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“Trap Street” at the New Diorama

This new work from Kandinsky Theatre is about homes, communities and the housing crisis in London. Issues such as the poor planning of estates, and the inaccessible pricing of new buildings in London, are all addressed with a sensibly even hand so that the debate is comprehensive and intelligent.

Unlike the homes we see on stage, the architecture of this theatrical piece is sound. Focusing on one estate, and one family who moved in when it felt like a utopia, is a good idea. The play goes back and forth in time effortlessly, as we come up to date to see the family’s daughter holding out for a better price from the land’s new developers – a topical scenario with plenty of emotive power. But as a devised piece the play’s construction runs into problems: too many plot lines are raised and left unexplored. The show could easily be expanded beyond its 80 minutes and should have been edited with a stricter hand by its co-writers James Yeatman and Lauren Mooney.

As for the delivery of the show, a trio of performers does very well indeed. Amelda Brown effortlessly portrays both mother and daughter as the play moves around in time. As the former, she shows a steely determination and wins sympathy trying to build a community, then, as the daughter she is excluded from the area due to gentrification. Danusia Samal and Hamish MacDougall take on a wider variety of roles and there’s some snagging – pretending to be a dog is an idea that should have been abandoned in the rehearsal room – but both acquit themselves admirably and again manage the change in attitudes over time superbly. What Kandinsky has built here is something to be proud of.

Until 31 March 2018

www.newdiorama.com

Photo by Richard Davenport

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“Summer and Smoke” at the Almeida Theatre

The youthful courtships in Tennessee Williams’ plays are usually things of the past – recounted by his formidable heroines. Here the action unfolds before us and whether the affair between minister’s daughter Alma and her next-door neighbour John will evolve is filled with an exciting tension… if you’re an optimist or haven’t seem much Williams. Sense-talking Alma is hugely sympathetic, while John is sensitive and passionate, a doctor making a mess of his youth. Presented as two extremes of spirituality and physicality, a compromise between them would be good for both. It’d be nice if it worked out.

There isn’t a party at the end, sorry, and the 1948 play’s reputation isn’t much celebrated either. But this production is so strong it takes us well into the second act to see why. After an electrifying argument as John’s father lies murdered (I didn’t say there was no melodrama), the play drags its feet, harps on about unrequited love and becomes, well, mopey. Alma was, reportedly, Williams’ favourite heroine – her fire and fierce intelligence makes this understandable – but while the performance here, from Patsy Ferran, does her justice, Alma deserves better than the end she had written for her.

Unlike the play, the production is faultless. Rebecca Frecknall has directed the piece before and her close knowledge proves invaluable. Matthew Needham delivers a fine performance as John, who is filled with sexual frustration and confusion. Despite cruelties and misogynistic remarks, the attraction is clear. Using the play’s motif of doppelgängers Frecknall doubles her cast cleverly, which feels like a defining way to stage the show. And taking multiple roles as various love rivals to Alma means Anjana Vasan really gets to shine. The staging is simple yet beautiful, taking inspiration from Williams’ experimental works. Few props and no costume changes, just seven pianos forming a semi-circle and accompanying music from Angus MacRae that adds to the atmosphere immeasurably.

As for Ferran, she’s so good she gets her own paragraph here. Ferran’s performance is career making: she inhabits Alma but makes us question the character’s self-definition as “weak and divided”. Her physical frailty is painful to watch. Depicting the degeneration of her health is astounding and Alma’s struggle against illness both moving and determined. Ferran can even inject a sly humour, with a suggestive eyebrow that’s a great asset. Cast in a show that’s as smart as she clearly is, the combination is a production that makes as forceful a case for this flawed masterpiece as Williams himself could have wished for.

Until 7 April 2018

www.almeida.co.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

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“The York Realist” at the Donmar Warehouse

The clue is in the title. Peter Gill’s romantic drama shows us a Yorkshire farming family, in the early 1960s, with daring verisimilitude. The love affair between a visiting theatre director, working on a production of the Mystery Plays, and a local amateur actor in his cast, opens up a time and place with startling particularity. Every lyrical line rings true – many will raise a smile, other are heart breaking – with a tone that is bravely quiet. It is in understanding this understatement that director Robert Hastie shows his appreciation and secures a superb revival for the piece.

The two well-written lead roles result in wonderful performances. Jonathan Bailey is the arty thespian, out of place in the countryside, carefully controlling the character’s urbane sophistication to make sure he is vulnerable and hugely likeable. Ben Batt is local farmer, George. It’s hard not to see him as heroic, a fantasy figure, so Batt does well to reveal depth: an amount of arrogance, some selfishness, a little fear behind the confidence all make him as intriguing as he is believable. The erotic tension between the men is palpable – this is a sexy play, and it’s remarkable to note we only see the two men touch once.

