Pushing theatre into the realm of gaming makes sense in a piece to be watched on computer screens. And the scenario behind Nat Henderson and Joe Strickland’s new writing – a utopian computer programme hijacked by investors – tries hard to combine big topics with plenty of questions. Unfortunately, the execution of neither effort impresses.
An audience member’s induction as a new recruit to a tech company is interrupted by Myles, the genius founder now hacking his way into the system. It’s a good enough twist. But the request to aid Myles is hard to swallow. The project you are asked to help sabotage – Away – is a confusing mix of virtual reality and gender reassignment. Furthermore, the options to assist are limited and it’s too clear that refusing to do so ends the show!
Henderson and Stickland have created a complex character with Myles, guaranteed to intrigue by the mythical introduction given. The delivery of the role, by TL Thompson, is stilted but holds attention. Unfortunately, Myles’ unbelievable naivety about business undercuts the script’s effort to connect commerce and life choices. It’s also a shame that the only other role – a former friend and now nemesis, who we see secretly recorded – is underwritten.
There are some nice touches of humour to the show that could clearly be developed (I enjoyed the videos of sloths) but tackling big arguments takes time and Henderson and Strickland don’t allow themselves this. Nor do they manage to build any tension into events that are too vague to care about. It seems safe to assume we are supposed to be rooting for Myles (and even his AI assistant) but there’s too little insight or history to build a connection. Myles Away has to go much further if it wants to really work.
Jason Robert Brown’s song cycle is presented by Lambert Jackson Productions after the success of its lockdown show, The Last Five Years. The collection showcases Brown’s work as a composer and lyricist – there are some great songs – while affording the cast a chance to impress. The major talent recruited here is stunning and the show enjoyable.
Searching for connections in the cycle can prove off-putting. If the idea is a decisive ‘one moment’, the scenarios are too generic (and cryptic) to become satisfyingly thematic. Instead, there’s a mix of hope and struggle and a touch too much sentimentality. For good or ill, it’s hard not to imagine many of the numbers as part of a bigger show.
Cedric Neal and his lovely staircase
The production contains distractions of its own. Director Séimí Campbell’s decision to cut news footage into the performances is a valiant effort to guide the viewer but tails off as the show goes on. On a lighter note, there’s also the views of the homes of those performing in isolation… what a lovely staircase Cedric Neal has!
Yet the music and performances make Songs for a New World worthwhile. Neal and Rachel John have such gorgeous voices that the whole evening has a sense of power. Both can convey outrage and tenderness with such skill that tears were in my eyes more than once.
Rachel Tucker and her sofa
Rachel Tucker’s numbers have a more character behind them. With the funniest songs, Tucker shows what a fine actress she is: making the most of her sofa and the excellent Mrs Claus song (the show’s best pun). It might be noted along the way what a lot of ‘demanding’ women Brown writes about.
Ramin Karimloo is also excellent, although it has to be mentioned that his terrific stage presence is out of place on a screen: in a duet, while John conveys a tête-à-tête, Karimloo makes sure the balcony crowd is getting its money’s worth. Of course, he is still fantastic. And, as a final highlight, there’s a nod to new talent with a debut number for Shem Omari James that he should be proud of.
The singing and musical direction from Josh Winstone is so strong that two (maybe three) numbers that might be less than convincing really shine. With writing as strong as Brown’s, praise doesn’t come higher than that.
A weekend at a festival. Online, of course. And if, like a lot of lockdown theatre, this isn’t as good as the real thing, with no chance of conveying the sense of excitement that surrounds a prolonged event, it’s nice to try out a programme you might not visit. And note how resilient the theatre community is proving.
Stage D’or
Two short pieces from the Stage D’Or company proved worthwhile. There’s a monologue not to miss with The Legacy of William Ireland. Charlie Jack impresses as the personable, inventive and increasingly egotistical title character. A piece of theatrical whimsy, about a Shakespearean fraud, Tim Connery’s script and Doug Kirby’s direction are solid. Ireland’s downfall, as his forgery is discovered, increases pace with controlled humour and a good ear for its period setting.
