“As You Like It” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Friday 10th May 2013

With the two productions of As You Like It I’ve seen in the last few weeks being among the best Shakespearean performances I’ve come across in my short life, the play is very quickly becoming my favourite in the Bard’s canon. Both Maria Aberg’s Glastonbury-style show at the RSC and the Marjanishvili Theatre’s take on the play end in anarchic, messy, blissfully joyous finales which bring smiles when remembering them, encapsulating the capacity for hope within the play itself.

Hailing from Georgia on a triumphant return after the Globe to Globe season last year, one of the most striking things about the Marjanishvili Theatre’s production is its sheer sense of delight.

On Variety

Of all the theatrical shows I saw over this Christmas period (People, The Magistrate, Kiss Me Kate), the only one to have any real impact on me was Lucy Prebble’s The Effect; its intricate, moving love story coupled with a complex discussion about the ethics of drugs companies has stayed with me for the last few weeks and doesn’t look like it’ll go away soon. But though there was only one out-and-out ‘theatre’ piece which moved me, I also saw two other things which had their own particular resonance, bringing  to the forefront of my mind thoughts about variety and its potential use as a theatrical form.

The first of these was Frisky and Mannish’s Christmas show at Koko’s. The pair sung their way through their take on popular Christmas songs, introducing a host of cabaret acts in between their numbers (The Boy With Tape on His Face, Piff the Magic Dragon, Bruce Airhead). It was hardly a very cerebrally challenging evening, and didn’t say anything about the world as such (it wasn’t trying to) but that’s not to say it wasn’t gloriously enjoyable (helped by the fact it was almost Christmas and it was my birthday the next day). Either way, the overall feeling was one of celebration, and if there was any overriding worldview which was purveyed it was that nothing is sacred (not even our favourite Christmas songs) and we can subvert anything in the name of comedy and new understandings.

The second show, entitled “The End of the World Show”, was presented by Robin Ince and Brian Cox and was “a summary of all human achievement” and an unashamed “celebration of rationality”. With guests including Ben Goldacre, Adam Rutherford, Scroobius Pip, Kate Tempest, Ben Miller, Steve Coogan, Hugh Grant and Dara O’Briain discussing evolution, space travel, astronomy, chemistry, homeopathy, drugs companies and quantum physics, the overall feeling of this four-and-a-half hour show was of optimism and wonder, encouraging us to think for ourselves and consider the beauty of the world (and universe) around us.

But why am I talking about these productions on a theatre blog? Well, it seems to me that theatre would do well to take a few ideas from the world of variety and cabaret. The idea of a multi-voiced, multi-media production has started to take hold more in recent years with Decade and Greenland leading the way. More recently, authors working alone have begun to incorporate tones of variety into their shows, with Martin Crimp writing in different styles and incorporating music so that we get a wider understanding of the topics of discussion in In The Republic of Happiness.

I know I say it a lot, but in a century in which it has become simple to find out opposing views on something just by Googling and where we are bombarded consistently by opinions on social networks and news sites, the response of a wide range of writers and artists may be a better way of considering the subject matter whether that be a theme, an idea or even a story; plurality must be embraced.

True, different characters can embody different ideas in more straightforward plays, and sometimes the complexity of a well-written script makes us challenge our own opinions so that we can view ideas afresh. But is this really a reflection of our postmodern condition? Is this really sufficient as we move into ever-more complex, confused conditions? How else can we explore these fascinating, necessary and eternal debates?

These are the thoughts swimming around my mind as I begin to edit the texts which have been written for my production of Fascism Anyone?, in which we’re hoping to interrogate the way we understand fascism in 2013. We already have a variety of responses, including black comedies, Beckettian shorts, monologues and raps, and we’ll be including music and movement, but does this count as variety? And if not, can (or should) we be doing more to incorporate a wider variety of artforms?

I’m fully aware that Frisky, Mannish, Brian and Robin weren’t necessarily trying to put across the kind of one-theme response I’ve been considering, but the choice of response tells us a lot, as they understand that looking at particular ideas in different ways can be more engaging, complex and, in a way, democratic. Which seems like the ideal way to combat fascism theatrically.

