Tag Archives: Bijan Sheibani

“The Cord” at the Bush Theatre

Parenting, with a focus on fatherhood, is the subject of this new play written and directed by Bijan Sheibani. Intense and poetic, it sees a trio of brilliant actors examine emotions and experiences around having a child.

Ash and Anya are new parents. Overwhelmed by their love for little Louie, the everyday dramas – around grandparents or restarting a sex life – are overshadowed by bigger issues. Sheibani handles tension with subtlety, as do Irfan Shamji and Eileen O’Higgins, who take the roles and are convincing as being sleep deprived and on the edge. There’s a continual refrain that problems are not a big deal. So when arguments escalate, the atmosphere is especially fraught.

Ash’s status as a new father – indeed his whole life – seems overshadowed by his mother, Jane, who suffered from post-natal depression. Again, there is a surface calm, brilliantly portrayed by Lucy Black. But any pretended ease – over not seeing her grandchild or worrying for her own son – is effortful. When the arguments really start, there are painful home truths. Black’s performance is controlled and powerful.

All the emotion is emphasised by the composer and cellist Colin Alexander, who joins the actors, his harmonics echoing the action brilliantly. Oliver Fenwick’s lighting design is also strong, with a huge light box overhead subtly shifting colours. The whole production is stylish, with a heightened air, but it’s a shame some of the miming isn’t better.

Jane doesn’t have a lot of time for the possibility that Ash might be suffering. Does the audience? It’s a further tribute to Shamji’s performance that his character has appeal (although I wonder how much responses to the role depend on whether or not you’ve given birth). Ash does seem to want the focus of the women to return to him. And that’s hard to get past.

There’s another problem that might prove increasingly annoying… Ash’s Dad is around – he is mentioned several times and the two talk. It seems odd that Ash doesn’t speak to his own father about fatherhood. At least, there might be an explanation as to why this conversation doesn’t happen. It’s a stumble in such a detailed, focused work. The script is so skilful, I’ve no doubt the decision is deliberate, but it seems such a glaring omission that it skewers the whole play.

Until 25 May 2024

www.bushtheatre.co.uk

Photos by Manuel Harlan

“Sons of the Prophet” at the Hampstead Theatre

There is a Christmas tree in Stephen Karam’s play, which makes it seasonal in a way, but this smart, dark comedy is good all year round. The challenging humour is combined with deep emotions. And in a show that’s all about suffering, the treatment is remarkably light. What’s special is Karam’s distinctive voice. The writing – evidently respected in director Bijan Sheibani’s faultless production – is a unique joy.

The play follows a bad year for Joseph, a fantastic role for Irfan Shamji, who is tremendous. Joseph’s father has died in a freakish accident, his uncle is ill, and his own health is a worry. So much pain… so how come so much of the play is funny? Karam depicts a Maronite family in rural Pennsylvania (reflecting his own background), stressing their averageness. While problems could overwhelm (they touch on the subjects of religion, immigration and health care), humour rises above every issue. Shamji is the foundation for the play; his dead-pan responses to a whole lot of rubbish he hears hit home every time.

Jack Holden as Timothy in Sons of the Prophet credit Marc Brenner
Jack Holden

Joseph isn’t alone. The play provides him with a wonderfully written sassy sibling (a role Eric Sirakian excels in). Their relationship is, simply, beautiful. They squabble as much as support each other, working through worries and grief together. But Joseph does have to put up with a quartet of characters, superbly characterised and performed, who pain him. Vin, the young man responsible for his father’s death, needs help with the apology a court is making him write! Raphael Akuwudike makes the character a figure of sympathy and endearing awkwardness. Closer to home are a prejudiced uncle (Raad Rawi) and an arrogant journalist (Jack Holden). Both excellent performances steer clear of caricature. Best of all is Joseph’s boss, a “wealthy, deranged” New Yorker publisher who is also grieving… and funny with it. The latter is a role that the excellent Juliet Cowan makes her own, taking us to the heart of Karam’s humour.

