goes to find somewhere to rest his hand (Not the breast! Not the crotch!), he plants a serious smacker on her lips, and she miraculously revives. Following some fairly passionate clinching, which had Adonis adjusting his garments afterwards, he runs off, the churl, leaving Venus sad and lonely.

Next day, he’s out again, planning to hunt boar, and refusing to listen to Venus’ warnings about how dangerous it is. Sure enough, the boar gets him, and Venus is upset, and curses love, and it all ends unhappily. Great fun.

That’s the basic story, but there’s more detail, and this is one production where the detail is everything. The puppets are fantastic. Venus is so soft-looking and voluptuous, it’s hard to imagine any red-blooded man not falling for her. She’s full of little touches – literally, as she can hardly keep her hands off Adonis for most of the poem. She walks so beautifully, each foot lifting and stepping so delicately. When she and Adonis do kiss, her feet lift off the ground one after the other, then her legs float up, then his legs float up, then they’re floating together in mid-air (so much easier with puppets than with real actors), then that cunning love-goddess has swivelled round so they’re lying together in mid-air, then it gets a bit pornographic (kept the audience awake, though). At one point, when she’s lying down, suffering the pangs of unrequited love, she still manages to pull her skirt up to show a substantial bit of leg. Her dance with the hands of death towards the end was good, too, as she leapt from hand to hand so gracefully, expressing her happiness when she thinks Adonis is alive after all. She was worked so well and so expressively that I could easily imagine her face changing to display the emotions.

Adonis is an articulated lump of wood by comparison, which is fine, because that’s what he’s meant to be. Solid, unimaginative, makes me wonder what Venus saw in him. He’s only interested in hunting, and doesn’t care for gurls. Funnily enough, he’s going hunting clad only in a skimpy off-the-shoulder very short tunic.  I suspect he’s actually well aware of his looks, and has set out to flaunt as much of his body as he can. A real pussy tease. Well, he gets his comeuppance, poor lad. When he runs off, he goes right across the stage and out of one of the side exits; a lovely mover.

His horse is good-looking, too, and he knows it. The poem describes him in some detail, and for this part, Harriet moves over to the bench where the stallion is posing, to point out the bits she’s talking about. He’s happy to oblige, but he’s even more interested in a serious bit of equine totty that shows up and flirts with him. She’s the reason he runs off and leaves Adonis stranded in the woods with a randy goddess. As Venus points out, his horse knows how to have a good time with a lady. At one point I thought they might go so far as to have the horses mating on stage – they’re in the right positions, and she does lift her tail – but there’s no coitus, interruptus or otherwise, on show.

The boar is an excellent piece of work, really menacing and LARGE! It comes on after Venus has heard the hounds howling and suspects that it’s curtains for Adonis. Meantime, she’s busy hiding herself as the boar enters, and looks around for someone to gore. His tusks are red, his bristles are big, and he’s a well-muscled killing machine. He checks out various parts of the stage, and there was nearly a nasty moment when he spotted the guitar player, and thinks about giving him a good mauling. But fortunately he heads off, leaving Venus to find Adonis’ dead body.

The other main character is death. And this was done very cleverly. The surround for the puppet stage included some moulding, which came away to form two very long arms with big, claw-like hands. At the centre top of the frame was a round device, which I’d spotted earlier, but couldn’t make out what it was. At this point, it transformed into a skull. Venus spends some time chiding death for taking away her beloved, fending his hands off, and getting really cross. Then when she hears the huntsmen, she assumes all is well, and apologises for her behaviour – this is when she has her little dance with the hands of death. It was quite impressive seeing these big hands float around without getting caught up in anything.

Nearly forgot the hare! When Venus is trying to persuade Adonis to hunt anything rather than the boar, she talks about the hare, and we get to see one – standing up, crouched down, loping round the stage. Beautifully done. And there was also a deer at the beginning, that leapt across ahead of Adonis, and puppet silhouettes that ran across the back of the stage – hounds, deer, and boar.

