All posts by Edward Lukes

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“The Silver Tassie” at the National Theatre

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You are warned before entering the National Theatre’s new show, The Silver Tassie, “contains loud explosions, pyrotechnic effects and gunshots”. They aren’t kidding. Howard Davies’ production really is explosive – all credit to the technical crew and a team of designers – but all the whizz-bang effects can’t distract from the conclusion that it’s a tricky evening out.

Sean O’Casey’s play about World War I is famously difficult to stage. Though the story of sporting hero and winner of the eponymous trophy Harry Heegan is simple enough – showing his experience of war and then life as a cripple afterwards – the undoubtedly powerful language is complex and the influence Expressionist. I suspect it reads better on the page than it could possibly be delivered on stage.

And the hugely experienced director Davies, who I normally admire so much, does little to aid the delivery of O’Casey’s poetry. The cast seems lost on stage, struggling to fill the space no matter how dynamic the language. There seems little chance to form a connection with the characters. And as for the second act…

On the battlefield Davies uses noise, lights and explosions in an attempt to create a frightening, surreal world. It’s an honest attempt to deal with O’Casey’s experimentation. Unfortunately the action is incomprehensible and alienating. Theatregoers know war and song can go hand and hand (the recent revival of Oh! What a Lovely War makes an uncomfortable contrast with this show) but here, despite Stephen Warbeck being on board for the music, the results seem pretentious and almost farcical. Placing an emphasis on singing, surely it would have been wise to cast some strong vocalists?

THE SILVER TASSIE national theatre
Ronan Raftery

Should you decided to return after the interval, and I am sure many will not, you will be rewarded as the play returns to realism. There’s a fine performance from in the lead role. Now in a wheelchair and full of fury, Ronan Raftery is commanding and dedicated. There’s also strong acting from Harry’s former fiancée, played by Deirdre Mullins, and a fine double act from comedy commentators Sylvester and Simon (Aidan McArdle and Stephen Kennedy). But the script deliberately lacks coherence and Davies embraces this flaw. Without those explosions to keep you awake this is just a confusing bore.

Until 3 July 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 24 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Relative Values” at the Harold Pinter Theatre

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A new production of Noël Coward’s Relative Values has arrived in London from the Theatre Royal Bath. It’s another sparkling comedy for the West End, boasting star performances from Patricia Hodge and Caroline Quentin, and with respectful direction from Trevor Nunn that is sure to please aficionados of the author.

This is the one where Lady Marshwood (Hodge) finds her son has gone and got himself engaged to a film star (the perfectly cast Leigh Zimmerman), who happens to be the estranged sister of her maid Moxie (Quentin). It’s simply not on. Hodge and Quentin are spot on, making the most of each acerbic line and convincing as two women who have grown close despite the class divide.

As one line in the play points out, this is a comedy idea not to be sniffed at – especially when Moxie, to avoid awkwardness, receives a promotion from maid to companion/secretary. Cue excruciating after dinner drinks and an explosive confrontation between Moxie and her sister that will have you in stitches. All this is aided by the butler, naturally a clever chap with a philosophical bent, performed by none other than Rory Bremner, who makes a great West End debut.

You certainly get your money’s worth. Relative Values is long and Nunn does little to speed it up. It’s a valid decision but I am not sure films introducing each act, providing historical background, are really needed. Some minor roles could be pepped up. But the whole thing, Stephen Brimson Lewis’ set included, drips quality.

Never underestimate Coward. Producers don’t – look at Blythe Spirit  packing them in at the Gielgud. It now seems barely believable that he was once regarded as an unfashionable writer. His observations about class and the changing times of the early 50s, that Nunn takes Coward’s lead in emphasising, leave me cold but then I sometimes feel pretty lonely in these Downton Abbey obsessed times. Coward’s insights into human nature are still pointed and serve his comedy marvelously well. And at the heart of this play Quentin and Hodge make a great team: queens of comedy reigning gloriously.

Until 21 June 2014

www.atgtickets.com

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 15 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“‘Tis Pity She’s A Whore” at the Barbican

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The Cheek By Jowl theatre company can’t come to London often enough for my liking – its visits are anticipated events. Touring to the Barbican for the last few years, this month it stages Alfred Jarry’s Ubu Roi and revives its 2011 production of John Ford’s ‘Tis Pity She’s A Whore. The latter is a vivid adaptation of the bloody incest tragedy, filled with modern choreography and startling music. And it revels in the horror and gore.

