Category Archives: Theatre

War Horse – January 2008

6/10

By: Michael Morpurgo (novel) adapted by Nick Stafford

Directed by: Marianne Elliot

Venue: Olivier Theatre

Date: Thursday 24th January 2008

Although I enjoyed this production, I probably found it less good than some of the reports we’d heard, mainly because our expectations were higher than usual. The horse puppets were indeed fantastic, and I certainly cried at the end, but our distance from the stage meant we weren’t as involved as we normally like to be. I had hoped that the size of the production would carry that far back, but I did miss seeing the actor’s expressions clearly. Another reminder that we like to get up close and personal with the action, though preferably not within soaking range.

The set was sparse and effective. At first, I thought the strip of white, torn paper across the centre of the stage was actually in front of a curtain of some sort. As the action progressed, I realised the stage was open to the back, and the way this strip was  lit made it seem to be floating in the air. It also allowed for scenes to be projected onto it, giving us information on the time and place of each scene, and showing some shadow puppeteering for the action that couldn’t be fitted onto the stage. The floor had the revolve painted up as streaks and patches of brown and grey. This very effectively suggested furrows, mud, rutted paths, and probably a few other things as well. A bit of this decoration spilled over to the rest of the stage, which was otherwise plain black floorboards running front to back. I noticed what seemed like a forked tree trunk in the shadows to our left – this turned out to be a plough – and to our right were a couple of boxes. Doors, carts, wagons, and even a tank were brought on as needed.

The key to this whole production has to be the marvellous puppet work. Apart from the horses themselves, there was a goose, running around, pecking at the ground and hissing at people, several birds flying across the sky at different times, a young girl in occupied France who makes friends with the horses, and a rather nasty crow who shows an unpleasant interest in the corpses littering the place. But the horses were spectacular. Full sized puppets, with two men inside them working the legs with hand controls, and another chap at the head, giving them life and movement. They were rarely still, always shifting and nosing at things, as horses do, and even though I could see the person working the head, it was easy to forget that and just see the horses.

I did find it a bit more confusing when Joey, the star of the show, was a foal. He was so small that there were three people working him from the outside, and as they were dressed the same as the actors, I did find it hard to tell sometimes whether they were people holding the horse or non-existent puppeteers. This was especially true at the horse market, with lots of folk milling around. However, we soon got past that, and seeing actors actually riding these magnificent puppets was quite amazing. It was particularly sad when we got to the later stages of the war and some of the horses were bags of bone, dying as they tried to pull the guns from place to place. It was heartbreaking to see them die.

It was certainly a sad story, and I fully expected Albert to find Joey just as he was breathing his last – a truly sad ending. I was surprised when this animal actually managed to survive, despite the hard work, the lack of food and all the other hardships, but then the story is aimed at children. The basic plot is that Joey is bought as a foal by a farmer who’s  in competition with his more successful brother-in-law. He spends all the mortgage money on him, and his son, Albert, trains the horse up so they can sell him. Albert and Joey get on really well, and then Albert finds out that his silly father has bet that Joey will plough a strip of land by a particular Sunday – I forget what it was called. As Joey is more suited to riding than ploughing, no one expects him to win, but Albert keeps working with him (he has a whole week, after all!), and sure enough, Joey manages it, just. Thinking Joey’s now safe, and his, Albert lets his guard down, and his father then sells Joey off to the army as a cavalry horse, just in time for him to be shipped off to France for WWI. We then see Joey’s story, as he gets to meet Topthorn, the other horse in the story, and they’re ridden in a cavalry charge, only to have their riders shot off the top of them. The horses then wander round the battlefield, until a German cavalry officer finds them, and recognising their quality does his best to protect them. The opportunity comes when horses are wanted to pull an ambulance cart. At first, it doesn’t look like Topthorn will handle the harness, but Joey remembers it from his ploughing days, and volunteers. Topthorn then joins in, and the cavalry officer takes advantage of this and a later opportunity to take on the identity of a dead ambulance man, to keep the horses safe on a farm over the winter.

By this time, Albert has joined up, thinking he’ll be joining the cavalry regiment and be able to find Joey, only he’s sidetracked into the infantry, and gets caught up in the fighting. Joey and Topthorn are taken back into service pulling the German artillery, and eventually Topthorn dies. Joey survives, and wanders over the battlefield, until he gets caught up in some barbed wire in no-man’s land (OK, I was crying by this time). The German and British soldiers have a temporary truce to try to recover him; the British soldier wins the coin-toss, and takes him back to their lines, but he’s badly injured. Albert has taken a shell-blast and is temporarily blinded, and both he and Joey end up at the same medical station. As the medical staff are declaring that they can’t treat the horse, Albert is talking with his mate, and Joey recognises his voice, and I can’t go on, I can’t see the keys for the tears…..

(Several tissues later…) Well, it all ends happily, as I said before, and if it hadn’t been so sad, I think I would have enjoyed it more. I accept it’s a sad subject, and I don’t expect it to be tarted up, but maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for something so powerful. I’m still glad I saw it, and some of the images will stay with me for a long time.

One other thing to mention was that much of the Germans’ dialogue was in German, without surtitles. A bit confusing, but nicely realistic, especially as one of the German officers was suspicious of his colleagues who spoke in English.

At the end, all the puppeteers came on as themselves to begin with, and after taking the first bows, they dashed off. I was hoping they’d come back on as the horses, and they did, rearing up, and taking their bows beautifully. I still feel like I’ve seen actual horses on stage. This was a masterpiece in many ways, and I hope they can find some other way to use these magnificent puppets again.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Present Laughter – January 2008

8/10

By: Noel Coward

Directed by: Howard Davies

Venue: Lyttelton Theatre

Date: Tuesday 22nd January 2008

Now that I’ve seen this play a number of times, I realise the main interest in seeing it again is the fantastically different performances by the leading man. We’ve seen Simon Callow, Donald Sinden and somebody else (I wasn’t doing these notes then), and each time the lead actor brings a different emphasis, along with accumulated baggage, most of which enriches the performance. Alex Jennings contributed a more youthful Garry Essendine, one close to the age claimed by Garry, which made his character seem more in touch with reality. He still covered the character’s wide emotional range (or tantrums) beautifully, and there was a nice touch for those of us who remember Alex Jennings’ Peer Gynt some years ago, with Garry being so thankful that his friends had saved him from playing that part. All the performances were perfect, and I enjoyed myself immensely.

I did find the set and staging a bit off-putting, though. Having checked the program notes, I accept that the play itself was written in the run-up to WWII, and that it would have been staged in the West End had the war not broken out just before the opening, but I don’t find any references to the war in the play itself. In fact, if they had been in the early stages of WWII, would Liz have blithely suggested that Joanna spend a month in Paris? Maybe she wanted her to fall into the German’s clutches, as that would have solved all their problems. Or would Joanna actually have gone, only to return a week later because she misses Garry, rather than to avoid those terribly non-U Nazi storm troopers? And the references to what food is available for breakfast take on a different connotation: rather than suggesting a haphazard Bohemian lifestyle, they simply imply that rationing had bitten early. And the biggest elephant in the room was the tour to Africa – that would have been completely disrupted by the events being announced on the stage radio, never mind by Garry’s obsessive lovers (and Mr Maule, who may want to be one of these lovers).

