“One Man Lord Of The Rings” by Charles Ross

at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre, Sunday 25th July 2010

I must confess that “The Lord of the Rings” books are far from a personal favourite of mine. They are dull, lengthy and full of ridiculously named characters. The films are not much better. Charles Ross’ “One Man Lord of the Rings” at the Woolly Mammoth Theatre, however, although based on terrible source material, is a lot of fun.

Ross doesn’t pretend that Tolkein’s books are the best ever written, nor that the films are masterpieces on celluloid. Many times throughout the 70 minute play he jokes that both use a great deal of artistic license and that in many cases the stories are extremely hard to follow. His script satisfies both geeks who know the films backwards and those of us who felt we would rather become an Orc than watch the nine hours of film again.

Under the direction of TJ Dawe, Ross contorts himself and his voice into the guise of a host of different characters, from deranged Gollum to a giant tree (I think they’re called Ents). He holds an immense amount of energy and harnesses this to highlight the most important bits whilst making these stories bearable to watch (for once). We move in an instant from the depths of the Shire to Helm’s Deep, without losing track of what’s happening.

There are many in-jokes, such as the length of Legolas’ hair and the relationship between Sam and Frodo, meaning that most of the script is only accessible to those who have seen the movies. Having seen the films only once, many of these references were lost on me, but the multitude of voices and characters is nevertheless a joy to watch.

“One Man Lord Of The Rings” will not change the world. Nor will it leave a lasting impression or be performed in fifty years’ time. It is nevertheless engaging and amusing, and Ross shows that “The Lord of the Rings” stories are best when they take up very little of our time.

A small note: If you are ever in Washington DC, the Woolly Mammoth is a theatre you must visit. It is the home of new plays and experimental work in the US. If not, you can listen to Woolly Mammoth radio for insights into life at the venue. Another must-do is a trip to the Kennedy Centre, which hosts free concerts every evening at 6pm local time. Again, if you are unable to visit you can watch live streaming every day at http://www.kennedy-center.org

“Freud’s Last Session” by Mark St. Germain

at The Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater, Friday 23rd July 2010

Michael Billington recently lamented the lack of plays tackling religious themes, questioning why British playwrights find it hard to approach the subject of whether or not God exists. In Freud’s Last Session, Mark St Germain satisfies this thirst for lively debate about religion on stage within the context of a discussion between C.S Lewis and Sigmund Freud. The result is both stimulating and dramatically exciting.

We will never know whether these two men ever met; indeed it is wildly unlikely they ever did. They were born in different countries and a generation apart, but if anything this adds to the drama. Based on the book The Question of God by Armand M. Nicholi, St Germain’s script is not simply about the debate about God’s existence, but also, and perhaps more importantly, about the importance of debate. The drama in the piece stems from the newly begun war with Nazi Germany and Freud’s terminal illness. In fact the philosophical debate is pretty much irrelevant compared to these two crises.

Nevertheless, whilst the drama of the piece comes from the context, the argument is firmly cemented in the central debate. The arguments of both men are well crafted, and each is extremely eloquent. They are as dogmatic as each other and equally unable to see the other’s viewpoint. Lewis is presented as being defensive and wildly apologetic, using children’s stories to make his points. Freud on the other hand comes across as somewhat weak, unable to acknowledge his own feelings even though he is so ready to analyse those of others around him. Both men have their faults, but at the same time they are experts in their fields and each world view is commendable.

Mark H Dold plays Lewis with a nervous arrogance, making him seem out of his depth when faced with the reason and intellect of his counterpart. As Freud, Martin Rayner is fragile, irritated that his intelligence cannot be sufficiently communicated due to his condition. The pair complement each other perfectly, and make their relevent arguments clear, with a defined thought process behind them.

The direction of Tyler Marchant balances the need for debate and the need for narrative, allowing each to take precedence at certain points within the play. The narrative comes to a climax when Freud asks Lewis for help with his prosthetic jaw, and a rare moment of intimacy is shared. At this moment the debate doesn’t matter, but mere minutes later we are back into full throttled discussion. Brian Prather’s set evokes with startling precision Freud’s study, and provides the perfect setting for this dialogue to take place.

Perhaps the sympathy is slightly weighted with Lewis in this production, for he is portrayed as the stronger of the two men and reflects perhaps the views of many involved in the production. This could be mere assumption and bias, but the play does not be seem to be completely balanced. Nevertheless, Freud’s Last Session is a complex and adventurous undertaking which is pulled off with unique sensitivity. This is a call to arms for British playwrights to be just as bold; this play proves that plays covering religious themes are far from difficult. In fact, the drama writes itself.

