Diving into the start of a season of plays written by women and presented under the title ‘Who Runs the World?’, this hour-long show – written by and featuring Sarah Milton – goes swimmingly well as we follow young Daisy in and around the pool during her first competitive race. With family and friends all portrayed by Milton, it’s a bravura performance with plenty of laughs, serious topics and a dramatic trauma. There’s undoubtedly too much going on, but the mood swings mirror teenage life uncannily and the skill behind the show should make it a gold-medal winner.
Milton’s ability as a writer can best be seen with the allowance she makes for an audience’s more sophisticated responses to the authentic young voices we hear. It’s a space in the text that director Tom Wright is sympathetic to. Whether it’s Daisy’s laugh-out-loud insensitivity or comments from adults that we understand the motivation for more than she does, this is a look at a Millennial mind-set that patronises neither young nor old. It’s disappointing that a central plot, around a criminal boyfriend, isn’t elaborated. And overall Daisy’s youth results in observations on life that are predictable and pat; the good will built up towards the character has to save the show. Thankfully, there is plenty of it.
Milton’s skills as a performer are highly impressive, having created a strong central role and some lovely cameos for herself she really delivers. The split-second changes between characters are impressive, if showy. The comedy skills feel instinctive – her timing a joy to watch. But what really makes the performance special is the way the crowd is worked. Wright creates moments when Daisy is removed from us despite her narration – caught up in the cleansing power of swimming or a revealing nightmare. But most of the time Daisy appeals directly and Milton is superb at this: creating intimacy, engendering confidences and truly winning hearts. Let’s hope medals follow.
On the day of the London marathon, an award for endurance is deserved by director Tom Littler, the mastermind behind this revival of one-act plays by Noël Coward. Presented as three trilogies – that you can happily attend separately and in any order – the chance to see these seldom performed works classes as a Theatrical Event. With nine actors preforming 75 roles, everyone should agree it deserves those capital letters.
The groups differ from Coward’s original selection but still showcase his writing perfectly. As a comedian, Coward is seldom bettered, his plays full of wit and delicious satire driven by great observations. But we also have Coward as a writer of romance, with insight into the power and pain of love. And he’s an artist full of original ideas. Littler’s skill is to treat each text seriously, to understand the complexity of its construction, and every play benefits from this intelligence and respect. See one, or even better see all three; it’s tough to recommend a favourite but here are some highlights based on the groups as titled.
Secret Hearts
This set stars with a sparkling comedy. Suffice to say the scenario of a group of actors trying to perform as a charity committee is as funny as it sounds. Theatrical back-biting and pretentions abound and nearly every line gets a chuckle. The whole ensemble appears and shows how even their abilities are. In subsequent plays, Boadicea Ricketts and Ben Wiggins fill a variety of smaller parts, but their roles here reveal them both as strong performers.
Nick Waring and Miranda Foster in “Still Life”
Musical hall veterans The Red Peppers make an appearance in the second play, the roles are ably performed by Rosemary Ashe and Jeremy Rose. But the piece hasn’t dated as well – a regional variety show isn’t something many people have experienced and it’s unclear how much respect we are supposed to have for our leading couple. But what comes next is unmissable: Still Life is the play that became Brief Encounter. It’s full of familiar characters, jokes and lines. Littler brings an admirable freshness to the piece and garners superb performances from Nick Waring and Miranda Foster as the star-crossed couple who sacrifice passion for the sake of their marriages. The chemistry between the two is so fantastic that it is transporting to watch them.
Bedroom Farces
Waring and Foster flex their comic skills in Ways And Means as a scheming couple down on their luck. It may be slight but it’s still pleasing. Another strong pairing comes with Ian Hallard and Sarah Crowe. First, there’s a take on Brief Encounter that’s purely for comedy with love at first sight, on the dance floor, followed by an oh-so civilised discussion about what to do next and a suitably cynical end.
