“God of Carnage” by Yasmina Reza

At the back of the stage in York Drama Society’s production of God of Carnage is a chest, upon which sits a chic hourglass, full of red sand and slowly ticking away time throughout the course of the play. In Rory McGregor’s production, it demonstrates the inevitability of the final dénouement, but while the sand falls into the bottom chamber consistently, the performances on show feel far less subtle, managing to land a handful of jokes, but ultimately making the play into a cartoon rather than a satire on modern middle-class life.

Having now seen four productions of this play over the course of as many years, I can comfortably say that the comedy in Reza’s play does not benefit from multiple viewings.

“Kafka’s Monkey” by Colin Teevan

based on “A Report to an Academy” by Franz Kafka

at Warwick Arts Centre, Thursday 30th May 2012

It’s no secret that the works of Franz Kafka are concerned with alienation and entrapment. His entire body of work is built around this central theme, and Kafka’s Monkey, based on “A Report to an Academy”, is no different. But styled as a lecture given by Red Peter, a man who used to be an ape (not a monkey, tut tut Kafka), there is also something liberating about Colin Teevan’s script, ending as it does with a creature’s discovery of humanity.

Before gushing about Kathryn Hunter’s captivating performance as Red Peter, something has to be said for Teevan’s carefully crafted text. Like the original, the story is presented to us as a lecture punctuated with flashbacks. The way in which this man turns into a monkey is irrelevant; what matters here is that the human we see before us was once an ape, trapped by other men and used for their entertainment. Once learning to act human, however, Peter is able to recount this story, freeing himself from the confines once imposed upon him but implicitly buying into the way of life which once imprisoned him.

This tension between freedom and entrapment is explored by Teevan’s use of a form which lies somewhere between prose and poetry. The structures and formalities required for giving an academic talk are shattered by a more liberal approach to storytelling, as the context and content play in direct opposition to one another. Though the transformation is in the opposite direction to Gregor’s in “The Metamorphoses”, the links are clear; like Kafka’s beetle, Kafka’s monkey is not wholly at home within human skin; perhaps we’d all be better off, is the suggestion, if we deconstructed social norms to discover a more autonomous lifestyle.

Embodying in her physicality all these textual contrasts is Kathryn Hunter. Astonishingly, she captures the gait of both an ageing man and an adolescent ape, entangling gestures of both and shifting from one to the other in a second. She darts around the stage, right hand aloft, climbing ladders and pounding the floor. Her skill is masterful.

Hunter’s movement alone would be startling enough, but coupled with her wit and verve as a speaker it becomes a performance of intellect too. Every word is somehow joined to a physical trait, and each feeds into the other. At times, the monkey-business is switched off so we engage with Peter the human, who impresses us with his humour, before he bounds up to the stage again and reverts to simian physicality. The most impressive moment occurs when Red Peter discusses his relationship with alcohol, as he sits in a spotlight and looks at the audience as an ape. For a minute, Hunter is not human.

This success is partly due to Walter Meierjohann’s no-frills direction, but I imagine most of the responsibility lies with the performer’s utter power over herself and her character. And though Kafka’s story relates heavily to confinement and the ways in which we entrap ourselves and others, the sheer passion Hunter lends to this role means that we leave the theatre feeling a little more free than when we went in.

 

My Pinterest board of the production: http://pinterest.com/danhutton/kafka-s-monkey-by-colin-teevan/

“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/

“Collaborators” by John Hodge

at the Cottesloe Theatre, Tuesday 20th March 2012

“What if…” pieces are always intriguing, offering an alternative view of history. It’s extraordinarily tempting to imagine Shakespeare and Dickens conversing in a pub, or Newton being educated by Einstein. We love to imagine these conversations, and consider how history would be different if these conversations were possible. In Collaborators, John Hodge asks “What if Josef Stalin helped Mikhail Bulgakov to write plays and in return Bulgakov helped him with affairs of state?”  The result is a witty, intelligent play which, even though it tries a little too hard to appeal to our hearts, asks some big questions.

After the success of The White Guard, the playwright and novelist Mikhail Bulgakov is asked (read: forced) to write a play for Stalin’s sixtieth birthday (he is a huge fan of the aforementioned play, having seen it fifteen times). Naturally, the writer wants to create an artistically sound piece of theatre, whilst his paymasters wish him to make something which praises Vozhd in all his glory. After a week struggling to create anything of worth, he is summoned by Uncle Joe himself, with whom he collaborates so both of them are able to get their work done. Along the way, Stalin realises the difficulties in writing and structuring a play, whilst Bulgakov becomes implicit in some of the atrocities of the Soviet regime.