The set contributed to this sense of the play not quite fitting the mould made for it. Previous productions have used immaculately designed and decorated sets, against which Garry struts his stuff like a peacock. This set was an exaggerated triangle, thrusting quite far back on the stage, and giving more of the Bohemian effect. The walls were painted in a turquoise blue scumbled effect, the sofas and tables were well-worn and old-fashioned, and with the various throws and rugs, it wasn’t actually easy to see, when Garry posed himself on the sofa, which bits were him and which bits were the throws. For someone who likes to play the peacock, this was beyond understated. It also made it hard to spot the change after the farewell party – the place looked much the same, just a few extra bottles which took time to spot. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the references in the dialogue, I might not have noticed. All the luggage seemed part and parcel of the general studio setting as well, so extra bags arriving didn’t build up that sense of pressure that I normally get with the final scene. Despite this, the acting was superb from everyone – the central part is so dependent on the rest of the cast to pull this one off – and there was one lovely piece of business during the third scene. When Daphne is doing her recital, she loses the words at one point (not specified in the text), and everyone else, including Miss Erikson the housekeeper who pops her head through the kitchen door, prompts her. This adds to Daphne’s embarrassment, as it’s another reminder that she’s not the first and won’t be the last to have a fling with Garry. You can certainly count us in for another go.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry V – January 2008

10/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Saturday 19th January 2008

Cast changes today – Patrice Naiambana played Chorus instead of Forbes Masson, and Matt Costain played Orlean instead of Kieran Hill. Given these indispositions, it may  be that the comments at Winter School about lacklustre performances have their basis in illness. God knows, we audience members have been suffering, so it’s not too surprising if the cast have had their problems as well.

You may be wondering at what point a production/performance earns a ten-star rating. Well, it varies, but today it was about two minutes into the opening speech. Eschewing the customary request to turn off mobiles, we went straight into the opening Chorus. After some silent sword practise, Chorus begged for “A muse of fire” and gave us a very expressive rendition of the speech, including a slight amendment. Instead of asking if “this wooden O” could do the biz in representing the field of Agincourt, he asked if “this rusty shed” could do the job. Massive hilarity (the Courtyard theatre is, indeed, a rusty shed, though as nice a rusty shed as one could wish for).

Fortunately this change, although well received, didn’t bring the shed down, and next up was the chat between two churchmen about how to avoid losing a lot of the churches’ wealth to the crown. Apparently the strategy is to pay the king lots of money, which kind of misses the point – these two just wouldn’t cut it as tax dodgers. They head off for an important meeting, allowing the King and his advisers to enter and start the discussion that is central to the whole play. Does Harry have any right to claim France as his own, or not? If he does, it means war, lots of deaths and possible defeat, or victory, glory and money. If he doesn’t, we all go home early. We already know the Archbishop of Canterbury is inclined to advise the King to go to war, as then he can offer to help financially and get off the tax bill, so it’s no surprise when he does just that. Before this, when the King enters, Lord Scroop was carrying his crown, and offers it to him. Harry doesn’t want to wear it at that time, so Scroop keeps it during this discussion. When we get to the arrival of the French ambassador, then Harry puts it on, indicating to me that he still has some reservations about his kingship, and keeps the formal show for formal occasions.

Meanwhile, the Archbishop has been explaining that Salic law, which the French have been saying bars Harry from the French crown, applies only to lands in Germany, and that many French nobles and kings have claimed their titles through the female line, validating Harry’s claim. Only he doesn’t say it anything like as quickly (60+ lines). It’s a lovely performance from Geoffrey Freshwater, expressing the boring tedious detail clearly while still making it funny. There were several laughter points during his long speech, especially when he says “So that, as clear as is the summer’s sun”, given the fog of confusion we were all in by that time. Harry listens to it all patiently, and the further arguments of his lords, and clearly decides to go ahead with claiming France.

Now is the time to hear the French ambassador. He arrives through the doors at the back (this is unusual for the French – see later), and delivers the message from the Dauphin. (Although it’s often pronounced as “Dolphin”, they didn’t do it that way this time.) A large box descends from the heavens, carrying the tennis balls the Dauphin has sent in jest – a bitter jest as it will turn out. Harry gets really angry, and opens the box by striking it with his sword. All the balls fall out, covering the stage, and Harry tells the ambassador to tell the Dauphin where to shove it. He leaves, and the English prepare for war.

I’m always worried when there are lots of potential leg-breakers scattered about the stage, and the tennis balls definitely qualified. I also get a little worried that it’s going to take ages to get them all off (health and safety) and the momentum will be lost. This time, Chorus and two helpers brought on very wide brooms, and with a united front, swept most of the balls from the front to the back of the stage. It didn’t take long, and didn’t clear up all the balls either, but it helped, and at the end of it, Chorus was able to step forward for his next speech. In this, he tells us of the English preparations, the French concerns, the English traitors ready to kill the king, and that the next location is Southampton. As he tells us of the traitors, they step forward at the front of the stage, and I realised that Scroop, the crown-carrier, is one of them. For me, this brought home the degree of treachery far more than words alone, although Harry will use plenty of those to express his feelings later. Scroop’s closeness to the king, and the level of trust the king placed in him, were exemplified by his role as crown bearer, and for him to change allegiance means something has gone terribly wrong in Harry’s England. Today, I saw that Harry’s own actions before becoming king, his rowdy youth and dissipation, have contributed to this treachery, as few people have any faith that he will turn out to be a good king. Plus this continues the theme of king-killing and civil war that will become so familiar down the road. So for once, this scene made sense on a lot of levels. I recognised Harry’s unexpressed offer of mercy if the traitors show any themselves towards a prisoner. It reminded me of the courtroom scene in The Merchant Of Venice. They don’t advocate mercy, and so their fate is sealed. For this scene, Harry was sitting roughly centre stage on a crate and fiddling with an arrow, with the three lords in front of him. At one point, when the king had moved closer to them, they moved forward as if to kill him then and there, but he’d already moved back out of their reach, so their attempted assassination was thwarted.

I’ve run these two scenes together because of their connection, but the actual performance, and the text, have another scene between Chorus and the king. It begins at the end of Chorus’s speech, when Bardolph runs on at the back to relieve himself against the metal drum. (I think it was a physical need rather than artistic comment on the set.) In this scene we meet Pistol again, and Nym, who are at odds because Pistol has married Mistress Quickly, who also appears in the scene. I have to say I found much of this scene unintelligible. To show why, here is a small snippet of the dialogue:

Nym   Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

Pistol “Solus”, egregious dog? O viper vile!

The solus in thy most marvellous face,

The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

And in thy hateful lungs, yea in thy maw pardie—

And which is worse, within thy nasty mouth.

Any suggestions? Bear in mind I don’t have an editor’s notes to hand during the performance. Admittedly, this is the worst bit I could find in my text, and there were some good bits. For example, Keith Dunphy portrays Nym as a depressed sort, with not too much weight to carry between his ears. This contrasted nicely with Nicholas Asbury’s rowdy Pistol, and the two finally come to some sort of accommodation with each other, mainly through Bardolph reminding them there’s a war to fight. Maureen Beattie’s Mistress Quickly keeps hovering on the border of good taste – the wrong side of the border, that is. She inserted a delicious pause in the lines

“for we cannot lodge

and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live

honestly by the prick of their needles,”

after the word “prick”, which got a good laugh. So the time was not wasted after all.

Following this was the discovery of the traitors, and then the Eastcheap boys are back to describe the death of Falstaff. I didn’t get much from this scene in terms of the dialogue, but I do remember thinking that Pistol is, in effect, taking over from Falstaff as the chief rogue of the crew.

Now to France, in an environmentally friendly way – no air miles for us. Three trapezes descend from the lofty ceiling, while the King of France himself appears on the balcony with a couple of attendants. The trapezes were necessary as the French court’s tailor (aka the wardrobe department) had seen fit to add excessively long tails to their coats, making it impossible for them to walk anywhere without tripping over their clothes. This created a nice popinjay effect, added to by the way that they casually swept up their tails and carried them over their arms from time to time. When the Dauphin (John Mackay) did come down to earth, and stood with his back to us, he looked for all the world just like a 1930s starlet in some glamorous evening dress, with his curly blond hair and sweeping train. The only down side to these costumes was that the lord nearest to us was in line with the king, and when his tails hung down, we couldn’t see what was happening on the balcony. But it’s a small price to pay for such a striking visual effect.

During this scene, the Dauphin comes across as an effete youngster, full of himself and the glory of the French court, and treating Henry with contempt. The Constable of France (Antony Bunsee) however, is a shrewder individual, who has picked up on what the ambassadors have told them of Henry. Perhaps the French king, with an echo of Henry IV, will find himself regretting that he didn’t have a different son and heir once the war is over.