Hitman and Her is a strong comedy, also by Connery and also directed by Kirby. A pub meeting between a hired killer and a spurned wife is smart from start to finish. From laughs about clichés, subtexts and strong observation, there’s a touch of the ridiculous concerning Post-it notes and Blue Peter presenters. The writing makes excellent roles for Alex Dee and Lou Kendon Ross and the clever end is satisfying.
“Sary”
In a serious vein, Sary by Sam Chittenden is an ambitious piece with a power that lingers. The eponymous character is played by two women of different ages as the story, set in 19th-century rural Sussex, unfolds. Sharing the title role, Sharon Drain and Rebecca Jones are both excellent, as we see their characters’ perspectives on love, sex and loneliness ebb and flow through a long and difficult life.
Steeped in folklore and suspicion, the women’s crafts are matched by Chittenden’s skill as a writer: entwined dialogue is well done and not overused, while the characters’ conversations with one another take on a suitably magical quality. It is a shame that the quality of the filming is not better (the lighting causes problems) but, with its mystical edge and evocations of landscape and seasons, this script stands out.
And there’s more
There are plenty of other plays to check out. Next on my list is a piece about Natalie Barney by Kelly Burke adapted into an audio drama. And there’s a whole web page of 360-degree theatre with plenty of stars from reviews already written. Thankfully, it’s enough for another weekend.
Although mediocrity is mentioned many times in Peter Schaffer’s play, it is not a word to describe the playwright’s masterpiece. The battle between the average composer Antonio Salieri and the divinely gifted Mozart makes for a great combination of drama and history with big ideas around posterity and religion.
This production, energetically directed by Michael Longhurst, dates from 2017. It is notable for the inclusion of the Southbank Sinfonia (which you can also donate to). The musicians move around the stage and interact with the cast as a sense of theatrical complicity – an intelligent response to the text – is carefully nurtured.
There’s a superb leading performance from Lucian Msamati as Salieri, who conveys the character’s sense of arrogance and pain, always keeping the audience on side. Msamati makes the play’s theoretical (and theological) questions emotive. And he has an easy comic touch. There are also strong turns from his ‘Venticelli’ – servants who bring him gossip – played by Sarah Amankwah and Hammed Animashaun. As an aside, the latter has been a lockdown revelation for me, having revisited, or caught up with, shows he has consistently excelled in.
Amadeus at the National Theatre by Marc Brenner
That Longhurst’s achievements aren’t fully conveyed on the screen is something we should be getting used too. It is hard to appreciate just how well he uses the Olivier stage. Close-up filming has a tendency to make the show look chaotic rather than choreographed. And it is a disappointment that Adam Gillen’s performance as Mozart comes across as shrill and oddly accented: I remember being impressed when I saw him on stage. Again, he is playing for an auditorium and not a camera.
Any quibbles reinforce what theatregoers love and miss about a life experience. With Amadeus being the final show in the season offered by the National Theatre because of Covid-19 shutting its doors, all those involved can be proud. Seeing a body of work, as the whole world has been able to do, of such diversity and quality has been awe-inspiring. NTLive has been more than welcome – it has been a real light during lockdown.
Hands up, I like theatre sets that are expensive, literally flashy and preferably moving. But this online project from award-winning designer Rosie Elnile is impressive for the opposite reasons. From her work with Ellen McDougall in Notting Hill, Elnile has taken the lockdown as an opportunity. And that’s the first recommendation to check out her project.
Creating a digital space to explore and enjoy, Elnile takes us into her thinking about set design with a collection of writings, poems and pictures that have inspired her, along with commentary to listen to, provoke and educate. The thinking is deep, questioning the fundamentals and ramifications of her discipline.
It is striking, and topical, how concerned with the broadest of cultural trends and theories Elnile is. Also, how politically correct. The later isn’t intended to be derogatory… why wouldn’t you want to be right about politics? The environment and all manner of power structures are considered as Elnile makes structures of her own. The concerns are eye-opening, if anxiety producing. The happier point is that Elnile’s practice is energised by the problems. There is woe… but get up and go, too.
