Tag Archives: Ewan Wardrop

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“The Buddha of Suburbia” at the Barbican Theatre

One of my favourite directors, Emma Rice, brings Hanif Kureishi’s novel to the stage with every effort to achieve her usual flair. The rambling story, about the early life of Karim – his family, fortunes, and sexual exploits – has its moments, but regrettably, big failings.

Rice co-adapts the book with its author and the result is long. There’s detail, to a fault, but also rushing; the unevenness makes the show a slog. While the characters are vivid, maybe there are just too many of them? Making each role three-dimensional is an achievement but the overall result is confusing.

It’s nice that this hard-working cast each get their moments in the spotlight. Karim’s father (Ankur Bahl) impresses with his yoga, Katy Owen has two roles (Karin’s mother, then lover) and does well contrasting them, Rina Fatania has three and is on fine form in each. Lucy Thackeray and Natasha Jayetileke are strong as women in search of fulfillment. Individual scenes are often good but as a whole the show seems to lack purpose.

All the action, and anecdote, relate to Karim of course. And herein lies a problem. Kureishi’s anti-hero isn’t a strong enough creation. His self-absorption is a turn-off, his struggle strangely unconvincing and, put simply, he isn’t very nice. It’s the role of a lifetime for Dee Ahluwalia who has to carry the whole show; his commitment and stamina is impressive but Karim is hard to care about. 

There are inventive touches throughout; Rice can delight like few other directors. It helps that Karim is an actor and scenes in rehearsal rooms are great fun (and provide a super role for Ewan Wardrop as a director). The “mess” of theatre is evoked, creating bursts of energy and fun. Choreographed scenes from Etta Murfitt help and Rachana Jadhav’s set embodies the fluidity of the action. It’s a puzzle as to why it doesn’t work.

“Class, race, fucking and farce”

Taking a look at the play-within-the-play that Karim stars in might help. The onstage director devises a show with “class, race, fucking and farce” which describes The Buddha of Suburbia itself perfectly.

Class and race are tackled, but too briefly and with little imagination. Maybe the source material, published in 1990, has dated. Or our ideas about the 1970s have solidified. But the shorthand of events and sociology is laboured and sloppy. Ahluwalia struggles to deliver summaries that provide context, he’s even given a microphone to help, and is reduced to waving his hands around. More importantly we hear nothing new. There’s no challenge, just a mush of vague ideas. Even the clips used in Simon Baker’s video design are the usual retro stuff. There is little peril or drama; a traumatic attack is shockingly dismissed. And ideas about representation, surely pertinent, are dealt with lightly. It’s fine if you want the tone of the piece to be celebratory… but too many issues are raised and then left hanging.

There’s also little drama around Karim’s sex life, which is surprising. It makes the “fucking and farce” sections light and funny. Using fruit as a stand in for genitals is a genius move (it’s sure to be how the production is remembered) giving the whole show a big banana energy. It shows Rice’s playful wit and is brilliantly theatrical. Likewise, the party poppers used when characters climax is a super touch. The sex comedy (so appropriate for the 1970s) is a relief to the pedestrian talk of politics and class. But two out of four isn’t great.

Until 16 November 2024

www.barbican.org.uk

Photo by Steve Tanner © RSC

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“The American Clock” at the Old Vic

Of the current and forthcoming productions of Arthur Miller plays in London, this piece from 1980 may count as the oddest and perhaps the most personal. The play gives an outline of The Great Depression, based on the work of oral historian Studs Terkel. And with much of the action focusing on a young man, similar in age and ambition to Miller in the early 1930s – whose family loses its money just as his did – it’s hard not to see it as an autobiographical fragment. Unfortunately, as a trip into the past it’s too potted. And as analysis of events it’s too pedestrian. That American optimism is relentless is rammed home, but doing so brings monotony. And while the idea of an American political left that challenges corporations might be intriguing, it has clearly been consigned to history. It all makes for a text that’s both slim and slow.

Clare Burt, Golda Rosheuvel and Amber Aga

With an episodic structure and presentation that includes song and dance An American Clock still intrigues and the work of director Rachel Chavkin is strong. Making the lack of plot a virtue, the central family is played in triplicate: there are three sets of once wealthy mothers and struggling fathers, while a trio of sons grow up and start careers. It’s a neat way of showing the universalism of the economic disaster and is staged superbly – the device works to make the large ensemble cast really stand out. Clare Burt and Amber Aga both excel as the mother Rose while Golda Rosheuvel becomes the star by also punctuating scenes with a powerful singing voice. James Garnon has most time in the role of the father, and leaves the biggest impression, while three youngsters performing as the son Lee – Fred Haig, Jyuddah Jaymes and Taheen Modak – all impress. Worried about losing track? Thankfully, Clarke Peters is on board as the show’s narrator to make everything smooth. Few actors could make a story this predictable still entertaining and Peters is, as ever, superb.