Ford doesn’t hold back. Nor does director Declan Donnellan, who towers over the show, or designer Nick Ormerod, who has created eye-popping imagery. Set in the teenage Annabella’s bedroom, with its vampire posters and red décor (she even drinks cranberry juice), this is the scene of her coupling with her brother Giovanni, a nuptial night from hell with her husband Soranzo and the many schemes that fill the play. The bed is always centre-stage: cavorted on, plotted on, the locale for sex and violence. With red sheets, of course.

Donnellan’s committed cast gives exhaustive performances. Orlando James and Eve Ponsonby are the siblings and their delivery of the text, combined with their physicality, is impressive. Ponsonby does particularly well when it comes to her character’s eventual remorse and fear, while James excels as Giovanni moves from “unsteady youth” to avenging madman. Maximelien Seweryn’s Soranzo and his servant, Will Alexander’s Vasques, make a virile team. Smaller female roles, increased in importance, make the big difference in this particular production. Annabella’s servant, played by Nicola Sanderson, becomes a key role as a foil to the tragedy. Ruth Everett is superb as Soranzo’s spurned lover, an appropriately overblown performance that includes a masterclass in moans.

With Cheek By Jowl on board, the play becomes strangely sexy. Tableaux that summarise Ford’s world view, and make a virtue of unsubtlety, make for startling theatre. The production is frank and brutal. It creates a real sense of the danger surrounding lust. There are moments of excess (I am not sure a stripper was called for) but this is another fine production from master theatremakers. With a clear, boldly abbreviated text, it’s precisely directed and full of memorable imagery.

Until 26 April 2014

www.barbican.org.uk

Written 13 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Handbagged” at the Vaudeville Theatre

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Moira Buffini’s Handbagged, which after a hit run at the Tricycle Theatre had its West End premiere last night, tells the story of Margaret Thatcher’s reign as Prime Minister by imagining her private audiences with the Queen. The characters Liz and Mags reenact their 1980s meetings and are watched over by Q and T – the same figures in later life, who are portrayed as staging the show and provide an acerbic additional commentary on the action. For every joke there’s an equally amusing interjection, so you get two laughs for the price of one – brilliant.

Now, playwrights are not generally Thatcher’s natural constituency, so it is no surprise that the highlights picked out by Buffini are predictably low points. The Miners’ strike, the Falklands, South Africa and the Poll Tax: there are plenty of targets for satire. But Handbagged isn’t just funny, it’s intelligent as well. The history lesson here is cleverly told and not as biased as you might fear. As well as the notion that the ultimate establishment figure is to the left of Mrs T, the Queen’s devotion to the Commonwealth is given its due. And Thatcher is allowed to answer back – well, it would beggar belief to think she would give a playwright an easy time.

Acknowledging the evening as a theatrical production full of “artifice and sham” adds an honesty to the piece. Those meetings were private after all, speculation about their relationship just that, and Buffini wisely never presents her work as the final word. It’s fun: not only do we get discussion about whether there should be an interval – carry on through or enjoy your ice cream? – but the real anger at some of Thatcher’s decisions is given a magically light touch.

In their capacity as the show’s ‘producers’, Q and T recruit two jobbing actors to play a huge variety of roles, and they end up trying to take over the show. Jeff Rawle’s repertoire of accents is astounding and Neet Mohan is superb as he endures the “stroke of casting genius” that sees him dragged up as Nancy Reagan.

Handbagged is superbly performed. Under Indhu Rubasingham’s skillful direction, all four leading ladies excel. These are reinventions rather than simple impersonations (although Marion Bailey’s top lip deserves an award of its own). More credit then to Bailey, Stella Gonet, Lucy Robinson and Fenella Woolgar for injecting real heart into the roles. There is gravitas, when it comes to key speeches the women gave, and emotion at traumatic events. Staying just the right side of parody, Woolgar in particular never takes her eye off this fine balance. Politics has seldom been presented so originally or with such great laughs.

Until 2 August 2014

Photo by Tristram Kenton

Written 11 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Three Sisters” at the Southwark Playhouse

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In most productions of Three Sisters, the eponymous heroines yearn to leave their provincial home and return to Moscow. In a new version of Chekhov’s play, from Anya Reiss at the Southwark Playhouse, the sisters want to return to London. Well, who wouldn’t? Chekhov’s tragic melancholia is still present, along with his philosophical preoccupations and essential concerns, but the action occurs in the Middle East in the present day.