The project is original: Elnile is quick to describe Prayer as unfinished and clear that the work shows “impossible models”. And we’re used to perfection in the theatre! But both factors engender idealism and new thinking, centring on the process of making rather than an outcome. Prayer becomes a personal piece: Elnile’s artworks are presented and there’s a strong sense of commitments and passions.
Among all the caveats and concerns – which taught me a deal – there’s one point I’d take issue with. Describing prayer as a “kind of surrender” is interesting. But is Elnile doing justice to her achievements? As well as prayers of submission, there are also prayers of resolution. It is clear Elnile can problematise, with a steely eye on history and politics. But there is also resolve… for the future. The idea that design should facilitate care and compassion proves, well, exciting. The tone of the piece is meditative, but it is also motivating.
Four out of eight… that’s not some strange rating for these shows, far from it, but the number I’ve managed to see in this series of Alan Bennett monologues. The tickets are reasonably priced, the staff on top of social distancing, and creative director Nicholas Hytner’s idea of bringing his lockdown TV shows to the stage (where they clearly belong) is a simply brilliant.
The Shrine & Bed Among the Lentils
First up is Monica Dolan’s brilliant portrayal of a grieving widow. Learning about her husband’s life – after his death – her version of Clifford the bird watcher has to expand to include Cliff the biker. The Shrine is sensitive and often funny. It’s classic Bennett territory, with plenty of wry observation. And an important point about how individual bereavement is.
The accompanying piece has Lesley Manville’s turn as an “upstanding Anglican lady”. Battles with her husband the Vicar, and his fan club parishioners, start well. But does competitive flower arranging sit uncomfortably alongside the AA meetings the character ends up at? It’s Manville who makes the extramarital affair here seem something magical. Another performance not to miss. Both pieces are directed with a sure hand by Hytner.
The Hand of God & The Outside Dog
Another piece is also mostly noticeable for its performance. Did you ever imagine Kristen Scott Thomas could ‘do’ frumpy? The Hand of God is a touch predictable but, with an affecting melancholic air there’s no doubt this is another of Bennett’s strong characters. Playing a small-time antiques dealer, with humour coming from her snobbery, is a real achievement on Scott Thomas’s part.
More impressive – as the performance is excellent and the writing surprising – is The Outside Dog where Bennett moves to less familiar ground. A serial killer’s wife, a role Rochenda Sandall gets lots from, in a script that twists like a thriller. It’s plot driven but note its brevity. While the TV might drag a serial out of something like this (and we’ve all seen plenty on Netflix lately) Bennett and director Nadia Fall cram mystery, drama and emotion in a quarter of an hour – fantastic!
There are four more big stars to come – Lucian Msamati, Imelda Staunton, Tamsin Grieg and Maxine Peake – in two more double bills. This may be bite size theatre, but the season is a big achievement.
If Covid-19 has taught us anything, it’s that the NHS is as emotive and essential a subject for debate as it ever was. This series of monologues, curated by Lolita Chakrabarti, directed by Adrian Lester and funded by the TS Eliot Estate, uses the humanity – and drama – surrounding the greatest of British institutions with a strong sense of purpose. It is essential viewing.
The project started in 2018 but a new commission, from Bernardine Evaristo, starts the line-up online. First, Do No Harm has a personification of the NHS recounting her achievements and challenging us as to her future. Overtly political, with an attack on “myopic puppet” politicians, this effort to give the institution a voice is stirring and powerful. If some of Evaristo’s references, let alone lines such as “I have X-Ray vision”, come close to being overblown, a magisterial performance from Sharon D Clarke makes them work. The effect is tremendous.
Sharon D Clarke
Patients
Chronologically, the series starts with Jack Thorne’s charming piece, Boo, performed by Sophie Stone and showing the impact of the new NHS on a young deaf girl. It’s interesting to see suspicion about the service at its inception, and the writing has plentiful details and an admirably light touch.