The messenger from England is the Duke of Exeter (Miles Richardson). He brings a stern message to the French king – get off the throne, or else, backed up with a detailed pedigree which he hands to one of the lords on trapezes. It’s ironic that Henry V is telling another king that he’s a usurper, when many in England, and even more in his son’s time, will say that about his family’s claim to England’s crown. This is yet another example of the way in which Shakespeare is constantly comparing and contrasting his historical characters throughout these plays, and these all make Michael Boyd’s interpretation both more interesting and more valid. Anyway, this scene is good at setting up the tensions between the sides, and showing the Dauphin’s readiness to fight as well as suggesting his complete inability to make a good job of it.

Now Chorus has some more work to do, and takes over 25 lines to tell us that Henry’s sailed to France, and is now besieging Harfleur. More to the point, the French king has made an opening bid of his daughter’s hand in marriage and some minor dukedoms, and Henry’s said “no”. With the line “and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches”, there are some loud bangs, several trapdoors are flung open on stage, and Henry comes on to inspire us all to go back to the beach. Sorry, breach. It’s a rousing speech, and I certainly felt included in the ranks of the listening troops, though thankfully I didn’t have to fight.

After this morning’s talk by Nicola Watson, I was much more aware of the use of Pistol, Bardolph and the rest as a counterpoint to Henry. Bardolph’s first line is “On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!”, a rather half-hearted imitation of the king. He doesn’t inspire much in his hearers, and it’s not till Fluellen comes along and chivvies them back to the action that they go, leaving the boy to tell us what a bunch of rogues they all are. I feel sorry for this lad. He was given to Falstaff by Prince Hal, and now he’s been taken over by Pistol and the others, and dragged off to war. Perhaps Henry really does think war a noble enterprise, or perhaps he’s just forgotten the lad, but I can’t help feeling he could have looked out for him a bit better. The boy himself wants to get away from them as he’s not keen on a life of crime, but alas, too late.

Now the next scene is a difficult one, and I still can’t claim to know what it’s about. I liked the performances well enough, but it feels too much like a joke about a Welshman, an Irishman, a Scotsman and an Englishman, only without the punchline. Fluellen is obviously a man who has studied the accounts of historical battles a great deal – his production of a large book while on the battlefield shows how obsessed he is with the subject – but how this relates to the other characters I have no idea. I will pay closer attention when we see it another time, in the hope of learning more.

The next scene is interesting. Henry addresses the governor of Harfleur, threatening all sort of dire consequences if he doesn’t hand over the town at once. He goes into a lot of detail, while taking care to suggest that the rape and killing would be entirely because his soldiers lost their cool, and nothing to do with him. Bit cheeky, that. In any case, the governor’s reply suggests that Henry could have saved his breath, and his 43 lines, as the town is only too ready to surrender. I guess this scene just shows how ruthless Henry’s prepared to be. Of course, when I’m watching it, I get as carried away with the wonderful words as the next man, and it all seems to make perfect sense – this RSC house writer certainly has a way with words. I can’t make up my mind whether, if he was around today, Shakespeare would be a highly paid Hollywood script writer, or speech writer to US presidents. Or possibly both.

Meanwhile, back at the palace, Katherine, the French king’s daughter, is showing good foresight by taking an English lesson from her maid. It’s a lovely little scene, especially as I know enough French to be able to follow most of it, and these two ladies did it very well. Katherine was suitably pouty at being corrected by her maid, when she’s convinced she’s an excellent student. The exchange lightens the tone nicely, as we’re about to have some really tough scenes, with actual deaths.

Elsewhere in the palace, the king is discussing the situation with his courtiers, and after insulting the English invaders, they get down to business. All the French lords are sent off to tackle the English troops, but the dauphin is told to stay at home with the king, which really annoyed him. He flounced off beautifully in a temper. (Girls will be girls.)

Now Gower and Fluellen are at it again, discussing what’s going on in the fighting, which is elsewhere as it happens. Not that I wish to call these chaps cowards, or anything…. Along comes Pistol, to inform us that Bardolph is to be hanged, and to ask Fluellen to speak up for him, which he refuses to do as discipline is important to him. Pistol heads off in a temper, after passing some choice insults, and Gower and Fluellen get a chance to talk of those knaves who brag about what they’ve done in war, without having actually gone to the trouble of doing it. Pretend war heroes.

The king turns up, and is told of Bardolph’s pending execution. Again, he has to make a choice, and although it’s difficult, he sticks with the kingly role –“We would have all such offenders so cut off”. The French herald turns up again, and delivers some fighting talk. Harry’s response is interesting. He appears to give away too much information by saying that he doesn’t particularly want to fight at the moment, thanks very much, then brags about his troops when they’re fit and well, then accuses the French of being braggarts, then basically ends up by saying, come on then if you think you’re hard enough! Oh and he makes it clear there’ll be no ransom. It’s an intriguing combination of ideas, making him look straightforward, sensible, and capable of handling whatever’s thrown his way. At the end of this scene, as the king leaves the stage, he and we see Bardolph and Nym hanging behind the open doors, and that’s the end of the first half.

To start the second half we get one of the funniest scenes of the whole play, and there aren’t a lot of those to be had in this one. The French, languidly dangling on their trapezes, are waiting for day to break so they can go and kill themselves some Englishmen. That’s if they can find any to kill, because most will probably run off, and there are so few of them anyway, most Frenchmen won’t get a chance if they’re not quick. They pass the time discussing armour and horses, and the dauphin demonstrates rather too much fondness for his horse. Writing poetry in praise of one’s steed is probably over the top in most social circles, and from the reactions of the Constable of France and Orleans, it’s certainly not something to shout about in the French Court. After the dauphin heads off to put on his armour, they bitch about him beautifully, and after a messenger has told them how close the English are, they start champing at the bit to get at them. They even put on some Lancashire accents to make fun of their opponents – very amusing. Their manner was just so contemptuous that it made the whole scene very enjoyable. The dauphin was neighing to emphasise his horse’s attributes, and the Constable caught the bug. He found himself saying “naaaaay” at one point, and looked so disgusted with himself. (Couldn’t find it in the text, presumably an addition.)

Now the play’s spin doctor, Chorus, gets going again with a detailed description of the pre-battle line up. Suitably warmed up, we see Henry conferring with his brothers, and then taking Erpingham’s cloak so he can wander about anonymously among his troops. Firstly he meets Pistol, or rather Pistol emerges from one of the trapdoors. When Pistol finds out that Harry Le Roy is kinsman to Fluellen, he makes a rude gesture and heads off. Not the best of starts for the undercover king.

Next, Fluellen and Gower come on, and Harry listens in. Fluellen is concerned that their camp should be quieter, so that the French won’t overhear them. When Gower points out that French aren’t holding back the noise, Fluellen responds that if the French want to make asses of themselves is that any reason why the English should join in?  A good point, and applicable in many situations. Then three other soldiers come on stage. Harry disputes with them the king’s responsibility for his soldiers’ deaths, and gets into a particular argument with Williams, played by Lex Shrapnel. Echoes of Hotspur to the fore. They exchange gloves, agreeing to challenge each other after the battle, if they both live.

After the soldiers leave, Harry talks us through the burdens of a king. It’s a bit like his father’s complaint when he was having trouble sleeping, but Harry goes into greater detail. This was well delivered, but still I can’t help feeling Harry’s glossing over the problems that other people have, in order to concentrate on and amplify his own. Still, it confirms that he’s not fully comfortable with his kingship yet, although he’s definitely accepted the role of soldier. When Erpingham finds him, he has time for a prayer, which lets us know how much he’s doing to gain pardon for Richard’s death, and then  he’s off to lead his troops into battle.