It’s not hard to see what Hodge thinks of the art question here: it is impossible to create good art if one is given preconditions – i.e., no good art can be created under censorship. I think most of us can agree on that: the hilariously awful excerpts from “Young Stalin” prove this. The interesting debate, however, is about Bulgakov’s position. After being relinquished of the shame of writing an awful play, he begins to defend decisions about grain in the provinces which are costing lives. His initial hatred of his leader becomes far less clear-cut, and we are shown that those in power don’t have the luxury of ideology that many of us do: they have to balance arguments before coming to a conclusion. In this respect, Hodge is supremely successful, and the two-handed scenes between Stalin and Bulgakov are without doubt the most superior.

Where the play falls flat, slightly, is in Hodge’s portrayal of Bulgakov’s home life. The writer and his wife, Yelena, live with a whole host of other bohemians, who are somewhat stock and serve only the purpose of allowing an emotional outlet for Bulgakov. They seem superfluous, for this exact dilemma could just as easily be communicated to his wife alone. The core argument – that of the difficulties of ideology in art – is present in the one-on-one scenes, and we gain very little from the presence of other characters in the Bulgakov household.

Nicholas Hytner’s production is beautifully crafted, taking images and techniques from Communist propaganda. George Fenton & Paul Ardiiti’s music and sound are used in an almost cartoon-style way, and Jon Clark’s lighting acts as a frame around certain scenes. The tone of Hytner’s direction shifts from grimy socialist realism to stylised choreography, and is set beautifully on Bob Crowley’s red and black scenic design, looking like its been lifted straight off of a Soviet poster, complete with jagged lines and uneven floor.

A solid ensemble is led by three superb actors. Mark Addy’s Vladimir, the chief of police, lies on the borderline of ridiculous, but manages to retain a humanity which allows us to understand how difficult he finds his job. Simon Russell Beale’s portrays Stalin as an idiotic, frail but supremely passionate man who flips at an instant. There is something supremely menacing about his quietness, and the Somerset accent only adds to the confusion we feel towards him. Alex Jennings completes the trio as Bulgakov, rarely leaving the stage and providing the narrative drive and voicing the audience’s own internal debate.

It does feel at times like Collaborators is trying to tackle a few too many questions without ever fully exploring any of them, but what Hodge shows us is a world in which it is impossible to say what you feel openly. Although it is entirely fiction, the meetings between Stalin and Bulgakov feel extraordinarily real, and we are forced to ask ourselves whether the old maxim suggesting that artists would be better at politics than politicians is true after all.

“Decade”

at Commodity Quay, Saturday 10^th September 2011

Anyone who believes that there are certain issues which art shouldn’t tackle is wrong. End of story. Just as there can be bad art about the most basic of issues, there can also be extraordinary art which tackles the most profound questions. Headlong Theatre has proved that no stone should be left unturned in the quest for truth, representing a wide selection of viewpoints on the World Trade Center attacks. Decade is a provocative, exciting and entertaining piece of theatre which never once shies away from the subject matter.

Rupert Goold has taken a collection of short plays from several writers and meshed them together. One thing unifies them; they all represent in some way an opinion on 9/11, delving into the lives of survivors, widows, historians, nurses and politicians who were affected, directly or indirectly. Lively, pedestrian choreography from Scott Ambler and brash, loud music by Adam Cork mix with Goold’s direction to mirror theatrically the cacophony of voices which fight to be heard. Yet even before we enter the space, the point is made that the voice of authority is always the one which prevails, as we are searched and questioned in a customs-style process – although those in power want these to be the only voices which are heard, the real human arguments cannot be suppressed.

Perhaps the most successful playlets are the monologues. Simon Schama’s Epic and Recollections of Scott Forbes, edited by Samuel Adamson, give the most direct and clear opinions, and are performed as wholly believable lectures by Tom Hodgkins and Tobias Menzies respectively.Ella Hickson’s Gift, about a gift seller who capitalises on the emotions of women after Ground Zero tours, and Harrison David Rivers’  not resentful at all give some humorous opinions on the aftermath.

We are also shown vignettes which highlight how tolerance has been compromised post-9/11. The Odds, by Lynn Nottage, shows Islamic members of the community slowly becoming ostracised, and Rory Mullarkey’s Trio with Accompaniment suggests we are all guilty of prejudice on public transport.

One storyline which runs throughout, Matthew Lopez’ The Sentinels, charts the progress of three women who were made widows by the attack as they meet on September 11th each year. We watch as the years go backwards from 2011 to 2000, seeing how their lives have changed and subsequently asking what life was like before the towers were brought down. The performances of Emma Fielding, Amy Lennox and Charlotte Randle here are mesmerising.