Another patient’s perspective – similarly fresh and funny – is told in Choice & Control by Matilda Ibini, which has Ruth Madeley’s character getting on with her life in a wheelchair. It may not be “the Rolls-Royce of wheelchairs” but the point about having access to mobility is well made and Madeley has a lovely way with the audience.
Slightly less successful, if a touch more ambitious, Paul Unwin’s piece adds a dystopian twist that makes his At The Point of Need confusing. David Threlfall’s performance recounts how the NHS has touched his character’s life, but in too much of a rush. It is the only piece that ends more depressing than celebratory – a brave effort that backfires.
Practioners
A gentle humour, with an increased sense of awe about the science of medicine, is present in pieces about the 1970s and 1980s. Sister Susan by Moira Buffini and Speedy Gonzales by Chakrabarti show us a nurse and a consultant telling us about their work. Characters to truly admire lead to wonderful performances from Dervla Kirwan and Art Malik.
Dervla Kirwan
Pressure on the NHS is carefully conveyed in the piece about the 1990s. Another nurse and another strong role are present in Family Room by Courttia Newland with Jade Anouka. And stress on NHS staff gets a good twist. Newland highlights the difficulty of health workers protesting that fits well with the whole project’s aim.
High points
For me, the two highlights of the season contained the most humour, used to great effect in Meera Syal’s Rivers. Performing as a midwife in the 1960s, Syal handles the comedy expertly, with delicious irony and sarcasm. While many of the monologues highlight the role of immigrants within the NHS, Syal has a prime position within the debate and opens it up into a broader look at racism. The result rings true and gets laughs – an impressive combination. With powerful emotional twists, the writing has some great turns of phrase and a lovely rhythm.
Myra Syal
A cabaret monologue, The Nuchess by Seiriol Davies makes for a great change of pace. There’s plenty of satire, including outsourcing the last chorus! And more points for rhyming heaven and Bevan. Performed with exuberance by Louise English (pictured top), this jolly personification of the NHS is markedly different from that in First, Do No Harm. But neither are performances to forget in a long time. The NHS doesn’t lack advocates, but they seldom come as articulate as the contributors here. Let’s hope that a monologue addressing the next decade contains only good news.
This sweet little treat showcases the considerable talents of David Hunter and Caroline Kay. Three songs characterise a couple under strain because of Covid-19. Forced to live apart, they break up during lockdown.
That Hunter and Kay haven’t met face to face is amazing. There’s a good sense of a long-established relationship between their characters, despite the brevity of the show. Likewise, that neither has met musical director Nick Barstow is remarkable: the songs, as well as their voices, sound fantastic.
Musically and lyrically, The Space Between owes a lot to Jason Robert Brown. That’s not a bad source of inspiration. It might have been nice to get more sense of a London setting, but the three numbers are strong and the writing has a realism and humour that balances sentimentality.
Kay’s character is a little better developed. Maybe I just took a dislike to the misplaced irony of her partner listing ‘Her’ on his phone? But the piece is packed with detail – it even tackles the (increasing) problem of showing a series of video calls well. Including guest appearances, as friends and family, is a brilliant idea.
Impressive all around and, at just 15 minutes, easy to listen and watch again and again…which I will.
This week the National Theatre’s fund-raising offering is sheer class. Carrie Cracknell’s 2016 production of Terence Rattigan’s play is a traditional affair that oozes quality, with a solid script, stunning set and stellar performances.
The Deep Blue Sea is far from easy sailing. It starts with its heroine, Hester, having just attempted suicide, as the affair that broke her marriage is coming to an end. Concern over mental health has progressed since Rattigan was writing in 1952 but the playwright’s insight into depression offers much to learn from.
Rattigan’s preoccupation, however, is Hester’s passion. Her love for her husband, eclipsed by that for RAF pilot Freddie Paige, is fascinating. The romance is dangerous – this sea is stormy. Hester sees no chance of escaping a love that will not work: she and Freddie are “death to each other”. The production’s first triumph is to make sure Rattigan’s piece doesn’t descend into melodrama.
