“Boris Godunov” by Alexander Pushkin (translated by Adrian Mitchell)

at the Swan Theatre, Wednesday 28th November 2012

Originally written for Exeunt.

After a slow-burning first hour, Michael Boyd’s production of Boris Godunov comes into its own in the final sixty minutes, as he throws Alexander Pushin’s drama about autocracy and rebellion into fifth gear, hurtling towards a powerful conclusion. And though it’s not Boyd’s most inventive, exciting or powerful production, it makes some nods towards his style as Artistic Director and is a fitting end to his tenure.

The story of Boris Godunov is similar to many of Shakespeare’s kings. A Russian Tsar who came to power in 1598 through questionable circumstances, popular opinion of him soured during his seven years in office before he died of a heart attack as rebel forces, led by the pretender Grigory Otrepiev (a young monk), began chipping away at his regime in the guise of Prince Dmitry, the dead heir. In 1825, Pushkin mythologized and distorted the story somewhat to make the narrative one of power and revolution, though it was banned by censors and never really given a proper staging until the 1980s.

Michael Boyd’s production (utilising a poetic translation by Adrian Mitchell) moves through eras smoothly, opening with actors dressed in sixteenth century garments and moving steadily through the ages to Stalinistic furs and, finally, simple business wear complete with iPhones and microphones. It’s a simple idea, and is done with a light enough touch that we don’t really notice until key points that the tone has changed. The point it makes, however – that Russia has been ruled by tyrants for as long as anyone can remember – is hardly subtle, and I question somewhat the hope this gives for any stable future in Russia it’s suggested that the country is basically ungovernable.

Boyd’s trademark during his time at the RSC has become the singular, striking image, and there is no shortage of them here. From the loud opening montage of moments which we will see over the next two hours to the disconcerting levels present in the final tableau, this is a production which works through a conversation with aesthetics. The climactic battle scenes are as good as any in the Histories cycle, complete with semi-gymnastic movement and a constant stream of actors. At another point, a fountain is beautifully and simply evoked using bowls and jugs.

Tom Piper’s simple set consists of a brushed wood floor and a gold scaffold with hanging costumes (another charming nod to the design of the Histories), and allows breathing space for some charming performances. Though he takes a while to warm up, Gethin Anthony as Grigory presents himself as a man of the people and a more worthy leader than Boris; his wooing scene with Lucy Briggs-Owen’s Princess Maryna is delightfully balanced, as she offers the perfect foil to his presumptuous advances. Lloyd Hutchison’s Boris is the opposite of Grigory, portraying a strong, sturdy man who achieves his goals through talking rather than action and gets rid of his opponents with knowing hints to Prince Shuiskii (played by the brilliant James Tucker who, quite frankly, steals every scene he’s in).

But for all it’s strengths, Boris Godunov fails to really capture the imagination or probe deeply into the question at hand. By having the mob commit violent acts towards the end of the play, Pushkin clearly attempts to make some point about the dangerous nature of revolution and its relationship with tyranny, but all these interesting ideas feel hidden at the end of Boyd’s production. Then again, this sums up what Boyd’s best at; making the personal political and vice versa, drawing on a range of influences to get the widest possible scope. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting something a little more exciting for Boyd’s final show, but it’s nonetheless a production with the detail, power and humour which has defined his Artistic Directorship.

 

“Richard III” by William Shakespeare

at Shakespeare’s Globe, Saturday 28th July 2012

Many actors explain that for every character they play, no matter how evil, they have to be sympathetic in order to craft a truthful performance. In Richard III at the Globe, Mark Rylance goes a step further, ensuring audiences fall deeply in love with the anti-hero. We don’t love to hate him, but love to love this gentle, misunderstood and unstable Richard. But though Rylance’s performance and the support from those around him are strong, under Tim Carroll’s direction the two never quite work together.

From the moment he limps onto stage, Rylance is utterly magnetic. He holds the attention of the audience with a simple look or a well-timed sniff. At one point, a mobile phone beeps and he darts his head in the direction of the sound like a meerkat looking out over the desert. His laugh bellows around the auditorium, and it’s not until he’s bumped off a few enemies that we realise he’s the bad guy. Rylance suggests a slight autism in this Richard; his remarkable cunning is balanced by relatively weak social skills, meaning that along with his deformity he is truly an underdog. Like true Brits, we support him wholeheartedly, and indeed are implicit in his rise to power, taking the part of the civilians in the monk scene. Then again, we also support his downfall, as Richmond summons our cheers; just like our everyday selves, we can be played by politicians’ hyperbole, and change our mind without hesitation.

