Category Archives: Theatre

De Montfort – May 2008

5/10

By Joanna Baillie

Directed by Imogen Bond

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Thursday 8th May 2008

I’m not quite sure what to make of this play. The characters are interesting, and reasonably well drawn (the performances were, of course, excellent), but the language is so flowery that it sometimes gets in the way. The degree of psychological insight makes it a powerful piece, but the style is not my cup of tea at all. A mixed bag, then.

The set is the simplest I’ve seen at the Orange Tree. A square platform, cut across the corners, with four glass panels to show some uplighting, and stools and a table to tell us which room we’re in. Apart from decoration which looks like someone threw up on the set (speckles of light paint and a wet-look varnish?), this is as basic as it gets. Given the rapid changes of location involved, this was obviously the right choice, and Sam Walters underlined this in the post-show when he said that with a piece that’s new to the audience, it’s important to hold back on the detail and allow the text to speak more directly to the audience.

The setting is a bit vague. It appears to be in Germany, although the location, Amberg(?), is fictional. The director suggested this was because Joanna Baillie needed some remote locations for the play to work, and with the spread of towns and cities at that time in Britain, there were few such remote spots locally that she could use. For once we had consistent period costumes, and given the lack of detail in other areas, I found that helped to stabilise the piece.

The plot concerns the eponymous “hero”, who from childhood has had an unexplained hatred for another man, Count Rezenvelt. We are given a few reasons for this though; De Montfort felt slighted by Rezenvelt, not given his proper due, and Rezenvelt himself admits he was never taken with De Montfort’s pride and  his expectation that others would admire him. Shortly before the action of the play, De Montfort had challenged Rezenvelt to a duel over the flimsiest imagined provocation, and matters went from bad to worse when Rezenvelt not only disarmed De Montfort, but refused to kill him, and wanted to be his friend! This was too much for De Montfort, who ran off, with luggage and servants, only to find Rezenvelt in the very town he was hoping to sulk in.

De Montfort’s sister Jane turns up, and she’s so sweet and gracious that almost everyone falls in love with her at first sight. There’s a lovely bit of comedy when a servant, describing this unknown arrival, goes into lengthy raptures about her beauty, her nobility, the simplicity of her dress, etc. The only person not to join the admiration party is Countess Freberg, an older woman of less than attractive appearance, who nevertheless wants to be admired, at least by her husband. He, poor fool, is the unthinking type, full of good will to his fellow man, and letting us know all about it at full volume.

Jane had been staying with her brother, but left him on his own for a while to visit one of their sisters. He slipped off while she was away, but De Montfort’s servant left her a note so she was able to catch her brother up, and arrives at the Freberg’s house in time to be invited to the party they’re giving. De Montfort, Rezenvelt, and a host of beauties are due to be there, and although she’s reluctant at first, she eventually agrees to attend, provided she wears a heavy veil. Her intention is to sound out her brother, and this she does, by telling the gathering that she, as a veiled lady, has been deserted by her brother. De Montfort, not knowing who she is, gets into one of those “my sister’s a wonderful woman, not that you aren’t” kind of arguments. Then, when Rezenvelt tries to step in on the unknown lady’s side, they’re about to come to blows when Jane reveals herself.

The attempted rapprochement the next day doesn’t help. Despite Jane persuading her brother to at least appear to be reconciled to Rezenvelt, he refuses the offered hug, and simply re-offends with his coldness. At this point we get to hear Rezenvelt’s version of events, and I was glad we did. It would be too easy to take De Montfort’s word for the man’s character flaws, or to completely discount them given De Montfort’s extreme prejudice. However, the antipathy is confirmed by Rezenvelt, and although he claims to have done all he can to be a friend to De Montfort, by now he’s willing to treat him as a sworn enemy.

The Countess Freberg comes back into the picture about this time. She was really upset that so many men, and especially her husband, praised Jane excessively at the party. She’s a woman who tries too hard, and despite her maid’s efforts to flatter her, she resolves to spite the newcomer by putting about a rumour that she didn’t come all that way in difficult weather and over rough terrain to be with her brother, but to find her lover, Rezenvelt. She justifies herself by claiming that the rumour might very well be true, but we saw trouble ahead. Unfortunately, this isn’t a moral piece, so the conniving bitch doesn’t get her comeuppance. Ah well.

De Montfort hears this rumour (of his sister’s lover) from a man seeking his assistance. This newcomer has been told about the animosity between the two men, and reckons he can get help from De Montfort by claiming to have been held back from a promotion by none other than Rezenvelt. De Montfort is eager to pounce on this opportunity, but then the man blows it completely with a passing comment about how Rezenvelt will soon be De Montfort’s relation. De Montfort sends him packing, and then experiences one of those wonderful strokes of luck that so rarely happen in real life but which abound in plays. His servant informs him that Rezenvelt is heading for a very remote house (to see a friend), and will be walking alone, across a wooded area, at night, and it’s a place well known for robbers and murderers. What will De Montfort do? It’s a tough decision, but he’s just the hard-boiled cookie to make it. (Actually, he’s a real softie, which explains why he lost the duel with Rezenvelt – as soon as he realises he’s about to hurt someone he backs off. What a wimp!)

Anyway, his anger carries him through. Rezenvelt is all Pollyanna about the darkness, the hooting owl, the distant tolling of a bell, the risk, etc. The bell is being rung at a nearby nunnery, where the nuns, with some monks, are about to say prayers for a recently deceased sister. Various extra monks arrive, giving us all the news of a dead body, and the deranged murderer, so soon we have both the corpse and its killer on stage, locked in the same small room of the abbey. I found this part less interesting, until Jane turns up, trying to comfort her brother by reassuring him that God forgives all. De Montfort suddenly realises from Jane’s general kindness in grieving for Rezenvelt, that she hadn’t been in love with him, and the full horror of what he’s done grips De Montfort as strongly as his hatred had before. It’s interesting that he doesn’t get to clarify this with his sister; he’s dragged off in chains before they get a chance to talk, and then we hear the reports of his severe illness and death. He dies from being too noble to live with the knowledge of what he’s done, although I suspect heart failure will be the entry on the death certificate.