“Danton’s Death” by Georg Büchner

at the Olivier Theatre, Monday 19th July 2010

Around about half way through Howard Brenton’s new version of Danton’s Death, the some central characters begin mocking the “great tragedians” and how they seem to use high language to betray the drama of the situation in which they find themselves. All very well, but for the fact these central characters are in fact some of the worst perpetrators of that crime that I have yet seen. Danton’s Death, although sometimes gauging the chaos found in France during the French Revolution, usually reverts to waxing lyrical and a lot of shouting.

The play centres on one Danton, a man struggling to overcome the torment which has come to him after cold-blooded killings. It tries to be political, highlighting the differences found amongst the aims of revolutionaries, and it seems we are being told that if we want to revolt, we must do so together. This, however, falls flat, for we sense no real moral dilemma and thus do not care much for the events unfolding on stage. This is supposed to be one of the best political dramas ever written, but nowhere does this seem true.

Michael Grandage as director, in his national theatre debut, does an admirable job of making us realise that there is a lot at stake and we can sense the epic proportions of the drama, but he never truly allows us to see the contrast. Every scene involves raised voices, sometimes unnecessarily, and we rarely see quiet and contemplative moments. This is especially true of the first half, in which we sense very little human emotion whatsoever. Even in the final few scenes of the play the characters only seem to care about being quoted in the history books.

The acting fails to impress also. As mentioned above, there is too much emphasis on the words themselves and little or none on the meaning behind them. If there is a thought process, it must always be “I want to get my voice heard and so must shout”. Toby Stephens at some points allows us to see the struggle Danton faces, but does not demand sufficient sympathy from the audience to allow us to feel sorry for him. As the antagonist Robespierre, Elliot Levey instils hatred but his tone seems too monotonous, too considered.

Granted, the play does build up to a coup de theatre at the end, but sometimes it feels this is all we are waiting for and that everything preceding it is simply filler. Christopher Oram, however, must be commended for his high panelled wood design which allows this to happen, and Paule Constable’s lighting perfectly captures the differences in tone found in the play. If only as much could be said of the actors.

Whilst there are some exciting and thoughtful moments in this play, it seems to bound on far too fast to its conclusion with little consideration for what is happening on the way. Brenton’s script is altogether too full of poesy and rhetoric and doesn’t suit any of these characters or the situation in which they find themselves. My advice if you want heightened language: stick to Shakespeare. If you want a play about the French Revolution, get yourself along to Les Miserables.

“Henry IV, Parts One and Two” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Wednesday 14th July 2010

It just goes on and on. Will it ever stop? How long can this last? Surely we won’t have to endure that much more? These were just a few of the questions being asked by the audience at Shakespeare’s Globe during the press performances of Henry IV Parts One and Two, but not about the shows. No, these questions were directed at that ever-mysterious beast; the weather, and more specifically, rain. Pathetic fallacy always seems like such a good idea, but can be a royal pain in practice. Whilst us groundlings wanted the rain to stop, we would have happily watched Dominic Dromgoole’s outstanding productions for a lot longer than the already lengthy six and a half hours.

These two history plays are arguably some of Shakespeare’s most accomplished, tackling both politics and relationships and successfully mixing the stories of Henry IV’s crumbling court, Hal and Falstaff’s bawdy and the various rebellions which spring up around the country. We are asked moral questions about what is right and wrong but are also treated to some of the funniest scenes in the entire canon.

Henry IV has never had a stable kingdom, and even straight after his deposing of Richard II, he is already “wan with care”. A rebellion led by Harry “Hotspur” Percy and later by his allies tries to unseat the king. Meanwhile Hal, the king’s son, enjoys riotous sessions in the Boar’s Head Tavern in Eastcheap with his friend and mentor Sir John Falstaff, but slowly pulls himself away from his irreverent friends as he understands that he is to be the future king. In Dromgoole’s production the contrasts are clearly highlighted, and whilst in Part One there is never really the sense that the King’s power is already sliding away from him, there is an overall sense that he is an inadequate king, highlighted by Oliver Cotton’s portrayal of a weak and short-tempered monarch.

