Turning the Tables

How should dinner tables be presented in the theatre?

Whilst a banal topic, the way in which tables are used on stage is one which has come to my attention over the past couple of weeks, having seen various plays in which a table is used in important scenes of the production. This made me think; what is the best way of staging a scene around which a group of people have to sit and talk? It’s not as simple as you may think.

Let me get this straight first. I am not simply talking about office desks and coffee tables in living rooms. These are straightforward arrangements which can easily be adapted for the stage. I refer of course to dinner tables, those lumbering, space-consuming wooden objects around which people sit to eat.

In the real world we arrange ourselves on all sides of the table, whether it be rectangular or circular. This, however, is not easily achieved in the theatre, for there is one minor consideration: the audience. If actors sit around all sides, then the audience won’t see their heads. If no one is seated with their backs to the audience, then are we still able to believe the scene? Now you see the dilemma.

I refer you to three case studies. The first is from a production of The Taming of the Shrew at the Courtyard Theatre in Stratford in 2008. As you may know, there is a banquet at the end of this play, during which there is much joviality and all the loose ends tied up – how convenient! – and of course this scene requires a table. In the aforementioned production, director Conall Morrison decided to take the ‘audience over realism’ approach, which saw one side of the table full with people and the opposite side with a few stragglers at each end. I for one have never seen anyone eat a meal in this arrangement, and this thought was on my mind for the remainder of the play.

Here is my main gripe with this format in relation to this particular production: the Courtyard Theatre has a rectangular thrust with audiences on three sides, so why the table couldn’t be put lengthways in the middle I will never know. This way the scene would have been far more realistic and every member of the audience could have seen the faces of at least one side of the table.

Perhaps worse than this, however, is what I will label the ‘side-straddle’ approach, as used recently in Laura Wade’s Posh at the Royal Court. Here we see all sides of the table used, but with those with their backs to the audience sitting ‘side-straddle’ on their chairs. To sit like this during a normal meal would mean two things. One – you would not be able to have proper conversations with those next to you, and Two – you would spill your food. Not advisable.

To give the company credit, however, they coped very well under the circumstances of having to sit around a table for the duration and did vary the way in which they sat in order to keep us focussed. Nevertheless, I have seen this technique used to far worse effect in various productions, during which I have wanted to shout at the actors for not sitting properly at the table.

The final, and best, approach would be to stage the scene as naturalistically as possible, with all four sides of the table used. Whilst the arguments against this version state that the audience cannot see actors’ faces and voices are lost to the depths of the stage, the superb production of The White Guard at the National Theatre proved that with skilled actors this is simply untrue. An entire scene was performed in this way, and not once did it seem as though speech and expression were being lost. Those with their backs to us were fully audible and when they turned to speak to their companions beside them their expressions were clearly visible. Case closed.

What are your thoughts on this issue? That, of course, is if indeed it is an issue. Have you seen approaches which have been useless? Do certain formations work better in different spaces? In any case, this much is true: it is something which should not be left until the last minute before considering. If done right, an audience fully believes what is going on and is allowed to think about character and narrative. A small wrong move, however, can make an audience want to jump on stage and throw food at everyone involved.

“The History Boys” by Alan Bennett

at Milton Keynes Theatre, Tuesday 18th May 2010

A solitary, backlit wheelchair greets the audience before the play begins, reminding those of us who already know the play (which, I assume, is a great many) what is to come. The opening of the second act has a bleak hopelessness to it and the final scenes are incredibly still. What Christopher Luscombe’s revival of Alan Bennett’s 2004 play The History Boys emphasises is the sheer tragedy of the final few scenes, something which was not as apparent in the original.

Perhaps Bennett’s wittiest play to date, the dexterity of the language is emphasised, as is a real sense of creativity. Focus is drawn to the teaching methods of Hector, which seem, although unorthodox, extremely fun. When the boys perform their rehearsed scenes, the lack of creative teaching in the modern age is realised. Children of all ages don’t want to sit and talk. They want to create. They want to play.

In this production, Luscombe brings out the beginning of the end for the creative education system, as bureaucracy begins to take over. Talk of “league tables” and “exams” show how far we’ve come away from the real meaning behind education. The usefulness of both these things are questioned and we realise that the only thing that matters when teaching young people is that they get the thirst to, in the words of Hector, ”pass it on”.

Above all, however, in this production, a real sense of nostalgia is conveyed. Bennett clearly revels in his memories of the past and of youth, and Mic Pool highlights these through the use of loud 80s pop music during energetic scene changes. When discussing their past, the teachers’ eyes always become glazed over, remembering when they had energy and vitality.

Janet Bird’s design of sketched classrooms and offices serves to support the creative aspect of the production and is also useful in focussing attention on the characters and words. The world around them is not complete and is only a drawing, but their relationships are incredibly real. Tim Mitchell’s lighting comes into its own in the second act, giving a green tinge to Irwin’s documentary and silhouetting the boys as they recite their monologues.

The cast, especially the boys, are incredibly strong. Both James Byng as Posner and Rob Delaney as our semi-narrator Scripps capture the awkwardness of growing up brilliantly, and Ben Lambert’s Irwin shows how difficult it can be being outshone by bright young men. Although strong, however, it seems that Luscombe has cast the actors according to Hytner’s original. Too many of the characters look too much like their counterparts in the 2004 production and instead of seeing them for who they are, we are annoyingly reminded of the older cast. No risks have been taken and in fact the interpretation and even mannerisms for each boy seem uncannily similar.