Rylance’s final scenes are truly heartbreaking, as the suggestion that he never really knew what he was doing becomes apparent. He sees the ghosts of his victims during his battle with Richmond (after seeing them looking like white turds in his dreams) and it suddenly dawns on him that he’s a murderer. His struggle is a constant one between latent violence and pure gentleness, and its the meeting of these which cause his demise.

Contrary to my words in my Henry V review, the Globe here finds strong support for Rylance. Liam Brennan’s grounded and kingly Clarence shows what England missed out on, and Paul Chahidi’s somewhat effeminate Hastings shows the corruption doesn’t just lie with Richard. Roger Lloyd pack is somewhat prone to declamation as Buckingham, but his comic timing forgives this, and though it initially seems James Garnon’s Duchess of York is going to be a caricature, there is surprising depth to this portrayal which goes beyond the visual joke of her gliding across the stage. Johnny Flynn’s Lady Anne doesn’t quite manage to capture the hurt the new queen suffers, though perhaps his performance is simply made to look weak against Samuel Barnett’s fine turn as Queen Elizabeth, demonstrating strong, principled opposition to Richard’s actions.

But though Carroll discovers some intriguing performances, it’s difficult to see why this group of people weren’t able to stop this gentle Richard. Their weaknesses are barely tangible; the only way this Richard would be able to come to power would be if he was surrounded by bumbling sycophants, but in this case the court is (mostly) fairly astute.

I also suspect that Jenny Tirimani’s Elizabethan costume and design, though gorgeous, doesn’t help matters. A Richard as different as Rylance’s needs an alternative context in which to work due to its removal from Shakespeare’s initial pantomimic portrait. The reason behind the decision to have an all-male cast in this instance also eludes me, for it seems to neither to add nor take away anything. These performances would not be much different in a black-box studio with a mixed cast (at least then we’d be rid of the Globe’s determination to create lazy comedy). Some would argue that ‘original-practices’ is a form of avant-gardism, which is ludicrous, seeing as to do so is to reject the last four hundred years of development in theatre. Still, that argument is for another day.

Watching Richard III on the same day as Henry V brings an interesting contrast to light. At the climax of each tetralogy of the Histories, Shakespeare shows two major uses of theatre; as reflection on issues within society (Richard III) and as a vehicle for hope (Henry V). And though it’s not quite as simple as that, it strikes me that perhaps this is the reason why neither production really works. There are elements of exposing corruption and hope respectively, but neither goes the whole hog. Nonetheless, they are representative of a general rise in the Histories’ popularity over the past few years (since the RSC’s cycle) as these plays get the recognition they deserve and we attempt to understand better our own links with history and where that may lead us in the future.

“Two Roses for Richard III”

by Companhia Bufomecânica, based on Shakespeare’s Richard III

at the Courtyard Theatre, Tuesday 8th May 2012

*The performance reviewed was the last preview*

In 1863, Alexis de Tocqueville wrote of his concern that the work of artists would become “surcharged with immense and incoherent imagery, with exaggerated descriptions and strange creations”, making us “regret” reality. The Brazilian Companhia Bufomecânica’s Two Roses for Richard III, presented in Portuguese as part of the World Shakespeare Festival, is guilty of exactly these vices, and is such a hotch-potch of ideas and images (many of which are fantastic), presented with little coherence, that it is extremely difficult to follow, lacks drama and leaves us craving for a little sanity.

According to the programme notes, this production has taken inspiration from all eight of Shakespeare’s histories in order to present a new, contemporary version of Richard III. Alas, this barely comes through in the final production, which is basically a translated and conservatively edited production of the last History with a smattering of references to the prequels and a few postmodern asides to the audience (“I don’t know how to die on stage. I’m just an actor!”).

The show opens with an orgiastic movement number, with actors discarding their modern clothes in favour of generic-Elizabethan apparel. Richard, semi-naked, recounts his favourite speech, but before we know it three different actors are playing the character in the Lady Anne scene (supposedly to demonstrate his multi-faceted personality). Rowan Atkinson look-a-like Savio Moll takes most of Richard’s lines for the rest of the play, playing him as petulant and short-tempered, before Carol Machado plays the falling king in the final scenes opposite Julia Lund’s stoic Richmond. These shifts work academically, but on stage without signposts like common costumes or accessories it becomes difficult to follow who’s who and the nuanced differences between the versions.

Total theatre is attempted by directors Cláudio Baltar and Fabio Ferreira, incoporating projection, music, dance and acrobatics into the performance, but it is not fully achieved due to the overwhelming sense that the pieces of the jigsaw do not fit together. Renato and Rico Vilarouca’s video images look stunning, but have little in common with the subject matter of the scene, and Paulo Mantuano’s movement, though clever, too often lasts longer than is welcome (when the women are mourning, the cast just moves around the stage slowly for five minutes). Fernando Mello da Costa and Rostand Albuqueque’s set provides a sweeping blue platform for these aspects to play on, falling down from the back before jutting out and down towards the audience like a dropped ribbon.