The narration was also excellent. Harriet Walter did a great job of reading out the poem, fitting it beautifully to the puppet’s actions. The puppeteers also added some noises and comments from time to time, and it all worked very well together. I particularly liked one occasion when one of the puppets looked at Harriet, not sure what to do, and she responded with a shrug. The music fitted in so well, I was often unaware of it, but I did enjoy what I heard.

It was such a complete experience that it’s hard to convey it in words. Little movements by the puppeteers gave such amazing performances from the puppets. Venus raising her head when Adonis is checking her vitals, for example, and Adonis holding his hands over his crotch after their romp, then pulling his tunic back into place. And Venus settling herself down to sleep, cradling her head on her arm. Lots of lovely moments, coming thick and fast, while the narration gives us the story. A great way to spend an hour.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Old Times – March 2007

8/10

By: Harold Pinter

Directed by: Peter Hall

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Tuesday 13th March 2007

At last I’ve seen a production of this play that not only matches my idea of it from studying it at school, but has given me extra ideas. This production gets across the time shifts and different perspectives on past events brilliantly. All three performances were excellent, and I can’t imagine it being done better.

The set was circular, and considerably smaller than the Yvonne Arnaud stage. The first act is set in the sitting room of a converted farm house near the sea. At the start, a curtain curves round the front of the set, with pictures of waves playing across it. Just before the action begins, we see the three characters silhouetted against the curtain, husband and wife smaller on each side, while Anna, the visitor, looms large between them. As the curtain is drawn back, we see Deeley (husband) and Kate (wife) on chairs in the sitting room. Deeley is smartly dressed (for the 70s) while Kate is lounging back in a white hippyish outfit – very country lady. She’s incredibly still and focused, like a cat that’s very comfortable and sees no reason at all to move. At the back, Anna stands at the wide window which sweeps across the back of the stage, facing outwards. From the conversation, she hasn’t arrived yet, but her presence, even her existence, is the sole topic of conversation.

Deeley is fidgety, wanting to know about this person who’s invited herself to their house. Kate claims to hardly remember her, but that seems unlikely. When Anna “arrives”, she’s another cat, this time a purring, predatory one, slinking around the stage in a way that’s both seductive and challenging. She and Deeley are both determined to keep their hooks into Kate, and each sees the other as getting in the way, although it’s Deeley who seems to have the most insecurity at this stage.

For the second half, we move into the bedroom. The silhouette at the start is of just one person – Anna – as she sits on one of the beds. Deeley joins her shortly with coffee, and they talk while waiting for Kate to finish her bath. Gradually a picture emerges of a three-way relationship between the characters, with each one having their own selective memory of it. Deeley remembers meeting Kate at a movie, when she was on her own. Anna remembers going to that movie with Kate, and makes no mention of meeting Deeley there. The women lapse into the past occasionally and increasingly, talking as if they were still in their shared flat. The final moments show us the very scene each has been describing from different perspectives.

While it’s clear to me that this is one event, with each character remembering it differently, I was aware of other options within the play. For example, at one point I found myself wondering whether Kate and Anna were actually the same person – split personality, perhaps, or different expressions of the same person, as in Three Women And A Piano Tuner (Minerva, 2004). I also found Kate’s description of Anna, lying on her bed as if dead, slightly unnerving, and wondered for a moment if that were true, and they were being visited by a ghost. These were interesting ideas, and added to my enjoyment of the play, especially as I love ambiguity. But in the long run, I still think there are three characters here, with complex relationships.

Other points – Anna’s character uses language quite oddly at times, more like written English than spoken. Deeley picks up on a couple of words she uses – “gazes” and “lest” – and comments on how unusual it is to hear them, only to use “gaze” himself a number of times later on. Both women flash plenty of thigh throughout the performance, understandably given the text. Pinter has a great ability to use really banal dialogue well, showing us the characters through the clutter. In this case, they often use repetition like a weapon, and although Kate can seem rather passive at first, she emerges as the strongest character at the end.