Being so low-key places particular demands on a cast. It’s an achievement from the whole ensembles to embrace the nuances in Gill’s writing, and conveying that restraint isn’t the same thing as repression. Lesley Nicol gives a stand-out performance as George’s mother, only hinting at her ill health in a fashion that strikes a chord with anyone who has had older relatives who are sick. The relationship with her son is a second love story in the play, equally rich in detail and resonance. And Lucy Black and Katie West give strong performances as two other women in George’s life, his sister and potential fiancée, both fully realised and offering yet more insight into the time and community.

The York Realist is a nostalgic piece, and whether this is good or bad is a matter of taste. Inspired by Gill’s own time working in York, a look back at his youth and a bygone age is bound to have a rosy tint. And there’s the period detail in Peter McKintosh’s meticulous set. Seeing the production at the Donmar (it transfers to Sheffield) the north-south divide often alluded too gets a few too many middle-class laughs. But the play itself is refreshingly free of condescension towards working-class life. There is a sense of calm that shows the steely determination in the writing: only one reference to the police indicates the illegality of the men’s acts, and George is comfortable with his sexuality so any angst is minimalised. What happens to the romance is sad, no doubt, as it’s the distance in class that separates them. But there’s little trace of the victim about either man, making the play an empowering, memorable pleasure.

Until 24 March 2018

www.donmarwarehouse.com

The production then transfers to Sheffield Theatres until the 7 April

Photo by Craig Fleming

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“Angry” at Southwark Playhouse

Courtesy of the estimable playwright Philip Ridley, these six monologues make for an inimitable night of theatre. There may well be a theme to Angry – it isn’t rage as such, since the emotions we watch and experience are legion, but what really unites each scene is startling writing and superb acting.

The monologues range in subject matter and the characters are diverse. At first, the audience is harangued and confronted by inexplicable fury. Next there’s an upbeat self-motivation speech. The language is poetic, with an ear for contemporary slogans. Both scenes urge us to “participation” – demanding responses from us with disconcerting direct addresses. But it’s Ridley’s magical imagination and skill at story telling that draws us in, taking us next into a dystopian future of bombs, riots… and severed heads on a dancefloor. From a first sexual encounter, to the memories of a character about to die – all human life is here. The imagery is vivid, the humour pitch black and the emotions visceral.

Bringing such accomplished scripts to the stage, director Max Lindsay creates an intense atmosphere from the moment an audience enters. The two actors pace around a shallow pit of a stage – the only time they are together – ready for confrontation. Lindsay has given the text the close study it deserves: every line is considered and, as a result, the performances are flawless. From near constant shouting (let’s not forget how technically difficult that is), there’s masterful comedy and emotions turning on a word. And knowing that both actors, Georgie Henley and Tyrone Huntley, learn it all and then alternate in performance, is quite simply breath-taking. It’s hard to praise this show enough.

Until 10 March 2018

www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk

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“Abducting Diana” at the Hen and Chickens Theatre

The works of recently deceased Italian playwright Dario Fo are seldom performed in London these days, so a chance to see his bizarre blend of farce and politics should usually be seized upon. This mid-80s story of a kidnapped media mogul shows off his distinctive writing and indicates his work’s influence. The adaptation by Stephen Stenning is credible, if light on satire, with some nice touches to relocate the play to the UK. Stenning captures a crazy spirit that plays with an audience, which should lead to an invigorating anarchy. Unfortunately, the production itself is not a success.

Po’s work referenced commedia dell’arte, a tradition admittedly difficult to translate. But the bungling criminals here come too close to Punch and Judy. There’s no grace, no finesse that might lead you to relax and laugh – instead the show becomes difficult to watch. The role of a clergyman is similarly tricky. In Italy it might pack a punch, but Jake William Francis’s depiction is too timid. Having a man play Diana’s mother is smart, putting him in a twin set and pearls OK but in the role – and in heels – Brian Eastty looks so uncomfortable it is painful.

This is an ambitious play, with electrocutions and an exorcism. Ironically for a piece that sets the rich and the poor against each other, plenty of cash might have helped. Without strong technical backup, any production is going to struggle. But making excuses is patronising. A lot of the comic timing is off, and the physical comedy poor. The jokes aren’t bad… but I didn’t laugh once. Elena Clements does well as the lead – she’s a confident performer who suits the role – and Nicholas Bright impresses as his part in the plot twists and turns. There are dark, sexy, undertones that could challenge and disturb, but director Michael Ward seems happy to leave the play as a comfy comedy. And the biggest problem is that the pace is too slow, waiting for laughs that don’t arrive. The audience shouldn’t pause for incredulity to set in – here gaps are plentiful and the result awkward.