It isn’t a perfect transposition. The sisters endure their famous ennui in the shadow of a military compound and embassy. Where they are and what they are doing there isn’t made explicit, which is vaguely frustrating. It seems somehow off to hear soldiers in modern fatigues wishing for real work. With all the phones and iPads pushing you into the present, attitudes to marriage jar and the stiff upper lips seem incongruous.

But Reiss’ twist with the setting brings home the isolation of Chekhov’s characters. There’s a nice motif of superstition, arising from people under pressure, and an unblinking eye on the dramatic potential of the scenario. I suspect inconsistencies aren’t a big concern: adding karaoke to Chekhov indicates a mischievous streak. Incidentally, the humour generally owes less to the original source than the rest of the production. There’s an energy to the writing that powers the whole thing along. Best of all, these sisters are far from sententious and self-pitying – which are welcome interpretations.

The production itself is of the highest standard. Russell Bolam directs with a deft touch; there’s plenty of action, a swift pace and performances full of natural feeling. Again, issues arise from Reiss’ new version. The servants and Masha’s cuckolded husband being local proves distracting (especially in relation to a fine performance from Tom Ross-Williams). Both Michael Garner’s Doctor Chebutykin and Paul McGann’s Vershinin – the voices of age and experience – seem flattened and these talented actors a little wasted.

The focus is on youth, and a trio of performances from the leads does not disappoint. Olivia Hallinan plays Olga with a resolute edge, all self control until a final tragedy (watch her legs as shocking news is broken to her). Holliday Grainger takes onboard the realism in the production: fresh and appealing as the young Irina and a captivating stage presence. It’s a photo finish (and naughty of me to encourage sibling rivalry), but I thought Emily Taaffe best – her impassioned Masha has a constrained energy that is riveting and her performance packs the most emotional punch. These three high achievers make this interesting production well worth seeing.

Until 3 May 2014

www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk

Written 9 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Thérèse Raquin” at the Finborough Theatre

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Thérèse Raquin, a new musical with book, lyrics and direction from Nona Shepphard and music by Craig Adams, has just opened at the Finborough Theatre. It’s bold, courageous even, with feet firmly planted on adventurous ground: an exciting evening of musical theatre with operatic ambitions.

Billed as a radical adaptation (you have been warned) by Shepphard it takes inspiration from Émile Zola’s tale of adultery and murder. The characters have a flatness that calls to mind myths or fairy tales – the conviction of Shepphard’s text makes them captivating. And Adams’ piano score is not easy listening, reminiscent of Philip Glass with its choral emphasis, rounds and repetition.

None of this makes it easy for the cast. But even performances that could be finessed win admiration for their bravura – and many of them are fantastic. The excellent Julie Atherton takes the title role, notable for her weighted silence long into the first act. Jeremy Legat has a trickier job as her sickly husband Camille. Legat sounds great but I am not sure about trying to inject some humour into the part. Ben Lewis plays the lover Laurent, complementing his tall, dark and handsome qualifications with a voice that’ll knock your socks off. Thérèse is accompanied by a chorus, with Matt Wilman, who also doubles as an oarsman, standing out. Shepphard puts Madame Raquin at the centre of the show and Tara Hugo gives a startling performance in the role, especially as the elderly lady succumbs to illness.

Shepphard also deserves credit for her directing skills, creating some great theatrical moments that enforce the imagery in her text. The recurring domino evenings, part of why Thérèse feels she is “buried alive” with her mother-in-law and feeble husband, are full of detail. The scene in a morgue, where Laurent tries to face his murderous actions, and a wedding night, with a ghostly reappearance from Camille, are superb.

Ultimately, to its credit, Thérèse Raquin is too big for the Finborough. This tiny venue is often top of my list for a visit, and what it achieves is remarkable, but the potential of this show seems too much. Despite the skillful set design from Laura Cordery, the production, especially the music, deserves a bigger stage. Naïve, perhaps, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if some far-sighted producer took a risk on something as different as this? Here’s hoping.

Until 19 April 2014

www.finboroughtheatre.co.uk

Photo by Darren Bell

Written 2 April 2014 for The London Magazine

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“I Can’t Sing!” at the London Palladium

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I Can’t Sing! The X Factor Musical, which opened this week at the Palladium, is a logical fit for the theatre. It might be TV, but it’s live, essentially a variety show, with large personalities that can fill a stage. The show’s creators, Harry Hill and Steve Brown, exploit the backstories of the characters and possibilities for songs mercilessly for comedy. At once sincere and surreal, the show might just have that indefinable quality that makes a hit musical – it’s very own X factor.