But Decade is far more than the sum of its parts. For, while each play makes a point on its own, it is together that they resonate. The scene changes are among the slickest and most engaging I’ve seen; Ambler’s choreography is seared onto the mind, just like the images of citizens jumping from windows. The final moments include a chilling song created by text messages sent on the day, reminding us of Cork’s recent success in London Road and asking us to feel emotion where before we were asked to think.

Miriam Buether’s design is staggering. We are in Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the North Tower. On each end of the room are views of Manhattan, and on another a glass-fronted walkway which is used to great effect. The attention to detail is astonishing; we are even given a menu to peruse before the play begins. It is lit with flair by Malcolm Rippeth, and the dust on the shoulders of Emma Williams’ costumes completes the startling picture.

Decade is collaborative art at its best. Goold brings together a selection of sources which sometimes disagree and sometimes overtly contradict, yet the production never feels anything but cohesive. There is glue in the desire to question and debate one singular event, and no one is ever deprived of their right to speak. The epic is made human and vice versa, and spectacle is never far away. This is theatre.

“Cabaret”

music by John Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb and book by Joe Masteroff

at Warwick Arts Centre, Thursday 2nd June 2011

The world is a miserable place. Most of us with an ounce of wisdom can agree on that. But the creators of so many musicals seem to dodge away from difficult subjects, preferring to take the easy way out by showing a happy-clappy version of the world in which everyone lives happily ever after. Callum Runciman and Lilith Brewer’s production of Cabaret could not be further from this trend, portraying a gloriously pessimistic view of humanity during its darkest hour which at once provokes and delights.

We are in – unsurprisingly – a cabaret club in 1930s Berlin, and the American writer Clifford Bradshaw turns up hoping to find inspiration for a new novel. He meets and falls in love with the British Sally Bowles, and they live together in a boarding house presided over Fraulein Schneider, who is in turn in love with the Jewish Herr Schultz. As the various couples face troubles of their own, the impending Nazi takeover becomes more obvious. The whole enterprise is overseen by the omnipresent Emcee, here shown to be just as much a creator as a commentator on the events of the story.

The most striking aspect of this production is its gorgeous aesthetic. The film-noir inspired design is juxtaposed with the red curtain and yellow lights, and forces the Nazi Swastikas to stand out. The colour of Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schultz’ relationship is emphasised, they being the only ones to dress in colour.

This production is both sexy and sensitive. Musical numbers such as ‘Two Ladies’ are simply hilarious, and Shultz’ optimistic faith in humanity is one of the few redeeming features of this society. The bold, brash choices made at the closing of the first and second acts send shivers down the spine. We are sat in Cabaret-style set-up, forcing us to consider what we take as truth and what is illusion.

Each and every performer has utter conviction in their roles; even the chorus of Kit Kat boys and girls are utilised well. Stewart Clarke’s portrayal of the right-wing Ernst Ludwig is just enough of a caricature to remain funny, but still has enough humanity for us to follow his path. Edward Davis and Claire Furner as Schultz and Schneider both give perfectly nuanced performances, and as the relatively bland Bradshaw, Alastair Hill injects some genuine emotion. Tom Syms as the androgynous Emcee is nothing but class; at one point he is a droll narrator, and when in drag looks like a cross between Marilyns Manson and Monroe. The show is pretty much stolen, however, by Charlotte Cowley’s portrayal of Sally Bowles, with stiff upper lip and conserved emotions. When she sings the title number ‘Cabaret’, she proves herself to be an upcoming star of the stage.

This production of Cabaret is one of the best musicals I have ever seen. The theatricality of the sexual Kit Kat Club is juxtaposed carefully with the raw emotion in the more private scenes. With wonderfully original choreography by Katie Wignall and blinding lighting by Sam Daughty, the musical numbers don’t detract from but add to the action, and Kate Meadows’ musical direction adds another layer of emotion to the production. Cabaret makes some bold moves, and Runciman and Brewer’s direction draws out some of the key themes in the narrative. The fact we are sat mere metres away from the action adds to the drama, and for the two and a half hours we spend in the space, this is a far better alternative to sitting alone in our room.

“Something or Nothing” by Guy Dartnell

at Warwick Arts Centre, Friday 6th May 2011

I have to admit that the subject of Guy Dartnell’s Something or Nothing - spirituality and the ‘self’ – doesn’t appeal to me personally. Naturally, the arguments and thoughts which are discussed have a certain gravitas, but the way in which they are presented show such confusion and absurdity that it’s easy to find ourselves floating off into our own internal monologue while Dartnell talks.