Ian Hallard and Sara Crowe in “Shadow Play”
The confirmation of Hallard and Crowe’s comic skills is clear, but later, in Shadow Play, they perform as a couple with marital problems that tugs at the heart strings. For all the cut-glass accents and wealthy posturing that often gets a laugh, both performers remind us that these are people we can relate to. A love gone cold and a struggle to remember happier times come together in a review of their relationship via a sleeping pill-induced dream that shows a surprisingly surreal Coward. The singing and score are startlingly contemporary. The whole piece is a revelation.
Nuclear Families
This set boasts two comedies and a fine drama. For Family Album, Coward’s target is the hypocrisy surrounding funerals. Victorian vibes through a stunning wardrobe make it a good place to mention the consistently strong work from costume designer Emily Stuart. The satire is biting and musical director Stefan Bednardczyk serves as a scene-stealing butler. Again, it’s the music Bednardczyk plays that provides the surprise, with songs serving to show snatches of memory and fleeting moods in a bold manner. There’s more comedy with Hands Across the Sea, a personal favourite, where Coward takes aim at the Britishers’ attitude to their own colonial cousins: it’s bright, snappy and eminently quotable.
The ensemble in “Family Album”
As a finale, a psychiatrist is driven mad by love in another drama of infidelity that is riven with tension. Foster and Waring are paired again, and the result is explosive. Their intelligent characters are full of “clear cold sense” in a play of surprisingly raw emotion. The unexpected makes for a theme of much presented here. As with all the offerings in Tonight at 8.30,this is a humbling demonstration of Coward’s talents, produced and performed by an impeccable team.
This work from Audrey Cefaly won the Edgerton Foundation new American play award and receives its European premiere under the careful direction of Matthew Gould. The Gulfis an artful, confidently quiet two-hander that examines a dying romance with powerful realism.
The lovers, well performed by Anna Acton and Louisa Lytton, are Betty and Kendra and it’s a case of opposites attracting. If you side with one party, it could well be revealing. And there’s the potential to take some of their wisdom away with you. Describing herself as “delightful”, Betty is a dreamer with a head full of plans and ambition. A bit of a snob, maybe, and with a secret to hide, Acton conveys all of her character’s complexity in satisfying style. Lytton’s Kendra is, appropriately, more charismatic. She describes herself as “a beast”, but obtuse is the better word used – living in the here and now there seems more awareness, a deeper intelligence, and Acton’s skill lies in revealing this.
Some snags may have arisen in the play’s move to the UK. It’s not quite obvious how old the women are, if indeed that matters, so when they talk about going to college it isn’t clear how mature a student each would be. In both instances, how dissatisfied they are, or should be, with small-town life could also be made more explicit. Finally, in my ignorance of geography, I’m not sure how much peril the women are in when their boat breaks down or whether Betty’s subsequent hysteria is justified or a telling revelation of character.
Quibbles aside, Cefaly’s writing of emotional intimacy is accomplished, exploring deep inside a relationship. Gould never upsets the tension or overplays the suggestion of physical violence, while the chemistry between the two is perfectly portrayed. Such a character-driven piece, with relatively low stakes and little plot, will not excite everyone but, as a close study, clear in purpose and execution, the play is impressive.
Guleraana Mir’s debut production shows a writer of sound promise. This is a romantic comedy of multi-cultural manners with a great sense of humour, but looking for serious commitment. The titular insult is that someone can be brown on the outside yet white on the inside and our heroine Rumi comes to ‘own’ the label in Millennial style, providing an alternative happy ending in the process. Audiences are ripe for different kinds of stories just like this – about a young modern Muslim woman – and Mir’s writing is a terrific response to demands for unstereotyped diversity, with a brilliant lead character and an emotional journey that feels realistic, regardless of how modish.
