“Rocket To The Moon” by Clifford Odets

That moment when you discover a new playwright is always a special one. You sit in a theatre, wondering why you’ve never come across his/her work before, vowing not to be so ignorant in the future. The National Theatre, with its impressive revival of Rocket To The Moon, have made sure the name Clifford Odets on the lips of London theatre-goers for months to come.

Odets’ script, written in 1938, has elements from some of the greatest American playwrights. Hints of Williams can be found in the fusion of sexuality and innocence, and in the central character of a dentist living an ordinary life we hear echoes of Miller. Rocket To The Moon has a rich, complex and beautifully poetic script, but Angus Jackson’s production falls just short of doing justice to it.

It is one of the few plays (including Little Shop of Horrors) where one of the main characters is a dentist. Ben Stark is on the verge of mid-life crisis, and in one hot summer begins an affair with his secretary, Cleo. She becomes the centre of attention for three men; Stark, his father in law and a dance director. The script leads to Cleo having to make a choice, and includes some extraordinary moments of dialogue, considering the nature of love and life.

It is an almost unfathomable text, as Odets moves us from sympathising with one character to another, and we’re never quite sure who we want to prevail. Initially, it seems like a fairly sexist play, showing women as either naive (Cleo) or domineering (Mrs Stark), but in the final moments this idea is turned on its head, as the men are shown to be the ones lacking. But although this beauty is inherent in the text, Jackson’s production doesn’t quite capture these turning points, and seems at times to be somewhat static, and doesn’t add anything to the script which wasn’t already there.

It is a production not without its great moments and fantastic performances. The comedy in the production, for example, is nothing short of perfect, and in the central role of Stark, Joseph Millson is superb. A somewhat bumbling man to begin with, unsure of himself, he soon shows his versatility as he moves to someone broken and alone. Jessica Raine, although sometimes a little irritating, is alluring and innocent in equal measure, a kind of 1930s Blanche DuBois. Nicholas Woodeson plays her other suitor, Mr Prince, with joviality, but switches in an instant to a lonely and Machiavellian old man. Peter Sullivan as Phil Cooper, a colleague of Stark, is wry and cynical, and Sebastian Armesto as Frenchy, a doctor from downstairs, also offers a somewhat profound observation of events. It is unfortunate that Keeley Hawes, in her stage debut as Mrs Stark, offers the weakest link in the cast. Usually such a natural on-screen, she seems wooden and forced on stage, flapping her arms at regular intervals and giving a poor display of a New York accent. I’m also intrigued about the inclusion of ensemble members in the programme; they are nowhere to be seen.

Anthony Ward’s set, although impressive, does seem a little vast for such a private play. The feeling of a New York skyscraper is evoked perfectly, but at the expense of losing intimacy. Mark Henderson’s choice of lighting fixtures alone deserves applause; when they are the only light on stage the feel of the play becomes almost filmic. John Leonard’s sound is also worthy of mention – a constant stream of traffic seems to be rushing past the window, and at opportune moments we hear sirens and shouting.

It is fantastic that the National Theatre have chosen to resurrect this play. Odets’ script is so intricate and yet so complex, and will no doubt introduce his work to a wider audience (including yours truly). Jackson’s production, however, sometimes loses itself in the poetry and complexities of the text, and although we are given a faithful representation, it never quite reaches the heights it deserves.

“The Holy Rosenbergs” by Ryan Craig

at the Cottesloe Theatre, Tuesday 29th March 2011

Domestic Judaism seems to be all the rage at the moment. First we had Grandma’s House, and now we see the brilliant Friday Night Dinner on a weekly basis. But where these two sitcoms suggested the comedy in Jewish family life, Ryan Craig’s The Holy Rosenbergs at the National Theatre takes an altogether different approach, considering how a sense of duty can be at odds with one’s family life.

The Rosebergs, who run a catering business from their home in Edgeware, have just lost their son Danny to conflict in Israel. David and Lesley (Henry Goodmam and Tilly Tremayne) have to deal with their part in his death, as do Ruth (Susannah Wise) and Jonny (Alex Waldmann), their two children. It is not until the end of the play, after pleas have been made and deals have been done, that anyone begins to accept even an ounce of blame.

Craig’s script is firmly rooted in the domestic, showing how families squabble over inane issues. But deeper than this runs the idea that what the duty we feel towards a community can often run at odds with the duty towards ourselves. In this case, David is unable to distinguish how a lack of compassion and desire to please can have disastrous consequences.

Although the Jewish-Arab conflict and the inherent Jewishness of the Rosenbergs are central to the narrative here, this is far more than just a Jewish play with, as Ruth accuses, “walking clichés”. Laurie Sansom’s production is firmly rooted in the familial, as everyone becomes involved and is sucked in. There are hints that Craig believes there not to be a place for religious traditions in the 21st century, as they cause upset on a personal and worldwide scale.