It’s quite a ride through the emotions, this one, and I found the play not entirely satisfying. However, I did appreciate the intensity created by the production, so that the characters seemed to be colourful and detailed, while the setting was vague and uncluttered. According to the post-show, that was the intention. I enjoyed all the performances, although I particularly liked Christina Greatrex as the Countess Freberg; her character’s dislike for Jane was so clearly visible, as was the effort she had to make to be pleasant at times. Justin Avoth as De Montfort provided a strong central performance. I felt he got across the shades of his character’s darkness very well, and Alice Barclay as Jane was believable as the woman that all fall in love with at first sight. I was distracted occasionally by some noisy people behind us, but on the whole the afternoon passed quickly and pleasantly.

I think I’ve mentioned all the post-show points I can remember in the notes, so I’ll leave it there.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Fram – May 2008

5/10

By Tony Harrison

Directed by Tony Harrison and Bob Crowley

Venue: Olivier Theatre

Date: Thursday 1st May 2008

This was an interesting play, at least for the first half. The subject matter was relatively unknown to me, and the choice of characters seemed really weird until they all came together for the final scene before the interval. Perhaps I should mention here that Sian Phillips’s speech as Sybil Thorndike in that scene nearly put me off my ice cream! (I said nearly.)

The play starts in Westminster Cathedral. There’s a pillar with a marble decorated ledge, two large stained glass windows, one suspended at the front of the stage, the other at the back, and lots of echoing darkness. The stained glass windows were actually projections, which made them easy to remove and replace. The floor was covered with black cloth, also easily removed to reveal the arctic ice. Film projection was used quite a bit, both at the back and on a screen lowered towards the front of the stage. There was also a proscenium arch set with two side boxes, a drawing room type scenario (where Sybil gives her stomach-churning speech), and some good interpretations of snowy wastes. The first of these consisted of a central area with some jagged ice blocks sticking up at an angle, and lots of flat floes around it. The temporary hut was set up beside these blocks. Later, when Nansen and Johansen return to the Arctic, their ship, Fram (means “forward” in Norwegian), rises up majestically out of the floor, as the central part rotates. It was reasonably impressive, but I noticed that the ship’s masts were at right angles to the stage, although the ship itself was angled as if it were a submarine rising from the depths, and at speed. Very peculiar.

The play opens with the sounds of locks being turned, doors creaking open, and footsteps echoing along stone floors – slightly reminiscent of Tales of Old Dartmoor, a Goon classic. Eventually we get to see a character, Gilbert Murray, a dead professor who not only translated ancient Greek dramas into English verse, he also speaks the stuff, and at considerable length. He’s a little miffed that his translation of the Oresteia wasn’t used for the National’s production some years ago (funnily enough, they used Tony Harrison’s instead), but exceedingly miffed to find he’s buried only a short distance from T S Eliot, a man he obviously detested (and who didn’t speak highly of him).  Fortunately he gets another character to explain things to, and this is Sybil Thorndike. He tells her he’s writing a play, in verse, about Fridtjof Nansen, a man they both knew, and there’s a part for her in it. Nothing gets an actress’s attention quicker than that, and despite the total lack of a script, set, costumes, rehearsal time etc, she’s persuaded to join in this ‘improv’ piece. She’s none too happy when she finds her dress is the wrong colour and she’s only in one scene, but those come later. And given the amount of time she does spend on stage (and screen) it’s hardly a bit part.

Anyway, they head off to the National, and the screens at the back show us their progress, including their arrival at the entrance to the auditorium. It’s no surprise when they come down the side aisles, Sybil to our right, Gilbert to our left, although from the audience reaction, you’d have thought this was the first time it had ever been done.

I should mention that canned applause was used frequently throughout the production, and it’s a good job too, as this audience seemed reluctant to play the part of the audience within the play. With one notable exception, we restrained ourselves from laughing, clapping, oohing and ahhing as much as possible – I suspect I would have enjoyed the play more if the audience had been a bit more giving. In fact, there were noticeable gaps amongst us for the second half, and I don’t usually see so many folk leave during the applause at the end. From the first scene, I felt there were jokes that didn’t get a suitable response, and Steve and I reckon those who came just weren’t expecting so much humour. Ah well.

Once Gilbert and Sybil were on stage (again), there was some faffing about with a Greek tragedy mask before we get to meet the subject of the play, Fridtjof Nansen. The screen comes down, and we see a slide projected onto it – Nansen is giving a talk about his Arctic experiences. He gives us a reasonably long opening spiel, introduces us to his colleague from the ice, Johansen, then repeats the opening bit twice more, as slides for his talks in Newcastle and Aberdeen appear on either side of the London one. At least the audience was warming up a bit by this time, so we got a chance to laugh at the humour of the repetition.

The screen at the front also covered up the set changes behind, so when Nansen moves from slide show to dramatic reconstruction, all that’s needed is for the screen to lift, and for the black cloth to be surreptitiously whisked off to the wings, like some dead body being dragged away by an alien creature on Doctor Who.

Nansen and Johansen showed us their ‘roomy’ hut (it was tiny), their bear fur sleeping bag which they planned to split in two now they had the luxury of separate sides of the hut, and their complete inability to communicate with each other. They were described as each other’s opposite, with Johansen being the dark side of Nansen’s soul. Personally I wouldn’t have wanted to spend much time with either of them by choice, but I can see how extreme need makes for stranger bedfellows than ordinary necessity. Nansen believed that, as the seas were cooling, the planet would end up covered in ice and snow – everywhere would be like the Arctic. It’s a chilling prospect, though shot through with irony given current concerns about the climate, and it made him a less than comfortable companion. Johansen puts the blame for his own suicide squarely on Nansen’s shoulders; he claims it was the depressing effect of Nansen’s beliefs that led to his drinking and terminal despair. I can see the man’s point. However, being dead means nothing in this play, where ghosts have a remarkably physical presence, so Johansen isn’t gone. Oh no, he becomes Nansen’s conscience and biggest critic, and probably gets more lines in that role than he did when he was (supposedly) alive.

Nansen’s successful trip meant he was welcomed back to Norway as a great hero. His achievement (he reached furthest north) was surpassed a few years later, so he also faced the challenge of despair and discouragement. However, he avoided the bullet, and chose instead to focus his energies on helping the rest of humanity in any way he could. This leads to the scene in a open-plan drawing room, which was using the very slow revolve to subtly change the perspective. It took me some time to spot, and I find that sort of thing helpful in what are otherwise quite static scenes. Various characters were present, all deeply involved in the relief effort for Russian famine victims. There’s some debate about the best way forward – film, radio, newspapers, acting – and the scorn heaped on the influence of the actors is so great that Sybil has to show them what she’s made of. Her moving speech as a starving Russian woman and mother was a little too long, but was also tremendously powerful, and even stomach-churning. The descriptions of eating cooked human flesh have stayed with me longer than I would like, and her wrecking of the buffet was entirely appropriate, if somewhat messy. Delivered as it was by a well-nourished, well-dressed woman, this speech ably demonstrated the power of performance to move people, and Sian Thomas got the loudest round of applause for her superb acting when Sybil made her triumphant exit.