Ewan Wardrop

Miller renamed the play a Vaudeville piece after its flop on Broadway. Chavkin embraces this by ensuring her production has variety, fun and also rhythm. There are songs throughout and the choreography from Ann Yee is excellent, not least in taking into account that the cast are not dancers. It’s a good way to inject much needed energy; Ewan Wardrop’s tap-dancing CEO proves a real highlight. The music makes points – a manic lust for money and then panic with the Stock Market crash – while complementing the sketch-like quality of the play itself. With the motif of marathon dancing competitions that runs throughout the play, Chavkin’s vision is clear, akin to a live Reginald Marsh painting, but the scenes themselves amount to little, feeling anecdotal or didactic. It’s Chavkin’s skill to weave them together so skilfully – and it’s easy to see why she is one to watch. Still, this play isn’t one to give time to.

Until 30 March 2019

www.oldvictheatre.com

Photos by Manuel Harlan

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“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at Shakespeare’s Globe

Emma Rice’s first production as artistic director at the Globe has provided controversy for the much-loved venue and tourist hotspot. Fans of Rice’s work with her previous company, Kneehigh, will recognise some techniques here. But applied to Shakespeare, her irreverence and inventiveness proves invigorating.

First a caution – for some odd folk – this approaches Dream: The Musical. No excuse necessary, but it is striking how much of the play is sung. Stu Barker’s score is accomplished, dramaturg Tanika Gupta’s lyrics (drawing on the Sonnets and John Donne) are exciting and the singing West End standard. There’s a clever Indian twist and an electric sitar, so let’s describe the sound as Bollywood Rock. Is Rice being provoking? I do hope so.

Raucous is de rigueur at the Globe but, for good or ill, Rice has upped the stakes. If it weren’t for fear of sounding hopelessly out of touch I’d suggest some age advisory warning. There were squeals of horror in the crowd at some pretty full-on audience participation.

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Zubin Varla and Meow Meow

The show is sexy – many clothes are shed – and the polymorphous sexuality in Shakespeare is emboldened. Most impressively, with the King and Queen roles played by Zubin Varla and cabaret star Meow Meow – both intense performers –their chemistry is captivating. We’re reminded how creepy Titania being “enamoured of an ass” really is and both stars hold the stage, despite too much going on.

There are reservations. When Beyoncé is first quoted, your heart might sink at such an easy appeal to a younger audience. There’s a great deal of movement and some of it is messy. With water pistols, crazy costumes and a lot of accents, it’s anything for a lark. And the problem? Too many lines are difficult to hear, even lost. Rice lands the laughs, but they often fall at the expense of Shakespeare or, more generously, use the play as merely a springboard.

The hyped gender-bending casting (which is hardly new) may have been seen before, but not with the bite that Rice manages. Katy Owen does a superb job as Puck, working the crowd brilliantly, despite that water pistol. The rude mechanicals are recast as women. Only Bottom remains male – Ewan Wardrop doing the guys proud. Updating the wannabe theatricals into Globe volunteers is sweet and leads to excellent cameos, especially for Lucy Thackeray, whose calm ad lib, “my nephew’s gay”, tickled me pink.

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Ncuti Gatwa and Ankur Bahl

But it’s most with the Athenian lovers that Rice’s indiscretions are forgiven. Updating the couples into Hoxton hipsters is very funny. Ncuti Gatwa and Edmund Derrington make an energetic Demetrius and Lysander. Anjana Vasan gets roars of approval for her very modern Hermia. Ankur Bahl plays –hold on – Helenus, with wit and courage. There’s more to this decision than giving the line “ugly as a bear” a new twist. An uncomfortable response from some, admittedly young, audience members gives pause for thought. The Globe is a global institution (listen to how many visitors are from abroad). To see love between two men portrayed with complexity on such a stage is remarkable. There may be touches of over enthusiasm here but Rice balances public appeal with a radical streak that makes this show, and her direction, one of the most exciting things around.

Until 11 September 2016

www.shakespearesglobe.com

Photos by Steve Tanner