The next scene in my text shows the French preparing to fight, which I don’t remember clearly at this time, and then we have the build-up to the most rousing speech in Shakespeare. With his captains all talking about the opposition’s strength, and Westmoreland rashly wishing for more troops on their side, Harry comes along and gives us his inspirational “St Crispin’s day” speech. It’s a really good piece of motivational speaking; well, it gets me going, anyway. This time, I wasn’t so aware of the words, more of the emotional sense and the effect the speech has on others. It was lower key than some I’ve heard, but more in keeping with this performance of Henry. It certainly has the desired effect on his men, and after another long rebuke to the French herald, they get down to some serious fighting.

The first sign that the England team might be winning is the arrival of Pistol, the boy and a French noble whom Pistol is attempting to take as his prisoner. The language barrier is proving a bit of a problem, though, and the boy helps out here, having a smattering of French. They do a deal, and head off, leaving the boy to comment on Pistol’s knavery and the lack of protection for the English luggage.

Now the French nobles are running away, having found the English too strong. One noble is determined to fight on, but the rest melt away in shame. Even so, when Henry arrives back on stage, to learn of his brother’s death, and that of Suffolk, the battle’s not completely over, as the French troops have rallied. Henry gives the order for all the French prisoners to be killed, and then it’s back into the action again.

It may have been before or after this scene that we see the boy being killed, as the French attack the luggage. I remember Henry seeing his body as he comes on stage, and being deeply affected. I suspect it happened just before his line “I was not angry since I came to France until this moment.” Either way, he really is in a temper, and ready to lash out at anyone. Not a good time for the French herald to come calling, then. Fortunately, he’s not asking for a surrender this time, he’s asking for leave to collect the French dead and wounded, and this stops Henry’s anger in its tracks. He now seems tired, and unsure of the situation, as he asks who’s won the fight. He is very clear that they had God’s help to do it, and stops for a quick prayer before the comic interlude.

Fluellen is busy reminding the king that his grandfather had fought well in France, and the king is happy to agree, when he catches sight of Williams, wearing the glove he gave him. Henry calls him over and asks about the glove, getting Williams to explain the circumstances, and Fluellen to support Williams’s determination to fight. All quite innocent at the moment. But, after sending Williams off to fetch his captain, Gower, Henry asks Fluellen to wear the other glove, telling him he picked it up during the battle, that it belonged to Alençon, and that anyone who challenges him is a supporter of Alençon and an enemy. Fluellen readily accepts the glove, and the honour that he sees going with the task, and is also sent off to fetch Gower. Henry sends his brother and Warwick after him, to make sure no harm comes to anyone, and follows on after them all. I have no idea why he does this, other than to prevent Williams having to accost the king, which would be embarrassing all round. I suspect it had greater meaning in Will’s time, but at least it came across clearly in terms of what’s going on, even if the why is still vague.

Naturally enough, Fluellen and Williams spot each other and come to blows, or at least nasty words, but Warwick and then the king come along before anyone’s injured. Henry’s challenge to Williams to explain his actions the night before is quite a strong one – he looks like he’s not prepared to forgive and forget that a common soldier had the nerve to treat him the way he did – but Williams mounts a good defence, pointing out that the king was in disguise, and so it’s all his own fault. Said more tactfully, perhaps, but that’s the gist. Henry likes his answer, and gives him money, which Fluellen adds to by another shilling, a bit cheeky I always think. This is the same streak in Henry that we saw in the tavern scenes when he’s baiting Frances, the drawer, to say “Anon, anon, sir”, and it’s not his most attractive side, but at least he recognises the consequences of his actions, and isn’t arbitrarily punishing others for his choices.

Next we hear the roll call of the dead. I find this a moving speech, and here it’s clear that Henry is moved as well, as much by the French losses as the English. As they leave, and Chorus fills in the gaps before Henry meets with the French King (back to London, rapturous welcome, back again to France), the cast bring on coffins, wooden boxes which they place in rows so that they can place a platform over them. I realised what they were doing, and thought it was an interesting point, to see the peace being forged over the dead bodies of the English who fell in battle.

First we see Fluellen forcing Pistol to eat a leek, and then the French court assembles on the platform for the final scenes. It isn’t long before the French king leaves with the English nobles, to sort out the details of the peace treaty, leaving Henry and Katherine to be watched over by Alice. I often think Henry’s speeches at this time are a contradiction. He says he’s no good at wooing speeches, but goes on at great length in flowery terms, which makes him seem a bit of a liar. This time, Henry does come across as a soldier with no great resources in rhetoric, who really would be happier “vaulting into [his] saddle with [his] armour on his back”. Katherine is won over, though rather shocked about being asked to kiss Henry before they’re married, and all ends happily. Chorus adds the finishing touch by informing us that in the next Henry’s reign it would all be lost again, and so the cycle both ends and begins.

It was great to finally see this key production in the cycle, and to have all the threads drawn together so well. I can see why Geoffrey Streatfeild found it easier to play Prince Hal after getting this play under his belt, as it answers so many questions. It was great fun, and I hope we can see it again sometime.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry IV part 2 – January 2008

6/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Richard Twyman

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Friday 18th January 2008

Unlike yesterday, when we saw a play much improved since the summer, tonight we saw a play which improved in some areas, but which seemed determined to focus its energy on the audience directly in front of the stage. As we were to the side, I found I lost quite a bit in various scenes, especially the tavern scene, although most of the rest worked reasonably well for us ‘outcasts’. Still, Hal’s performance had come on from the summer, and there were a lot of interesting echo points within the cycle.

To start, Rumour entered as before with Richard’s cheap coffin. (Well, he’d spent all of the treasury during his reign, so there probably wasn’t enough money to get him a decent one.) I noticed that Rumour (also Bagot, of course), woke Richard by kissing his hand, which I think is new, and for some of the lines, e.g. “The acts commencèd on this ball of earth”, he indicated by gesturing toward the coffin that Richard’s killing is the source of everyone’s problems. As before, he kindly included all the audience in his “household”.

Next we see the results of Rumour’s naughty ways, as Northumberland is beset with conflicting reports of the battle. As usual, the man who’s wrong, Lord Bardolph, is the most cocksure, and the most crestfallen when the real story is accepted. I noticed that Chuk Iwuji was playing the messenger with the bad news, here called Sir John Colville, though in the text it’s a character called Morton. Chuk also played the messenger part assigned to Scroop in Richard II, and brought similar bad news to that king, drawing out the delivery of it so long that the king had time for several speeches and changes of heart before being finally overwhelmed by it all. Here, Northumberland prevents such a long drawn out affair by going straight to the important part, Hotspur’s death, and keeping the focus on that. A tiny reverse echo, but we’re starting to pick these up now. Sir John Colville also ends with the good news here, while Scroop leaves the worst till last.

Now Falstaff and the Lord Chief Justice (LCJ) have their first sparring match. This came across clearly, and at the end, when Sir John says “I will turn diseases to commodity”, he added a cough, very appropriate at this time. I did feel that Falstaff was lacking the joie de vivre that really has to be part of his character. I felt there was a lack of smugness in the line “I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.” On one level, Falstaff actually believes the lies he tells, and that bolsters his already large ego to a point of insufferability, but it also makes him partly innocent of wrongdoing (at least in his eyes), and allows us to like him even as he’s being loathsome. I didn’t get that from tonight’s performance, nor an alternative reading that satisfied me, but the verbal sparring with the LCJ worked well enough, and Falstaff’s relationship with the prince was established sufficiently for Hal’s changes towards Falstaff to show up clearly.

The plotting by the rebels wasn’t so clear this time, and here I felt the reason was that the actors were simply talking too fast for me to make out what they were saying. This happened a few times tonight, and I would rather they hadn’t trimmed ten minutes off the running time (it’s not a competition, lads) and given us more time to savour the dialogue. Mistress Quickly is next up, bringing the officers to arrest Sir John. Again I missed some of this, but I found Maureen Beattie’s performance as the flirtatious but “respectable” widow just as funny as before. Between coming on to the LCJ, and then casting her eyes down in an attempt to look like a virtuous wronged woman, she kept us well entertained.