The second half showed us Nansen’s tour to raise awareness and funds to help with the famine relief effort. He was using the slide show again, only this time the pictures were horrific and sadly not unknown today. He left, and Johansen’s ghost harangued us for a while, exhorting us to look at the pictures in case one of the dead bodies moved. He also stomped off, leaving us with the picture of two dead bodies, supposedly a brother and sister. After a very long pause, there was indeed some movement, which was startling, but I have no idea what any of that was supposed to convey to the audience.

From there, Gilbert and Sybil returned to Westminster Abbey, and after reviling T S Eliot some more, they were interrupted by a Kurdish poet with his mouth sewn up (don’t ask me). He struggled to express himself, and that was that. For a final scene, we get to see Nansen and Johansen on the ice again, this time on Fram, as it rose up from the depths. God knows what that bit was about. Nansen meets a couple of African kids, who’ve apparently been frozen to death because they stowed away in the undercarriage recess on a plane, and were taken too high to survive. The idea of these two being explorers of the frozen air appeals to Nansen; didn’t do it for me, though.

There was also a ballet during the first half, an actual ballet, inspired by Nansen’s drawings of the aurora borealis. It went on too long for me, as ballet has never been my thing, although I’m sure the dancer did a great job.

The ooh moment came during Nansen’s second slide show. To soften us up, he commented that when he showed his pictures of the animals on his arctic expeditions, it was only in England that people went… and the audience this time obliged with an “ahh” (a particularly lovely husky was on the screen at that point).

The performances were all fine, given the tedious nature of some of the dialogue, and the confusing jumble of symbolism and realistic, biography and fantasy. The constant use of rhyming couplets can jar after a while, especially when the rhymes are emphasised, as they often were here. There were a lot of in jokes, mainly to do with the Olivier itself, and although we got most of them, it did take the emphasis completely away from the subject matter, assuming the subject matter was something to do with Nansen and his career. The time spent on the ice was less than I’d expected from the pre-publicity, especially as almost all the photos used that part of the set. It was spectacular enough, although not the only good aspect of the set design.

Overall, it was a disappointing play with some good scenes, which could do with some serious editing if it wants a life beyond the Olivier stage.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Sleuth – April 2008

6/10

By Anthony Shaffer

Directed by Joe Harmston

Venue: Richmond Theatre

Date: Wednesday 30th April 2008

Steve and I have seen this before, so I was aware of the story, although I didn’t remember all the details. It was entertaining to see a cast of five listed in the program.

The set was the typical old house in the country, all wooden beams and nooks and crannies. The performances were excellent, as I would expect from actors of the calibre of Simon MacCorkindale and Michael Praed. Simon’s Andrew Wyke was suitably theatrical, but with enough menace when needed to create tension, and Michael’s Milo was believably the son of an Italian, well versed in Latin ideas of intrigue and vendetta.

If we had been seeing this first time around, I would probably have given it 8/10 for the standard of production and the performances. As we were no longer virgins, so to speak, it couldn’t grip us in quite the same way, hence the rating of 6/10.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Chains Of Dew – April 2008

8/10

By Susan Glaspell

Directed by Kaye Saxon

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Saturday 26th April 2008

First off, the set. We start with an office environment. Tables, printing press to our left, telephone and small models of people to our right. Across from us a bench with open boxes, and other boxes strewn about. A poster on the floor gives contraceptive advice. There are three wooden chairs, and a map of America on the door far right to us, with a number of white tags stuck on it. The second scene is in the Mid-western town where Seymour has his lair, or home, as it’s sometimes called. Rug, settee, chairs, and some fancier desk ornaments give us the picture. There are also two rag dolls on one of the chairs. This set carries us through the rest of the play.

The play took some time to get going. We meet four characters; Nora, a free-thinking, bob-haired woman who’s passionate about birth control; Leon, who’s a publisher and who wants to encourage Seymour to develop into the great poet he believes him to be; O’Brien, an Irish chap who also wants to be a poet, and who provides a useful outsider’s point of view; and Seymour himself. Even at this early stage, it’s possible to see the sanctimonious, conceited prig in Seymour’s language and behaviour. Anyone who sets himself up as a complete ignoramus by telling everyone else how ignorant and immature they are compared to him, is asking for a thoroughly deserved comeuppance, which he gets, to a certain extent, although he’s spared the full suffering of the husband in A Doll’s House.

Of course, we don’t get to see the full range of this man’s self-centred chauvinism until we meet his family in the second scene. The first scene introduces the four characters whose lives are so closely linked in New York. There’s even a semi-jocular attempt to pair up Seymour and Nora, to help Seymour free himself from his social acceptability (by shocking his straight-laced fellow Mid-westerners), but Seymour ducks the opportunity, as he regularly does, we learn. Back in his Mid West home, Seymour’s wife Dottie/Diantha, has been conducting a little rebellion of her own. She’s been skipping the social events – dinner, afternoon tea – to study, and to study poetry at that. She clearly wants to support Seymour in his dream of being free to write poetry, as a good wife should. She hasn’t yet realised that Seymour likes fitting his writing into those few brief moments allowed to him when he doesn’t have to sacrifice his talent to take care of everyone else. Naturally he’s horrified to find his wife is trying to think for herself, but before he can restore normal service, Nora turns up for a visit. We learned in the first scene that she’s been asked to go out in the field, to spread the Birth Control message, so the first place she goes to is Seymour’s home town, where she immediately stirs up a whole heap of trouble, much to our amusement.

Dottie/Diantha is young, very attractive, and gentle, though it’s possible to see real strength of character in her. Seymour’s mother is a wonderful character. She’s the one who makes the dolls, and I reckoned she had a lovely mischievous streak even before she admitted to making the dolls with carefully designed features as a form of revenge. She has some marvellous lines. As a mother of seven children, it carries some weight when she says seven is too many, and that turns to hilarity when Seymour points out that he was her seventh child! Despite her support for the Birth Control ideas, she’s the one who finally convinces Diantha to let go of her new ways and support Seymour by allowing herself to be a burden to him (yes, I know it sounds weird, but it makes perfect sense in context).

