Tag Archives: Kirsty Bushell

“Romeo and Juliet” at Shakespeare’s Globe

Emma Rice’s second, and sadly final, season as creative director on the South Bank opened last night with a bold, experimental show directed by Daniel Kramer. Not for all tastes, and far from flawless, the production brims with intelligence as well as tricks – if originality is what you seek, it is plentiful.

The Montagues and Capulets are made up like clowns – “alike in dignity” indeed. Missiles hang in the sky and coffins abound as doom and death pervade the arena. Subtle it ain’t. Nearly every line is wrung for all its worth, with exaggerated delivery or incidental action. Even Romeo changing his trousers can mean missing a plot point. It’s exhausting, but always engaging. And such bombast makes the masque scene unmissable: karaoke ‘Y.M.C.A’? Why not? And Mrs C’s Fay Wray fancy dress is to die for.

Some of Kramer’s ideas are a puzzle. Why does Lady Capulet double as the apothecary? And why are there so many guns when knives and poison are specified? Other ideas have unfortunate consequences: the make-up and incredible costumes, a cohesive part of Soutra Gilmour’s design, make it difficult to differentiate characters. Which leads to the production’s biggest fault – a sense of performers struggling to stand out, leading to a kind of hyperinflation.

The notable exception is Golda Rosheuvel’s Mercutio, whose recasting as a woman adds tension to her friendship with Romeo. Rosheuvel embodies Queen Mab in unforgettable fashion and her death scene is shocking. In the title roles, Edward Hogg energetically follows Kramer’s strategy, using every inch of the stage. Kirsty Bushell’s Juliet is more captivating. The lovers present some of their venerated lines as hackneyed – a startling move that accentuates the often ridiculous and embarrassing nature of teenage love.

Kramer’s vision of the play is bleak right to the end –it’s about dying kids, after all. Anger fills the show, with a lot of running around. There’s a fantasy execution of parents and in-laws by Romeo, and Juliet’s lust is violent, too. Both scenes are riveting. The only quiet moment is the marriage night, during which Bushell and Hogg magically introduce a sombre tone. These lovers are more star defying than star crossed, leaving little room for any other emotion.

Kramer’s most exciting idea is conflating scenes. Joining Romeo and Juliet’s marriage with Mercutio’s fatal encounter with Tybalt adds poignancy. Playing scenes two and three of Act III simultaneously creates a riff on the theme of banishment and death that is inspired. It’s a shame these interpretations are more successful than the production’s emotional impact. Yet they are brilliant insights, shaping the way we see the play and, in my eyes, redeeming many of its faults.

Until 9 July 2017

www.shakespearesglobe.com

Photo by Robert Workman

“Torn” at the Royal Court

The upstairs auditorium at Sloane Square has been stripped back (I didn’t even know the space had windows) by designer Ultz, for Nathaniel Martello-White’s new play. The gathering of an extended family to discuss their painful past is part community meeting part trial, with memories explored and dissected.

Their shared secret is a painful one – the childhood abuse of Angel, who has convened this conference. The play is full of discomforting observations on race and aspiration, offering insight into the impact of abuse on a whole family. Traces of neglect that go back a generation, and anger and confusion carried forward, are painfully rendered and cumulatively overpowering.

Credit to director Richard Twyman, aided by a superb cast, for marshalling a show that, even at 90 minutes long, feels mammoth. Seated in a circle for a lot of the play, we can look anywhere at any time for a committed performance. Franc Ashman, Lorna Brown, Kirsty Bushell and Indra Ové are equally praiseworthy as the four sisters but, if there is a lead credit, Adelle Leonce as Angel fully deserves it. The men in the cast are strong too, with James Hillier grabbing attention as Angel’s stepfather.

With a touch too much backstory for some characters and at least one superfluous subplot, the play’s construction feels overworked. But its formal qualities are adventurous and memorable. Scenes are not presented chronologically. Action and dialogue overlap. Who is remembering what is seldom pinned down. As if all that weren’t demanding enough, there’s some odd language, including clunky flights of fancy, with group discussions interspersed with internal dialogues, one-to-one fights and characters moving back in time to younger stages of life.  Various cast members also adopt the role of the grandmother (confusing if you didn’t sneak a peek at the programme before hand).

