“25: 13 Red, 12 Blue”

at C Aquila, Saturday 18th August 2012

*Written for http://www.stagewon.co.uk. Published here: http://stagewon.co.uk/news/view/edinburgh-25-13-red-12-blue-review-august2012/*

25: 13 Red, 12 Blue is the first overtly political piece of theatre I’ve seen at Edinburgh this year. Reminiscent of recent works by Mike Bartlett, it examines the way in which today’s young generation has no idea what to expect in the future and the impossibility of political change. Middle Child’s production, however, tries to do too much in the space of an hour (though some would say Bartlett is guilty of the same thing) and leaves storylines wide open.

Four plots happen simultaneously; a couple working at Weatherspoons, a man who finds it fun to troll online, a young woman angry at politicians, and the glue, a man who speaks to us about his problems as a twenty-five year old. These stories cover themes of family, internet anonymity, political change and youth disenfranchisement respectively, but though these are interesting ideas, it’s extremely difficult to follow what’s going on and no conclusions are reached.

The strongest moments of the piece revolve around Tim, whose monologues describe his attempt to make something of himself after a family break-down and dull employment. The writing during these sections is strong, getting across a firm message without seeming too didactic, and Paul Smith’s production is careful to maintain emotional intrigue and speak to us directly. In his final speech, a terrifying question is asked: “If we’re the lost generation, what’re [our kids] going to be?” He admits that when he was young, he wanted to be an astronaut, and was told he could through hard work. Now he’s working in a bar. It’s a tragic sentiment, but the play doesn’t really go deep enough in its exploration of it.

Polyphonic, 16-bit nineties music and pieces of set adorned in images from the last decade of the nineteenth century project the idealism of 1997, which is all the more striking considering the lack of direction and happiness presented in the play. There are so many strong ideas in 25: 13 Red, 12 Blue, but it’s a shame they are all lost somewhat in the lack of development. I commend Middle Child for attempting to cover and interrogate these ideas, but in the short space of time the overarching feeling is one of confusion more than cohesion.

“Hotel Medea”

at the Hayward Gallery, Friday 3rd August 2012

Last night I dressed up as a woman. I also went to a rave, got treated like a terrorist, signed up to a cult and had very little sleep. Oh, and I died. Shame really, because up until then it was sounding like my average Friday night.* Now I write this, exhausted, drained and sleepy, trying to piece together what actually happened. Before we go on, a word of warning; if you’re planning on seeing Hotel Medea, watch it before reading this review.

One thing’s for sure: this is by no means a revolutionary piece of immersive theatre. The techniques have, on the most part, been pioneered elsewhere and sometimes don’t quite click (though a massive congratulations to the tech team, who do some pretty incredible stuff on this production). Our concentration on completing our allotted tasks often gets in the way of the performance, making it easy to miss crucial bits of information. There are also times (more towards the beginning of the evening) when it’s difficult to know what is required of us, and though I respect the company for asking us to find our own route, it feels like precious moments are wasted working out what to do which could be spent listening and talking.

Also, and here I have to be careful for fear of being misconstrued, the ensemble can often be found lacking. This isn’t to disparage their incredible stamina throughout this six-hour-long, all-night piece, but merely to say that some performances are a little too self aware for us to take them seriously. The show is at its best during the tongue-in-cheek moments, and I feel a little less earnestness wouldn’t take anything away from the overall feel. The cast are at their weakest during the first act, but find a better rhythm and style later in the night, as we start being told directly what to do and work up a rapport with the characters.

Ok, now onto the interesting bit. There are, broadly, three general themes to Hotel Medea, all of which are lifted directly from Euripides’ original and given a postmodern twist; colonialism, public vs private and gender, each of which, broadly, is represented by the three acts thought the night.