There was some discomfort expressed in the post-show that the wife should give up her new-found interests to support her husband’s career. Personally, I think it’s the better option – how on earth would the writer have ended the play otherwise? We’ve already had A Doll’s House, so we don’t need a rehash of that, and it’s a dilemma that many women face, even now, and both options are valid in their own way. Again, the accents were excellent, as were the performances, and apart from the slow start it was a thoroughly enjoyable play which I wouldn’t mind seeing again, as if I’m likely to get the chance.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Romeo And Juliet – April 2008

6/10

By William Shakespeare

Directed by Barry Rutter

Company: Northern Broadsides

Venue: Rose Theatre, Kingston

Date: Wednesday 23rd April 2008

It’s good to see Northern Broadsides down here in the south. I very much like their no-nonsense approach and deep faith in the text. Plus, of course, their willingness to give the audience a good time – that’s always welcome.

On the way up, Steve and I were speculating on which part Barry Rutter would have snaffled for himself. We were sure it would be either the Friar or Pops Capulet. Who knew he would opt for Romeo? (Only joking.) Capulet was his role this time, although he also gave us the prologue.

I must admit to nodding off a bit during the first half, between the ball and Mercutio’s fight with Tybalt. I found the production took a while to get going. I don’t know if it was the performance space or, as Steve suspected, the high proportion of school kids in the audience, but I didn’t feel as involved as I would normally expect in a Northern Broadsides production. Fortunately the second half worked better for me – I felt the audience had warmed up more, although Barry Rutter had to cool down some of the youngsters by stopping his opening line and redoing it once they settled down.

The overall style was typical Northern Broadsides. The set consisted of a paved square-ish area with a two-level raised platform on top of it. The first raised level acted as a step, but didn’t run all the way around the top level. This platform was set slightly to the right of centre, allowing space for a large set of stairs leading up to a balcony to the left of the stage. There was plenty of room around all this, and sometimes the actors had to walk quite a long way to get to the “stage”.

Music played an important part in this production, as usual. There were several instruments sitting beside the balcony, including a double bass, and we were treated to some lively stuff for the feast (clog dancing included), a lovely wedding song which counterpointed the dead body of Juliet, a short requiem for the funeral, and probably some other bits which I just don’t remember. We also got the altercation between the servants and the musicians after the discovery of Juliet’s body, which is a very rare scene to see.

The costumes were a mixture; 50s style, I’d guess, with some contemporary clothes thrown in. The only furniture I can remember was the bed, which came on during the interval, and was used later on as kind of shroud to remove Juliet’s body. Sadly this deft piece of stage work caused some titters from the less mature audience members. For the funeral, a pallet was brought on to sit in the hole left by the bed, and Juliet and Tybalt walked on, now dressed in black, to take their places in Capel’s monument. I felt that was very effective, and that continued when, after the requiem, the others went, leaving Paris and his servant in the perfect position to start the next scene.

As the bed was “on” from the start of the second half, we got to see Romeo and Juliet lying together in it, another cause for immaturity in the audience to show itself, but a touching moment for the rest of us. I thought it was well done, and helped to show the characters growing up. I also thought what a big step one’s first sexual experience can be, but how much there still is to learn after that.

I always like the clarity of these productions, and today was no exception. Friar Lawrence can seem a real busybody, interfering in two young lives and screwing them up right royally. Today I could see that he’s doing his best to help, and there’s even a chance it could work. When Romeo is banished, and it all seems to be going horribly wrong, the friar’s plan to get Juliet away from her family and the arranged marriage makes sense. She’d be dead, for all her family knew, so no one would be looking for her. The impact of the undelivered letter is all the greater because, but for that, the plan would have worked. Shame about the audience, but even so, the youngsters did seem to appreciate the performance at the end.

Post-show.

Chaired by Stephen Unwin, this was a talk about language in the theatre, and Barry gave us his views in his usual forthright manner.  He doesn’t go in for all the psychological stuff with Shakespeare – even Stanislavsky reckoned his method was only good for contemporary Russian writers, and recommended ignoring it for the likes of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Shaw, etc. For Barry, the text is the important thing, and Will had written his lines with a particular rhythm, to give the actors the key to their delivery. This is what he, and the company, try to bring out in their productions.

He talked a bit about how and why he set up Northern Broadsides. Basically, he wanted work, and decided the best way to do that was to employ himself. He thought the company would only last a short while, and now they’ve been going for years, and tour to even more places. The only place they can’t go to is London, some silliness to do with the Arts Council grant, I think. He’s a good talker is Barry, and there was lots more entertaining stuff, but that’s the main points, and enough for now.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The 39 Steps – April 2008

8/10

By John Buchan, adapted by Patrick Barlow from the Hitchcock film of the novel

Directed by Maria Aitken, redirected for tour by David Newman

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Tuesday 22nd April 2008

There were so many visual images in this production that I’m not sure I’ll get even half of them down. Unlike Doctor in the House last week, this show managed to get just the right tone when making use of their “mistakes”. Early on, Hannay and Annabella Schmidt are in his flat, and both look at the phone. He says, ‘it’s the phone’, and then it rings. Very funny.

It’s all good fun, with lots of knockabout silly humour. When escaping through a window, Hannay shoves his head and shoulders through, then realises he won’t be able to get any further, so he just lets the window frame slide down and steps out of it, handing it back to his lovely Scottish hostess afterwards. What a thoughtful man.

The performance started with an announcement about switching off phones, watches, etc, done old style, which was good fun, and then there was a period of strobe lighting as the cast brought on furniture for Hannay’s flat. I couldn’t watch the strobe, so for me the action began when the lights came on to reveal Hannay sitting in his flat. There was a comfy chair, table, hat stand, window frame and some other shapes covered in sheets. Otherwise the set was a bare stage, with the brick wall showing at the back. On either side there were theatre boxes, for use at the London Palladium.

Hannay talks about his disillusionment with life in London – no friends, nothing interesting to do, sigh. It’s a lovely performance, mixing the stiff upper lip gentleman, man of action, and tongue in cheek approach very nicely. When he brings an exotic woman back to his flat, she’s wary of being seen at the window, insisting he lower the blinds before he puts the light on. He does so, and when he checks out her story that there are two men waiting underneath a lamppost in the street below, the other two actors rush on in great coats, carrying a lamppost to stand under. When Hannay releases the blind, they dash off again, only to reappear the next time he checks. The third time, Hannay can’t quite make up his mind whether to look or not, leading to a stop-start bit of confusion, and some exasperation from the men, as they eventually head back into the wings, trailing their lamppost.