Juliet-Cowan-&-Raad-Rawi-in-Sons-of-the-Prophet_credit-Marc-Brenner
Juliet Cowan and Raad Rawi

All the characters say things they really shouldn’t. Frequently selfish, crass and embarrassing, it’s not a surprise they are funny. But note, while Karam’s satire is sharp – Joseph doesn’t suffers fools gladly even if he does suffer – there’s no toe-curling here. Cowan spouts her character’s nonsense particularly well. But, as with the other roles, there are snatches of wisdom, too. And there’s little malice. Above all, everyone’s pain is real. Suffering turns out to be a leveller. Karam may keep us laughing at unexpected moments, but his play has real soul.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking Joseph is a stoic – his frustration is palpable. The play’s title nods to Khalil Gibran, a distant relation of the family that makes Gloria sniff a book deal! But Joseph thinks Gibran is too easy. While the play has scenes with projected titles as in Gibran’s The Prophet, I suspect the Philosopher Poet is a tad declamatory a teacher for Karam’s taste. The reversal of pain to joy and the dictum “all is well” don’t convince. Given what’s going on, why should they? And yet Sons of the Prophet suggests that with honesty and warmth it is possible that we might “hurt less”. I’ll take it.

Until 14 January 2023

www.hampsteadtheatre.com

Photos by Marc Brenner

“Barber Shop Chronicles” from NTLive

With a trio of companies behind it – and, don’t forget, links for donations – the National Theatre, Fuel and Leeds Playhouse gave us something for the weekend with Inua Ellams’ play. This recording, from the London run in 2018, reminds us why this piece – which covers vast ground geographically and brings up plenty for debate – was so warmly received.

Scenes in barber shops in London, Lagos, Accra, Kampala, Johannesburg and Harare add up to a lot. And we encounter plenty of colourful characters (Patrice Naiambana’s Paul was my favourite although Hammed Animashuan’s performance was brilliantly scene stealing). Alongside a powerful drama between Emmanuel and Samuel, which make good roles for Fisayo Akinade and Cyril Nri, there are all manners of observation on language, politics, race and culture. It’s all interesting, although maybe not always subtle, but it could easily be overwhelming.

Hammed Animashau in Barber Shop Chronicles at the National Theatre (c) Marc Brenner
Hammed Animashau

Ultimately, these chronicles are a collection of small studies and intimate scenes. Director Bijan Sheibani skilfully combines the big picture with close details, and the result belies any shortcomings. Ellams’ touch is light, while segues between scenes, with singing and dancing, are excellent. What could be confusing proves energetic. And the play is funny: jokes are used pointedly and there’s plenty of wit to enjoy.

While the barber shops, as a “place for talking”, serve as an effective device for holding the play together, what really does this job is the theme of fatherhood. The stories take in violence and various ideas of legacy and inheritance, offering plenty of insight. And it’s interesting to note how much bigger than biology the theme of parenthood becomes. Connections between the characters are handled carefully (until the end, in a clumsy moment that really disappoints). Ellams’ play, with Sheibani’s help, ends up more than the sum of its parts. And, given that it has more parts than a barber shop quartet, that’s really saying something.

Available until Wednesday 20 May 2020

To support visit nationaltheatre.org.uk, fueltheatre.com, leedsplayhouse.org.uk

Photos by Marc Brenner

“A Taste of Honey” at the Trafalgar Studios

More than 60 years after the play’s premiere, and three years since he first directed it at the National Theatre, Bijan Sheibani’s new revival continues to show that Shelagh Delaney’s superb play is as fresh as you could wish.

Sheibani adds a sophisticated flourish to the production with an on-stage three-piece band and music from Benjamin Kwasi Burrell. Popular songs provide introductions to characters and ease the play’s episodic structure. Although sometimes elegiac, the music adds an energy to the show that, despite my admiration for the text, is admittedly needed.

Gemma Dobson and Jodie Prenger in 'A Taste of Honey'
Gemma Dobson and Jodie Prenger

As well as putting some soul into Salford, Sheibani’s close knowledge of the piece has led to sharp performances that do justice to Delaney’s wonderful characters. Jodie Prenger is great as the wicked mother Helen: razer sharp and brutally honest, she’s funny and smart even if you wouldn’t want her as a family member. Gemma Dobson plays her daughter Jo with bold intelligence. Refusing to make the character too sympathetic, she’s a brittle teenager who is frequently unappealing. The bickering matches between the two women are a highlight but the humour is controlled; A Taste of Honey isn’t a comedy no matter how funny both women are. Moments of hope, fear and pain are all regularly glimpsed and then hidden with frightening speed.