Until 17 March 2018

www.unrestrictedview.co.uk

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“Network” at the National Theatre

Bryan Cranston’s funny, moving and truly magnetic star turn as a television news anchor who goes mad is a soaring success. And there are strong performances from Douglas Henshall and Michelle Dockery as TV executives fighting to profit from or protect Beale, while they start a romantic affair. A large supporting cast are on hand to broadcast Beale’s breakdown and subsequent career as a TV prophet who channels “popular rage”. As the ratings rocket, the chaos of live TV is innovatively portrayed. And yet director Ivo van Hove’s hit show has left me a little baffled.

With camera operators joining the performers, this show is a technical marvel. Nearly all the action is filmed live, including a scene on the Southbank, and relayed to a giant screen. Most people have seen something like it before… but not on this scale. Often confusing (although occasionally the delay in feedback is used to great effect), for most of the time it’s an exciting, if overwhelming, technique. Action occurs at the extremes of the stage, so no matter where you sit you will struggle at times. And there’s some toe-curling audience participation, which never works at the National Theatre. Most memorably there’s a restaurant on stage – a real one. So people are having a whole meal during the show, which proves distracting enough to watch, let alone partake in. Apart from a lame pun on the idea of TV dinners, allowing this pop-up is a real puzzle.

There’s a lot going on, and if you cried gimmick it would be hard to argue against you. Nonetheless Van Hove’s iron grip on events makes the show plough on with an arresting energy. The problem is a slim play. Lee Hall’s adaptation of Paddy Chayefsky’s film is too conservative, pinning the play in its 1970s moment, when we all know how much the media has moved on. A campaign recruiting the public to send in videos of themselves repeating Beale’s “I am mad as hell” mantra sticks out painfully. Even worse, several speeches by Beale and a godlike owner of the company show the central ideas in the piece as dated, nonsensical, conspiracy theories. Moments clearly meant to be profound end up sounding silly. No amount of fancy tricks can hide a flaw like that.

Until 24 March 2018

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photos by Jan Versweyveld

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“Checkpoint Chana” at the Finborough Theatre

With its topical subject matter and sharp dialogue, it’s easy to see why, having started at this venue’s ‘Vibrant Festival’ of new writing, Jeff Page’s play has graduated into a full production. It’s a shame that questionable decisions have resulted in underdeveloped potential.

Bev is a poetry professor whose latest work has provoked accusations of anti-Semitism. While this should provide plenty of debate, none of the issues around censorship, Zionism or social justice warriors gets much airing. Bev isn’t clear why comparing an Israeli soldier to a Nazi upsets people. Really? Why make her blunder so black and white? And, even if her position is indefensible, defending it poorly makes for bad drama.

The play focuses instead on Bev and her problems. Her father dies (a plot line that goes nowhere) and she’s an alcoholic with mental health issues. All rich material for Geraldine Somerville, who takes the part and does very well with it. It’s a brave move to make Bev so unsympathetic, but don’t her boozed-up delusions of grandeur also make it too tempting to just feel sorry for her – and then dismiss her opinions?

Bev’s interactions with others present further gripes. The intense relationship with her PA (do poets have PAs?) is clichéd and unconvincing, although Ulrika Krishnamurti tries her best with it all. Bev is interviewed, far too briefly, by possibly the worst journalist in the world, then has a heart-to-heart with a lighting technician at a poetry gig. Again, credit to Matt Mella and Nathaniel Wade in these parts, but both roles are too truncated.

The biggest frustration comes from glimpses of the dry wit within the text. There are some lovely acerbic observations on life in north London, leading up to an explosion from Bev – why all this fuss about a poem? My sympathies if you were thinking that all along. For whatever reason, director Manuel Bau stamps on any humour and the play is duller for this. Maybe the subject matter was deemed too serious for laughs? But, as Bev points out, artists should take risks, and Checkpoint Chana is puzzlingly timid all around.

Playing Sundays, Mondays and Tuesdays until 20 March 2018

www.finboroughtheatre.co.uk

Photo by Samuel Kirkman

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“Electra” at the Bunker Theatre

We are all used to seeing a Greek tragedy updated, and this new production from John Ward and DumbWise Theatre at the brilliant Bunker Theatre uses both Euripides and Sophocles to show the drama of the Argos royal family. As a political thriller, it is gripping, if not a little enthralled by its own modern touches.

Lydia Larson takes the lead and sets the tone of the piece. Her Emo Electra is suitably “relentless”, full of “scowl and spit and cry”. Towards the end, the portrayal of madness becomes a little monotone, with too much time spent on the tips of her feet, but Larson is convincingly cynical and inspiringly fiery. She’s clearly her mother’s daughter and the show’s Clytemnestra, performed by Sian Martin, is riveting. The Machiavellian queen only hints that revenge was the motive for murdering her husband, coldly dismissing her daughters and manipulating whoever, whenever, at any opportunity. Dario Coates works hard as the returning son and heir, showing depth as a fragile young hero, but this Orestes doesn’t stand a chance against these marvellously formidable women.