These men were played by Colin Mace and Alan Perrin, who played a vast number of parts between them, often more than one at the same time. They carried spare hats with them for some very quick changes, and also swapped coats so that the two hoteliers could talk to the two fake policemen. At the end, Colin Mace also put his police coat on, but only on one side, so that by turning from side to side he could play two people having a conversation. It’s remarkable how well it all came across, and it’s a testament to how hard these actors were working.

The train sequence was excellent. The sheets had been whipped off the trunks in Hannay’s flat by the cleaning lady who discovers the dead woman (do keep up), so they’re easily moved to form two rows of seats. As the train chugs along towards Scotland, the actors move with it (from the post show, this took some time to get the hang of, jiggling and talking at the same time, but it all fell into place eventually). When the train stops in Edinburgh (the platform sign moves across the stage, then comes to a halt), the guard and a paper seller materialise, and have a long conversation. Rather too long, I felt, and then Hannay himself asks them to get a move on. With the police now searching the train, Hannay opts for the snogging disguise, only the young woman he’s just assaulted takes exception to this and gives him away. He then climbs out of the window, and clambers back along the train (you know the sequence), eventually being pursued along the top of the train. As the woman and policeman look out of the window after him, they’re buffeted by the wind – she holds the brim of her hat, and gets it to shake in very realistic way, and the policeman does something similar. Hannay’s coat is blowing out behind him, and it all looked very effective. Eventually he gets on to the bridge, and there’s a ramp brought on across the back of the stage to show him falling into the river. It’s a great way to do an action sequence on stage, and it was both exciting and funny, an unusual combination.

Later, after Hannay has climbed out of the window, he’s chased across the hills, and escapes on the other side of the loch. This is the bit we see in silhouette. A white sheet comes down, and cut-outs of the banks of the loch come in on each side. Wee figures run down the hillside, then Hannay appears on the other side, as does a stag, and he’s off to apparent safety. The story followed the Hitchcock film so closely that we even got the mandatory appearance by the great man himself. During this part, as Hannay was racing up the far side of the loch, a silhouette of Hitchcock came on and walked about a bit on the left hillside. Then a plane appears from our left, and starts to follow him (Hannay, that is). The pole it’s on isn’t long enough to stop us seeing the hand holding it, as the plane flies over the loch and the far bank. Then, as the cut-outs are taken away, the actor involved has to make a quick getaway, though not too quick for us to miss the fun. There’s still some silhouette work, but with Hannay running around behind the sheet – he really did work hard, that chap.

The section in the house on the other side of the loch (the one owned by the man with the missing part of one finger – and we all know what that means!) involved a lot of doors. Actually, there was one door, but Mrs X (don’t remember her name) kept leading Hannay through it, then wheeling it around to give them another doorway opportunity.

The hotel that Hannay stays in with the young woman he’s handcuffed to (look, watch the film on DVD if you don’t know what’s going on!) had a wonderfully silly couple in charge. The room they’re shown to was a large wardrobe, which opened out to reveal a fold-up bed. They also had a fireplace, and frankly I’ve stayed in worse. The woman manages to slip the handcuff off her wrist, and creeps downstairs, just in time to hear the two fake policemen discuss bumping both of them off, so now she’s on Hannay’s side.

Hannay heads back down to London to stop the villain getting the secret plans out of the country. He heads for the London Palladium, a tip based on the woman overhearing the fake policemen’s conversation, and he realises the plans are securely hidden in the mind of Mr Memory. We’d seen Mr Memory before, and been amazed at his prodigious powers of recall. Sadly, we weren’t actually able to ask any questions ourselves, and less kind people might have thought the questions were possibly planted, but we put those ideas to one side, and just enjoyed seeing a master at work. Alas, the poor chap gets shot, and then the villain gets killed by a fifth man. He dies (and that takes long enough!) complaining that there’s only supposed to be four people in the cast, so whose arm was it that came through the curtain and shot him? We’ll never know. His dead body tumbled to the ground, looking suspiciously like a dummy.

After that, Mr Memory dies backstage, while the policeman and the stage manager have their two-in-one conversation. Hannay and the woman shake hands and he heads back to his lonely flat, now clear of dead bodies, to have a proper brood in a manly way. I think she turns up later, but I’m getting a bit hazy on some of the details. Anyway, it was a fun ending, and we all applauded very loudly as we’d enjoyed ourselves so much.

There was a post-show. A large number of folk stayed behind, mostly youngsters, and they asked some interesting questions. A couple got the seal of approval from the cast: how many people were helping out behind the scenes so that they could do all the quick changes, etc., and what did they do between a matinee and evening performance, given that they were working really hard during each show. I forget how many people there were helping out (but lots), but for the second question the point was made that when performance time comes round, there’s an adrenalin boost that sees them through – “Doctor Theatre”. They also explained that, unlike most tours of a West End show, they were a completely new cast, and had to learn how the play was currently being done, rather than developing their own characters, although it was inevitable that they would end up doing things according to their own styles. Their favourite scene was the train sequence, and they did mention that in an earlier performance elsewhere, which a member of this audience had been to, the lights hadn’t worked for the silhouette part, so it briefly turned into a radio play for that night only.

It was an interesting post-show with lots of questions, and all the cast getting a chance to participate, so we went home well happy. Definitely one to see again, and possibly the West End version, to see if there are any significant differences?

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Glaspell Shorts – April 2008

All three plays by Susan Glaspell

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Thursday 17th April 2008

 

Trifles    7/10

Directed by Helen Leblique

The first play in this set of three was Trifles, which I would give a 7/10 rating. The set was a poor family’s kitchen – stove, dresser, table, sink with bucket, wooden chairs. Wind whistling. Three men and two women arrive at the house. Two of the men, the authority figures, hog the stove. They ask the other man to tell them what happened the previous day, and we hear how he found the wife acting strangely and the husband dead. Off they go to check for evidence, leaving the women to get some things for the wife, who’s now in jail. As they talk about the wife and sort through her things, with a great deal more kindness than the men, they discover an empty bird cage, then a dead bird, and realise what’s happened. They tacitly agree to hide the evidence, but there’s a tense moment when the county attorney is checking the stuff they intend to take to the wife. As he looks through the pile of quilting material, will he discover the box with the dead bird inside? It’s a play that rejoices in noticing, and showing, small details, and it was done very well.