We enter a thriving, colourful, loud market in Brazil, and are immediately thrust into the ‘Zero Hour Market’ (compared by the wonderfully dry Jorge Lopes Ramos). One thing is on everyone’s mind: the golden fleece. Suddenly, the peace is broken by the arrival if Jason (James Turpin) and his argonauts, who proceed to demand the coveted artifact. Soon, we are found ensconced in dozens of ritualistic dances and ceremonies, and even if we initially stand stoic and cynical, the rhythms soon pulse through our bodies and without realising our bodies move. There is an almost hypnotic quality to this first act, for just as we feel the rituals are dragging we enter a stage of semi-consciousness. But it is Jason’s treatment of the natives which speaks to us most here, as we feel a taste of what it feels like to be overthrown and pillaged. The rituals are a kind of lifeline to this, allowing us to remember our humanity. And though Jason was painted as a hero in the original myth, where land changed hands regularly, in our post-colonial world it is far more sinister. The act concludes with the loud thumps of westernised music and flashing lights, blinding us to the horrors which are happening right by our side.

The second stage of the evening happens in three parts, each of which feeds into and enriches the others, highlighting how we are only compete when our public and private personas come together. Other than being put to sleep and sung to, we also share some of our thoughts on love with Medea’s nurse (Thelma Sharma) before the heroine discovers her husband’s infidelity and we join Jason on his campaign trail for elections. The reason why this section works so well is because we are allowed simply to soak up what is happening whilst still feeling involved. The satirical take on politics is also done with a wink by Jason’s assistant (Will Dickie); this kind of attention to detail wouldn’t seem out of place in The Thick Of It.

In the final section (which starts at about 4 in the morning after plenty of coffee), the gender questions Euripides raises are brought to the fore, as men and women become segregated (as they have done at times throughout the night). After the questionable presentation of women in the first two halves, the tables are turned as we men are told to put on a wig and lipstick and infiltrate the ladies’ club for signs of witchcraft. Now we are Medea’s chorus, and shortly after we feel how it is to be terrorized for our sex; rather than just argue that men are to blame, this post-feminist interpretation of the myth suggests that a corrupt society is to blame and every single one of us is implicated in this subjugation.

The final moments see a reversion to play and childhood, as we run for our lives away from Medea (in these scenes, Persis-Jade Marvala is wonderful). Chosen as one of her two children, I was then treated to a semi-transcendent episode in which I was told through an earpiece, that I was dying, whilst my body became a shrine. Perhaps the lack of sleep is partly responsible, but these moments take on a particular piquancy after the noise and complexities of the previous six hours, suggesting we need to find ways to revert to childish innocence in order to create a more peaceful society.

I think it’s right to experience Hotel Medea with an ever-present smirk, for to take the piece too seriously would deny it its fictionality and not do justice to the sheer performance of the whole thing. And whilst many would argue that participating in the lives of Jason and Medea as something other than audience members makes our viewpoint more subjective and individual, the beauty of Hotel Medea is that we are forced to step into the shoes of everyone in the story, thus allowing us to have even more of an objective viewpoint that Euripides himself.

*That’s a joke, by the way. I would never go to a rave.

“Democracy” by Michael Frayn

at the Old Vic Theatre, Wednesday 25th July 2012

History, supposedly, died at the fall of the USSR and the reunification of Germany. If there’s anything the ideological discussions and revolutions of the past few years have taught us, however, (and let’s be honest, some idiots haven’t learnt enough from these events), it’s that history is far from over. The ideas presented in Paul Miller’s production of Michael Frayn’s Democracy, though set before the fall of the Berlin Wall, demonstrate to audiences in 2012 that the debates which began in 70s Europe are far from over.

There is something mildly Shakespearean about Frayn’s 2003 play; an historical era is used to reflect a contemporary one, the play spans vastly over time and space, and the language has a poetic rhythm to it, elevating the central characters. But more than all this, we are treated to not one, but two tragic heroes. The Chancellor Willy Brandt and his aide Gunter Guillaume both fit into the tragic mould, for they each believe they are doing what they believe to be right even though everything around the pair conspires against them. Miller’s production is presented in such a way which mimics this epic quality, playing the text at breakneck speed and using little more than the characters and words to demonstrate time and place.