The defining moments of this production are the carnivalesque circus acts, choreographed by Renato Linhares, which are used to represent murders or the supernatural. Clarence’s murderers climb onto a floating ladder to murder their charge and the two princes are slaughtered within what look like gigantic finger-traps, whilst the ghosts berate Richard and champion Richmond from high above the audience. Some stunning images are created, and along with Fabiano Krieger and Lucas Marcier’s fantastic soundtrack, which covers everything from basic drumming to contemporary electronica, we are treated to some moments of unadulterated theatricality.

Unfortunately, however, these stand-out scenes are negated by the saturation of ideas presented, which makes it difficult to know where to look or what to listen to (a fact not helped by the fact we find ourselves reading the English subtitles throughout). The visual effects do not add anything to the storyline and actually detract from the drama of Shakespeare’s text even if they do create memorable snapshots. As an academic exercise, Two Roses for Richard III throws up some interesting points about the play, its context and theatre in general, but the company would do well to undergo a little reflection to pare the production back in order to serve itself better as a piece of theatre. As it stands, it seems de Tocqueville was right, and over much of this long three-and-a-quarter hours we long to return to a concrete reality.

“Richard III” by William Shakespeare

at the Swan Theatre, Monday 16th April 2012

*The performance reviewed was a preview*

Richard III is one of those plays which, on the page, seems to have many issues and feels a little like it doesn’t make sense and that characters’ motives are out of kilter with their actions. But rather than go down the route of many directors who try to smooth over these imperfections through ingenious devices, Roxana Silbert, in her production for the Royal Shakespeare Company’s “Nations at War” season, shows that these difficulties are part of the play. She shows us a distorted thriller, capitalizing on Gloucester’s ‘oddness’ in the charismatic, energetic performance of Jonjo O’Neill as our tragic hero.

Silbert’s setting is pretty much timeless, and puts the action at the heart of proceedings. At first, Ti Green’s tall steely set seems straight-laced and ordered, but within moments it’s clear that the floor panels are angled to look like off-centre reflections in a mirror. A Frankenstein-inspired light fitting (in a dark design by Rick Fisher), complete with wire frame and lightbulbs, hangs over the thrust. Doors and windows are constantly discovered at the back of the set, opening up portals onto ideas not yet contemplated. Nick Powell’s music is superb, and uses the tones and rhythms of a fifties spy thriller in order to set the scene. During the final sword fight, it makes everything feel like it is performed in slow motion.

Unfortunately, a few performances are over-acted. Pippa Nixon’s Lady Anne is not quick enough to match up to O’Neill’s Richard, and she is somewhat too liberal with her gestures. Likewise, Mark Jax’s Edward IV falls a little flat and Sandra Duncan’s Duchess of York verges on dull. Nevertheless, we are treated to solid performances from Edmund Kingsley’s Clarence and Alex Waldmann’s Sir Catesby, whilst Brian Ferguson’s Buckingham and Siobhan Redomond’s Elizabeth offer some impressive foils to this production’s Richard.

Jonjo O’Neill in the title role is, for me, nigh-on definitive. He moves away from so many actors’ decision to play the tormented prince as someone who is jolly in the presence of characters and sullen in the audience’s gaze. Instead, he is perpetually charming, and woos us with his skills as a comedian and presenter. We are entirely implicit in his rise, and when he addresses the citizens, we can’t help feeling we’re egging them on as Richard’s minions. The verse builds up in his mouth before being spat out, his tongue gliding over the vowels and dancing over the consonants. I haven’t ever heard these speeches spoken with such relish.

What’s particularly striking about this production is the number of times we find ourselves laughing. Right up until the incredible final sword fight (haven’t seen a proper one of those in a while), we are laughing along with Richard. It is this, matched with his oddity, which makes his demise so tragic. It feels like he may just joke his way out of execution, but just like him we’ve been able to see deep down the pain which would culminate with death. Richmond (Iain Batchelor) tries to take over by appealing to us near the end, but we can’t help feeling that with Richard dead, the state will be a far less interesting place to live.

“Richard III” by William Shakespeare

at the Old Vic, Thursday 7th July 2011

As Jan Kott said in Shakespeare Our Contemporary, the plays of William Shakespeare hold different resonances for each time, arguing that the histories and tragedies about power and ambition can and must be seen in the light of the atrocities of Hitler and Stalin. Now, almost half a century after he first wrote the book, Sam Mendes has moved with the times, reminding us that Richard III is a play about autocracy and dictatorship.