The Outside     6/10

Directed by Svetlana Dimcovic

The second play was The Outside, a 6/10, though only just. Several shaped boards with straw grasses set the seaside theme. There were also a couple of ropes hanging down; one to the floor, the other halfway. A chair completed the set. There were the sounds of waves, seabirds calling, and then two seamen attempt to bring a dead body on stage. Their captain tries to revive him, but no luck. The first two men chat, and we find out this is an old life-saving station that’s been closed down and is now lived in by a strange woman who spends most of her time staring at the dunes. Her servant is an older woman who hardly says a word. As in the first play, the men set the scene, and then we see the two women talking. This bit is more Ibsen-like in the language and use of symbolism. Both women are dealing with loss, and somehow seeing the dead body has loosened the older woman’s tongue. She tries to persuade the younger woman to see the positive side of the tussle between the dunes and the woods, and possibly succeeds. It’s a strange debate, and I don’t claim to understand what the author is trying to do here. It certainly didn’t feel as complete as Trifles, although a theme of men not understanding what women experience is coming through loud and clear.

[Thinking about it afterwards, the older woman, Allie, is trying to get the younger one, Mrs Patrick, to accept her loss. Mrs Patrick’s husband is missing, having gone on a long sea voyage, so it’s not absolutely definite he’s dead but it is likely, while Allie’s husband has been drowned at sea. Allie doesn’t want Mrs Patrick to waste so much of her life as she did herself, but the debate drifts into symbolic territory which becomes a bit confusing.]

Suppressed Desires      8/10

Directed by Phoebe Barran

The third play, originally scheduled to be the second one performed, is Suppressed Desires, and a definite 8/10 hoot if ever there was one. The set consists of a sitting room with desk, phonograph, a table with breakfast things, and a settle. This was a comic look at the misguided passion some folk had for the new-fangled invention of psychoanalysis. Henrietta is addicted to it. Her husband Stephen is not so much against psychoanalysis as completely against his wife inflicting it on him. His temper is close to breaking point, and when his sister-in-law, Mabel, who’s visiting for a while, tells Henrietta the dream she had the night before, which Henrietta tries to twist into an expression of suppressed desire, he loses it completely. He heads out, but he’s actually going to see Dr X, whom Henrietta worships, to get himself analyzed. Mabel goes to the doctor, too, and the final scene, when both Stephen and Mabel confront Henrietta with the suppressed desires that the doctor has uncovered, is absolutely hilarious. It would be extremely apt to say that Henrietta’s chickens have come home to roost, and with a vengeance. Her only option is to renounce the religion of psychoanalysis, and live happily with her husband. Wonderful stuff.

The performances were all excellent, as is usual at this theatre. The three plays were an interesting introduction to Susan Glaspell’s writing, covering quite a range of styles. The first play was a clever piece of writing, getting across some subtle points very well. The characters were recognizable very quickly, and the situation was presented clearly at the start, giving plenty of time in an admittedly short play for the dialogue between the two women to gradually reveal what we needed to know – why the wife had killed her husband. Given the amount of time devoted to crime drama these days on TV, the description of the wife’s behaviour and the motivation for the murder all seemed spot on. For a character who doesn’t appear, she’s a strong presence in the play, as is her husband, though to a lesser extent. The growing understanding between the two women is also nicely developed, as the sheriff’s wife moves from supporting the strict legal code to actively suppressing relevant evidence.

The second play started off in similar vein, with the three men setting the scene. This time, though, the women were arguing about how to handle their grief. At least, that’s what it was about on the surface. They were talking a lot about “the outside”, and I didn’t quite get what that was meant to represent. Otherwise, the debate was between life-affirming and life-denying, the dunes swallowing the trees and the trees regrowing over the sand. At one point, the servant had her hands together, demonstrating this constantly evolving pattern, and as she countered the other woman’s argument by saying that the trees would grow through again, her lower fingers crept through like new shoots – a lovely detail, and one of the reasons I like such intimate spaces – I’m close enough to spot such things.

The problem I found with this play was that it was too short to really get its point across. In particular, I found the servant’s abrupt rediscovery of her desire to speak, when we’d barely grasped her silence, was difficult to absorb. It seemed a convenient device from someone who evidently understood human nature very well, and who could have given us much more of that character’s silent eloquence before making better use of her transformation. Several people at the post-show discussion voiced similarly views, and a number clearly enjoyed the piece.

The third play was much livelier. From the off, there was plenty of humour, and it was clear that Susan Glaspell knew these type of people very well, enough to poke loving fun at them. The husband’s exasperation was brilliantly done, along with his remarkable calmness and sadness as he tells his wife that he has a suppressed desire to leave her. Personally I thought his desire was more overt than that, but this fitted perfectly with his wife’s obsession. I did wonder, along with at least one other audience member, whether he was simply setting his wife up to show her the consequences of her beliefs, but it became clear that he wasn’t. The complicated unravelling of Mabel’s dream was a comic masterpiece, and I do hope we’ll get to see more of Glaspell’s work again.

Post-show discussion: Sam Walters was here as usual, together with Kate Saxon, who directs Chains of Dew, and two of the three directors of these pieces – I didn’t get the names, though judging by the accents I’d say one of them was Svetlana Dimcovic. There were various questions about Glaspell’s work, and how these pieces fitted into the overall trend. I think Suppressed Desires was an early piece, while The Outside was a later work. Trifles is apparently her best known piece, as it’s included in a number of anthologies of American plays, but still very few students, even American ones, recognise her name. Sam Walters chose these plays to show the range of her work, and to compliment Chains of Dew, although he could have chosen a number of other pieces.

There was some information about her “set”, the group of American artists, writers, etc, who wanted to create home-grown American theatre. Most of the stuff being put on at the end of the 19th century was taken from the European tradition, and they felt it was time for the authentic American voice to be heard. This group supported Eugene O’Neill, and they were certainly influenced by, amongst others, Ibsen. They would head for the coast during the summer, and put on plays; there was some uncertainty about whether these were performed by themselves, as enthusiastic amateurs, or by professional actors as a bit of fun during the summer. Either way, they produced some good stuff, and Susan Glaspell was not the least amongst them, judging by this set of plays.