I also liked the amount of humour they got out of this play. I remember liking it the best of the ones we studied at school, and it was good to see how funny it could be.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Kindertransport – March 2007

8/10

By: Diane Samuels

Directed by: Polly Teale

Company: Shared Experience

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Friday 2nd March 2007

This was a very moving play, with a surprising amount of humour. It’s based on the experiences of the Jewish children who were sent away from Germany just before WWII, to England, many of whom never saw their families again. This play focuses on one child, Eva, who, at nine years old is sent away to England by her parents. She is taken in by a family in Manchester, grows up there, and eventually rejects her original family to maintain her Englishness. We see the story both in the past, reliving Eva’s journey and experiences, and also in the present, as Evelyn (her new name) tries to keep her previous life a secret from her teenage daughter. Her daughter is persistent, however, and with the help of her grandmother, the woman who took Eva in all those years ago, a truth of a sort emerges. Throughout all of this, there is the figure of the Ratcatcher, as in the Pied Piper, a story told to Eva as a child, and which should serve as a dire warning never to tell children scary stories. Eva is terrified of this figure when it’s just a story, but when it takes on flesh and blood through Nazi persecution, her terror is multiplied, and affects her life and the way she relates to others profoundly. Hence her daughter’s insistence on knowing about her mother’s past – she knows there’s something missing, and she’s appalled that her mother could wilfully keep it from her, when it’s part of who she is as well. Of course, to her mother it represents all her fears, so she doesn’t want to face it, but through this confrontation, she seems to come to a gradual acceptance of her past, even if it’s not all forgiven and forgotten.

The whole production of this play was excellent. All the performances were perfect, and the interweaving of the stories and the time elements was masterful. We were shown so much about human suffering, and courage and compassion, that I was moved to tears. I wasn’t sure about the Ratcatcher at first – he just seemed to collapse onto the stage and crawl around for a while, but eventually the symbolism took hold, and Evelyn’s final identification of the Ratcatcher with her mother was very powerful. I increasingly saw the Ratcatcher as more of a victim than a figure of terror, as the character’s make up and behaviour became more tortured. And I particularly liked the way I could feel sympathy for the various points of view and the choices which had been made, without judging or supporting any specific person. All the women were tremendously strong characters, and showed great courage in the face of their difficulties. It was also nice to see a genuinely kind mother figure for once, in the shape of the Mancunian woman who takes Eva in and supports her with an amazing degree of understanding throughout her life in England.

The set was very evocative. It was a large attic space, with lots of “storage solutions” as they’re called nowadays – several wardrobes, chests of drawers, trunks and boxes lined the space, and various items of bric-a-brac were scattered around or piled in a corner. There was also a ladder resting on a cam ceiling, which was used to get Eva on and off her ship to England. Wardrobe doors doubled as room doors, and Eva did a fair bit of climbing over the furniture and boxes – good for showing us the scene settings, and also evoking the natural way children behave.

The one man in the cast played several parts. Apart from the Ratcatcher, he was also a German official on the train taking the children to the boat, who stole Eva’s money, but let her keep her mouth-organ, as well as giving her a sweetie – he thought he was being so good! He returned as a postman who delivers Eva’s Ratcatcher book from her mother, when they could still get post through, and who jokes with her about the Nazi salute. And he’s also an unpleasant railway guard who intimidates Eva when she’s waiting for her parents to arrive – they almost made it, but war broke out a few days too soon.

Eva’s rejection of her natural mother after the war was a very moving scene. I could see both points of view – her mother has never stopped loving her, and still sees Eva as her daughter, with the other mother just a temporary relationship, as if Eva had simply been a lodger. Eva/Evelyn, on the other hand, has built a life for herself, has been through untold suffering, trying to get her parents the papers they need to get out of Germany and join her, and now she’s not the little girl who left her mother before the war. Even then, her mother had been pushing her to do things for herself, and to stand on her own feet. Now she’s doing it, and both of them are suffering.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me