Now Hal is wheeled on, on the bed, in repose, as it were, and we get a reprise of his first scene with Falstaff. This time, it’s Poins who gets the bottle and soaks the prince’s head. Apart from that, there seemed to be more activity than I remember, but again it didn’t come across so clearly as before. From checking the text, I see that Poins is supposed to take the letter from Hal and read out the bulk of it; in this version, Hal continues to read to the end.

The discussion among Northumberland, his wife and Hotspur’s widow, is a confusing scene at the best of times. The ex-Mrs Percy has a good speech, about Northumberland honouring his son’s memory by not dashing off to help others when he refused to help his own son, and I can hear the sarcasm and bitterness of it on the page, never mind in performance. Here it seemed more like an intellectual argument, and Northumberland’s change of mind was inexplicable. Other than letting us know he’s not going to turn up for the battle again, I can’t see the point of this.

The tavern scene was largely lost on me, although I did pick up on some minor details in Falstaff’s performance, especially the way he interacts with Pistol, exchanging looks with him as he lies back in his chair, Pistol above him. One change was that instead of Peto bringing in the news that the King is at Westminster, it’s good old Rumour/Bagot who does that job. It’s also Rumour/Bagot who takes the letters from the King to the Earls of Surrey and Warwick at the start of the next scene.

The King wasn’t looking well in that scene, and he didn’t get any better by the end of it. After the insomniac speech, pretty well done I thought, the Earls arrive, and Warwick begins to show his reasonableness, advising the King not to get things out of proportion. He refers to Rumour during this speech, and it just so happens Rumour has reappeared to underline this reference – he is a busy boy. Now we get some additional lines stolen from Act 4 scene 3. After Warwick and Surrey have calmed the King, Rumour arrives to inform him that Northumberland and several of the king’s other enemies are dead. To prove it, he carries a bloody head in a sack, and throws it at the king’s feet, just as happened at the end of Richard II. The king then takes a funny turn, not too surprisingly, given his guilt at Richard’s death, and possibly even at his deposing. I wasn’t aware that this was a tweak to the text at the time. It just seemed to flow naturally, and made sense of the King’s condition. Following this, Richard II himself appeared on the upper story of the metal drum, and after the lords left, Henry stood, looking at Richard, as the ashes/dust/sand fell from above on his head. Blackout. I liked this ending to the first half, which I’m confident is new since the summer.

I was getting a bit worried in the interval, as I’d told a number of people that there was something worth watching on stage before the second half started, and it seemed to take a long time to get going. But eventually we were treated to Davey (Matt Costain) giving us his silent comedy version of putting up the bunting. Just as good as before, and this time there was a strapping young man in the vicinity to help him get back on his ladder.

This sets the scene very well for Shallow’s orchard, the first time we see the Gloucestershire part of the play. I’m often surprised by how late some scenes appear, and how little we see of some characters, and I reflected that my memory of the previous performance had left me thinking that there were more rural scenes, and that they came much earlier. Ah well, so much for my memory. Still, it means I’m constantly surprised, and often delighted, when I watch plays again, so maybe it’s no bad thing.

I found this the best Shallow and Silence I had seen when we attended in the summer, and I wasn’t disappointed this time either. These scenes, plus Hal’s performance, were the best things tonight for me. Shallow was just as lascivious, Silence just as laconic, and I’m grateful that Michael Boyd hasn’t found a way to add pongorama to his theatrical toolkit, otherwise Mouldy would have been assaulting all our nostrils for real. I still hanker to have a bird falling from the sky after Mouldy has discharged his musket, but maybe that’s too ‘cheep’ for Michael Boyd. (Sadly, ‘cheep’ puns are not too cheap for me.) Unfortunately, I find myself preferring Shallow and Silence to Falstaff in this production, therefore it’s not so easy to enjoy his desire to gull them. The suggestion that maybe Falstaff and Shallow have enjoyed a sexually intimate relationship when at St Clements Inn is clearly expressed in Shallow’s leering when talking about a night they spent together, although as they also talk about  a “bona roba” at this point, it may have been a really wild night!

Next we have the betrayal and capture of the remaining rebels (they’re dropping fast), which was less clear, but still got across the rebels’ stupidity in trusting Prince John. More specifically, the Archbishop’s stupidity – some of the others are not happy to send their troops away. This ups the stakes, and shows a greater level of ruthlessness which will only get worse as civil strife reasserts itself a play and bit away.

The next scene, where Falstaff accepts the surrender of Sir John Colville, is straightforward, but relatively uninteresting apart from Falstaff’s paean on the virtues of sherry sack, which is good fun. Now we return to the dying King, and another good scene where we get to see Henry and Hal’s final reconciliation before Hal becomes Henry V. I very much liked the way Geoffrey Streatfeild shows us Hal having to learn to be a king. So often, once his father dies, his heir simply rips off his cloak and becomes Superking in an instant. Here we get to see the process he’s going through, dealing with his father’s death and what that means on a personal level, as well as the massive change it makes in his life by giving him the crown. Steve saw an echo in the way Hal is lying on the bed beside his father as they’re wheeled off, to the original way Hal and Falstaff first arrived on stage, lying side by side on a bed. I noticed that Hal and the king hold the crown on either side, just as Richard and Henry do in the deposition scene in Richard II. I felt Clive Wood is showing more of the King’s vulnerability and how the illness is affecting his mind, while Geoffrey Streatfeild is showing much more of Hal’s emotional state.

After a short trip back to Gloucestershire, we see Hal’s first steps as king. The court, in the persons of Hal’s brothers, Warwick, and the LCJ, are gravely concerned about the new king’s likely attitude. Hal himself has clearly not yet grown into his kingship, and this is emphasised throughout this scene. The most telling example is Hal’s treatment of the LCJ. Initially, the new king is angry about his earlier treatment at the LCJ’s hands, even clenching his fists in anger, but the LCJ’s arguments win him over, and the new king realises not only that he still has a lot to learn, but that he needs the help and guidance the LCJ can provide. It’s an interesting demonstration of his character’s growth, but more is to come.

The last scene in Gloucestershire gives us a chance to laugh before the emotional finale. Silence has obviously had too much to drink, and is no longer silent, breaking into song every few minutes. Davey is cooking apples on a fire pit, and the rest are busy trying to join Silence in drunkenness, despite Davey’s procrastination in dishing out refills, when Pistol arrives with news of the King’s death and Hal’s succession. Off they all trot, full of the expectation of plenty. Shakespeare cunningly undercuts this immediately, by showing us Doll Tearsheet and Mistress Quickly being dragged off to prison, despite Doll being pregnant by a sofa.

After the coronation, the procession of the king and his court comes down the spiral staircase from the top level. As King Henry reaches the balcony, Falstaff calls out to him, and receives his rebuke and rejection. This costs Henry dearly. It’s clear he’s torn. Although he knows he has to reject Falstaff to fully claim his new life, he doesn’t want to hurt him as such, and the emotional cost is clear on his face. After the rabble have been imprisoned in the big wire cage, Henry reappears at the front of the stage, looking directly at Falstaff, and they stare at each other for a long moment, as the LCJ and Prince John, on the balcony, prepare us for the next play. Finally, Henry turns away, and stands alone at the front of the stage as the lights go out. It’s a very good visual and emotional image to end on.

One point I missed going through – at the start of these plays, members of the cast have been coming on to ask the audience to switch off mobiles, etc. Tonight it was the turn of Hal himself, and Geoffrey Streatfeild did a lovely bit of hesitation before announcing which play was on tonight, as if he couldn’t quite remember. Also, immediately after his father’s death, Hal appears dressed in black to talk to his brothers and the LCJ. This is the only time he wears this colour in this production, and for me it signals his change of allegiance, as well as simply being his mourning clothes. For the coronation, however, he’s back to his splendid white, so it won’t just be business as usual with this king. Roll on tomorrow and Henry V.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Henry IV part 1 – January 2008

8/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Thursday 17th January 2008

This was a huge improvement on the first performance we saw, way back in August last year. At that time, the production seemed terribly under-rehearsed and unsure of itself. Now it’s come together wonderfully, to give us a really good look at this “roaring” play.