Durone Stokes and Gemma Dobson in "A Taste of Honey" credit Marc Brenner
Durone Stokes and Gemma Dobson

Performances from the men in both women’s lives are just as good. Durone Stokes makes a dashing love interest for Jo, while Tom Varey plays Helen’s new husband just the right side of villain. Stuart Thompson may have the trickiest role as Geof – Delaney’s precocity gets the better of her characterisation here, it’s amazing to think she wrote the play at 19 – but his performance is still one to be proud of.

That the play is concerned with Northern working-class lives still feels unusual. Treating its central female characters as intelligent and complicated remains depressingly rare. While rooted in its time and place, Sheibani’s production shows a play that’s still for today; a piece he makes it easy to relate to, while never compromising on Delaney’s distinctive voice.

Until 29 February 2020

nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photos by Marc Brenner

“A Taste of Honey” at the National Theatre

Having started the year with a fantastic production of King Lear, the National Theatre has a second must-see show in as many months. The revival of Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey is the finest work from director Bijan Sheibani that I’ve seen. This important and influential play, as much about dreams and aspirations as any grim-up-north reality, is given its due in a deft production that subtly injects moments of fancy, revealing the rich inner lives of its poverty-stricken characters. Sheibani indicates, rather than shouts, how shocking Delaney’s 1958 play must have been when first shown.

The performances are superb. Kate O’Flynn takes the role of Jo, surely one of the most fascinating parts for a young actress (and famously written when Delaney herself was only 19). She brings out the ‘ill-starred’ schoolgirl’s mercurial quality; spotlighting her innocence, and the worldly wisdom that comes with her upbringing. While dealing with her mother’s fancy man, her own brief affair with a black sailor and then homemaking, while pregnant, with gay friend Geoffrey, O’Flynn is captivating. Meanwhile, the male supporting cast – Dean Lennox Kelly, Eric Kofi Abrefa and Harry Hepple – convince while avoiding sensationalism.

But it’s Lesley Sharp’s performance as Jo’s mother Helen that steals the show. The role is presented as hugely overblown – exaggerated; outrageous; camp in its truest meaning – and the result is remarkably rich. With eyes and hips rolling like Mae West, Sharp makes Helen sexy (something Dora Bryan, for all her skill, didn’t attempt in the 1961 film). Seen as a virile middle-aged woman, her selfishness makes more sense. And she’s funny – ferociously so. The original Broadway cast of the show had Angela Lansbury in the role, and it would be lovely if she could catch Sharp’s performance while in rehearsals for Blythe Spirit (and even better to know what she thinks of it).

Delaney’s text still startles. Poetic and provocative after all these years, it now appears more direct, and more focused, than those by her equally angry contemporaries. Delaney wrote her ground breaking ‘minority’ characters with striking maturity, and her political aims remain inspiring. While you might admire works by Arnold Wesker and John Osborne from a similar era, you fall in love with A Taste of Honey and Delaney. She should take the final bow.

Until 11 May 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

Written 20 February 2014 for The London Magazine

“Damned by Despair” at the National Theatre

In case it doesn’t become apparent, Tirso de Molina’s Damned by Despair is a theological exploration of salvation. It parallels two protagonists – a vile criminal who enters heaven because of his faith and a pious hermit who is guilty of pride, then despair, and ends up in hell. In the hands of director Bijan Sheibani, it’s hard to imagine who on earth would find this interesting, but on the off chance that you have a passion for counter-reformation theology, be warned – stay at home and read your catechism, as this production is truly awful.

The first flaw is Frank McGuinness’ adaptation: full of bizarre anachronisms that prevent it sounding modern but isolate the play from its historical context, it is jarring to the point of distraction. While Tirso’s play is predictable throughout – it has to be to prove its point –what’s remarkable is Sheibani’s inability to add any drama. There’s plenty of running around in circles and shouting, and lots of violence, but no tension at all. Even worse, both the text and production rob the play of any complexity.

What adds to one’s annoyance, and surprises for the National Theatre, particularly given this cast, is that not even the performances can be praised. Only Amanda Lawrence, who plays Satan, really holds the stage, despite this being a play where the devil doesn’t get the best lines. Rory Keenan gets a few laughs as the Monk Paulo’s devoted servant but, along with the immensely talented Bertie Carvel, seems woefully miscast. The ensemble in particular, who take on the role of various criminals and the police, couldn’t be less threatening if they tried. This dire production limps from failure to failure, damned by despair indeed.