Henry Goodman gives the performance of the night as the head of the family, and as we watch his world slowly crumble he unlocks an unnerving calm. This role even suggests he would make an excellent Eddie Carbone at some point in the future. Waldmann and Wise are both strong as his children, offering a counterpoint to one another and each showing the exasperation of the younger generation caught up in the dogma of the old. As the mother, Tremayne isn’t overly impressive, often being unconvincing during more emotional scenes. Good support is provided by Philip Ardatti, Paul Freeman and Stephen Boxer.

The Cottesloe, which never ceases to amaze as a space, sets the Rosenberg’s living room in the round, and Jessica Curtis’ design is beautiful in its simplicity and attention to detail. Oliver Fenwick’s lighting shows a progression of time, even though the play is all set during one evening, and Mike Winship’s sound places us firmly in this house, as the sounds, spookily, create a real sense of the space we’re supposed to be in.

In creating this play, Craig and Sansom have shown a problem specific to a Jewish family which could affect all of us. It is an acute representation of people in this community, but speaks far more about the nature of what we believe to be right. The Holy Rosenbergs is a biting play, but one which always retains the comfort we find in our homes and families; these things we can never lose.

 

“The Tempest” by William Shakespeare

at the Swan Theatre, Saturday 19th March 2011

Why is it that shows aimed at children are often the most enjoyable? Tell Tale at the National Student Drama Festival last year was an exciting new look at Kipling’s Just So Stories and the RSC’s recent Matilda impressed adults just as much as the kids they brought with them. Little Angel Theatre’s new production of The Tempest at the Swan Theatre suggests an answer; plays for children are not afraid of being playful, using objects and techniques which would usually be seen as too risky for a full-scale production, and in the process tease out aspects of a script which are not normally on show.

The production begins and ends with the entrance of a group of seagulls, soaring over the audience and settling on the simple wooden wave set at the back of the stage, taking us immediately to a desert island. Throughout the feeling of playfulness is kept; beautifully crafted puppets play Ariel, Caliban and a menagerie of other creatures, each manipulated with care by the team of puppeteers, who double as the cast. Peter Glanville’s direction includes some mesmerizing moments, such as the love scene between Miranda and Ferdinand, injecting back into the play the magic so often lost in performance.

The portrayal of Ariel and Caliban as a tiny nymph and grotesque monster respectively could be questioned, but in a production tailored to children this can be overlooked; they need to seem alien to children so that their ostracism is more pronounced. In any case, they are each shown to be cuddly and vulnerable, allowing us to empathise with them. Indeed the decision to play these parts as puppets draws out the fantastical elements of the play, making into more of a fairytale than a bittersweet comedy.

The production slightly falls behind, however, in its performances. David Fielder’s Prospero is fatherly and calm, and is countered subtly by Anneika Rose’s Miranda. The company of men, however, is less strong; Christopher Staines seems far too old to be playing Ferdinand, while Brett Brown and Ruth Calkin as Stephano and Trinculo never seem to have enough chemistry to allow us to go on their journey with them. Perhaps this is a result of the editing, which takes focus away from the Italians, but there is still enough text for the actors to play with.

The design makes a case for not simply sticking to conventional techniques when making theatre. The set and costume, designed by Laura McEwen, make good use of the space, and through suggestive imagery show us what is there. Lyndie Wright’s puppets all retain elements of humanity, and are lit beautifully by David Duffy. Ben Glasstone’s music furthers the sense of fantasy. A perfect example of all the elements of design coming together is in the initial storm scene, which begins with Prospero striking his staff around the wooden waves to create the sound of billowing thunder, and ends after much strobing with the destruction of a miniature ship.

Although this production primarily caters for children, there are aspects which will appeal to all ages. Granted, the poetry is sometimes dumbed down, but in fact this sometimes enhances our understanding of the text. Simple ideas such as the enactment of the previous schism with chess pieces and representation of Ariel’s imprisonment explain back stories without ever condescending. Which begs the question; why don’t ‘adult’ plays do the same thing?

“King Lear” by William Shakespeare

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Wednesday 16th March 2011

One would expect that after a year of performances a production would generally improve somewhat. We imagine performances have time to mature and problems are ironed out. It is a shame, therefore, that David Farr’s production of King Lear still remains somewhat stale, even though it has gained an extra dynamic in its transfer from the Courtyard to the new Royal Shakespeare Theatre.

It is an interpretation which never really made much sense; this is an Albion which has “come to great confusion”, with an array of costumes from various period sitting among furniture from various periods lit with everything from strip-lights to flaming torches. This is ostensibly a world which cannot understand itself, but rather than heightening an understanding of the text, it seems at time to detract from it, as we wonder what the characters’ motivations are in this mixed-up kingdom. It just doesn’t compute.