The main improvement is in the performance of Hal himself (Geoffrey Streatfeild). From his earlier, rather stiff performance, he’s blossomed into a lively, energetic prince, full of expression and fun, enjoying the tricks he and Poins get up to, and holding his own in banter with Falstaff. He also shows more of the king to be, albeit in small glimpses. When swearing to the king that he would do great deeds which would shine so bright as to obscure his murky past, he was sincere, but it was still bravado – he hasn’t done any of it yet. It was noticeable how the king’s attitude changed as Harry showed his worth on the battlefield; he obviously realised he had been mistaken.

The dialogue with Falstaff came off remarkably clearly. I think the main problem I have with the language in this play is the archaic terms, which make it difficult to follow. It’s easier when the nobles are discussing war plans, as they tend not to get too highfalutin – it’s a practical business, warfare, at least under this regime. But in the playful exchanges down Eastcheap way, the language can stretch and scratch its balls, so to speak, and it often does.

The playfulness between Hal and Falstaff also came across more tonight. I liked the way Hal impersonates his father’s posture when playing him, and his delivery of “I do, I will” gave me the impression of the boy growing up into the man, and seeing what he will have to become. Mistress Quickly’s reactions to Falstaff’s portrayal of the king seemed stronger; she was really enjoying herself tonight. In general, David Warner’s performance as Falstaff seemed more assured. I expect this was partly because Hal himself was giving him more to work with.

The scene with Hotspur ranting and raving went a little better tonight. There’s still too little reaction from his father and uncle though. After a lifetime of listening to the lad shout the odds at every opportunity, you’d think they’d be a bit tired of it by now, but these two were pretty stoic about it all, except when Hotspur’s yelling after the king. I’ve seen it done with much more reaction, and as well as being funnier, it allows the other characters to breathe a bit, too.

I enjoyed the “anon, anon” sketch last time. I could see what Hal was trying to do – get Poor Francis, the drawer, to reply “anon, anon” to everything he says. It’s a pretty shabby trick, but then nobles in Shakespeare’s play don’t always act nobly. The timing didn’t work quite so well tonight, I felt.

The fight between Hal and Hotspur was interesting. Hotspur is obviously the odds-on favourite, with his wealth of experience at killing people, but Hal’s learned some sneaky tricks during his time at Eastcheap, and puts them to good use here. He actually bites Hotspur at a crucial moment, which floors him, literally, and then Hal can finish him off. Except that this Hotspur refuses to be killed. Terminator-like, he heaves himself across the stage, still trying to kill his opponent, but eventually the red eyes flicker and die, as it were, and Hotspur is finally dead. Not that that will settle things. Falstaff’s quick to claim the glory, and here Hal is surprisingly willing to let him, and even seems glad about it. It’s surprising because one of Hal’s reasons for playing the dissolute prince-about-town was to gain all the greater glory when he shows his true colours. I would have thought he’d be at least a little miffed that Falstaff steals his thunder.

For the robbery scene, the almost compulsory rope work was involved, and I liked Bardolph’s interpolations of “shit” and “bollocks” when he couldn’t get up the ropes to get away. I’m sure Will would have approved.

Before the battle, I noticed for the first time that Hotspur’s arguments to his wavering colleagues are identical to those that Hal will use later before the battle of Agincourt. The fewer soldiers, the greater the glory. With Hotspur, I get the impression he’s just saying it for himself, as a natural expression of his belligerent nature. With Hal, it becomes a tremendously stirring speech, designed to rouse his men for battle. This was one of the many ways I see these two characters being contrasted and compared throughout these plays. Both give their fathers concern, though for different reasons. Both have similar attitudes to war and power, and in many ways they could have been great friends. But their respective positions on either side of a power divide make that impossible. It’s similar to the way the king and Falstaff are contrasted as Hal’s two ‘fathers’. It’s debatable how much Hal takes after either of them in the end, although he certainly learns all he can from each.

Another change was that the audience on the far side of the stage was encouraged to stand up to become the “pressed men” referred to in the text. Mildly amusing, perhaps, but I’m not sure how much that sort of thing can be inflicted on an audience. Did they really have to stand up, or could they just have been indicated by the actors? Anyway, it shows this cast are more comfortable working with the audience and playing off them than ever before.

Finally, I really appreciated the diversity of language in this play, after the total verse of Richard II. It made the whole piece seem more alive. And why ‘roaring’? Well, Hotspur roars, Falstaff roars, King Henry roars, Hal roars (occasionally), even Mistress Quickly roars (with laughter). There’s so much roaring in this production that any escaped lions from Dudley zoo would have felt quite at home. As it was, I’m glad there weren’t any lions; it made the whole experience much more enjoyable.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Noughts And Crosses – January 2008

8/10

By: Malorie Blackman

Directed by: Dominic Cooke

Company: RSC

Venue: Stratford Civic Hall

Date: Thursday 17th January 2008

This came across even better than last time, mainly because I was familiar with the story and could get into it a lot more than before, and partly because we had a different angle, so we caught some things we hadn’t seen before, giving us a fresh take. There were no real changes that I could spot, but I did notice during the funeral get-together where Sephy is rejected, that one of the other mourners had an armband on. The symbol on it was red, with four black diagonal lines, and several white concentric circles over that – possibly the Liberation Army symbol? I was also moved to tears several times, such as when Lily’s ordeal is uncovered, when the bomb was being reported, and at the end.

The courtroom scene had seemed very jumbled before; this time it came across more clearly, with the participants easier to identify. I noticed throughout the play that the actors were working hard to move around and give us all a chance to see what was going on, and it worked a treat. We did have the advantage of having seen it before, but even so, they did a great job.

The performances were all still fantastic. Callum’s father’s part came across more strongly this time, and I also noticed Sephy’s mother more, helped by the change of angle – the look of suffering on her face was deeply moving. This woman has been through a lot, and this time I was more aware of Sephy not having the experience to be able to understand her mother, rather than Sephy’s own frustration at not being understood. It was a lovely performance, and one of the best in an amazing ensemble production.  I was more aware of my ideas changing, and I was tremendously impressed by the range and depth of this production, ostensibly aimed at teenagers, but with more power than many more “grown-up” shows.

Having re-read my original notes, I suspect that my reason for suggesting a lack of depth in the characterisations was through not being familiar with the play. I didn’t have that feeling this time at all, and the power of the piece was what I took away with me. I also wondered if Sephy’s mother and Callum’s dad had been having an affair, as Jasmine, Sephy’s mum, is so keen to see him get off. Could this be the source of the rift between the two women?

This production was well worth seeing again, and good luck to them on tour.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Richard II – January 2008

8/10

By: William Shakespeare

Directed by: Michael Boyd

Venue: Courtyard Theatre

Date: Wednesday 16th January 2008

At last! I managed to sit through over three hours of drama with hardly a cough! Wonderful. And on top of all that, we got to see a production that has already become an old friend – we shall miss seeing it every few months (only now we’re thinking of doing some of the plays again, in London, so who knows?).

Our seats this time were as far round as you could get, and in the front row. I was a bit worried about the gardening scene, in case we were sprayed, but the chap at the cloakroom reckoned it was the high numbers who were in for a soaking. So much more fun when it’s someone else, isn’t it? We still had a pretty good view, and as well as seeing a different emphasis in some scenes, there were some additional details that I hadn’t seen at all before. It’s possible these were new, though I suspect some were simply hidden from us in the past. There were lots of lines I lost in the first half, as the receiver for the headset was set to the wrong channel – now I know how to deal with that in future – but everything was clear as a bell in the second half. Incidentally, these seats had a different risk – that of getting our eyes poked out by the sword tips that were swishing around, but fortunately no doctor was required.