You see Martin’s talents most in a scene when Clytemnestra is interviewed on television. Introducing technology is a valid technique, employed before, that Ward uses to focus on the political revolution in the play. The Chorus become virile rebels and courtiers creepy civil servants (there’s strong work here from Megan Leigh Mason) with both parties full of realpolitik as they battle for “hearts and minds”.

The script falls over itself to introduce contemporary touches, from frozen party foods to fake news. The aim is surely to make the show feel relevant, but it lacks finesse. And there’s a reliance on expletives that reveals the language is too frequently prosaic. Some parallels with current events are a little forced – an emphasis on “Godless Greeks” is a clever enough move, but it fights with the religious content of the story as no character really rejects superstition.

The show’s achievements are nonetheless impressive. With the help of strong musical accompaniment – the cast all play instruments and sing – and commendable work from lighting designer Sherry Coenen, this Electra is exciting. The decision to show some violence on stage (contra classic Greek tragedy) and to make the Chorus so dynamic, results in an action- filled show that is consistently, if not constantly, stimulating.

Until 24 March 2018

www.bunkertheatre.com

Photo by Lidia Crisafulli

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“Ballistic” at the King’s Head Theatre

Given its depressingly topical subject matter, it feels obligatory to reveal the plot of Alex Packer’s assured debut play. Which is a shame, since getting to know its protagonist, and following him to an unexpectedly harrowing end, is a cleverly plotted journey that’s well executed. This is a strong one-man show with a performance from Mark Conway that’s well worth watching. But not everyone wants to see a play about violence, misogyny and mental health, all of which qualify for trigger warnings.

So, with another spoiler alert – because the gradually revealed surprise is the best thing here – this is a tale of a loner college student on a murderous campus rampage. Conway takes us from sympathising with the character, to worrying about him, then being afraid of him. Encouraged by Anna Marsland’s skilful direction, we often cringe with, but also laugh at the future mass murderer, as if conniving with his bullying. And attempts by his best friend prove futile, raising questions of how tolerant and capable of assisting any of us would be. It’s a shame this dark sense of complicity isn’t pushed further.

The role of social media, to both humiliate and validate, is rightly explored by Packer but it comes too close to providing an explanation for subsequent behaviour – too easy. Introducing internet pornography and computer gaming is predictable and any connection to what happens is at best risible, at worst lazy thinking. When it comes to gaming, some poetry is introduced – a nice idea that doesn’t quite work but further confirms Packer’s potential. Yet, ultimately, our nameless subject is a little too naïve, especially as a college student. Conway and Marsland make all this compelling to watch. But the character is reduced to a specimen observed and finally, too comfortably, removed from us.

Until 17 March 2018

www.kingsheadtheatre.com

Photo by Tom Packer

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“Work makes you Free” at the Vault Festival

This is an exceptional piece of writing from Michael Ross. Four characters deliver interweaving monologues about their working lives, creating intelligent, stimulating drama, brimming with a satire that’s very, very funny.

The four different jobs mean everyone in the audience can quickly identify with a character. There’s a high-flying MP and a wealthy banker who live for their work. Their grasping ambition and thoughtless cynicism are expertly depicted by Nicholas Stafford and Emily Bates. Next is an aspiring singer-songwriter called Kirsty, who works in a Job Centre – a role Miranda Evans makes easily recognisable. And finally there’s an actress (sorry, ‘Theatre Practitioner’), who’s happy on the dole while she works on what she really loves. We’ve all seen her type having coffee at the Young Vic and Laura Pieters tackles the part superbly. So there’s material aplenty for lots of laughs and all is well delivered. But what impresses most is Ross’s even hand: nobody escapes his wit, and you may find your allegiances shift from the character you originally warmed to.

The play is perfectly formed, which is not to say it’s easy to deliver. Director James McKendrick juggles the ideas and the action expertly. He injects the energy a show of talking heads needs, mostly via lighting design and, while there are a couple of stumbles due to the fast pace, McKendrick is right to keep the speed vigorous. Arguably, the play’s dark humour isn’t fully plumbed with the role of Kirsty – the break-up with her boyfriend is potentially comic – but all four performers do justice to the complex rhythm of the piece.

There’s a fifth job to consider – that of the playwright. A delightful twist, playing with meta-theatricality, confirms Ross’s mastery. Connections between characters form cleverly revealed plot points, with topical content on trolling and mental health, and a lot of broken dreams that make the play quietly moving. Alongside all the fun, this is a political play of great maturity. There’s a fiery anger at the stupidity and hypocrisy of shaping our identity around what we do, provoking thoughts that labour away long after the work on stage is over.

Until 25 February 2018

www.vaultfestival.com

Photo by Robert Piwko