“Twelfth Night” (or why I hate Original Practices) by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Thursday 27th September 2012

Looking at the cast and creative team behind Tim Carroll’s production of Twelfth Night, it’s not hard to predict how the production is going to be played (that is, of course, if you didn’t see the original in 2002). Now, this isn’t in itself a Bad Thing. The production is very strong, pretty funny, has the audience enraptured and features some glorious performances.

But then I go to the theatre to be surprised. I want to experience something unexpected. True, not everyone does, but if I book a ticket I expect not to be able to work out exactly how it’s going to be performed.

I’m not saying that I was able to sit on the train on the way to London and picture, moment for moment, the play as it happened; that I would have enjoyed myself more sat at home reading the play with voices in my head. No, I’m not a seer and I did very much enjoy the piece. All I’m saying is that, knowing the work of these creatives and actors, and having experienced Globe productions before, it was easy to work out the features and general style of the thing.

Rylance’s Olivia was always going to be gentle on the whole with sudden outbursts and feature a certain peculiarity (here it’s a spirit-like glide), maintaining femininity without ever trying too hard. Stephen Fry’s Malvolio could be heard clearly in the mind’s ear before stepping foot in the theatre; a bumbling, sympathetic misanthrope who is unable to connect with his peers and thus has to suffer humiliation. Johnny Flynn and Samuel Barnett as Viola and Sebastian was perhaps a turn from the more obvious choice of putting them the other way round, but still show two sides of the same coin and provide a lot of heart. Granted, Paul Chahidi gives a surprising turn as Maria, and in many moments steals the scene, but on the whole the rest of the cast is fairly standard (though a little stronger than usual Globe fare).

Jenni Tiramani’s aesthetic of doublet and hose is also of little interest and, though the jokes are strong and frequent (thank God someone remembered it’s a comedy), they aren’t exactly original.

I guess what I’m saying here is that I’m tired of so-called “original practices” (I liked John Donnelly recent tweet: “I’m setting up a theatre company called Original Practices… Tagline: ‘Quality is not an option’.”). I find their use dull, unnecessary (in that it doesn’t add anything that non-original-practice couldn’t do) and regressive. I’m therefore going to use the rest of this post to try to justify those statements, with passing reference to Twelfth Night. Okay? Grand.

The most obvious thing about original practices performances is that they feature all-male casts. The argument that this doesn’t offer opportunities for women in an industry saturated in male parts is perhaps a little redundant since all-female productions have started to become a regular occurrence, but it’s certainly something worth considering. I don’t have an issue with the notion of an all-male cast in itself (I adore the work of Propellor), but with the way it is used. For where Edward Hall’s company takes that old Shakespearean feature and subverts it in order to draw things out in the play which weren’t apparent before, the Globe generally fails to discover anything new about these characters. Of course, the whole notion of acting is based on the idea of pretending to be someone else, but when there are scores of women who could play these parts better than men, why are they denied access?

Using men to play women also, slightly out of necessity, relies on stereotypes. True, those stereotypes (women are “fragile” or “strong” etc.) may be rejected just as much as they are obeyed, but they still collect an audience’s subconscious prejudices and play on that. At one point, for example, Johnny Flynn’s Viola screams when confronted with Andrew Aguecheek’s sword. Why is this funny? Not because of the situation, but because we accept the stereotype that women are afraid little creatures who can’t fend for themselves, and then remember that this isn’t a woman after all. Hilarious.

I also wonder about the ability to repeat of OP productions (and here I become a bit shaky, as I’ve not seen a play done more than once following OP). For, while there is a different production for every director and each will bring out different things in a rehearsal room, if the same design and approach is used each time then there isn’t going to be a huge amount of difference between what the plays say. I know this Twelfth Night is essentially a revival of the 2002 production, but then how different would an original practices production overseen by a different director really be? Sure, the use of the space would differ and things like new intonation and characterisation would be apparent, but would it leave us feeling any differently?

Original practices clearly has/had its place. When the New Globe first opened, it was a way of exploring Shakespeare in his own space and on his own terms, and was actually truly experimental. But I wonder how much the learning curve has plateaued. It doesn’t teach us as much now as it did fourteen years ago, and I think the original reservations about it making the space feel like a “museum” are becoming true again. What do we get from original practices which we wouldn’t get from, say, a black box production, and is that worth the loss of truthful female characters and social comment? This type of theatre was made four-hundred years ago. Have we really become so disillusioned with everything we’ve learnt since then that we have to regress to an outdated form?