The wild, colourful scenes in Eastcheap pose a striking contrast to the darkness of the court and Hotspur’s rebellion in Part One. All that matters to the publicans is food and drink, but a lot more is at stake when it comes to the crown. Sam Crane as Hotspur holds an erratic tenacity and seems at times to be close to mad. There is even a hint of effeminacy, explaining his blunt rejection of his wife. Nevertheless, we still feel an immense sympathy for him after his sudden death; Henry IV and his son deserved the crown no more than he.

Shrewsbury Field, the battle in Part One, becomes an epic fight, although whether this was simply the production or the added special effect of heavy rain I will never know. They probably complemeted each other. Chaos descends upon the kingdom and from this moment Henry IV’s fate as king is sealed. His reign will not last much longer, unlike, it seems, the actual rain, and when watching this production we feel little sympathy for him.

Many complain that Part Two does not hold the dramatic weight and historical significance found in the prequel, but this production proves that notion to be false. The second part is just as funny, paced and tense as the first, and has some beautiful moments woven into the story. Dromgoole’s production focuses on Falstaff’s story here and squeezes out every possible laugh without making the gags feel overdone. The famous recruitment scene does not disappoint, and William Gaunt as Shallow here deservedly attracts the biggest laughs.

Throughout, Jamie Parker as Prince Hal moves from naïve teen through to warrior, prince and finally king. It would be wrong to say that he does so effortlessly, for Parker shows clearly how Hal struggles to move on from his friends in the tavern, and therefore makes it clear that in fact as lot of effort is involved for the prince. He is a jovial Hal, but always seems to understand, even from the very beginning, that he must at some point move on. The few scenes with his father are played with remarkable sensitivity but are still distant and his final rejection of Falstaff means that I may be arguing for some time that this is one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the Shakespeare. I ask here for one thing: we need Jamie Parker as Henry V at some point in the near future.

Most outstanding is Roger Allam as the infamous Falstaff, bringing out the wit and intellect of this loveable rogue. Falstaff has always been a tricky part to play because his moral corruption contradicts his loyalty to others, but Allam is able to get the entire audience on his side and captures this dichotomy with aplomb. His speech asking “What is honour?” is delivered perfectly, showing Falstaff’s sensitive side, and after his rejection by Hal, all our hearts go straight to Old Jack. Without wanting to hyperbolise, this is a Falstaff that will be remembered for years.

These productions are both delivered with such passion that it is hard not to be enthralled by every moment. Easy to understand, the many layers of Shakespeare’s writing are also clear to pick out. The ensemble of actors, some of whom play six or seven parts clearly enjoy themselves the whole way through and pull together to create this wonderful world amongst Jonathan Fensom’s wooden scaffolding set which evokes both a playground and a battlefield at the same time. Claire van Kampen’s music is also completely necessary, telling us where we are but also underscoring some of the more emotional scenes. Indeed, it is hard to find fault with any aspect of this production.

If you see one thing this summer, see this.

“Bedroom Farce” by Alan Ayckbourn

at Milton Keynes Theatre, Tuesday 13th July 2010 

 

Admittedly, the works of Alan Ayckbourn have never been a favourite of mine. Whilst his writing has incredible insight into relationships and the pettiness of everyday life, they are incredibly difficult to get right and can often leave an audience feeling awkward and annoyed (as is often the case with amateur productions). Of course, this simply shows how ingenious his writing his, but one can never get rid of that foul taste which is left after an awful version of Absurd Person Singular for the umpteenth time, Nevertheless, under the direction of Peter Hall, one of our greatest directors, Ayckbourn’s Bedroom Farce is at once hilarious and profound.

The plot is an alarmingly simple one and yet holds incredible complexity. It is the story of four couples, at various stages in marriage, trying to have an enjoyable evening and get a good nights’ sleep. Delia and Ernest, Trevor’s parents, go through the familiar motions of their anniversary and enjoy the thrill that comes to them through eating pilchards and toast in bed. Malcolm and Kate have just moved into their new house and still hold the passion and fun that comes in the early stages of marriage. They are friends with Nick and Jan, a couple whose time is mostly spent trying to cope with the fact Nick cannot get out of bed on accounts of his bad back. Finally, bringing all the plots together, are Trevor and Susannah, both of whom are slightly neurotic and do not find human interactions all that easy. These varying stages of marriage naturally allow Ayckbourn to explore their different views on relationships.

The title of the play is somewhat misleading, for only towards the end does the action descend into something that resembles farce. Throughout the whole play, although there are many exits and entrances, none of these are placed for comic effect. The ‘Farce’ of the title reflects the comings and goings of relationships and the hilarity which comes with them. It is refreshing to see a farce which has real character development and where the laughs come from text, not from gags.