On the way out, Steve heard an American lady compliment one of the actors on the accents they used. Apparently she found them all totally authentic, and appropriate to each setting.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Doctor In The House – April 2008

3/10

By Ted Willis, from the novels by Richard Gordon

Directed by Bruce James

Venue: Connaught Theatre

Date: Tuesday 15th April 2008

I only managed the first half of this – I had some digestive trouble and couldn’t relax and enjoy myself, so it seemed better to head home. Steve stayed for the rest, and gave me feedback later. 3/10 was my rating for the first half, though as I wasn’t feeling so good, that may have been a bit mean. Steve reckoned a lowish 5/10 though, so perhaps I wasn’t so far off.

We are both familiar with the Doctor in the House storyline, and there was nothing new here. To put it on the stage, all the action was set in the flat that the students were sharing, which meant that the surgery “sketch” had to become a demonstration in the flat. Nothing wrong with that, but the material did seem dated and rather flat.

Whether this was accurate or not, it certainly seemed to be the opinion of the director, and possibly the cast as well. Steve described it as the “Morecambe and Wise” version of the story. The cast mainly got their laughs by making deliberate mistakes, fluffs, etc., and apparently ad libbing to the audience. We’ve seen this sort of thing before, and it looked to both of us early on that it was planned rather than accidental. For example, Simon Sparrow was using a microscope at one point, and a piece came off and rolled onto the floor. Fine, he came and got it, making a suitable funny comment, but then he kept playing with it. Whenever there’s a genuine mistake like that, the actors usually leave well alone, so it was pretty clear that this was a setup. Confirmation came when the performance ended on the button – no chance of that if they’d really been screwing up that much.

Having said this, the performances were very good. Damian Williams as Simon Sparrow did most of the fooling around, and did it very well. Eric Potts, one of our favourites, was playing Sir Launcelot Sprat, and although he was a bit too much on the cuddly side at times to strike fear into anyone, he was still very entertaining. The play was framed by the device of asking if there was a doctor in the house, as the leading lady had had an accident. Two doctors responded – two of the cast – and they started reminiscing about their time together as students. Cue the flashback. James Campbell as Grimsdyke did the occasional narration piece during the play, between scenes, and also finished it off, but there was nothing much to it other than emphasising that the action takes place in the 1950s, and allowing the numerous asides to the audience to fit in more comfortably. It’s a good enough device, and the performances were good, but there was one big drawback. The asides and funny business, while entertaining, tended to point out how unfunny most of the actual dialogue was. I certainly found the fooling around more fun than the play itself. Sadly, that wasn’t enough for me in my condition, and might not have been enough even if I’d been in top form. However, I’m happy to give the play the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps if it had been done with more enthusiasm for the original piece, I might have enjoyed it a lot more.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The Last Days Of Judas Iscariot – April 2008

6/10

By Stephen Adly Guirgis

Directed by Rupert Goold

Venue: Almeida Theatre

Date: Saturday 12th April 2008

This was a good production. It was pretty loud – I only used the headset briefly in the first half, during Simon’s testimony, but I used it a bit more in the second half.

The overall effect was surreal. The play was set in Hope, a suburb of Purgatory, according to a helpful angel. It concerns an appeal hearing on behalf of Judas Iscariot, to get him out of Hell and into heaven. The story jumps around a lot, so I’ll just throw things in as I remember them. St. Monica, resplendent in a red tracksuit, gave us a good insight into Judas’ suffering, and how she was requested to put in a good word with God about helping him. She visits Judas, and finds him frozen in grief, unable to move, with only one tear trickling down his cheek. She’s very moved by this, and does her best to help.

Corey Johnson played the judge who does his best to refuse to hear the case. We find out later that he’d hanged himself when he was on Earth, which is why he was trying cases in Purgatory. Really he should have recused himself in this trial, but that’s the afterlife for you. There’s a young woman lawyer, Cunningham, who’s determined to get him to change his mind and eventually succeeds, and another chap who’s keen to defend against the appeal. He’s so smarmy he took flattery to the next level. He flirted outrageously with Mother Teresa and constantly praised the judge, but he was brought up short by Satan. Cunningham has her own issues, as we discover later, but she’s mainly feisty and determined, and does her best to get Judas’s sentence repealed.

A jury is sworn in – it includes the angel who gave us the introduction at the start – and they sit in the front row of the auditorium, to one side. Witnesses are called, and it’s an illustrious list. One of the first is Satan, played by Dougie Henshall, all svelte and charming in a classy suit, but he could get nasty at times. He was very candid about his activities, but completely denied that he tempted Judas to betray Christ.

Initially, Satan was complaining that a couple of his souls had been nicked, and he wanted replacements, he wasn’t fussy who. He had an unsettling way of looking at the audience at this point. He also reckoned he didn’t compete with God – people were turning up in Hell all by themselves, while he sat on his sofa watching hour long dramas on HBO. I thought there was more humour in this than the audience responded to, and there were some gaps in the auditorium after the interval. The language wasn’t a problem for us – if you watch The Wire regularly, as we do, this was pretty tame – although I probably didn’t get all the cultural references.

Saint Peter told us of ‘Drew running off to be with Jesus. Matthew was also with Peter, and explained the attitude towards Jewish tax collectors. A nun read out a quote from Thomas Aquinas(?) during Mother Teresa’s testimony. She got a bit stroppy at having to read it out a second time, as the prosecution lawyer didn’t get it first time around. Personally I don’t blame him, it was a tricky piece of language.

Satan was recalled to the stand, and was very unhappy about it. He put both counsellors through Hell before continuing. Pilate was called, and arrived in sandy coloured plus fours with purple socks, carrying a golf club. He clearly enjoys all the facilities at the heavenly country club. Despite her best efforts, Cunningham was unable to pin any responsibility for Jesus’ death on him; that’s how cool Pilate was.

The second half started with Monica introducing us to Mary Magdalene. She was clear that she wasn’t Jesus’ wife, but his best friend. Judas was probably his second best friend, chalk to Jesus’ cheese. Jesus argued with Judas a lot, but always loved him. Then we were back into the court case.

Caiaphas gave testimony, and was fairly unmoved about it all, but he still couldn’t explain the difference between his betrayal of Jesus, and Judas’s. There were lots of different arguments put forward, but at times I felt the writer’s own passion had taken over, and I wasn’t able to connect with what was going on. On the whole, I liked Satan’s evidence best – he seemed to be pointing them in a more useful direction, had they cared to take it.