There are problems, which a firmer hand from director and dramaturg Madelaine Moore might have corrected. Structurally there are too many short scenes, some of which could be cut, and there’s a lack of confidence about when to call it a day. Considering the clash of cultures, with Rumi’s double life of booze and bacon, there’s surprisingly little tension – maybe that’s the point? The role of Simon, Rumi’s love interest, relies on the performance of Jimmy Carter to really work; his conversion to Islam is relegated to a subplot and big issues aren’t addressed with enough attention. Likewise, the character of an Iman is uncomfortably flat, the scenes are slow, and the subject matter cries out for more perspectives. The wish to meet parents, vividly mentioned, threatens to become overwhelming.
Coconut is resolutely one woman’s story and, thankfully, what a woman. Rumi commands so much attention she has an alter ego – brilliantly portrayed by Tibu Fortes as a fantasy figure called Riz – and is overall adorable. I am biased, since she is a blogger (food, not theatre) but her frankness, self-knowledge and above all risqué humour should win over anyone. Here’s Mir’s strength: the comedy is brave and strong, with several laugh-out-loud moments. In the lead, Kuran Dohil is a real find, it’s hard to believe hers is the evening’s second professional debut, so comfortable does she appear on stage. The play’s finale sees a new career for a Rumi as a stand-up comedian, billed by Time Out as “one to watch”. With her delightfully natural performance and impeccable timing, I’ll second that review.
John Fitzpatrick’s new play is an intimate family drama with an old-fashioned kitchen sink feel that’s crammed with contemporary concerns. There are three generations of women, and insights into their different stages of life. Along with nice comic touches, Reared is always entertaining and often endearing, but also too rambling.
Entering a house “full of secrets”, which Fitzpatrick has fun revealing, we follow Caitlin’s pregnancy, learn of her mother’s post-natal depression, and see the demise into dementia of grandmother Nora. I’m guessing a point of reference is Lady Macbeth – she’s Caitlin’s audition piece for drama school – and all three women show a steely determination that some (not I!) might characterise as unfeminine. But if this is a point we are supposed to take away, Fitzpatrick need to be more explicit. Nonetheless, these are strong roles for Shelley Atkinson, Paddy Glynn and Danielle Phillips, who all acquit themselves well. A series of touching scenes, full of frankness and humour (the comedy especially well handled by Atkinson), are thoughtfully directed by Sarah Davey-Hull.
Two pretty flaky male characters are under-developed (although well performed by Daniel Crossley and Rohan Nedd) – apart from a few jokes it’s a wonder what they are doing in the play. Another issue is a timid overarching structure, which leads to a conspicuous lack of tension, despite the dramatic topics covered. Too many stories are set up without exploration, let alone resolution, and important events are passed over, especially the fate of Caitlin’s child. Given the connection engendered by such strong characters, that feels a little like cheating. Even if many moments are strong, Reared comes too close to being a series of sketches rather than a fully grown play.
Plays with verse can divide an audience but, when written as well as this sound piece by Kenneth Emson, they can command attention and respect. Starting with the poetry of football, this new piece develops from a slightly dull, if sensitive, inspection of playground politics and young love into a powerful drama of teenage psychopathy. Emson doesn’t have much new to say about his subject matter – school can be tough and, increasingly, violent – but he does write about it all very effectively.
Aided by Josh Roche’s tight direction and four strong performances, Plastic is a powerful look at toxic masculinity and a twisty thriller. There’s a love story that confounds expectations, well performed by Mark Weinman as a former schoolboy football star, and Madison Clare as his younger girlfriend, Lisa. The only woman in the piece, Clare deserves special credit for bringing as much complexity to her character as possible. Another couple are best mates Jack and Ben, whose unpopularity at school leads to homophobic bullying and the play’s disturbing finale. Again, the outcome is surprising and both Louis Greatorix and Thomas Coombes, who take the parts, are sympathetic and scary by turns and engagingly believable.
Obsessed with pivotal events, the play looks at the moments that lives change and people become defined by their past. From the start we are looking back – note that only two characters wear school uniforms, and there’s some meta-theatricality as recall becomes contested, especially around Lisa, who is the community’s “dark secret”. But going to and fro in time, in one instance to an imagined future, becomes confusing. It doesn’t help that much dialogue seems addressed to one of designer Sophie Thomas’ admittedly stylish light bulbs. Stockists’ details please.