Nevertheless, this production is joyful and wickedly funny. It captures the heart of the original whilst also adding a slight twist of its own. The script also teaches us some valuable lessons about how to write a top class essay. What more could you want?

“Settle thy studies, Nick, and begin”

 

The word Faust is latin for ‘lucky’. Nick Clegg at this moment in time most probably thinks himself to be incredibly lucky. He has managed to secure a coalition with the Conservative parliament for the first time in over sixty years, has been promised a referendum on the alternative vote and has even blagged himself the role of Deputy Prime Minister. There is no way more apt to describe the Liberal Democrat in the current political climate than as the German scholar who sells his soul to the devil.

Of course, this description will only fit if your political leaning is towards the left. Amongst his own party though, it seems that Mr Clegg may soon become known as the man who “sold out”. Liberal Democrat policies were thrown out of the window at even the smallest whiff of power and it seems that we will have to wait until at least 2015 before any form of decent electoral reform comes into place.

It is likely that most of you know the story of Faust, but for those who aren’t quite so au fait with their German legends, here’s a quick summary. In the legend, Faust is a scholar who seems to have it all. He is gifted with wealth, knowledge and wit, but yet still wants more. So far, so Nick. Faust has his own view of the world, and sees that working in black magic may give him the extra bit of power that he wants. He then makes a pact with the Devil’s messenger, Mephistopheles. Placing David Cameron in the role of the Devil and the overseer of the Lib Dem/Tory talks William Hague as Mephistopheles, the allegory of Nick Clegg as Faust holds even more weight.

Here’s the crux; Faust is only allowed this elevated power for a temporary period. The length of time varies from version to version, but it may as well be five years. After this time he is escorted to hell by the Devil’s associates and forgotten by everyone. All because he wanted some extra power.

In order to sign the pact with the Devil, Faust sells his soul and thus the essence of who he is has gone. Essentially, the Liberal Democrat party is one whose primary policies are based on electoral reform. In making a deal with the Conservatives, Nick Clegg has given up this fundamental part of what it is to be a Liberal Democrat; “Building a fairer Britain”.

When we look at Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, there are even more points on which we can draw allusions. In this version, Faustus is stuck between a Good Angel and an Evil Angel. One imagines many of Clegg’s party members telling him to, I paraphrase obviously, “leave that execrable art” of losing sight of progressive politics. The Evil Angel is represented by Danny Alexander telling Clegg to “think of honour and wealth”.

The scholars are the voice of reason in Marlowe’s version, and there seems to be no more fitting candidate for these roles than Vince Cable. Reportedly the nation’s favourite choice for chancellor, he could well have said ”Oh [Nick], I fear that which I have long suspected, that thou art fall’n into that damned art”. It’s possible.

Obviously, this is mere speculation, and time will tell whether or not Nick Clegg has done the right thing. As things stand, however, the Liberal Democrats have given up a lot of their core policies in order that they are able to have a few seats in the cabinet. As with the legend of Faust, however, it could just be that the leader of the Liberal Democrats is forgotten. In five years time we may once again be saying those immortal words: “Nick Clegg. Who?”

“Macbeth” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Tuesday 4th May 2010

There is something rotten in the state of Scotland. Food rots. Flesh rots. Society rots. As Malcolm says, “I think our country sinks beneath the yoke: It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash Is added to her wounds.” Macbeth is the closest we come in Shakespeare to a full-blown thriller, and Lucy Bailey’s new production at the Globe sets out to prove exactly this. Blood spews out all over the floor as we are reminded how soon a society can break down.

The main idea on show here is that hell can easily creep into the real world. The three weird sisters, present on stage for much of the three hours playing time and thus acting as the perpetrators of the story, always appear from the bowels of the theatre. Bloodied bodies gasp for air from trapdoors and grasp at thin air. These images echo those in slasher films, and in many ways Bailey’s production is just as nail-biting as the horror movies we all know and love.

Sound plays a prominent role in the piece, and Orlando Gough’s score hears bagpipes, horns and trombones screech away layers of contrapuntal textures. Music strikes up suddenly at moments of high tension and as the pipes wail away we can’t help but think that this society is crumbling.

Heads poke out from a black cloth covering the yard, and these protrusions of the uppermost part of the groundlings’ bodies frame the entire production. Floating eerily but also strangely fixed, they frame the stage and the play itself. Whilst they surround the stage they also symbolise the gruesome battles at each end of the narrative. The stark blackness of Katrina Lindsay’s design is vivid and dark even before Macbeth takes control. The bodies of the dead enter and exit just as frequently as the live characters.

Whilst the physicality and design of this production are extremely savage, the performances of some of the central characters leave much to be desired. Weakest is Laura Rogers’ Lady Macbeth, who has none of the decisiveness and cunning that Shakespeare’s strongest female character needs to be successful, and the performance is far too considered. Moments after asking the gods to “unsex” her, she throws herself inexplicably at her husband and her decent into madness is simply unconvincing.

Elliot Cowan’s Macbeth also lacks the status that is required in order to be King material, and in the first half of the play it is hard to believe there is any motive for Macbeth’s actions at all. Cowan manages to turn the tables later in the play, however, and really comes into his own as Macbeth himself loses the will to live.

It is clear that Bailey’s production sets out to be a thriller. There is no doubt that this is the case, especially in scenes involving death, but at far too many points in the play the pace drops to points which seem to be within the very Hell Macbeth’s Scotland is trying to save itself from. The interpretation itself has no faults, but without a constant feeling of doom we cannot feel empathy for many of the characters.