Tag Archives: Andrew Scott

“Vanya” at the Duke of York’s Theatre

The idea behind this new work, described as ‘after’ Chekhov’s masterpiece, is to have one performer take all the roles. If your first response is to ask why, trust me, there is a point. An important point. Vanya simultaneously distils and expands its source material: showing the original as never before, while exposing the power of creativity itself in a way that is inspirational. This show is magical.

Director Sam Yates, designer Rosanna Vize, playwright Simon Stephens and the solo performer, Andrew Scott, are credited as co-creators. And what they have created is very special indeed. The project might seem foolhardy, that it works so well is a continual delight. Vanya is funny – the limitations of having one performer are playfully acknowledged. But – quickly – we start to really see all the characters; each role becomes fully – literally – realised.

Yates, a versatile director, is clearly hard to intimidate; he paces the production, close to two hours with no interval, gracefully. There’s nothing showy, no distractions, and he has the confidence to let us enjoy the text and the star. Vize’s design cleverly combines theatricality, there are grand curtains and plywood, with the domestic. There is a playful balance of artifice and the everyday.

Stephens is a bold writer of ferocious intelligence. It certainly helps to know Uncle Vanya, but pointers as to what is going on come with skill as well as providing jokes. Importantly, humour runs through the script and scenario too so that Chekhov’s comedy becomes clear. There’s a lot of insight into the original; the presence of Anna, Vanya’s deceased sister, is revelatory. Chekhov’s themes of boredom and happiness – with all the dramatic permutations around love, age, and ambition – are vivid and alive.

As for the performer… it must be odd to be as talented as Scott! Expectations might even detract from his achievement, as everyone just knows he’ll be great. But swapping roles of such different ages and genders so brilliantly, for such an extended duration, is breath-taking.

Technically, distinguishing each character by carefully using small props or gestures is fascinating. But Scott makes the show uncannily emotional (he always expresses vulnerability marvellously). There are a lot of unhappy people here and you feel for them all in turn. Even the intellectual Serebryakov, usually so unsympathetic and recast a pretentious film director, is heart-wrenching. And Scott is a stong comedian, the cackles he gets from talking about cartography show this. All amazing, but when it comes to scenes of physical intimacy between the characters… what to do? Scott subtly wrestles with himself. Stroking or grabbing a hand, or pushing himself against a wall. Somehow, and I cannot explain it – the show is sexy. And, I can’t help repeat myself, such moments in the theatre are magical.

The idea of art that, like Serebryakov’s films, “defines”, is mocked by Vanya. The character makes his point forcefully. But this is theatre that will be remembered and talked about for a long time. The only problem is running out of superlatives to describe it.

Until 21 October 2023

www.thedukeofyorks.com/vanya

Photo by Marc Brenner

“Sea Wall” from the Bush Theatre

The film of Simon Stephens’ fantastic half-hour monologue is offered during lockdown and serves to remind us of its original home – the West London venue whose new writing, the playwright has observed, makes it one of the most important theatres we have. Specially written for the venue, although subsequently filmed on location, this is a piece of the highest quality. But some caution – and a plot spoiler – follow.

Andrews Scott in Seawall at the Bush Theatre
Andrews Scott in Seawall at the Bush Theatre

Given that Sea Wall is about the sudden and random death of a child, it isn’t for everyone or an easy watch. But it is a play full of love. As soon as we meet Alex, we see he is a character of enormous appeal, carefully nurtured in Andrew Scott’s magnificent performance. His adoration of his wife and daughter is entirely convincing, as is his love for his father-in-law. Stephens’ detailed descriptions of a happy life full of holidays are all the more endearing as Alex knows how lucky he is.

Or how lucky he was – as the expertly written story unfolds and Alex’s life plummets unexpectedly into the depths of despair, the piece becomes something of a confessional. His cruelty towards the “shattered” form” of his father-in-law and the “hole in the middle of him”, a visceral image of the pain he is now experiencing, show the power of Stephens’ nightmarish imagining. Questions about God are probed throughout – they are surely a natural part of an experience such as this – but Stephens handles them with considered sophistication.