With his look at the young white working class, Emson treads a fine line – it’s clear we’re all supposed to go to college and make sure we don’t have kids too early. Condemning the “shitty little town” that is the play’s location needs substantiating, since presenting staying there as an unquestionable tragedy is overplayed. Thankfully, the emotional depth of the characters is satisfying and the plotting strong. Attention to detail and careful performances, leading to explosive violence superbly handled by Roche, make the conclusion of Plastic fantastic.
Two mannequins dressed Restoration style adorn the stage at the start of this production of William Wycherley’s 1675 play. The dummies are a nice nod to the original, as Morphic Graffiti’s Luke Fredericks and Stewart Charlesworth move this story of cuckoldry into the 1920s. Charlesworth’s costumes make it all look gorgeous and the stage is filled with a cast of bright things, young and old. A larger aim, to make the piece feel relevant, may fail, but this is a well-performed and spirited effort.
Anti-hero Harry Horner poses as a eunuch to abuse women (it’s explained… kind of). Eddie Eyre, who takes the role, deserves a lot of credit for making this misogynist who “hates women perfectly” tolerable. Richard Clews, Sam Graham and, conspicuously, Daniel Cane play a trio of fools about to be betrayed and there’s enough humour in their delivery to get over a lot of unpleasant behaviour… although it’s a close call. Special effort is made to balance the sexes, almost despite the text itself. As the titular character, notable for her stupidity as much as her honesty, Nancy Sullivan does a good job, while on the other side of the town/country divide Siubhan Harrison is a suitably sophisticated girl about town. There are problems with the rhythm of the lines – some actors become stuck and the resulting delivery is monotonous. But the cast does well with the wit and raillery – which are great fun – and the theatrical asides (bravo to lighting designer Sam Waddington).
The adaptation itself is credible. With his direction, Frederick shows a keen appreciation of the comedy. There are fake orgasms aplenty and more than enough innuendo, but the production seems to labour under the impression that the audience is unaware that Restoration comedy can be bawdy. Crude touches fail to shock and too many jazz cover versions of contemporary numbers slow down the action. The result is a theatrical climax that doesn’t come soon enough. The impression is of a production that’s a little desperate and lacks confidence in the play itself. It’s a shame, given the talent and effort behind it all.
The theatre world often fantasises about the next big British musical, and a home-grown piece is always something to celebrate, so this work, spearheaded by composer and lyricist team Tim Phillips and Marc Teitler, has arrived from Bristol to the West End like a dream. The Grinning Man is original, polished and has a sense of integrity that, while making its success cultish rather than mainstream, wins respect.
The story is a fairy tale, heavy on the Gothic, but for grownups. Set in a familiar work, although with surprisingly little satire, our eponymous hero was disfigured as a child and is now a circus freak show. It’s a star role that Louis Maskell delivers with conviction. With a blind girlfriend and sinister adopted father in tow (Sanne Den Besten and Sean Kingsley), the much sung about “ugly beautiful” appearance of this charismatic changeling alters society for the better. The colourful royal family, with a strong quartet of performances from Julie Atherton, David Bardsley, Amanda Wilkin and Mark Anderson, all fall under his (inexplicable) spell. The only one on stage who seems immune is a villainous jester, for my money the lead of the show, brilliantly portrayed by Julian Bleach and winning most of the laughs.
The tale is as good as any by the Grimms. It’s based on a novel by Victor Hugo, and writer Carl Grose tackles it well. But the swearing, nymphomania and a bizarre incest plot make it adults only. It’s something of a puzzle – the temptation to appeal to a larger audience must have been great. A bigger problem is that the score only interests by including some bizarre electronic sounds and the songs aren’t catchy enough. While the dialogue is good, the lyrics, from Phillips, Teitler, Grose and also the show’s director Tom Morris, are too often uninspired.