This one-man show, presented as a cross between performance lecture and live art, covers the ego, religion and meditation, but although these are interesting topics there is little to no cogency. Dartnell flits from one topic to the other without giving us time to digest the theories on offer. It takes about half the length of the show to work out what’s trying to be said in the first place.

The text is well written and clear, but it’s the rate at which the words are spoken and the movement sections which ultimately confuse. During breaks in the text, Dartnell makes use of a chalkboard and projector, developing ideas about the ego and selfhood. Some striking images are created – such as the picture of Dartnell being scribbled over with chalk – but are ruined by pointless and bemusing ‘dances’. The final moments of the performance see a circle of chalk being turned into a crucifix, the Star of David, the crescent of Islam, a hammer & sickle and the dollar sign, making a point that religion and political thought are both based on projections of the self, but without explanation.

Dartnell’s performance is also lacking. He moves from conversational to rhetorical, and never finds his feet. His anxiety and self-consciousness are evident as part of the performance, but they get in the way of the points he tries to make. He simply lacks the charisma and charm to pull us in and take us on his journey.

Something or Nothing raises some interesting questions about the nature of spirituality (“If you want to do a show about having no ego, don’t do a show at all”), but they are not presented in a way which is engaging. We can see what Dartnell is trying to do, but his words clash somewhat with the ideas. Without a clear vision and direction, the eighty minute piece serves only as background noise to our own personal meditation.

“Jason and Medea”

written, choreograhed and performed by Bristol Old Vic Young Theatre Company

at the National Student Drama Festival, Monday 11th April 2011

A quick tip to anyone thinking about producing a play to be entered for next year’s NSDF – put on something to do with Medea. If the last two years are anything to go by, it’s bound to be a hit. In 2010, By the Bog of Cats (based in the Medea story) swept the board at the awards and received universal praise, while Jason and Medea this year takes the same narrative and its backstory, creating a punchy, witty and mature production which wouldn’t look out of place in a professional venue.

Written, directed and choreographed by the company with Edith Woolly and Tid, Jason and Medea follows the narrative of the ancient Greek stories, beginning with the Argonauts’ theft of the Golden Fleece and moving on to Medea’s murder of her children. The production flits between 1969 and 1977, marking a period in time which is often looked back on with romanticism but which we are reminded was generally homophobic, racist and misogynistic.  The interplay between Greek myth and cultural issues in 60s East London is fascinating, showing how some issues remain constant throughout time. The references to mythology and 60s culture will satisfy the tastes of any geek and carefully constructed characters keep the narrative believable.

The first half is pitched largely as a comedy-cum-adventure story, finishing with an extraordinary chase scene which is one of the most exciting moments I’ve seen on stage this year. By contrast the second half takes a more tragic, sombre tone, as the memories of the swinging 60s begin to fade. Playing Hades as a photographer and Hercules as a boxer are both strokes of genius, juxtaposing the old with the new and keeping an audience listening out for more clever comments.

The piece clearly has high production values, setting some 60s era boxes at the back of a thrust stage above which a band is positioned, singing their way through carefully chosen classics which serve to heighten the emotion on stage. Ruby Spencer’s set ingeniously places a Tube Map and plan of the National Gallery on the floor of the stage, hinting at the complex lists of locations found in epics such as the Odyssey. The choice of thrust stage is intriguing but for once is used with genuine professionalism and has clearly been thought through.

Performances are generally strong and on the whole deliver portrayals of rounded individuals which hint towards the stock characters of myth through discussion of hobbies and family. Tom Brennan’s Jason, although sometimes lacking a little in charisma, is charming enough to pull off the part, putting one in mind of a young Tom Goodman-Hill. Isabelle Peters’ portrayal of Medea is astonishingly astute, as we see her move from sexy young woman to a mature and loving mother. Alistair Debling and Kane Power’s double act as Hercules and Orpheus is both hilarious and touching, coming across an unexpected twist in the second act. Although Hades is a great character, Elliot Winter pushes the interpretation a little too far and stops being believable fairly quickly. This evil character is an example of the careful character creation not working.

Jason and Medea is a visually and aurally stunning production which has taken a well-loved story and injected new life into it. The extra layer about a romanticised past is welcome, as is the somewhat meta-theatrical tone of the script. This is a highly entertaining and vivid piece of theatre which will have audiences unsure whether to laugh or to cry.