References to coalition politics within the play naturally assume a relevance, but it is particularly the themes surrounding the cult of personality and backhanded politics which are most intriguing. Politics has always fetishised personalities, but it is only since the dawn of photography and subsequently television that leaders have become chosen for who they are rather than what they do. Willy Brandt sits on the boundary, keen to make a genuine difference to the lives of his citizens but fully aware that in the world of politics, the man with the camera is king. Some of the most memorable moments in Democracy are (smartly), those which recreate infamous images of Brandt whilst his advisers watch in amazement.

The underhand politics which occur, epitomised by Helmut Schmidt and Herbert Wehner (the slimy and stern David Mallinson and William Hoyland), is countered by the Shakespearean semi-soliliquies given to Brandt and Guillaume. They reject the party politics of those around them in favour of a more ideological, hopeful agenda, which Frayn demonstrates is possible even though the pair have human flaws. Craftily, the two spies of the piece – Guillaume and Arno Kretschmann (marvelously underplayed by Ed Hughes) – are the two who seem most open to the audience; though they are working behind others’ backs, at least they have nothing to hide from us. That is far from the truth in the case of Brandt’s sinister advisers.

Aidan McArdle’s performance as Guillaume is gloriously comic, allowing his humanity and awe to shine through. His stocky viciousness is contrasted beautifully with Patrick Drury’s towering, gentle Brandt; and though they rarely look into one another’s eyes, the connection clearly runs deep. Miller’s smart staging uses Simon Daw’s stylish design to high effect; though only one entrance exists, characters file in and out without pause, and an almost stylised, methodical way of moving around the stage is broken by various characters at key moments. Mark Doubleday’s lighting is ever-shifting, just like the playing spaces on which Brandt and his government act.

Democracy shows Michael Frayn at the height of his powers as a dramatist, and manages to mingle entertainment, drama and political comment to startling effect. Miller’s production offers an economically created world and is balanced in its presentation of these historical figures. And, though the realisation of this world is complete and exists in isolation, it is its relation to today’s political world which makes it so compelling.

“Julius Caesar” by William Shakespeare

at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Friday 1st June 2012

*The performance reviewed was a preview*

Doran’s ‘all black’ production (an odd description, in my opinion: you wouldn’t necessarily describe a cast as ‘all white’) of Julius Caesar, cut down to two hours and fifteen minutes, feels like a modern political thriller, though it lacks any real drama and could do with having more pace. Seeing as Caesar is murdered halfway through the text, this cannot be blamed much on Doran, though the second half of the production feels slow by comparison and fails to really say much about the nature of dictatorships.

We enter the theatre to jovial music and a lively, crowded stage, and as the lights go down it’s clear that Caesar is loved by all. He had led his people to a victory and created a happier lifestyle. What’s odd, though, is that this feels like the jubilation which follows a revolution, and though images of tyranny (a large statue, pictures of Caesar) are present, this is far too happy a state and doesn’t bear the marks of repression at all. This means the plot of Brutus and Cassius to overthrow the ‘tyrant’ comes out of nowhere and is difficult to understand.

And while this production manages to ask questions about the nature of military coups and the shifting nature of politics internationally, the attempt to mix it with images of the Arab Spring falls short. This play is about the politician, not the ordinary man, which is utterly incongruous with the clips of popular uprisings we have seen over the past eighteen months.

That said, the central cast play the manipulative and charismatic politicians of the play with impressive honesty. Jeffery Kissoon’s ageing Caesar bears resemblance to many past-it dictators, and puts on a kind face for the masses. The problem is, we never really see him lose his rag and his wrongdoings aren’t evident, meaning Cyril Nri’s bewildered Cassius has a harder job to convince us that he deserves to die. Ray Fearon’s Mark Antony is powerful though gentle, and is the closest we get to hearing the people speak; his speech to the populace is fantastic, though by the end of the play it’s easy to see that he could just as easily follow in the conspirators’ footsteps by creating another dictatorial regime. Paterson Joseph is here on top form as Brutus, overly ambitious and willing to die for what he believes, even though that opinion is tough to endorse. They are supported by a fine cast who inject energy into the play (though the accents are sometimes a little, shall we say, scattered).