I was reminded of a video installation, which is one of the character’s jobs, such as Ragnar Kjartansson’s multi-screen show at the Barbican: the audience decides which character to follow. Or a party game played in the piece, where characters making animal noises have to ‘zone in’ on their designated partner. There’s a fine line between all this being engaging and being just a turn off. At times, Torn appears simply obtuse. It’s the author’s prerogative to decide how much aid he gives an audience. I confess I could have done with a little more help here.

Until 15 October 2016

www.royalcourttheatre.com

Photo by Helen Maybanks

“Edward II” at the National Theatre

Director Joe Hill-Gibbins made his debut at the National Theatre last night with a radical version of Christopher Marlowe’s Edward II. He’s the King whose murder with a red hot poker makes him the medieval monarch schoolboys remember. This crazy collage of show revels in incongruous touches, using our current National anthem and the hokey cokey in its soundtrack, and wrenches the personal from an explicitly political text. Best of all, it boasts a lead performance from John Heffernan that must not be missed.

Hill-Gibbins’ inventive staging is bracing – a bag of tricks that updates Marlowe with a defiantly energetic touch. Projecting live films onto the walls, including scenes in an inside-out room (reminiscent of a Rachel Whiteread sculpture) that the audience cannot see into, gives a sense of intimacy and conspiracy. There are touches that will ruffle feathers – brash, bold and sexy – including the longest snog I’ve seen on a stage for a while. But the production is never obtuse; the court and its conflicts are consistently presented as a game played by debauched egoists.

The “base, leaden Earls” are deliberately overblown, outraged by the explicitness of Edward’s love for his minion Gaveston rather than questions of social status. Two roles, transformed into female parts, stand out, with Kirsty Bushell as Kent and Penny Layden as Pembroke, displaying sympathy toward the King that injects pathos. The biggest problem is for Edward’s wife Isabella. Vanessa Kirby proclaims her love for the King, between drags of her fag and swigs of bolly, well enough, but the production focuses so much on Edward’s homosexuality that it denies tension between the two of them.

Jpeg 8 - NTedward
Kyle Soller

Gaveston, the “ruin of the realm”, is performed by Kyle Soller with magnificent dynamism – when he kneels to the King it’s as if he’s about to start a race. In Soller’s performance the morbid playfulness of the production genuinely unnerves. But the suffering is all Edward’s and the scenes of his torture, filmed and projected throughout the final act, makes this a gruelling role that establishes Heffernan as an important actor. Despite the manic action around him, Heffernan has the power to create a stillness and deliver Marlowe’s poetry magnificently.

Until 26 October 2013

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Manuel Harlan

Written 5 September 2013 for The London Magazine

“Disgraced” at the Bush Theatre

It’s easy to see why Ayad Akhtar’s play, Disgraced, which receives its UK premiere at the Bush Theatre, has been such a critical hit. Directed by Nadia Fall, it’s a classically constructed, painfully topical story about how religion and terrorism touch the lives of four successful New Yorkers.

Amir is an apostate, forcefully rejecting his Muslim background, a faith that is embraced by his young nephew Abe, and of interest to his Caucasian wife Emily, an artist in awe of the “formal language” of Islamic tiles. Their friends are a Jewish curator, Isaac, admiring of attempts to make art “sacred”, and his wife, Jory, an African-American lawyer, who is Amir’s rival at work.

The main quartet don’t travel that well. They seem a contrived set and it’s difficult to gage how humorous their chitchat is supposed to be. Amir’s objections to Islam and removal from his heritage are intended to be an “issue”, but British audiences know a touch of self-loathing is perfectly normal and might find the absence of deprecation a little suspicious.

That said, the talented cast make the most of the roles and breathe a great deal of life into them. Nigel Whitmey has the hardest job as the curator, Sara Powell makes her smaller role as his wife stand out and Danny Ashok gives a credible performance as a young man slipping toward radicalism. In the lead roles Hari Dhillon and Kirsty Bushell are spectacular, both showing the development of their characters and their intense emotions marvellously.

It’s when the veneer of civilisation breaks down that the play takes off. Much like Yasmina Reza’s God of Carnage, when the booze flows and the gloves come off, things get very dirty indeed. And, with its focus on religion, Akhtar’s play comes close to the bone, especially in light of recent tragic events here in London. Many of the views expressed seem incendiary and the violence in the play is truly shocking.