I know I’m in the minority here. Audiences love the style and productions play to packed houses. Twelfth Night is a tight, funny, touching production, but to me that seems to be an exception to the rule. I know the Globe is built for presenting Shakespeare in his original context and I know that’s how it’s supposed to work (and, actually, that most productions don’t have all-male casts). Nonetheless, the theatre does have potential to do things differently, and I can’t help thinking that by trying out new styles, Dromgoole and his company could end up moving forward, not back.

“Dirty Great Love Story” by Richard Marsh & Katie Bonna

at Pleasance Dome, Monday 20th August 2012

Ordinarily, I’m not a rom-com fan. They’re too soppy for my liking. Dirty Great Love Story, however, is a romantic comedy which I can bear. More than bear. I could watch it over and over again. Richard Marsh and Katie Bonna’s script takes the genre and offers up a more truthful, twenty-first century rendition. A mix of performance poetry, theatre and comedy creates a show which is laugh-out-loud funny and will leave you with a smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat’s.

Bonna and Marsh play Katie and Rich, who had a one-night stand and now have to deal with the consequences. They go through phases of liking and then disliking one another, becoming friends and then worst enemies. In the hustle and bustle of everyday life, the fact they are each aware of the other is the only thing which remains constant. The story is an old one. The way in which is presented is semi-revolutionary.

The text is a weird mix of verse and comedic patter, maintaining a constant rhythm whilst simultaneously talking directly to us in asides and one-liners. The fact poetry is used is particularly effective, either allowing us to see where the next line is going or surprising us with an unexpected rhyme or a complete subversion of the rhythm. It also means a whimsical, romantic tone is placed upon this raw, modern story about sex and roadside cafes, reminding us we are not being told anything new, but having it told to us in a different way.

It’s difficult to describe just how or why Dirty Great Love Story is so tonsil-waggingly hilarious. The images Bonna and Marsh create are gloriously imaginative, and their tone while telling them is just too real to not laugh. We can all relate to this, no matter how; we have all been as blind, stupid, and infuriatingly unkind as the couple. All we can do is laugh at them. It’s a kind of catharsis.

Pia Furtado’s simple staging revels in the beauty of the language, making simple, bold moves which never cloud the telling of the story. It is smart and slick, forcing us to listen to what’s being said. The choice to keep both actors on stage the whole way through (even when the other is monologue-ing) is also an intelligent one; these two characters are always in each other’s worlds, and even when they are furthest apart they can still sense the other.

Dirty Great Love Story deserves a longer run and bigger audiences than it is currently enjoying in Edinburgh. This is a plea to all theatre programmers out there to book this show in your schedules. It’ll sell out, I promise. Within a year, this show will be huge, so you’d better get there first. Bonna and Marsh have crafted a gloriously hopeful, wonderfully compelling and refreshingly witty piece of theatre which both makes us laugh and restores our faith in those around us. It also makes rom-com haters love a rom-com. So book it. Everyone deserves to see this show.

“Much Ado About Nothing” by William Shakespeare

at the Courtyard Theatre, Wednesday 8th August 2012

Though Much Ado About Nothing is commonly held to be an extremely modern play in its structure and use of language, there is always the problematic question of the way in which women are treated in this reality. As director Iqbal Kahn has said, there are few more Elizabethan contemporary countries than parts of India. Though his joyous production manages to solve some of these problems, however, it’s difficult not to think it could have a lot more clout if the performances and pace had a little more work.

Tom Piper’s extraordinary set easily steals the show, with its intricate arches, balconies and huge moving sections. The stage is paved like a city courtyard and Ciaran Bagnall’s colourful lighting does its job to set the scene. Along with Niraj Chag’s score, the design aspects of these piece come to a head during the climactic wedding scene, which shows the cast and creative at their best and nigh-on forces the audience to tap their feet. During this scene, the strengths of the company are truly shown.

If only this were true throughout the play, for though no other scene can be as spectacular as this one, for the rest of the production the actors don’t seem to be giving their all. Meera Syal’s Beatrice doesn’t seen overly witty and fades in comparison to Paul Bhattacharjee’s energetic Benedick. The focus is perhaps more on the youth off this society; Sagar Arya and Amara Karan as Claudio and Hero contain hope and vigour and manage to make this couple more than the often wet lovers.