There are clear military references in Michael Vale’s set, which looks like the steps of the Pergamon built out of Soviet breeze blocks, though it feels a little static for a play which sees such broad shifts in location, tone and government. A bizarre moment sees a section of the copper back wall rise up for no apparent reason, and scene changes could be smoother. It’s also lit to excess by Vince Herbert, though Akintayo Ekinbode’s African music is interwoven well and changes with the state, as it moves from happy union to a land of turmoil.

Doran’s production is solid and strong, and I welcome the cutting of an interval in order to create a more thrilling atmosphere, but it’s difficult to shy away from the fact that, no matter how hard we try to philosophise in the UK, it’s tough to really know the effect and questions surrounding the Arab Spring. There are also holes in the plot and drama which means this Caesar doesn’t feel that tragic, plodding along with an unclear trajectory.

I also wonder about the verisimilitude of the term “World Shakespeare Festival”, particularly the Royal Shakespeare Company’s take on the idea. Though Boyd et al have invited companies from Iraq and Brazil to perform in their theatres, the majority of productions have been created by British directors – Roxana Silbert and David Farr co-ordinate the ‘Nations at War’ and ‘Shipwreck Trilogy’ respectively. This production of Julius Caesar now adds to that list, and though British directors setting plays abroad is by no means a Bad Thing (after all, Shakespeare did it), it feels remarkably like the RSC is giving us a peculiarly British version of the world. Naturally, collaboration between nations should be encouraged, but it feels slightly disingenuous to use the adjective “World” to mean “British-directors-setting-plays-somewhere-that-isn’t-Britain-with-a-few-actors-from-around-the-world”. It would be far better to have foreign directors tackling these plays with the RSC’s resources to give an entirely different perspective in order that we may learn from one another.

Overall, this once again feels like a missed opportunity to have a genuinely global discussion; perhaps in a different context Julius Caesar would be more impressive, but under the banner of the ‘World Shakespeare Festival’ it falls at the first hurdle.

Pinterest board here: http://pinterest.com/danhutton/julius-caesar-by-william-shakespeare/

“Posh” by Laura Wade

at the Duke of York’s Theatre, Tuesday 29th April 2012

When Laura Wade’s scathing attack of the upper classes was premiered at the Royal Court two years ago, things weren’t looking too bad for the Tories; they were up in the polls and after nineteen years of obscurity it looked like they were going to get their well-preened mits back in control of the country. Well, we all know what happened next. They got a pretty bum-deal  having to sleep with the Lib Dems and have spent the last couple of years doing their best to ruin the country whilst their ratings drop every month. This is the climate in which the boys of Posh now find themselves, and though most of the play remains the same, a few changes have kept the production alive and capitalised on the current state of things.

On the whole, my thoughts on the play and Lyndsey Turner’s production haven’t changed much since my last viewing, though I must admit after a couple of years at university the characters have become all the more real. Though Warwick has a relatively low intake of public school students, I’ve been unfortunate enough to come into contact with people made in the same mould, who – no word of a lie – use words like “savage” and “lad” as adjectives and genuinely believe ordinary working people are “plebs”. This, coupled with the fact the upper classes are now in power and directing public policy, makes Posh arguably more resonant in 2012 than 2010. Two years ago, it was a play demonstrating how the toffs felt sidelined and demonized by New Labour. Now that we’ve seen the way they work, however, it becomes a critique of their anger with general society and the pure selfishness and bigotry of some wealthy individuals.