The success of the piece, which Stephens directed for film with Andrew Porter, is guaranteed by Scott’s performance. Originally written for the actor, Scott is an expert on camera, and his connection to the audience is a marvel. Brief pauses and halts in the delivery ensure the illusion of spontaneity and his movement is expansive without ever seeming artificial. Scott grabs lighter touches forcefully and he makes sure we fall a little in love with his character. It makes the telling of this private tragedy all the more moving; traumatic but also strangely beautiful.

Streaming for free until 25 May 2020

www.seawallandrewscott.com

To find out about a new series of monologues commissioned during lockdown and to support the venue see www.bushtheatre.co.uk

“Present Laughter” at the Old Vic

That Andrew Scott’s career is currently at such a well-deserved high adds extra piquancy to his taking the role of actor Garry Essendine in Noël Coward’s play. In a part that’s easily interpreted as the writer’s alter ego, Scott has the star quality to make this study of fame convincing. With such charm and magnetism having everyone run around after him, battling adoration from all and succumbing to temptation time and again, becomes believable and increasingly funny. The joke is on everyone – those chasing and our poor, pursued hero.

Scott doesn’t just get laughs from Coward’s studied script, which is wonderful, but has such command of the stage that every moment is made potentially comic. Showing as much incredulity as élan gives us the oft-cited childishness of the middle-aged man, as well as lot of energy. But Scott has the skill as an actor to make his character’s flaws mean something: for all Essendine’s self-obsession, this is a tender portrayal that appreciates the man’s loneliness.

The production belongs to Scott. Coward made the character – which he performed of course – a mammoth role. Few will complain, in this case. But while the variety of the author’s wit is shown with the various hangers-on around him, the play’s other characters are underdeveloped. The laughs are consistent enough, especially with Sophie Thompson’s performance, but the “adoring and obeying” entourage are mere foils. Only Essendine’s ex-wife can hold her own against him and Indira Varma’s performance benefits as a result: a truly suave figure, her delivery of the world “congealed” is worth attendance alone. Changing the gender for one of Essendine’s lovers – Joanna becomes Joe – barely raises an eyebrow. It’s nice to get the subtext shared by so many of Coward’s plays out of the way and it gives a menace to the role that Enzo Cilenti does well with.

For all the practiced superficiality of the characters and the farce within the plot, the production shows Coward’s depth as a writer. The sweet sorrow that was the text’s original title is given its due – to Scott’s credit – but also through director Matthew Warchus’ sensitivity and intelligence. Each act has a distinct tempo, as a drawing-room comedy becomes sexy before developing a mania that almost becomes grating. Meanwhile, the final act plays with the farce we have just seen before becoming somber. The ending is brave, as the quips that have proved so entertaining alter in tone to become fraught. Essendine’s rants, the overacting we’ve enjoyed so much at, pass into something sad, even dangerous. The play shows itself to be about more than present laughter as Warchus gives it the potential to linger in the mind.

Until 10 August 2019

www.oldvictheatre.com

Photo by Manuel Harlan

“Hamlet” at the Almeida Theatre

With Andrew Scott in the title role, this Hamlet already qualifies as one of the most exciting Shakespeare productions of the year. A consummate and intelligent performer whose lilting accent is a joy to hear, Scott uses the intimacy of the venue superbly. Combining sensitivity and ferocity he makes a strong philosopher prince. He also makes a great team with star director Robert Icke.

Andrew Scott with Amaka Okafor and Calum Finlay
Andrew Scott with Amaka Okafor and Calum Finlay

Scott’s Hamlet is tactile, all hand holding, wriggling fingers and pressing palms to his face – he even hugs his ghostly father (a brilliant performance from David Rintoul). This is a sensual Dane, aided by the casting of Amaka Okafor as Guildenstern (which adds tension for Calum Finlay’s Rosencratz, who sees Hamlet as a sexual rival). It all focuses us on Hamlet’s morbidity – his knowledge of man as “this quintessence of dust” – a cerebral point given theatrical physicality.