Until 17 December 2012

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Brinkhoff/Moegenburg

Written 15 October 2012 for The London Magazine

“The Kitchen” at the National Theatre

Bijan Sheibani’s spirited revival of Arnold Wesker’s The Kitchen provides audiences with an insight into 1950s catering and post-war Britain. The acting is commendable, the production values high – but it is difficult to recommend going to see it.

The 30-strong cast perform impeccably. They convince us that The Kitchen is a working environment, overflowing with rows and romances, consuming their lives and making them fight to retain their individuality. Tom Brooke does especially well as the German chef Peter and becomes the focus of the plays finale. Along the way, Samuel Roukin impresses and Rory Keenan’s comedy skills stand out.

The mechanics behind running a massive restaurant are brought to life by Sheibani quite remarkably. Giles Cadle’s set echoes the mass of the Olivier Theatre, with space for the impression of chaos and enough cookers to make you worry about the National’s gas bill. With a touch of fantasy (cue flying waitresses) the kitchen is presented as another world.

But the kitchen isn’t another world. The first act serves as an extended entrée to deeper concerns about the place of work in our lives, using the “united nations” of kitchen staff to look at life after the war – and dreams of improvement that began when the fighting stopped.

Much humour comes from the dated nature of what’s on the menu – the characters dream of chicken Kiev as an adventurous dish – but the nostalgic appeal of The Kitchen mixes uncomfortably with its politics. The first act isn’t meaty enough to make us care about the characters, while in the second the politics are too dated to engage with.

The 1950s are in vogue along the South Bank and celebrating Arnold Wesker makes sense, but The Kitchen seems so much of its own time that reviving it, no matter how thoughtfully, fails to whet the appetite.

Until 9 November 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

Written 9 September for The London Magazine

“Greenland” at the National Theatre

Over population is just one of the huge problems facing the natural world. It’s an irony that the National Theatre’s new play about the environment, Greenland, suffers from a similar issue. With four writers having contributed, the play is a disaster in itself.

Moira Buffini, Matt Charman, Penelope Skinner and Jack Thorne have all attempted to address the issue of climate change. The idea of making Greenland a collaborative event is ambitious, and I guess all aimed at inspiring a Big Conversation reflected in a series of after show events. The writer’s stories are supposedly interwoven to scope out the effects of climate change and how we react to the threat. Unfortunately the stories don’t so much interweave as unravel. Even worse, none of them is that interesting.

The future, it seems, is not just bleak, but boring. Director Bijan Sheibani paces his production far too quickly. Maybe sleight of hand started to look like a good idea during rehearsals, but the problems of this script aren’t going to disappear just because you race through it. There’s quite a bag of tricks on display: wind machines, a rain curtain, and plenty of things dropping dramatically on to the stage. The National Theatre’s always excellent production department is to be praised, but for hard work rather than results.

Nobody doubts the environment is an urgent issue but there’s always the danger that you are talking to the converted. One of Greenland‘s faults is to not just preach to the choir but to shout at it. And shout in a rather unpleasant tone. It feels as if the National Theatre’s audience is to blame for the world’s woes with its greed (mostly for coffee) and its ignorance (particular concerning the capital of Mali). Even worse, Greenland is remarkably uninformative. You will learn nothing new here and that is shocking omission.

A large cast wonder haplessly around the stage and can do little to save things. Only Amanda Lawrence gives a stand-out performance and manages to bring some humour and warmth to proceedings. And it’s good to see some young talent on the stage, Isabella Laughland and Sam Swann deal ably with their roles as young activists and it’s a shame they don’t have more to do.

There is little hope in Greenland. The aimed-for humour points a finger at activists and the complacent but only hits home ironically – “this eco stuff is making you unhappy,” says an exasperated mother to her campaigning daughter. We know just how she feels. The prevailing feeling is one of anger, justified but hardly constructive. The preaching tone taken might make you angry, too. But, sadly, for the wrong reasons.

Until 2 April 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Helen Warner

Written 3 February 2011 for The London Magazine