The strongest aspects of the production are the moments of smart (not bawdy) comedy. Simon Nagra’s gives an intelligent reading of the not-so-intelligent Dogberry and Shiv Grewal surprisingly find much to laugh at in Don Pedro. If only more care was taken over comedy throughout.

Nana’s production has the potential to be more radical than it is, for it’s little more than  Much Ado About Nothing set in India. It feels like a lot of good opportunities for cultural and social comment have been missed, and though a stunning set and slid performances lead to an enjoyable production, I left wanting much more.

“Birthday” by Joe Penhall

at the Royal Court, Saturday 21st July 2012

There is a tendency among us leftists to shout down anyone who dares criticise the NHS and defend the institution no matter what. To do so, however, is to ignore its many pitfalls and problems and is counterproductive to the cause for improved social conditions. Rather than provide a case for private healthcare, as some have reported, Joe Penhall in Birthday demonstrates the need for an improved national health service with more funds and better staffing.

The comedy in the piece derives from the central conceit; in this reality, men have been given the opportunity to give birth due to the implementation of artificial wombs. The issues which pregnant women have to face when at the mercy of hospitals are exacerbated and the lack of care in the NHS as it stands is highlighted. The arguments about who in the relationship does the most work are subverted and traits which are generally considered to be ‘male’ and ‘female’ are demonstrated to be little more than products of circumstance. It goes without saying that watching a man worrying about his birth plans is hilarious, and Penhall plays this dynamic between Ed and Lisa wonderfully.

On a bigger scale, however, Penhall shows a health service stretched to breaking point and doing all it can to reduce waiting times whilst staff levels are cut. It is no wonder, he seems to say, that people go private with these conditions. But were the service ran with less bureaucracy and more money was given to it, there would be no need to swap providers.

Birthday satirizes this by using the whole men-giving-birth idea as a metaphor for yet another NHS initiative designed to make life easier when in fact its worse for everyone. Within every system there are those who care (Natasha, played with geeky tenderness by Louise Brearly) and those who would rather be anywhere else (the brash and sarcastic Llewella Gideon), but less talk about ‘protocol’ and ‘reports’ and more focus on saving lives would serve to improve things immeasurably. With a small pot if funds, however, all that can be done is ensure “everyone gets enough, just enough, to keep them alive”.

But though Stephen Mangan and Lisa Dillon give strong performances as Ed and Lisa and smartly switch from ‘masculine’ to ‘feminine’ personas without us noticing, the rest of Roger Michell’s production feels a little flat. Mark Thompson’s set manages to convey the clinical institutionalism of hospitals but the back wall is rather dated and the revolve feels utterly unnecessary. John Leonard’s sound is equally confused, and rather than enhancing the play’s hinted surrealism the production on the whole us somewhat lifeless, which doesn’t help the fact the second half of the play doesn’t sustain the initial original idea.

The premise of Birthday is a hilarious one which manages to challenge common beliefs about the role of men and women and the decline of the NHS, but due to a lacklustre production and a somewhat thin text, these ideas are difficult to find underneath the comedy. The four strong cast give some life (especially Mangan in his final act of fury) but ultimately it’s difficult not to think that Birthday could go further.

“The Comedy of Errors” by William Shakespeare

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Thursday 12th April 2012

*The performance reviewed was a preview*

And so the World Shakespeare Festival begins for me, not with a bang, but a whimper. What Country Friends is This? or the ‘Shipwreck Trilogy’ are being staged and performed throughout the cultural olympiad (I refuse to capitalise it), attempting to make comments on internationalism by “exploring dislocation, crossing borders and arriving as a stranger in a strange land”. Sounds like a wonderful utopian project with the best will in the world. The problem is, Amir Nizar Zuabi’s production of The Comedy of Errors just isn’t very good.

As if having one major production of this text already playing to large houses wasn’t enough, many of the jokes and references in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s version at the RST have already been used by the National’s – wrongly, in my opinion – much-lauded offering. With such a short and arguably straightforward play, this is inevitable, but then it’s counter-intuitive to have them both playing near-simultaneously. You’d expect the companies would at least talk to one another.