Icke is never short of ideas. He has so many thoughts on Hamlet it’s awe-inspiring. The overall tone is far less histrionic than many a past trip to Elsinor – even the furniture has a tasteful Scandi feel. Such restraint has a peculiar power, most notable in Claudius – a chillingly cold figure played by Angus Wright, whose controlled delivery would try the patience of many performers. It’s the first time I haven’t seen the King storm off the stage during the play-within-a-play and it’s brilliantly unsettling.

Juliet Stevenson and Angus Wright watch with Andrew Scott
Juliet Stevenson and Angus Wright watch with Andrew Scott

Other novel points include the decision to be open about Hamlet’s relationship with Ophelia. It makes more sense of her madness, giving us a modern woman to relate to that Jessica Brown Findlay exploits well. For Peter Wright’s Polonius there’s the suggestion that the respected government minister isn’t just a bore, but is suffering from dementia. And there are the videos and live recordings that are a bit of a trademark for Icke. Denmark as a surveillance state is fair enough, and rolling news broadcasts save some time, but wouldn’t it have been better for Horatio to take charge of the camera after Hamlet asks him to watch the King?

Not all of Icke’s introductions are as successful. Hamlet’s gun toting seems jarring – is it bravado on his part? While it adds shock to his confrontation with his mother (the magnificent Juliet Stevenson), pointing a gun at Claudius become confusing. The production uses a knowledge of the play heavily – a fair assumption – but loses power. An air of predestination predominates later scenes – like the audience, the characters seem to know the end. For much of the final duel, music predominates (it’s a puzzling selection throughout) while Hamlet’s “I am dead Horatio” is taken literally. Our finale – of ghosts at a party rather than corpses littering the stage – has odd tones of reconciliation. It’s all interesting, unmissable for bardophiles, and frequently brilliant, if a little cold.

Until 15 April 2017

www.almeida.co.uk

Photos by Manuel Harlan

“Birdland” at the Royal Court

Simon Stephens’ new play Birdland, currently showing at the Royal Court, follows pop star Paul as he reaches the end of a massive world tour. An investigation into fame and fortune, about a spoilt singer with ridiculous riders and a subsequent sorry end, the topic might seem a little old hat. Let’s face it: sympathy for celebrity is a tough call. But Stephens’ treatment of the subject, combined with director Carrie Cracknell’s startling contribution, makes this an intriguing piece. Like a really great pop song, this is a play that will worm its way into your head and stay there a long time.

We don’t know what kind of music Paul is famous for, or if he’s any good. We just see him before the gigs, in a series of luxurious hotels, spending money, taking drugs and in one scene, demanding a locally grown peach be delivered to his suite. And Cracknell’s deft direction shows us that untold wealth is just as boring as the rest of us imagine it to be.

Birdland is more about money than music; all Paul’s experiences are commodified, as he tells an interviewer that ‘everything can be quantified’. More distastefully, he is abusive to every woman he meets. Make no mistake, Paul is grotesque: yet somehow, Stephens makes him play on our sympathies.

Much credit must go to Andrew Scott for his performance in the lead. His stage presence and sheer sex appeal make it easy to believe he could be a pop star. His descent into madness is moving and he brings out the complexity of Stephens’ character – a kind of idiot savant with a touch of Candide. His physical investment in the part, with jerky avian dance movements, is committed and in keeping with Cracknell’s stylised production.

Scott is joined by a gifted ensemble that takes on several other characters, regardless of the age or gender of the roles, and the performances are uniformly superb. The set design from Ian MacNeil, with a stage surrounded by dirty water that retracts as the action becomes grimmer and forces the cast to get their feet wet, is remarkable. The whole night might contain far too much metaphor for many but I found it thought provoking. The imagery and the ideas, especially Paul’s claim to be “completely human” despite his lack of empathy, gives Birdland a haunting quality.

Until 31 May 2014

www.royalcourttheatre.com

Photo by Richard Hubertsmith

Written 30 April 2014 for The London Magazine