Yet the production itself is an unreserved triumph. There’s fascinating movement and choreography from Jane Gibson and Lynne Page, accompanying Morris’s strong direction. And when it comes to portraying the worlds of circus and court, Jon Bausor’s design is magnificent. There’s a lot of puppetry, superb in design and execution, complemented by sets that are like a trip to Pollock’s toy shop. Topping it all, with a range of influences from steam punk to Gormenghast, are terrific costumes by Jean Chan. It’s the attention to detail, the look of the show, that puts smiles on faces.
This welcome revival of Philip Ridley’s play from the year 2000 benefits from the sound direction of Robert Chevara. Confident with the superb storytelling, Chevara gives the text space, expertly judging time for vivid images to linger. Elements of a mystery story in this tale of an encounter between a bereaved mother and an enigmatic stranger add a more conventional element to the piece than is common with Ridley, and, again, Chevara makes the most of this – the plot is gripping. But Ridley’s dark imaginings are present, too, with the account of a vicious hate crime and the grief at its aftermath portrayed with startling originality.
Louise Jameson and Thomas Mahy take the roles of Anita and Davey, connected by the murder of Vincent. As the frequently angry mourning mother, Jameson is superb, conveying a moving, mounting pain as the play progresses. She’s initially suspicious of Davey’s motives for seeking her out, and the tension between the two is riveting. In this enigmatic role, Mahy seems a little trapped by his accent and doesn’t fully explore the dangerous eroticism of the character – Ridley’s suggestions of precocious sexuality are disturbing – yet the performance is full of nervous energy and always exciting, especially with the expert unravelling of his secrets.
Thomas Mahy
The ideas about bodies, families, and memory – each so poetically conveyed – make Ridley’s writing the star of the show. An obsession with geography, with descriptions of places and their history, creates a visceral sense of East London and community. Toxic relationships battle with affection and romance throughout. Ridley’s descriptions of desire and the body, with such a tangible sense of fragility arising from the violence and illness in the play, are brilliant. Recounting trauma is common enough in theatre, but the stories Ridley’s protagonists tell each other have a therapeutic quality of intense emotion. A “mosaic of hands” in an artwork described by Davey might be a metaphor for how Ridley works. The result is a play of peculiar power.
Four decades is a long time in sexual politics, but it makes this revival of Manuel Puig’s story all the more interesting. There’s no shortage of clichés about gay life surrounding the imprisoned Molina, some of which might make you feel uncomfortable. But, as the relationship with his cell mate Valentin develops into something ‘beyond’ masculine and feminine, we see more clearly now than ever the original intention that Molina is a transgendered character. Missing the opportunity to cast a performer who identifies as such in the role is a debate I leave to others better qualified to discuss. But this timely new version, by José Rivera and Allan Baker, provides the kind of detailed depiction of human sexuality many crave to see on stage.
Jon Bausor’s ambitious design visualises Molina’s fantasy life. As he passes the time recounting and embellishing old movie plots, there are projections on to prison corridors and sound effects. The space surrounding the couple’s cell come into use: as love blossoms, the men start to venture outside, each step they take dramatically thrilling, leading to a magically poignant finale of escape through death. Sorry for the plot spoiler, but it would be surprising if anyone thought the play, set in a police state and full of torture, would end happily. The important point is a victory, of sorts, with both men’s spirits unconquered.
The show is a triumph for its stars, on stage without a break for just shy of two hours. Declan Bennett, well known as a musical theatre performer, shows his strength an actor playing Valentin. He’s a political prisoner and, while this element of the plot, and the tension surrounding it, is downplayed, Bennett convinces as a man of powerful integrity and intelligence. Samuel Barnett takes the role of Molina. He may ham up the more theatrical moments a touch, but he is never less than magnetic. Molina bargains with his captors, acting as a double agent, and there could be the suggestion of more complex motivations on his part. But the strategy is to present Molina wholly sympathetically and, pursuing this, Barnett secures affection for his character, making the show deeply moving.