Mendes sets the play in a claustrophobic room, with doors covering all wall space, into which bizarre episode names are projected, looking like they’ve been created using WordArt. The juxtaposition of domestic and epic work well with the structure of the play, which is shown here to be about the difference between private and public personas, but in practice it seems fairly incongruous.

Some other bizarre choices are made. Frustratingly, the two boy princes are played by adult women, who neither look nor sound like the children they are supposed to portray. One nice touch – having Margaret appear with each murder, drawing crosses on the doors through which the dead exit – is made pointless by the lack of attention which is paid to it.

There are some striking moments, however, including the decision to have Richard talk to his public via video-link as he is being ‘persuaded’ to take the crown. When both Richmond and Richard are confronted by the ghosts of the slain enemies, it is surprising just how modern Shakespeare’s text feels. Terry King’s fight coordination also treats us to an impressive sword fight in the final ten minutes, which is followed by Richard being hung upside-down, in an image which resembles the execution of Mussolini and the acts of Idi Amin. I do believe, however, that it is this exciting final half-hour which extracts the standing ovation, as the audience forgets that the bulk of the production lacks pace and drama.

Kevin Spacey’s central performance of Richard is also partly the cause of the ovation, but except in the climax of the play he fails to truly explain his characters’ actions and it’s difficult to get a grasp of the manipulation which is used. Spacey’s physicality, however, is extraordinary, with a splayed left ankle which doesn’t stop him from galloping across the stage (although the hunchback is a little too comical). At times, he looks and acts like David Brent; Richard is a pathetic man in need of admiration. There is good support from the rest of the cast, including Chuk Iwuji as a friendly Buckingham and Haydn Gwynne as a headstrong Elizabeth, even if the transatlantic accents are a little off-putting at times.

Tom Piper’s bleak set allows for a wide array of exits and entrances, and is lit surprisingly warmly by Paul Pyant. Mark Bennett’s music, composed mainly of drumming, thunders through the auditorium in a truly militaristic manner. This is a powerful and epic production of Richard III, making some important points about dictatorship in the twenty-first century, but the superlatives should really be saved for Propeller’s far superior interpretation.

“Richard III” by William Shakespeare

at Belgrade Theatre, Friday 19th November 2010

Richard III is generally not seen as a funny play. Involving thirteen deaths, most of which are brutal murders, and the villainous musings of one power-hungry man, most of us would not immediately associate such a text with humour. Somehow, however, Propeller, under the direction of Edward Hall, have managed to extract obscene amounts of laughter from Shakespeare’s bloody last history play, and in doing so have shown Richard to be not just a power-grabber, but a twisted and warped individual.

We all know the story; Richard, Duke of Gloucester, picks off his enemies one by one, backstabbing and blackmailing in the process so that he may eventually become king. Indeed at times the narrative does simply seem to be that of death, plot, death, plot. Hall’s fast pace extrapolates this, focussing on Richard’s obsession with death and keeping us guessing as to how the next victim will be executed.

Propeller’s trade-mark all-male cast brings out the masculinity innate in the play, but never seems overpowering, for there are only four female characters. As women, the men in the female roles seem to hold particular gravitas and we genuinely believe they can stand up to those above them. When not in role, the ensemble dresses in lab-coats and Hannibal-style masks, humming and singing a capella, creating a mysterious atmosphere. At times, this is nothing short of genius, as we hear cheery tones emanating from their lips in the immediate aftermath of a gruesome death.

Being an ensemble cast, it is difficult to single out particular performances, but both Chris Myles as the Duke of Buckingham and Thomas Padden as Hastings are impressive. In the title role Richard Clothier excels, offering a charismatic but twisted interpretation of the villain. When speaking to vast numbers of people he seems confident, but there is always a tremble in his voice when addressing individuals. With a hunchback and braced lower-leg, he has a completely disfigured right side, countered only by the absence of a hand on his left arm. What he lacks in physical power, however, he more than makes up in menace.

Michael Pavelka’s set is something like a cross between operating theatre and torture chamber, clad with screens and murder instruments. This of course is perfect for showing up the red blood, and as the murders become more hideous the blood that is spilt becomes all the more evident. Again, this allows more humour to be found in the multitude of deaths. Ben Ormerod’s lighting and Jon Trenchard’s music merely add to this grim atmosphere.

It is odd that we should find ourselves laughing so much at such horrible murders, but the outrageousness of the crimes means we cannot help ourselves. Edward Hall’s production, therefore, does at times seem to be nothing short of farce, as the number and nature of deaths gets more ridiculous. We see the murders as Richard does, as they become nothing more than jokes. The tone of this production is pitched perfectly, being a cross between macabre and often close to music-hall, but we are left questioning whether or not we were supposed to be laughing all along.