Much like Cooke’s production (comparisons are unavoidable), Zuabi makes a clear point about multiculturalist undercurrents in the play, but rather than ground it firmly in a specific time and place, it ends up occurring in a confusing jungle of inexplicable colour, but where most people seem to be of English-descent. The Duke Solinus (a half-terrifying Sandy Grierson) is clearly meant to be a Gaddafi-style dictator, yet the dark moments on stage aren’t exploited to their full worth, and it feels like our director is attempting to cross the comedy/tragedy boundary without really succeeding in either.

In terms of humour, this play makes the National Theatre’s disappointing attempt seem positively masterful. Almost every joke has been seen countless times before, and laziness takes precedence over graft. Of all the actors, the two Dromios, played both touchingly and bashfully by Felix Hayes (Ephesus) and Bruce Mackinnon (Syracuse) are able to garner the most laughter, though most of the time this is through fleeting glances rather than any cohesive direction.

Only utter fools could mix up these two Antipholuses (Antipholi?), mainly due to their substantial height difference. Jonathan McGuinness’ Syracuse could well have little-man syndrome and Stephen Hagan’s Ephesus is probably suffering from superiority complex. Then again, those who are fooled are namely Adriana and Luciana, who are here played with such idiocy and hysteria by Kirsty Bushell and Emily Taafe all sympathy is removed. There is also too much hamming from Nicholas Day as Egeon and Cecilia Noble as Emilia.

A deceptively simple shipwreck set from Jon Bausor, complete with rigging and water, is underused, but it is punctuated well with Adam Ilhan’s atonal music and Jon Clark’s bright lighting. But just like the rest of Zuabi’s production, everything seems slightly out-of-kilter and compromised. It’s solid enough, with some moments of brilliance, but you’d hope the RSC’s offering to the world in 2012 would be of a little higher standard. Let’s hope the season improves and doesn’t live up to its name.

(A footnote: I wonder whether the RSC are aware of the irony which surrounds their choice of BP as sponsor for the ‘Shipwreck Trilogy’, that company which has in the past caused so many living creatures to be washed ashore, clinging to life, just like many characters in these plays. It feels like not much thought was put into that decision.)

“The Comedy of Errors” by William Shakespeare

at the Olivier Theatre, Tuesday 20th March 2012

Dominic Cooke had already been tipped by many to be the next artistic director of the National Theatre whilst Nicholas Hytner is still yet to announce his leaving date and before Cooke himself had even ventured into the building to direct something there. After The Comedy of Errors, however – his first production at the National – he’s lost a few places in the race for me. For, although this cosmopolitan production at the Olivier is impressive and creative, it fails to do what it says on the tin. It’s just not that funny.

Cooke has set the play in modern day London, complete with multicultural population and Soho nightclubs. It works perfectly for the play – themes of displacement in a community are drawn out, creating parallels with Sam Selvon’s Lonely Londoners and commenting wittily on one’s anonymity in a city. Bunny Christie’s astonishing design is the best I’ve seen in a long time, shifting and never in stasis, just like London itself. In one scene, we see the grimy backstreets, and in another the wealthy facades of Chelsea (a nice touch sees the three tower blocks lined up, with a single door on either side and a double door in the middle, echoing the configuration of the Globe). Ephesus here is remarkably recognisable, and Cooke keeps the verse snappy and modern – no mean feat in a theatre as grand as the Olivier.

But where the production fails is in its comedy. The visual jokes feel tired and cliched – pie in faces springs to mind – and it feels like not a lot of effort has gone into thinking about how the team could create their own comedy rather than just relying on gurning to the audience and silly voices. Lenny Henry in the role of Antipholus of Syracuse, for example, falls back too much on his infamy as a television actor in order to gain laughs; the humour in this production pales in comparison to the likes of One Man, Two Guvnors and Noises Off.

A generally strong cast (excepting the ensemble, who are nigh on ridiculous), is let down somewhat by Henry, whose verse speaking is close to incomprehensible and who, although emotionally strong, is let down by his lack of theatrical technique. Chris Jarman, as his opposite Antipholus of Ephesus, is the other way round; he is theatrically adept but emotionally barren. Daniel Poyser and Lucian Msamati as the two Dromios give us most of the laughs, even though their personalities are a little too similar. It is the two central women of this production, however, who stand out; Claudie Blakley and Michelle Terry as Adriana and Luciana respectively are simultaneously human and ridiculous, though I question the decision to make them both seem devoid of great mental capacity.

