Tag Archives: James MacDonald

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“The Father” at Wyndham’s Theatre

Florian Zeller’s prize-winning play from France is a superbly performed, structurally interesting piece that explores senile dementia in a manner that’s both smart and stimulating.

Setting much of the action from the perspective of the elderly Andre is a masterstroke and makes the most of theatre’s immediacy – this is a play that couldn’t work in any other medium. As characters and furniture come and go, we share Andre’s confusion and paranoia. Who owns this house and who are these people? Despite little plot, Zeller’s piece is as tense as a thriller.

Translated by Christopher Hampton and directed by James Macdonald with fitting precision, the script is admirably sparse and controlled. There’s no indulgence here and, although you’ll probably leave in tears, there’s laughter, too, along with a frightening assessment of how annoying ageing relatives can be.

Kenneth Cranham is magnetic in the lead role, charming, amusing and imposing, often angry and ultimately heart-wrenchingly frightened. But, like his daughter, struggling to care for him and lead her own life, played marvellously by Claire Skinner, Cranham makes the most of understatement. This isn’t King Lear. These are unquestionably real people dealing with an increasingly common situation. The Father derives considerable power from its topicality, along with its sincere emotional realism. It’s all brave medicine delivered in well-measured doses.

Until 21 November 2015

www.delfontmackintosh.co.uk

Photos by Simon Annand

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“Bakkhai” at the Almeida Theatre

With the first instalment of the Almeida’s Greek season, Oresteia, having announced a West End transfer, Bakkhai, has a lot to live up to. James Macdonald’s production of Euripides’ play is a traditional affair that takes us close to the original. bringing an opportunity to learn something deeper about Greek drama and its power. Vastly different from Oresteia’s contemporary take, the show makes a great contrast and confirms the season is one of this year’s theatrical highlights.

Marked by a strong sense of purpose, Antony McDonald’s simple design and Peter Mumford’s lighting accompany a clear and concise text from Anne Carson. Both Carson and Macdonald have a powerful appreciation of the dichotomies embraced by the religion at the heart of the play, explaining the concept of a daimon and its implications for Dionysus’ crazed followers. Macdonald’s grip never falters as he crafts the tension and explores the consequences of hubris. Most notable is the primary role of the Chorus and music in the show – nearly half of the production is sung.

The star attraction is Ben Whishaw, heading up the excellent promotional photography, and perfectly cast to bring out the complexities of the god, with flowing hair and fey gestures transformed into something sinister in a moment. As with his fellow performers, Whishaw takes on other roles admirably, but Bertie Carvel gets the best of this tactic, playing the ruler Pentheus with confident efficiency, then his mother Agave, with a visceral turn that puts the ghost of his Miss Trunchbull from Matilda to rest. Joining them is Kevin Harvey, whose roles include Cadmus, holding his own and making him an actor that joins my list of ones to watch.

It is the ten-strong Chorus that makes this Bakkhai one to celebrate; singing a capella throughout, with music credited to Orlando Gough. The sound is both otherworldly and tribal – an invigorating mix that keeps you guessing, veering from the frightening, almost repulsive, to strangely beautiful melodies. The singing acts as an exposition of the religion the women follow. The acting is strong, bearing in mind that mass ecstasy is a big ask. It’s when they comment on events and respond to the story that they really move you, showing a clear idea of the Chorus’ role in Greek theatre. Now, as then, the group draws in the audience, making us part of a truly powerful show.

Until 19 September 2015

www.almeida.co.uk

Photo by David Stewart

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“Roots” at the Donmar Warehouse

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As you might expect, there is a kitchen sink in Arnold Wesker’s 1958 work Roots. But, for all the washing up, the play really revolves around cooking. It starts with some liver, followed by ice cream, as Beatie comes home to her Norfolk village for a holiday. Jessica Raine instantly establishes Beatie – and her own acting skills – as something exceptional. Inspired by the socialist ideals she has been exposed to from her activist fiance Ronnie, she’s a “whirlwind” to her family. Insisting that they start to think and talk like her, she is a harsh, albeit endearing judge.

Next Beatie makes a cake. It’s Ronnie’s recipe. Her formidable mother is busy cooking something else while being lectured to and made to listen to classical music. The preparations are for Ronnie’s visit, an encounter that Beatie is justifiably anxious about. Linda Bassett shines in the role of Mrs Bryant, bringing much humour to the play and almost threatening to make the focus two women rather one (probably not Wesker’s intention), so fine is her performance.

By the final scene, there has been more food (and a bath in between), including a family feast with a trifle to take seriously, and all are assembled for Ronnie’s arrival. There’s a sense we have over indulged. Director James Macdonald’s production is meticulous and, with the help of designer Hildegard Bechtler, the detail approaches fetishism. The observation of rural working-class life is slow but captivating, and concentrated performances from the large ensemble that make up Beatie’s family are similarly precise and of the highest quality.

As well as being slightly bloated, Wesker’s examination of socialist ideas is a little past its sell-by date. Thankfully, there is also Beatie’s journey of self-discovery, and this is all together more satisfying. Raine’s depiction of Beatie’s development is thorough and gratifying, giving her the passion for life that Wesker writes so well about. As she gets down from Ronnie’s soapbox, admittedly on to one of her own, you start to really listen to her, and one leaves feeling that the end is her delicious new beginning.

Until 30 November 2013

www.donmarwarehouse.com

Photo by Stephen Cummiskey

Written 10 October 2013 for The London Magazine

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“A Delicate Balance”at the Almeida Theatre

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Edward Albee’s A Delicate Balance is the story of an elderly couple whose twilight years are disturbed by an alcoholic sister-in-law, a daughter’s failed marriage, and their best friends’ nervous breakdowns. A thought-provoking meditation on the duties of family and friendship, as well as an examination of the American dream, this is a fantastic piece of writing that’s ambitiously broad, but so intelligent and challenging that it is always absorbing.

Albee’s observations are inspired. Often more startling than sure-footed, they can jolt an audience to attention. Agnes and Tobias, the elderly couple in whose house we, and all the characters in the play come to stay in, form the focus of observations on age and gender. Agnes fears that she will come “adrift” in senility and claims her husband’s life has been easier than hers – all men have to worry about is “making ends meet until they meet the end”.

Unfortunately, the writing here is far stronger than the production. Albee has created a stifling social world of guarded conversations, full of innuendo, but director James Macdonald does it little justice. Desperation is conveyed too quickly, with no sense of the slide into apathy.

This fault matters less with characters clearly on the edge. Harry and Edna are the best friends who seek refuge due to their inexplicable fear. Diana Hardcastle’s panic is conveyed superbly, likewise her battle to stay and claim the ‘rights’ of her friendship with Agnes. Imelda Staunton plays Clare, the alcoholic sister-in-law, with wit and perspicacity.

Tim Pigott-Smith (Tobias) in A Delicate Balance at the Almeida Theatre. Photo by Hugo Glendinning
Tim Pigott-Smith as Tobias

But the production falters with its central characters and the talented cast never satisfactorily deals with Albee’s articulacy. Penelope Wilton’s Agnes is too magisterial and Tim Pigott-Smith’s Tobias always so close to a breakdown it is hard to imagine him as the conventional man he has always seemed to be.

The skeletons in this family’s closet are so easily exposed you wonder if the wardrobe door was ever closed. Macdonald’s indelicate production destroys Albee’s cleverly constructed rhythm – too much weight is given to calls to activism and not enough to either the humour or humanity of the piece.

Until 2 July 2011

www.almeida.co.uk

Photo by Hugo Glendinning

Written 13 May 2011 for The London Magazine