“Dealer’s Choice” by Patrick Marber

at the National Student Drama Festival, Sunday 10th April 2011

Comedy is always welcome at NSDF. Sometimes, however, it feels like a positive response may have been extracted simply because the level of rape, violence and depression found elsewhere forces us into uncontrollable giggles at even the slightest hint of humour. In Dealer’s Choice, however, this isn’t the case; Leeds University have created an hilarious and captivating production which fully deserves our praise, considering the importance of dreams and the compulsive nature of gambling in one fell proverbial swoop.

Patrick Marber’s script takes a sideways look at the nature of gambling and its ability to being men down to the level of animals. Lies are told, stories are spun and vast quantities of money are handed over among the players in a poker school at a small London restaurant. Marber shows the fickle nature of gambling, showing how it extracts the worst excesses in human behaviour. Sweeney, Mugsy and Frankie all work for Stephen, and partake in these Sunday poker schools on a weekly basis with his son Carl in order to learn some “discipline”. As Mugsy prepares to set up a ‘rival’ restaurant in some toilets in Mile End, a strange man, Ash, eats at Stephen’s restaurant and requests to play. Secrets are slowly exposed (which seems to be a running theme this festival) and the ensuing poker game creates rifts among friends and family.

George Chilcott’s direction teases out the comedy innate in the text, showing the men to be little more than greedy and ignorant. At first we question if the humour takes attention away from the high stakes, but after some thought it becomes clear that the considerable sums of money in play would not be all that much to a restaurateur and professional poker player. This is typified in Mugsy’s gleeful response to his measly earnings, showing that the nature of poker means that over time it becomes not about the money but about the pride found in winning.

There is not one weak link among the performances. George Chilcott, Harry Williams and Will Barwick in the roles of Carl, Frankie and Sweeney each give impressive turns as suitably innocent, naïve young people, and Jimmy Walters as the shadowy Ash is marvellously sinister, keeping calm throughout. Tom Gill as Stephen portrays an older man with such confidence it’s easy to forget he’s a student. Ed Smith as Mugsy, however, gives the performance of the night, giving a Brentian air to a character which believes himself to be better than he is, providing the majority of laughs and pulling us through on his optimistic journey.

In the short intermittent musical numbers there seem to be references to absurdist comedies such as Green Wing, showing why the TV show’s balance of narrative and peculiarity worked so well. The comedy in this production is by far its strongest asset, for although a decent piece of drama is presented, it is because of the laughs that we are pulled along. Dealer’s Choice is an intelligent and hilarious piece of theatre which provides some much-needed comedy relief from some of the depressing shows on offer this week.

“Line” by Israel Horovitz

at the National Student Drama Festival, Sunday 10th April 2011

We are constantly told that society is a dog-eat-dog world in which we have to do all we can to get to the top. We must deceive, manipulate and destroy to achieve our goals under capitalism and it brings out the worst in all of us. Israel Horovitz’ Line, presented by Unwish Theatre, attempts to explore some deep existential themes, but under the direction of Jonathan Carr ends up being little more than wildly irritating.

Five people wait in a line. À la Beckett, for what or for who we are never told, but they are all determined to get to the front nonetheless. Their personal struggles form the narrative drive of the play, but in between these moments of drama Horovitz tries to develop the characters through use of a side-line narrative which concerns the four men’s relationship with the only woman in the line. These monologues and conversations take away from rather than add to the main thrust of the text, and serve only to make us feel bored.

Line is the sort of play that could get its message across in twenty minutes, and indeed by this point we feel like we’ve seen everything anyway. Some aspects of the staging, including the use of dance as a replacement for lovemaking and an almost hideously dramatic conclusion, feel to jar with the tone of the rest of the play, although as the line disintegrates into chaos we are given a snippet of this company at its best.

The performances are all solid, though none stand out. Ryan Lane as Arnall is confused and weak, and is shown in contrast to Louis Lunts’ cocksure Dolan. As the only female in the ensemble, Molly, Veronica Hare carries much of the narrative force, but doesn’t show sufficient justification for being unfaithful to Arnall. Dan Wood’s Flemming is perhaps the clearest character, showing someone who means well with a thoughtful performance. Chris White’s Stephen, who speaks the most lines in the play, shows a neurotic and Machiavellian teen, but seems too considered; too much effort is given to ‘performance’ and not enough to motivation.

Unwish Theatre cope well carrying the energy through a play which feels far too long, but don’t inject enough emotion into the intervening moments to capture the audience’s attention. It is difficult to care when, for the most part, each and every character is the sort of person we would walk away from a conversation with. This is ostensibly a comment from Horovitz on the nature of capitalism, and while I wouldn’t disagree with the sentiment, Line is never more than an overdeveloped play based on a good initial idea.