Tom Burke
The love triangle provides strong roles for Peter Sullivan and Tom Burke, who are excellent. Their chemistry with their leading lady is astonishing. Burke is especially strong in making the occasionally odious Freddie convincingly alluring as an “homme fatale”. But the show belongs to Helen McCrory whose performance as Hester is flawless. Sharp and wry, the mix of “anger, hatred, shame” is conveyed in every move.
There’s a sense of British reserve behind all the action, darkly adding to the potency, but McCrory and Cracknell keep this as under control as Hester’s emotions. Moments when Hester is alone and can let go – holding her face to the light or crawling on the floor in desperation – are awe-inspiring in their emotional power.
Tom Schutt’s impressive set
Focusing on a sense of community within the boarding house setting, aided by Tom Schutt’s impressive set full of solicitous neighbours, means Cracknell adds to the play. A brilliant scene where Hester is joined by the women in the piece (played by Marion Bailey and Yolanda Kettle) alters our focus. It’s a move all the more remarkable given that the play, through Rattigan’s biography, is often discussed for its gay subtext.
If interested, try to track down a copy of Mike Poulton’s play Kenny Morgan, about the suicide of Rattigan’s lover (and a fascinating work in its own right). There is a danger that The Deep Blue Sea can be overpowered by this biographical note. But Cracknell has provided a space for the play to exist independently; an achievement for any revival that makes Rattigan’s script and his legacy stronger.
While the cancellation of Philip Ridley’s The Beast of Blue Yonder is regrettable, this series of monologues – released weekly – features the cast due to perform his play and is admirable compensation.
Directed by Wiebke Green, the online project shows the breadth of Ridley’s imagination and his inimitable style. Full of vivid images and memorable phrases, the stories and sense of humour are unmistakable.
Fantastic beasts and
Animals, and the animalistic in us, are joined with apocalyptic scenarios and touches of fairy tales in this collection. There’s a sense of nature, including human nature, as dangerous but also magical.
Take Telescope (with beasts are in the stars and wildlife on the local common), a piece that Unique Spencer does so well with performing. Alongside a gruesome murder, Ridley gives us a brilliant take on agoraphobia.
There’s a telescope too in Night, a short piece with Tyler Conti playing a young man who is dying, that proves haunting without any touch of the supernatural.
Dismemberment and exploitation, horror and fantasy are all combined. And there are laughs too, including a twisted childhood prank in Chihuahua that is downright bizarre. Another strong example (with Grace Hogg-Robinson’s excellent performance) is Zarabooshka; a “shrivel-free” character’s imagination consoles and disturbs by turns.
Finding great storytelling
From poetic snippets like Snow and River to longer pieces with “terrible things” in a world gone mad, the stories destabilise expectations as well as entertain.
Flights into fantasy can switch off an audience. Credit to Green and many of her cast for holding fast to the writing and making the pieces so engaging: Rachel Bright in Gators, Mirren Mack in Wound and Steve Furst in Performance with the same aim – gripping an audience and not letting go.
Standing out, not just because of its longer duration, Eclipse serves as a brilliant showcase for Mike Evans. A self-conscious exercise in storytelling, it’s a macabre tale with wonderful characters. Society has broken down – again – and “old world problems” come alongside cups of tea and creepy cravats. The twisted parallel with the Coronavirus (it’s the young who are infected here) shows Ridley’s wicked streak and creates tension.
The fecundity of Ridley’s creativity is remarkable but it is a matter of quality as well as quantity. Alongside post offices and jacket potatoes, Ridley combines strong observation, a powerful sense of community (albeit frequently a mob) and recognisable geography to ground his brand of incredible.
It’s a pet theory of mine that Ridley is the playwright of his generation who will be looked at in the future. That this collection, made under far from ideal conditions, is so consistently strong makes The Beast Will Rise a major achievement.