The anachronistic a capella renditions of popular songs have been updated, and now include ‘Moves Like Jagger’ and ‘Pass Out’, whilst Joshua McGuire as Guy Bellingfield looks more like a smaller, scrappier Tom Hollander than ever. The cast is still superb, with Steffan Rhodri stepping in to play the part of the Landlord, offering more of a proud tone than his predecessor. Both the Henry V speech and the monologue which ends Act One with “I’m sick to fucking death of poor people” remain as stand-out moments of writing and the play is still just as funny.

Now that the Tories are in charge, there’s even more of an air of entitlement amongst these students as previously. They feel now that they have a right to take back what was theirs all along, and the chilling final line “People like us don’t make mistakes, do we?” resonates when placed in the context of our current u-turn prone government.

But perhaps due to the recent history of the masses rising up in both the UK and abroad, Posh now feels just as much a representation of ordinary people rising up as it is a savage attack on the rich. The Landlord, his daughter Rachel and the visiting prostitute all take a stand against the “ultimate extravagance” of the Riot Club and refuse to put up with their boisterous goings-on. The thrown fire-extinguisher and sprayed graffiti during the trashing scene reminds us that this class is just as prone to vandalism as the others. The only difference is they can pay for it.

Much has been discussed on the lack of sympathy felt in Wade’s play, though when the aim is to lampoon the upper classes this hardly matters. When they talk of poor people not doing any work and getting money for it, a clear hypocrisy is highlighted. Why should we feel sympathy for these people when they feel no sympathy for others? Whilst there are millions suffering and we worry about those with less than us, we can hardly be expected to consider those better off. They don’t need our love, so let’s not complain when playwrights pen plays which don’t attempt to make us feel sorry for them.

 

My first attempt at a Pinterest ‘review’ here: http://pinterest.com/danhutton/posh-by-laura-wade/

“13″ by Mike Bartlett

at the Olivier Theatre, Thursday 29th December 2011

“The more you know, the harder you will find it to make up your mind” goes Tim Minchin’s “anthem to ambivalence” The Fence. In an increasingly divided world, which sees everything as black or white, the grey area in between is sometimes the most interesting and the most fulfilling. Mike Bartlett’s extraordinary and multitudinous new play 13 fights this case whilst at the same time rallying behind the idea of belief, imploring us to fight for a cause and resist the forces of blandness society struggles so hard to impose upon us. Thea Sharrock’s production is a smorgasbord of spectacle and yet a marvel of simplicity.

We are in central London, among many intertwining storylines and characters. The two central voices come from a female Conservative Prime Minister (Geraldine James) and a messiah-type figure in John (Trystan Gravelle), the former of whom defends her ‘considered’ approach to politics while the other rises up through a mini-internet revolution to become the voice of the people, fighting for freedom of speech and idealism. Around this central story there are dozens of other tales of love, loss, parenthood and faith which all share the theme of belief and ignorance.

It is not hard to see that this is the same mind that came up with Earthquakes in London, but there have been some improvements made. Where Earthquakes felt a little too messy, even though the stories tried hard to be entwined, 13 goes all out on the haphazardness, not holding back anything and revelling in a confusion of voices. There are no ‘unreal’ aspects to this play either as there were in the former; this is merely a ‘hyper-real’ representation of our own reality, drawing out the most deplorable and exciting aspects of the new way of the world. Yes, it is sometimes a little unbelievable, but is entirely this idealism which Bartlett is trying to capture; in order to achieve a better future, we must make the impossible possible.

Although Bartlett seems to lay out the cause for idealism and belief, arguing this is better than thinking nothing at all, the final thirty minutes turn this on its head, showing that no one is entirely morally clean and we are all hypocrites – we must therefore be cautious when creating role models, rather embracing the faults of a whole group and using them to our advantage. Everyone is corrupt to an extent – governments, Julian Assange, Ghandi, and not one of us nor any political system is perfect.