That said, however, in true David Farr style, it does manage to show a state in the middle of collapse. The final moments of the first half show are some of the most impressive, and the storm scene is striking. This is mirrored by the littering of bodies across the stage as the performance ends, showing that as soon as an infrastructure is destroyed, the lives of people will follow not long after. Jon Bausor’s set shows a state in decay and is lit superbly by Jon Clark. Keith Clouston and Christopher Shutt’s music and sound also show discordance, but here is the issue; Farr’s interpretation never shows enough coherence for us ever to become engaged.

This isn’t helped by the ensemble’s performances, which, although strong, never truly excel. Tunji Kasim’s Edmund is nothing short of a wet flannel and Sophie Russell’s Fool is dogged by the ghost of Kathryn Hunter. Greg Hicks is technically strong in the title role, but fails to emote and show his normally impressive range. I still hold that he is ten years too young for Lear, especially in the light of Jacobi’s recent showing. Katy Stephens as Regan offers some redemption, as does Darrell D’Silva in the role of Kent, but the actors across the board seem to be as confused by the on stage world as we do.

This isn’t a bad production, but one which never really lives up to its potential. A strong company of actors is never truly stretched and a stunning design team seem to be steered in the wrong direction. The new RST shows itself to be impressive, however, proving to have perfect clarity and injecting energy onto the thrust stage from the audience, but this is not in itself enough to save the show. Granted, Farr’s production has justification in the text, and a world with no cohesive elements does make sense, but without sign-posting it is hard to care. As a consequence, actors, direction and audience all become as confused as each other.

“Black Watch” by Gregory Burke

at Warwick Arts Centre, Saturday 12th March 2011

It’s been a week of military-centred theatre at Warwick Arts Centre over the past seven days. First we had Theatre Alibi’s Goucher’s War, a play which considered propaganda and espionage during the Second World War. Following that Caroline Horton told her grandmother’s war story, showing how ordinary people coped with the invasion of France. We’ve also had Soldier’s Song, an installation piece in which we watch a serving soldier singing karaoke and are encouraged to join in. And we finish with The National Theatre of Scotland’s acclaimed Black Watch, which, although it doesn’t quite live up to the hype, is nonetheless a powerful piece of theatre.

What Black Watch does which so many pieces of the same ilk fail to do is to get us into the mind of a soldier. Gregory Burke’s script, based on interviews with ex-Black Watch soldiers, tells of a number of episodes in the lives of those serving in Iraq, pulling them together with a common tone and relationships. We are told the number one thing they fight for is their mates, forcing us to reconsider preconceptions about the mindset of someone fighting in a war. This also seems to be one of the major downfalls in the script, however, for there is always a part of us which cannot understand this rationale. The soldiers’ lives are so far removed from our own that it becomes hard to ever become emotionally attached, and a lack of character development sometimes feels somewhat distancing.

What the script sometimes lacks in places, however, is made up for by physicality in John Tiffany’s visually stunning production. One stand-out scene, for example, is a lecture on the history of the Black Watch. Textually it is nothing overly exciting, but what we see in front of us is a series of quick changes given with military precision to show us a move through time. The same is true of the death of a group of soldiers later in the play; their bodies slowly falling to the ground from wires is one which will stay with us for a long time.

The sheer visceral nature of this production is epitomised in the last ten minutes, which is perhaps one of the most powerful moments on British stages at this moment in time. All we see is soldiers marching, dance-like, but mixed with the deafening sound of the bagpipes and everything that’s gone before, it stirs something deep within. Part of me feels however, that the wool is slightly pulled over our eyes in these final ten minutes, as it almost makes us forget the previous ninety.

What really shines through in Black Watch is the sense of ensemble; the performances are so slick and bounce off one another so well that it mimics the army regiment they are portraying. Particularly strong are Jack Lowden as Cammy, our narrator, who always manages to maintain an element of innocence, and Keith Fleming as both the Writer and Sergeant, the former of whom brings out their emotional side and the latter their physical. Mention should also go to Chris Starkie’s brooding Stewarty and Jamie Quinn in the role of Fraz, bringing us some comedy and naivety.

The technical aspects of Black Watch are carefully balanced to give us something halfway between theatre and war-zone. Steven Hoggett’s movement direction crosses dance with military signals and drills, while Davey Anderson’s music, supported by Gareth Fry’s sound, is sometimes diegetic and sometimes ethereal. Laura Hopkins’ set and Colin Grenfell’s lighting, with a cargo container and a large sheet of tarpaulin each flanked with iron towers at either end of the traverse, offers a dynamic space for the actors and always leaves something to the imagination. It is this cross between the real and theatrical world which runs throughout the play and constantly asks us to reconsider our views on war.