We saw two jury members, apart from the angel we met near the start. One was a woman still on life support back on Earth, so she was dressed in hospital blue; the other was a young man who didn’t yet know he was dead, and who didn’t ask anyone in case he found out. He ended the play by bringing Judas some beer, and then telling him a long story about how he cheated on his wife. At this point Judas has frozen up again, in the pose that Monica found him in earlier. Jesus is sitting on the far desk, having tried to help Judas get past his guilt. It was a fairly downbeat ending, but there was a lot to like during the rest of the play.

The set had a curved box covering the upper level, with a big slit at which characters could appear. Towards the back there was a fireman’s pole, while the floor underneath was a dangerous looking design of random and shattered tiles. To our left, the judge had a desk, to our right was the lawyers’ table and chairs, and in the centre was a manhole cover. Various lights gave a number of different effects, and on the whole I liked the sparse design and jumping from one scene to another without much explanation or sense of place (place on Earth, that is). One exception was Satan’s description of his meeting with Judas at a bar after the betrayal. Judas brought on two bar stools, and his Hawaiian shirt brightened the place up enormously. Satan pretends to be Clementine from Cappadocia, and Judas is so drunk he thinks Cappadocia is in Egypt. Or else he just didn’t care, which is more likely.

There was lots of humour in this, and lots of excellent performances. The down side was that some speeches went on too long, and the energy flagged in the second half with some of the repetitious questioning. I would have liked to have heard more from Judas himself, but then one of the points was that he was too locked up in his guilt and grief to help himself. I was sad that he couldn’t get past those things to accept the forgiveness that was on offer. To sum up, there was much to like, with some rough patches.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The Clean House – April 2008

6/10

By Sarah Ruhl

Directed by John Dove

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Wednesday 9th April 2008

On the drive back, Steve and I decided this play was like a cross between Terms of Endearment and Art. There was quite an emphasis on relationships, and the play had several emotional moments, but the whole piece had an abstract, almost surreal air to it, and the emotions were never allowed to get too sentimental. The casting was excellent, and the performances likewise, but I found I never really got into the play as much as I would have liked.

What I did like was the set, the crossover action, the performances and the humour. The set was fairly simple. At the back was a doorway with some classical looking architecture above it which later turned into a balcony overlooking the sea. To our right was a window, and to our left a wall with a moveable table – a cross between a breakfast bar and an ironing board – and various cubby holes. Just off centre was a large white sofa with coffee table, and another chair completed the set. In addition, there were two large TV screens on either side, which gave us important information from time to time.

The plot: a seriously important lady doctor (Lane) has hired a young Brazilian woman to clean her house. She doesn’t have time to do it herself, and probably wouldn’t know how. (She didn’t know where her blankets were kept, for a start.) The young woman, Matilde, pronounced, as far as I could make out, Ma-til-je, is the daughter of the two funniest people in Brazil, or at least in her small home town in Brazil, and since they only died less than a year ago, and she doesn’t actually like cleaning (it makes her sad), she’s depressed. Lane has helped her as much as she could – got her into hospital, made sure she got anti-depressants – but to no avail. The play effectively starts with Lane’s sister, Virginia, offering to spend her free and all too empty afternoons cleaning her sister’s house in Matilde’s place. Apparently cleaning makes her feel good, although from her confidences to the audience, it mainly seems to stave off thoughts of suicide, death and other morbid subjects.

In the course of cleaning her sister’s house, Virginia and Matilde discover signs that Charles, Lane’s husband, is cheating on his wife. Flamboyant underpants are not Lane’s style, and when various pairs of sexy knickers turn up in the wash, it’s pretty clear what’s going on. Shortly afterwards, Lane discovers Virginia’s contribution to the clean house, and Charles announces he’s found his soul mate. (He used a Jewish term which I have no idea how to spell, always assuming I could remember it.) Apparently, in Jewish custom, this means he’s compelled to leave his wife for the other woman, who in this case is Ana, someone Charles has been treating for breast cancer (he’s a surgeon). Lane isn’t impressed by this decision, Virginia is happy for the new couple, and Matilde gets to split her time between the two households, on condition she tells Ana a joke every day. (Matilde is trying to think up the perfect joke – it’s a family thing.) Ana gets ill again, Charles heads off to Alaska to find a specific type of yew tree to bring back and plant in their garden to help cure her, but Ana dies from laughing at Matilde’s perfect joke before he can get back. Weird, or what?

What saved us all from maudlin sentimentality was the humour. Some of this came through the crossovers between the two locations. When the balcony comes forward during the second half, the characters on it throw various items over the rail, where they not only land on the stage below, they also land on the characters who are still in the sitting room, and who definitely notice them. First it’s apples, then it’s clothes. Also, just as we learn of Ana’s recurrence of her cancer, we see Charles on his quest for the special yew, all kitted out in winter gear, walking across the back of the stage as snow descends from the flies. Hilarious. He walks across a few times, and each time the snow pours down. Finally, we see him carrying this enormous tree that he’s cut down, and there’s a message about how he can’t get it on the plane, so he’s coming back some other way.

Another trick was to show us Matilde’s parents during her conversations with the audience. Oliver Cotton and Eleanor Bron doubled these parts with Charles and Ana. They would be trundled across the back of the stage on some seat or platform, doing whatever Matilde recalled them doing. Later, when Lane is imagining what Charles and Ana are up to, these two appear again, and when Matilde arrives on stage she’s horrified to find her parents in someone else’s imagination. It was a nice touch, and went along well with these overlapping realities.

I should also explain that some of the characters each have several goes at talking to the audience. In fact, the play opens that way. The TV screens showed various headings – character’s names, dates and places, and one time a translation of the Portuguese that Ana and Matilde are communicating in. Meantime, the characters Matilde, Lane and Virginia get to talk to us directly, setting the scene for what’s to come. Matilde probably did this the most. Her first “soliloquy” was done standing centre stage and telling jokes in Portuguese, to the accompaniment of rapturous canned laughter. Apparently, she’s very good at jokes. In Portuguese.

Apart from all this, there’s a lovely moment when Virginia loses it completely and wrecks Lane’s sitting room, even pulling the curtain rail and curtains off the window. It made for a messy end to the play, as there was no time to tidy anything up, but it was fun to see her let rip.

As I’ve said, the performances were excellent. Matilde was played by Natalia Tena, whom we’ve seen in the Shared Experience Bronte. Lane was played by Patricia Hodge, and Virginia by Joanna McCallum, so it was a pretty high-powered production all round. Probably not a play we’d choose to see again, but still good fun on the night.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me