Thea Sharrock’s staging is fast-paced and dynamic, mirroring Bartlett’s breakneck play. She draws out the human aspects of these stories whilst making clear political and cultural comments. Tom Scutt’s huge cuboid set becomes a space for socialising, fighting and playing, and gives hints towards those ‘black boxes’ we hear about, holding information about all of us. Adrian Johnston and Mark Henderson’s music and lighting add to the epic qualities of the production and are just as confused and layered as the play itself.

Some strong performances bring the text to life, and each remains solidly human; Adam James is well placed in his comfort zone as a misogynistic solicitor, while Kirsty Bushell and Davood Ghadami display touching qualities as an archetypal couple. Danny Webb is both disturbing and fascinating as the atheist confidante to Geraldine James’ privately passionate but publicly cold Prime Minister. Gravelle’s performance as John, however, steals the show, remaining ever elusive due to his calmness but remaining ingenious, brave and  inspiring. He is the leader we all long for.

To those who criticise Bartlett’s play for being too messy, I say this: you’re going to have to learn to live with it. As our world becomes ever more confusing and the number of heard voices increases, this style of multi-layered, collaborative and somewhat confused play is only going to become more popular. The well-made and carefully crafted play doesn’t mirror our difficult and postmodern world, and as we have to deal with excess in everyday life, theatre must respond to it. 13 is ingenious in its variety, tackling huge, almost incomprehensible questions, but in doing so it asks each and every one of us to interrogate our own beliefs and values and opens up a discourse which must and will take place.

“The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui” by Bertolt Brecht

at Warwick Arts Centre, Friday 3rd December 2010

There is always a risk when putting on a production of a play written by Brecht. Do you stick religiously to Brecht’s theories, or simply take the text and run with it in your own interpretation? Although Warwick University Drama Society’s production of The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui, under the direction of Josh Roche, is superbly performed with full gestus, the acting style seems to be a means without an end in the absence of an overt political angle.

Arturo Ui is the ultimate allegorical play. Depicting the rise of Hitler, this production has been transposed to Greenwich from the original Chicago setting, using episodes based on real events to satirically portray his climb to power. We watch as the manipulative Ui plays games with his followers in order to take control of the Cauliflower Trust. Here, however, the character of Ui has been split into three; left, right and centre, supposedly representing the three sides of the protagonist. A clever idea, but one which is not highlighted or explained enough to make it worthwhile; what point is being made here?

The production is made by the performances. There is not a weak link among the ensemble cast and astonishingly not one ever strays out of character, mannerisms and all. As the left, centre and right incarnations of Ui, Ed Davis, Tom Syms and Stewart Clarke are strong and charismatic, towering over others both physically and vocally. James Sheldrake as Dogsborough bumbles away hilariously and Lizzy Leech as the Chief Clark always looks somewhat bewildered as to what is happening around her. Givola and Giri played by Rob Beale and Joe Boylan respectively are both wildly eccentric and somewhat disconcerting. The use of gestus throughout is hilarious and each character is perfectly defined.

But what use is gestus if we are not made to think? Yes, posters are dotted sporadically around the stage and the prologue and epilogue serve to alert us to a few points, but we never find out the implications for us. Of course this is difficult with such a highly analogous play, but we constantly yearn for some sort of didactic message. It sometimes feels like the performing style has been incorporated simply for the sake of humour, but when we know this isn’t the case it becomes frustrating that the major themes aren’t highlighted.

This said, however, all aspects of the production are faultless. Rosie Bristow and Ashleigh Brown’s set, costume and make-up go hand in hand to create a vivid image, lit effectively by Lizzie Drapper’s lighting design. Matt Wells’ music ranges from ethereal to joyous and complements the rest of the production with gusto.

This is an accomplished and slick production, with a multitude of excellent moments, especially towards the end of the play (Ui’s final speech, for example, is genuinely powerful). It cannot be stressed enough how excellent the performances are, which is why it is such a shame that the message never truly comes through. With a little more signage and more focus on the language, this would be a production of which Brecht himself would be proud.