Although there are aspects of Black Watch which are not utterly involving and the script sometimes lacks humanity, Tiffany and his team have created a smorgasbord of visual treats, offering multiple perspectives on war and specifically those who fight in it. It doesn’t offer much in terms of politics, but the imaginative pieces of movement and booming sound allow us to see why it has been touring the globe for the past five years. And the last ten minutes are worth the ticket price alone.

“You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy” by Caroline Horton

at Warwick Arts Centre, Thursday 10th March 2011

One of the best things that can happen for a writer is surely to find a real life story which can be adapted to a stage play. It must be even better when you are able to speak to those involved. It must certainly be a godsend for Caroline Horton, then, that her own grandmother had her own extraordinary story, which became the basis for You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy, a beautifully touching tale of how one woman struggled on during the Second World War away from her fiancée.

The piece begins with Horton entering the stage, gabbling in French with four suitcases in hand. She notices us, makes a few jokes about English and queueing and we’re hooked. She begins her fascinating story, telling us what brings her to the Gard du Nord on this day in January 1945. It is a story of love and loss and is all the more poignant considering these events bought the extraordinarily Caroline Horton into being. Some of the most moving moments are seen at the end of the show as we see images of Horton and Chrissy together, including voice-overs from our hero herself. This is a story that lives in the heart of the writer.

Horton’s script, although based in real interviews and a true story, is almost poetic in its telling. She claims she “never exaggerates”, but we know a lot of what is told is embellishment, as happens with all story-telling. The text is carefully nuanced, as the narrator gets her idioms mixed up, expressing how she felt like “the knees of the bees” and “a hot cat on a roof”. There are a few jokes for the history buffs in the audience and a basic understanding if French is required to understand some lines, but this simply adds to the reward when we work out what is being said.

The four suitcases and handbag act as the only set, each containing within them intricately constructed miniatures and objects from Chrissy’s life in order to aid our understanding. Inside one is hidden a charming 3D pop up of Paris which lights up to display the city at night. Touches like this serve to make the show even more touching and we see briefly inside the head of Chrissy; how she sees the world during the war is far different from how the media has portrayed it to us.

Although You’re Not Like The Other Girls Chrissy is directed by Omar Elerian and Daniel Goldman, the show is undoubtedly Horton’s. She takes us on a journey and displays an alluring erratic tendency which it is hard to divert our attention from. Her cheeky smile, glowing eyes and eccentric energy make the character unbelievably human. One wonders whether this performance would be as effective without the family links, and although it wouldn’t be quite as moving, it would still nonetheless be a superb piece of theatre.

“Goucher’s War” by Daniel Jamieson

at Warwick Arts Centre, Tuesday 8th March 2011

I don’t envy publicity officers, having to write blurbs for advertisements months before a show opens. In the publicity for Goucher’s War, the play is described as “darkly comic”, which the final production does not seem to be at all. However, although many of the comic elements are hard to place, under the direction of Nikki Sved Theatre Alibi have nonetheless created a beautifully dark piece of storytelling.

Before the Second World War begins, the peaceful Reverend Donald Goucher writes stories about Hiawyn, a mischievous pig who plays pranks on all and sundry. During the war, however, Hiawyn is commandeered by the British military, and Goucher is asked to write stories placing the pig behind enemy lines. As the war continues, Goucher’s wacky ideas for explosive shaving brushes and deadly Chianti bottles are made true by teams of scientists for use on French soil, the guilt of which drives our hero into madness. It is a story of the power, and by extension the destructive power, of the imagination.

What makes Goucher’s War stand out is that it is essentially total theatre in a studio space, incorporating music, small pieces of movement and animation. To show Hiawyn’s antics, short films animated by Tim Britton are projected onto a back wall, narrated by the cast, allowing us to see the character in action. The score, created by Thomas Johnson and played by Finn Beames, lends itself perfectly to the script, including some jolly accordion sections and theramin-induced warbling. Trina Bramman’s set resembles something out of a Wallace and Gromit film and is playful in its childishness. Mention should also be made of Marcus Bartlett’s lighting design which lights both set and actors to make them look how we expect the 1940s to have looked.

The cast of three is consistently strong. In the male roles, Derek Frood is straight-backed and military, speaking in gruff tones, while Jordan Whyte as the women in the script offers a contrast, switching in front of our eyes from young scientist to fragile old woman. As the eponymous Goucher, Michael Wagg holds the piece together and portrays his character’s downfall with sensitivity and pathos.

Although Goucher’s War isn’t a ‘darkly comic’ play, it is still an entrancing and ingenious piece of story-telling. Even though Daniel Jamieson’s script is incredibly human, it does at times seem a little childish, even when not in story-telling mode. It is a shame the ideas of espionage and propaganda are not considered in a little more detail, but at the same time this does allow Goucher’s extraordinarily touching story to shine through.