Paule Constable’s subtle lighting allows Christie’s superb set to shine, whilst Gary Yershon’s fantastic music creates hilarious scene changes as a group of four musicians plays pop songs in romanian – a nice touch which adds to Cooke’s comment on multiculturalism, especially when placed against the opening of the second act, during which we hear Dizee Rascal’s Bonkers blasted through the speakers. Although Cooke’s concept is sound, however, adding an extra dimension to the play which has rarely been considered, it is frustrating that this production fails to deliver on the most basic points. Perhaps it should be renamed The Play of Errors.

“Big Bag of Boom”

at Warwick Arts Centre, Wednesday 12th October 2011

Written for www.StageWon.co.uk

Many people would argue that experimental dance is a transcendent mode of self-expression, reaching deep into the human psyche to tell us more about our inner selves. It’s able, they say, to destroy barriers and bring us closer together, exploring themes which even literature can’t touch through the power of movement. To us mere mortals, however, it more often than not looks like one big joke, and New Art Club have got it exactly right in Big Bag of Boom, where their only aim is to make us laugh.

This is a compilation of all Tom Roden and Pete Shenton’s ‘best bits’ over the fourteen years they have been together, so for someone who has never seen their work before, it is a perfect introduction. Their dances range from “Girl with a Shitty Shoe”, which is fairly self-explanatory, taking inspiration from river-dance, and “One and Another”, a masterclass in self-control and vocal dexterity.

But Roden and Shenton aren’t just technically brilliant. They are also brilliant comedians. They know what an audience wants, and manipulate their routines accordingly. Many of the dances are extended jokes which lead to a punchline, meaning there’s always something to look forward to at the end. Their piece about Australia begins as Aborigine sound and movement, and leads to riffing on the idea of intercourse with various Aussies.

At an hour in length, Big Bag of Boom is a wonderful way to spend an evening. It doesn’t try too hard and doesn’t go on for too long. It wouldn’t surprise me if Roden and Shenton begin to rise up the ranks of comedy, as a new alternative wave takes hold. Then again, it doesn’t really matter if they don’t. They’ve always got their dancing to fall back on.

“The Homecoming” by Harold Pinter

at the Swan Theatre, Saturday 6th August 2011

There are many quick to label Harold Pinter as a big player in the ‘absurdist’ tradition. They argue his speech patterns are disjointed and his characters larger-than-life. David Farr’s delightfully dark new production of The Homecoming at the Swan Theatre launches a gentle riposte to these commentators, showing that although the story depicts an utterly bizarre situation, Pinter’s characters and dialogue could not be more real.

Farr’s production makes it clear what is happening from beginning to end; a masculine household is subjected to a female figure in the beautiful Ruth (Aislin McGuckin), and soon it collapses. There is so much left unsaid in this play and a torrent of questions which are never attempted to be explained. All that matters is what happens on stage. The scene in which Ruth kisses both Joey (Richard Ridell) and Lenny (Jonathan Slinger) is utterly farfetched, but the believability of these characters renders it inevitable.

The cast of six could not be stronger. Slinger’s Lenny hints at effeminacy and it’s easy to see the cogs whirring, while Ridell offers a contrast as the more simple of the two younger brothers. It’s not difficult to see why Teddy moves out and makes a life for himself, as Justin Salinger plays him with a silent superiority. Des McAleer’s Uncle Sam is perhaps the only moral character in the play, and is given a run for his money by Nicholas Woodeson’s small but powerful Max. McGuckin, as the only female character, manages to command full attention without saying a word.

Jon Bausor’s design fits well into the space, merging the theatrical with the domestic, and is supported brilliantly by Jon Clark’s brooding lighting. Although The Homecoming hints towards a bygone era of patriarchy, we’re forced to consider our own views of masculinity. Every man works for himself as the woman is left stranded. But more important than this is the impossibility of true understanding when no one is willing to communicate the truth; it is this that makes this play Pinter’s masterpiece.