If you like your drawing room drama intense, this one is for you. Akhtar’s attempts to open the swish Upper East side to some big issues is admirable, but whether or not he succeeds, or really just shows we can all use history, politics and religion ignobly, is debatable. Where disgrace lies is the open question concluding the play, but one thing is sure, Akhtar and this talented team in London, have nothing to be ashamed of.

Until 29 June 2013

www.bushtheatre.co.uk

Photo by Simon Kane

Written 24 May 2013 for The London Magazine

“Double Bill” at The National Theatre

Double Bill, The National Theatre’s programme of four short plays by new writers, finds itself located in the theatre’s paint frame. An impressive working space, it’s a startling location for the pieces: edgy and exciting, this minor reworking of Lasdun’s building does the theatre credit.

First up are Edgar and Annabel by Sam Holcroft and The Swan by DC Moore. Both writers already have exciting reputations. It’s only fitting that the National gives them a platform, and they rise to the occasion.

Holcroft presents a dystopian future with swift precision, turning a political scenario into a domestic drama with such wit and originality it doesn’t deserve a plot spoiler. The eponymous couple have a dark secret that leads to hilarious dealings with a karaoke machine and explosives. In the title roles Trystan Gravelle and Kirsty Bushell deal with their characters’ double lives impeccably.

THE SWAN by Moore
“The Swan” performed in the National Theatre’s paint frame

DC Moore takes us to a more familiar place. The London Magazine readers won’t visit many pubs such as The Swan, certainly not on the occasion of a wake for a crowd like this one, but Moore’s family tragedy contains both compelling humour and drama.

With a star turn from Trevor Cooper as the patriarch Jim, who delivers every line with an obscenity, and a superb cameo from Claire-Louise Cordwell, damaging secrets are hidden to preserve a deeper truth – brought home to us with a little help from Spandau Ballet. Moore’s characters have to be seen to be believed and they are well worth watching.

Both Holcroft and Moore have an unfailing gift for dialogue; vital since despite superb design here, and hard work for the back stage crew whose home we are invading, these are modest productions. The conversations that occur in any relationship when it becomes mundane and the talk you might overhear in a less than salubrious South London local are wonderfully observed and then developed to another level with a mature concern for the truth.

Any institution with the longevity and largesse of the National Theatre will have a chequered history of new writing. Playwrights coming to work there are placed in the spotlight and automatically join a debate about the state of the arts, whether they want to or not. If these first two plays are anything to go by, new writing is in superb shape – Double Bill is an event that one hopes will become a fixture.

Until 10 September 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 5 August 2011 for The London Magazine

“Danton’s Death” at the National Theatre

As anyone who has attempted Hilary Mantel’s supernovel on the theme will know, revolutionary France seems to have been a fairly confusing place. All those factions and ideologies and decapitations make our current coalition government look dull. And they can be hard to follow. Fortunately, Howard Brenton’s new version of Büchner’s classic, Danton’s Death, cuts to the chase and is light on history and politics.

It is Danton the philosopher that we meet at the National Theatre. His meditations on mortality and fame just happen to have political turmoil as a background. Unfortunately, thinking and politics don’t mix well for him.

Toby Stephens plays Danton. He shouts against corruption superbly but excels when showing the mania of his complex character. Charges of libertinism seem well founded but he is so full of life and charisma that he is appealing. Stephens is magnetic whether on the soapbox, in the bedroom or in prison with his friends.

It is clear we should be following him. Anyway, the opposition are a tiresome lot. Elliot Levey’s Robespierre is a sibilant schoolboy who holds your interest but is hardly terrifying. His followers do far too much arm waving to rise above pantomime.

More disappointing than our hero’s enemies is his wife. Danton’s philandering doesn’t seem to have disturbed Madame at all. I am not sure what would fluster her, as Kirsty Bushell’s performance is so understated as to be soporific. She might be annoyed at the mess he’s going to make of his collar, but that’s about it.

Thankfully the spotlight is on Danton most of the time. And what a spotlight it is – Paule Constable’s lighting for the production is stunning, working perfectly with Christopher Oram’s cliché-free set and aiding director Michael Grandage’s clear, fast-paced production.

Danton’s death comes quickly and the props department’s stunning guillotine is truly convincing. I panicked for a moment, thinking Toby Stephens had been sacrificed for the sake of his art. That would have been a tragedy indeed – this production can’t afford to lose him.

Until 14 October 2010

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 2 August 2010 for The London Magazine