We would be hard pushed to find a play of Ayckbourn’s in which there isn’t a character or a number of characters who are spookily like people we know. His plays take life and put it on stage, and Bedroom Farce is no exception. We see that whilst sex is a driving force in relationships, it is not everything. Indeed, to some of these couples, sleep is far more important. In a bedroom people are likely to be most themselves, and so in setting the action within those most intimate of rooms, Ayckbourn is able to make his characters speak truthfully.

Hall’s direction perfectly exposes the vulnerability of each character and makes the different relationships easy to differentiate. Some performances do at times feel a little forced, forgetting motivations and simply going through the motions, specifically in the case of Maxwell Caulfield (Nick) and Bruce Montague (Ernest). Oliver Boot captures Trevor’s nervousness well, but is foiled by Natasha Alderslade in the role of Susannah, whose ‘madness’ does not convince. Ayden Callaghan and Julia Mallam as Malcolm and Kate perfectly capture the innocence of younger couples.

Whilst Bedroom Farce is not perhaps Ayckbourn at his best, Peter Hall and his cast do a respectable job in bringing out the all-important character development in this production. For now, however, I will be staying in the school of thought which says of Ayckbourn’s plays “Approach with care”.

“Der Parasit, oder die Kunst, sein Glück zu machen” by Friedrich Schiller

at the Berliner Ensemble, Tuesday 6th July 2010

Berlin really is a city of opposites. East merges into West, present into past and rich into poor. Nowhere is this more obvious than at the Berliner Ensemble, the infamous theatre company which was set up by Bertolt Brecht and some of his contemporaries. The simple neo-Baroque facade is topped off with a flourescent “Berliner Ensemble” sign and inside the elegant auditorium counters the sleek cleanliness of the stage itself. An eagle, the symbol of the Nazi party, is crossed out angrily with a red cross.

It is strange that in the United Kingdom, many of the theories which Brecht considered are still deemed to be avant-garde by a large proportion of the theatre going population. During my recent visit to the Berliner Ensemble to see Schiller’s “Der Parasit, oder die Kunst, sein Glück zu machen” (The Parasite, or the art of making one’s fortune), I experienced a form of theatre which needs to be embraced here in the UK.

My German is very limited, but one oft-cited technique of Brecht’s, ‘gestus’, allows us to understand what was happening simply because of the exaggerated expressions of the actors and simplified performances. Each actor wears a costume which makes their arms and legs look shorter than they should be, thus disproportionately enlarging the size of their heads and so drawing focus to facial expression.

A problem when studying the theories of Brecht’s has always been the translation of the term “Verfremdungseffekt”. Often translated into ‘alienation effect’ or even ‘estrangement effect’, there is really no direct translation into English. The only way to understand this phrase is to watch a play produced by Brecht’s theatre company. It is difficult to put into words, but we are at once distanced and drawn in, made to think and made to feel. Naturally, the language barrier helps to distance more whilst performance techniques convey human emotion.

The play itself is concerned with the themes of hypocrisy and self-preservation, whether this be in love or politics. These are carried mainly by the subaltern Selicour, played by Thomas Wittmann, who uses various aspects of his personality (played by six other actors) to manipulate those around him. It is not simply he who looks bad trying to put a foot on the ladder, however, for we also see the stupidity of those who fall for his tricks, specifically the minister himself, Narbonne (Norbert Stöß), whose world crumbles arround him, both literally and metaphorically. The set mirrors this state of affairs, walled like a padded cell and ascending to the top in the form of a staircase, whilst allowing a multitude of exits and entrances.

The production is beautifully choreographed, running like clockwork from beginning to end and incorporating some wonderful set pieces. At one point, Karl (the minister’s son, played by Dejan Bućin), falls from the heights of the on-stage staircase and tumbles down in slow motion, his real legs and arms visible but the focus being centred on the limbs of the ‘puppet’. When he hits the ground, two teeth are spat out accompanied by two notes on the xylophone. Music and sound feature heavily throughout, and in the duration we hear everything from a strained winch to a squeaky duck.

The Berliner Ensemble in Der Parasit have shown how theatre should be made. It should not directly mirror reality but create a distorted image in which we see our own faults. In an age where television and film are so popular, theatre must fill the void which does not necessarily ask for complete reality. We should be made to think and be challenged by theatre, which is certainly what the Berliner Ensemble did here. Whether you agree with this or not, one thing is for certain. I’ll be back.