But first a confession from your reviewer. I’ve never watched The X Factor. Forgive me – I’m at the theatre a lot. As well as making me akin to an alien, this created a concern that I might not have a clue what was going on. As it happens I found lots of it funny. There are a surprising number of theatre jokes and, as most do know the show (like the row behind me), I can report that you’ll be laughing like the proverbial drain. I am qualified at least to say that Sean Foley’s direction is assured and that reports of troubled previews don’t seem to have rattled the fine performers.

Simon Lipkin, Cynthia Erivo and Alan Morrissey

The leads of the show provide a plot, a neat little love story between two contestants. Cynthia Erivo plays Chenice, whose backstory – take a deep breath – of life in a caravan under the Westway with a grandfather in an iron lung and not enough money to study UFOs at Golders Green University, is so tragic that it’s envied by other contestants. With a knock-out voice that brings out the irony in the show’s hummable title song, Erivo is joined by Alan Morrissey, who has an appealing stage presence as a plumber with a ukulele who wants to change the world with his songs. The other contestants do well, too, but it’s the ever excellent Simon Lipkin who gets my vote, using the puppetry skills that made Avenue Q such a success to play Chenice’s dog, Barlow.

There are strong comic turns from the judges: the geriatric Louis (Ashley Knight) and Geordie Jordy (Victoria Elliott), headed of course by Simon Cowell, a role energetically taken by Nigel Harman. Like his television creation, Cowell seems self-consciously ripe for satire. Being lampooned so successfully must delight him (as a backer for the show) and the sheer silly scale of the satire, much of it literally messianic, keeps coming. The show contains no subtlety, surely that would be inappropriate – just a lot of laughs.

It’s a musical, so let’s not forget the songs. Brown’s compositions are efficient, and varied, but the music is very much subservient to the comedy. Several numbers are disappointing and only get along by being very loud. But, as well as the title song, there’s another great number for Morrissey, a moment of stillness among too many mock anthems that really stands out.

You could take a guess that there will be choreography with sofas. Tick the box for dancing leprechauns. I am even sure I’ve seen break-dancing monks before and, as with Jerry Springer The Opera, there are Valkyrie on call. And there are still surprises, mostly theatrical I am pleased to say, and bizarre enough to really delight in their eccentricity, with touches of George Formby, postcard-style humour and plain silliness.

There’s a strong sense of weird and wonderful minds behind I Can’t Sing! that avoids any sense of attempting to cash in on a successful formula. It’s mad but also clever stuff. And it works. Combining the prosaic and clichéd with extravagant dreams, there’s a satisfying circularity in what Hill and Brown have achieved – a show so ridiculous that it becomes inspiring.

Until 25 October 2014

Photos by Tristram Kenton

Written 28 March 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Other Desert Cities” at the Old Vic

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Other Desert Cities by Jon Robin Baitz opens a new season at the Old Vic that sees the venue transformed into a theatre in the round. Love it though we must, the Old Vic is a barn of a place and the new intimacy created by the set up is much welcomed. The play is a strong piece that could surely hold its own in any venue, but this skillfully written family drama, full of political ambitions, benefits greatly from the reconfiguration.

Depressed New Yorker Brooke visits home in Palm Springs for the Christmas vacation. Gifting her right-wing parents Polly and Lyman with a tell-all memoir puts an end to any holiday spirit. Along with more than their fair share of family tragedy, domestic conflict comes from politics; the older Reaganesque Republicans (Sinéad Cusack and Peter Egan are utterly convincing) opposed by “hopelessly high brow” Brooke, performed superbly by Martha Plimpton. Adding to the agenda are alcoholic hippy Aunt Silda (Clare Higgins) and younger brother Trip (Daniel Lapaine) who provide some insight from the millennial generation.

Pulitzer-nominated Baitz has been a success on Broadway and is well known for his TV career (Brothers & Sisters, The West Wing). He joins hit American writers doing so well in the West End at the moment and seems very keen to have written a big American play. There are plenty of influences, Albee the most obvious, so it isn’t startlingly original.  Topicality and politics are the important things and, although it seems slightly heavy handed, at one point even melodramatic, the play’s ambition is impressive.