There were a number of changes that I noticed, and a number of things that struck me this time. There seemed to be a reduced amount of sand falling on Richard. Steve and I remembered it lasting through the Queen’s chat with him. I spotted the eyeing that both the future Henry VI and Queen Margaret gave each other at the end of the gardening scene – another example of carrying the characters through the set of plays. When Bolingbroke refers to himself as “a trueborn Englishman”, I was reminded that Richard was born in France, as Paul Edmondson mentioned this afternoon. Throughout the opening scene, Richard looked scared – I took this to be his fear that Mowbray will implicate him in Gloucester’s death. The ending gave an extra sense of the guilt weighing Henry down, with Richard’s body lying in his coffin at the foot of the steps, and Henry himself finding it harder to walk up them. I also found the explicit use of Bagot as the murderer, in place of Exton, a lot clearer this time. I heard all of the Duchess of Gloucester’s speech this time – nicely done – and in general the performance had the feel of a cast well used to the play, putting in extra details here and there, bringing out even more of the resonances and echoes. At the end, as Richard is dying – he has to have a few lines before he finally snuffs it, of course – he seemed to be hunched over a bit, in reference to the later Richard?

At the start, I was more aware of the formality of the dance, the sound of feet on floor (ballet only seems glamorous till you hear the thuds and thumps), the complete absence of music, and the presence of dead Gloucester. It’s as if we were watching from behind thick glass, as if the sound had been taken away (mostly), and the movements were all. From this point, I was more aware of the spectacle of Richard’s court; that he was all mouth and no action. Paul had also mentioned that this was one of only four plays that Shakespeare had written entirely in verse, and I realised that contributed to the artificial nature of everyone’s behaviour. I can’t remember how long Gloucester stayed on the stage before – this time he left during his widow’s speech.

The preparations for the duel seemed more elaborate than I remember, but that may just have been the different perspective. I did notice that Richard starts out by asking the Marshal to find out who these men were, and why they were here to fight – as if he didn’t know! This added to the theatricality of the proceedings – everyone’s playing a role. (And doesn’t Shakespeare love playing with that idea!) Richard is more dismissive of Henry than I remember, ignoring him after they first speak, and the oath swearing bit was dropped, Mowbray exiting on the line “To dwell in solemn shades of endless  night”.

The next scene, where Richard’s mates are lolling about in comfort while his wife stands around, looking like a spare chastity belt at an orgy, served to give more emphasis to Richard’s dubious relationships. It includes a lovely song which all the men are singing, and which I don’t remember happening before. When Richard arrives to visit John of Gaunt, after a splendid “sceptred isle” I may add, Richard is clearly put out at the way Gaunt refuses to play the part of a loyal, happy subject, fulfilling Richard’s fantasy of himself as a divinely ordained King for whom everything goes wonderfully well. He moves quickly from pampered happiness to pouty sulks, and John of Gaunt’s tongue-lashing gives him plenty of opportunity for that. At first, with Gaunt’s clever punning on his own name, the court is happy, as he seems to be finally joining in with the spirit of the age, but that soon changes.

The Duke of York is even more of a dither when the news comes that Bolingbroke has landed. Northumberland’s flattery of Bolingbroke, by saying that his company has made the journey seem lovelier, is stronger this time, and contrasts really well with the opening of Henry’s reign, when everyone’s being nasty to everyone else, flinging gages right, left and centre. There’s a huge heap of them in the middle of the stage by the time Henry calls for Richard to come and hand over his crown.

Before this, in the scene where Richard arrives back in England, we see both the epitome of Richard’s fantasising, and the beginning of his awakening to reality. He’s up and down like an emotional yo-yo, playing at being a royal king, then despairing and lashing out at supposed betrayers. The language is wonderfully moving, and Scroop’s way of delivering the news tightens the screw beautifully. First off, he’s incredibly long-winded about how bad his news is, then he takes ages to mention minor details like the Duke of York’s gone over to the other side, you don’t have any troops, etc. I found myself feeling more sympathy than usual for Richard at this point. He’s a child-king, never able to develop properly, and that’s as much part of his downfall as his other failings.

Back in hetero-land, Richard’s about to give us some of Will’s best language as he hands over his crown. We reckoned there was less of the physical tug-of-war this time, more emphasis on the language. I could see a bit of Richard’s reflection in the mirror from this side, and I wondered how easy it would be for an actor to play this scene without having a real reflection to look at. A question for another production, I think.

I enjoyed the “pardon” scene, along with its precursor. The duchess actually sits on York’s lap to try and prevent him from going to the king, and she’s just as insistent as ever when she finally turns up at court. After that, it’s just the slaying of the ex-king and the final reports of dead traitors, complete with bloody heads (in bags). The gore and sand were as before – a messy business, these histories.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

Legal Fictions – January 2008

5/10

By: John Mortimer

Directed by: Christopher Morahan

Venue: Yvonne Arnaud Theatre

Date: Monday 14th January 2008

I confess I snoozed through some of the first part of this double bill, probably because I was still recovering from the cold/cough that has crippled me for several weeks, and partly because it’s a very static piece, set in a prison cell, with some lovely surreal dialogue, true, but not as dynamic as I needed at that time. The Dock Brief concerned a lawyer finally given his chance to shine by defending a clearly guilty man, and failing miserably. It’s very witty, unravels beautifully, and was well done by both Edward Fox and Nicholas Woodeson. At times the piece seemed Pinterish, though the lawyer’s wordiness is something Pinter would be unlikely to do. I particularly liked the twist at the end, when the lawyer’s defence was so bad that the defendant was considered not to have had a fair trial, and so gets let off. The set also had a touch of the surreal, with steeply sloping walls giving an exaggerated perspective.

The second piece, Edwin, found me wide awake throughout. A trio of older folk, a husband and wife and their neighbour, go through what seems to be a regular bickering routine. The husband is a retired High Court judge, and he spends most of his time addressing us, as if we were a jury, over one particular case – did his neighbour have sex with his wife? As the play unfolds, we get some entertaining bouts of wordplay, and the final hint by the wife that someone else altogether might be involved left the two men completely disconcerted. It was also interesting to see the different memories they all had of the son – artistic, mathematical etc. – especially as he had changed so much from all their memories.

I enjoyed this evening quite a lot, mainly because it was my first trip to the theatre that hadn’t been taken up with coughing. Thank God.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The Woman Hater – January 2008

8/10

By: Frances Burney

Directed by: Sam Walters

Venue: Orange Tree Theatre

Date: Thursday 3rd January 2008

This cough has lasted far too long. First it stopped me enjoying the Richard II and Henrys in November, now it’s stopped me fully enjoying this world premiere of a play written 200 years ago. But not completely! Despite having to leave about half-way through the first half, I did manage to follow some of what went on (Steve brought me up-to-date in the interval) and saw the second half in full, so I can safely say this was a splendid production, and a very enjoyable play, which deserves to be installed in the regular canon alongside other Regency favourites.

The plot is anything but simple. Sir Roderick (Clive Francis) is the woman-hater of the title. His wrath was aroused against the fair sex when he was jilted by a lady, who instead married Lord Smatter, becoming Lady Smatter (Auriol Smith). Her brother, Wilmot (Michael Elwyn), married Sir Roderick’s sister, Eleonora (Joan Moon), despite Sir Roderick’s attempts at persuading them to call it off –  having been jilted himself, he seemed to want others to experience the same suffering. Wilmot and his wife left for the West Indies, where their baby daughter Sophia (Amy Noble) was born. Eleonora, seeing how another man was infatuated with her, decided to sail for England with their daughter, leaving a note with the family nurse (Vilma Hollingbury). Nurse decided to take advantage of the situation, and substituted her own daughter Joyce (Jennifer Higham) for Sophia, while destroying the letter left by Mrs Wilmot explaining the situation. Naughty nursy. As Eleonora’s admirer coincidentally departs at the same time, Wilmot naturally assumes that his wife has run off and left him to bring up their daughter. Eventually, still stricken with grief, he returns to England.

Meantime, Sir Roderick has banned women from his life, more successfully than the men in Love’s Labour’s Lost, it must be said. He’s picked a young man, Jack Waverley (Dudley Hinton) to be his heir. Jack’s father, Old Waverley (David Gooderson) is a cousin of Sir Roderick, and is very keen for his son to inherit the old man’s estate. But Jack is totally frustrated with the conditions imposed by Sir Roderick – not to see or speak with any woman, never to marry, etc. It’s more than his youthful blood can stand. And so the play opens (yes, that was just the back story) with Jack venting his spleen to his father and then to a servant, Stevens (Kieron Jecchinis), and disclosing his intention to marry a rich dowager within a week, just to spite Sir Roderick.

One of the things I like about Jack is his willingness to face facts. He knows he’s not used to working, doesn’t care for study, so the only option is to get rich quick, and live a life of idle pleasure. Too few career advisors offered this as a viable option when I was at school, sadly. (Although the celebrity get-rich-quick route does seem to be coming back into fashion with today’s youngsters.) Jack has seen a lovely young lady walking with her mother in a lane nearby, and he’s so desperate for a woman, he’d just as readily have the mother as the daughter. However, prudence prevails, and he recognises the need to find a wealthy, repeat wealthy woman to marry, and then he can do what he likes. As to the possibility of him actually loving an elderly woman – if she’s got money enough, he’ll love her to bits. An attitude the Puritans might disapprove of, but I found it refreshingly candid.

Stevens reminds him that Lady Smatter lives nearby, is old, and very wealthy, and a widow. As she’s one of those ladies who’s fond of learning, poetry and the arts, Jack reckons he can woo her pretty smartish, and be off to church in a trice. He’s not wrong, but the playwright has a few tricks up her sleeve before that happens.

Lady Smatter may revere learning, but she has a bit of difficulty remembering where her frequent misquotations come from. In this, she’s a perfect counterpart to Mrs Malaprop. While a modern audience can’t be expected to know the lines she’s botching together, nor their sources, her general air of serene certainty, followed by gentle confusion, was a delight to watch – a splendid performance by Auriol Smith. (Actually, it’s debatable whether a contemporary audience, had they had the chance to see the play, would have known the references either.) Anyway, she falls for Jack’s pretence of loving poetry, and isn’t averse to the idea of shacking up with a virile young man. Perhaps women writers are a bit more blunt about these things, or maybe just more aware of them, but I noticed several areas where Frances Burney went further than her male contemporaries, and it made for a better play, in my view.

Wilmot and his daughter now appear, and he’s in a right state. (Just to be clear, this daughter is Joyce, whom everyone except her mother believes is Sophia, so I’ll refer to her as Sophia/Joyce during this period of confusion.) It becomes clear very quickly that Wilmot’s a melodrama queen, taking the emotional ups and downs of life to extremes that few people know exist. This is aided by his use of flowery dialogue that would be laughable if it wasn’t making a humorous point. In his concern for his daughter’s welfare, and his guilt over not taking better care of her, he leaves her completely alone for ages, reading, or rather looking at, a book, while he paces jerkily up and down, metaphorically tearing his hair and beating his breast. It’s a nicely judged performance, and provides a lovely contrast to Sophia/Joyce’s behaviour when he finally leaves her on her own. She leaps up, takes off her dowdy coat dress, and “frisks” about the room in her jeans and tee-shirt, determined to enjoy herself. Nurse and the other servants, Bob and Henny Sapling, try to calm her down, or rather, Henny and the nurse do. Bob is a quiet character, mainly because Henny doesn’t let him say a word, as she reckons he’s too stupid to understand what’s going on, but he’s the one Sophia/Joyce gets on with best. She hates books, wants to have a good time, and she’s definitely one of the more enjoyable people in the play.

The various characters having been set up (we’ve also seen Sir Roderick rushing around, being crotchety and argumentative, and Mrs Wilmot approaching Lady Smatter to explain her innocence in leaving Wilmot), we now get a series of encounters and misunderstandings which give us a very funny hour or so. The real Sophia, a very well-behaved girl, meets Old Waverley, and believing him to be her uncle, Sir Roderick, appeals to him for support. He, knowing nothing of who she is, thinks she’s a prostitute, and that her mother is the one sending her out to ply her trade. While he’s censorious, he’s not immune to her charms, and decides to marry her. His son Jack is also bent on marriage with Sophia, and dresses up in Stevens’ clothes to visit her cottage, where his father has just had a confusing encounter with Mrs Wilmot. (She shares her husband’s melodramatic temperament – they would have gone down a bomb in Victorian times, from what I know of the period.) Jack spends some time avoiding his father, which is difficult in such a small room, and for once a father manages to recognise his son in disguise – is this a first?

Fearing that the game will soon be up, the nurse takes Sophia/Joyce to visit her supposed uncle, Sir Roderick, to see if she can get some money out of him. He’s actually won over by her direct ways, and then the real Sophia comes along, only to be rejected as an impostor. Sir Roderick decides to marry Jack off to Sophia/Joyce as a condition of his inheritance, much to Jack’s dismay.

Wilmot, having discovered prior to the play that his wife hadn’t left him for another man, has learned that she’s now living in the same village, and heads off to speak to her. Now he’s torn between the potential rapture of a reconciliation, and the horrendous prospect of repudiation. His emotional teeter-totter was great fun to watch. Then he learns that she’s living in the cottage with her daughter, and he assumes that she has in fact run off with another man, not the man he originally supposed, and is now living with her illegitimate daughter. Another torrent of emotions sweeps him away, but only to the corner of the stage, where Mrs Wilmot catches sight of him as she comes out looking for Sophia. They have a wonderfully melodramatic scene together, and gradually, as all the characters arrive on stage (except the doubled parts, obviously), the misunderstandings are resolved, and Joyce steps forward to confirm the real Sophia’s identity. Even Sir Roderick gets caught up in the general happiness, and ends up with his original intended, Lady Smatter. Joyce is happy, as she can now marry Bob, and Wilmot promises to take care of her. Sophia says little, but is a good and virtuous girl, and will not only do what she’s told, she’ll want to do it as well. All ends incredibly happily. Ah.

Given the thirteen actors involved in this production, it’s a wonder there were no injuries as they dashed about the place. Apart from the last scene, there were never more than about five actors on stage at any one time, though. The only furniture was a couch, a table and a chair, all painted to appear ornately gilded. To represent the final scene outdoors, some leaves fell down from above, which was a nice touch. I like it simple, although I wouldn’t mind seeing a lavish production of this as well – the full-on costumes and sets can give an extra dimension to some of these plays, reminding us just how superior these badly behaved people think themselves to be.

The performances were all nicely judged. Wilmot in particular was a tricky part to play, as his large histrionics have to be fitted into a small space, but Michael Elwyn pitched it beautifully. The costumes were an eclectic mix of period and present day. At the post-show discussion, this seemed to have caused a lot of confusion, but I found it quite liberating. It certainly emphasised the change of attitude when Sophia/Joyce flung off her coat dress to reveal the t-shirt and jeans.

I enjoyed this play enormously, what I saw of it, and it deserves more attention.

© 2008 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me

The Seagull – December 2007

6/10

By: Anton Chekov

Directed by: Trevor Nunn

Company: RSC

Venue: New London Theatre

Date: Saturday 22nd December 2007

I had hoped to see some improvement from the previous performance of this production that we saw in Stratford, but apart from one or two details, it was pretty much the same, still lacking that warmth and empathy that would help me enjoy it more.

Like the King Lear, the different acting space helped a bit, as it all seemed much closer than before, and our seats gave us a good view of the stage. The detail in the servants’ comings and goings was more noticeable this time, but I didn’t catch anything extra in the main performances; they were just as good as before. The main difference was that this time William Gaunt was playing Sorin, and his portrayal was less doddery. As a result, the lines came across better, although he had to fade pretty fast by the end.

Frances Barber wasn’t limping this time, but she wasn’t throwing herself about quite so much either, as I recall. I still enjoyed her performance, and still felt very distanced from the events and characters. It’s a shame, perhaps, but maybe the next production will show me something different.

© 2007 Sheila Evans at ilovetheatre.me