The characterisation is very good. And the cast lives up to the strong writing. In a moving performance, Egan helps reveal a deeper character than we suspected. Likewise, Lapaine makes his smaller part stand out, while Higgins comes close to stealing the show. Great subtlety is invested in the central female characters Polly and Brooke; the writing seesaws our sympathy between the cold yet loyal, domineering mother and the selfish suffering of her brilliant child. It’s clever and complex stuff.

Until 24 May 2014

www.oldvictheatre.com

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 26 March 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Grimm Tales” at Shoreditch Town Hall

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The trend for immersive theatre reaches new heights in the basement of Shoreditch Town Hall with Grimm Tales, which opened last night. Based on Philip Pullman’s recent retellings, adapted and directed by Philip Wilson, a small audience is taken around magically transformed spaces to experience the stories anew and undertake a journey of our own. Pullman’s fame should secure the show’s success, while Wilson’s theatrical creativity makes this a night to remember.

Five tales are tackled, from the well-known Red Riding Hood to the (to me) more obscure Hans-My-Hedgehog. Bizarre and macabre touches are preserved, expanded even, with a gleeful sense of humour. Following Pullman’s text, the storytelling is wonderfully clear. Unlike some theatre that takes on the immersive label, this evening never baffles and only satisfies. The stories have a rewarding personal resonance and make full use of the audience’s own imagination.

The cast, billed as The Storytellers, is impressive. Taking on a variety of roles, the players are constantly engaging and keep up a terrific pace. Simon Wegrzyn is particularly impressive as both the wolf and the eponymous Hedgehog Boy. And James Byng gets to show off his considerable skill as a puppeteer. Any bedtime story you might read will pale in comparison with the hard work going on here.

It’s the detail that makes the night. The set and costume designs by Tom Rogers are a marvel, with each room you arrive in a wonder of sights and smells. The aesthetic is lo-fi with a bricolage feel adding to the atmosphere of the location. Don’t be fooled though; the make-do-and-mend touches show off the sheer invention of the staging born from intelligence and experience. An umbrella turned into a bird was a personal favourite, but the theatrical touches are a continual delight.

I am sure that children would love Grimm Tales (eight years upwards is the recommendation) but I can’t think of anyone who wouldn’t leap at the chance to run around in this world. The evening concludes with the chance to do just that, as other rooms, potential stories that have been tantalisingly glanced at as you move around, can be explored. The seven dwarfs’ dormitory made me laugh out loud. Fairytales made real – what’s not to wolf down?

Until 24 April 2014

www.grimm-tales.co.uk

Photo by Tom Medwell

Written 21 March 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Two Into One” at the Menier Chocolate Factory

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Ray Cooney’s 1984 farce Two Into One opened last night at the Menier Chocolate Factory, and it’s an exercise in experience and skill. Cooney directs and stars in his own work, a revival of one of his many successful plays, drawing intelligently on the long tradition of British bawdiness and playing with it to perfection.

Two afternoon affairs in a hotel are complicated since they occur in adjacent rooms. You can hear the doors slamming already can’t you? And they do so with satisfying thuds in Julie Godfrey’s set (I’ve lived in less sturdy flats). The lies surrounding the extra-marital mayhem spiral into the surreal, everyone takes their clothes off and nobody understands one another.

Setting the hotel next to Parliament, packed with politicians and civil servants to make fun of, adds to the laughs. Joking with sexuality as well as sex by introducing a misunderstanding about an affair with a tea boy from the Foreign Office, possibly made the work seem topical once. Now mention of “poofs” seems almost quaint. Unashamedly 1980s, there’s a nostalgic appeal that suits the humour.

In farce it’s the complications and extravagance rather than originality that make you laugh and there’s a comfy side to the genre that this show has in spades. Cooney knows what he’s doing – relax, enjoy yourself – and there’s a remarkable sense of confidence from this experienced cast. Michael Praed plays one of those slimy Tory MPs who characterised the 1980s, Nick Wilton is endearing as his bowler-hatted PPS and Jeffrey Holland plays the hotel manager marvellously. Best of all, the gorgeous Josefina Gabrielle, setting pulses racing in her ‘naughty nightie’, times not just every line, but every move, impeccably – the star of the night in a play full of stars.

Until 26 April 2014

www.menierchocolatefactory.com

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 20 March 2014 for The London Magazine