Tag Archives: Lauren Gunderson

“The Time Traveller’s Wife” at the Apollo Theatre 

Any show tackling time travel runs the risk of being judged a waste of just that precious commodity. This new musical adaptation by Lauren Gunderson of Audrey Niffenegger’s best-selling novel isn’t that bad. There’s plenty of talent involved – on stage and off. And it is, broadly speaking, entertaining. But it is bland.

This isn’t sci-fi. The story of Henry, who can’t help going back and forth in time, and Clare, who has to put up with his disappearing, is really about loss and grief. Let’s ignore the uncomfortable idea of Henry meeting Clare when she is a young girl and her waiting to grow up for him. Or Henry’s fascination with his opera-singing mother who died when he was a child but who he waits at stage doors for as a grown man. Instead, Niffenegger’s repetition that “love wins” and that it exists outside time is an idea clearly appealing enough for huge success.

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Joanna Woodward and David Hunter

Even if you think there’s always time for romance, I fear disappointment, as the show is horribly rushed. An awful lot of the book has been crammed on to the stage and, as a result, there’s little room for emotion. Too much time is taken working out what’s going on. And this is all despite the efforts of our leads, David Hunter and Joanna Woodward, who sound great, act well, and, alongside director Bill Buckhurst, make sure the action is clear.

The score is a big disappointment. Indeed, coming from Joss Stone and Dave Stewart, the songs are something of a shock. Nothing is unpleasant (although some incidental music sounds like we’re in a lift) but nothing is inspired. And, too often, perky, sweet or swooning sounds contrast awkwardly with what’s going on in the story. And isn’t it downright odd that, despite the time travel, there’s so little variety in the score? There’s no exploration of the time covered by events. The lyrics, credited to Kait Kerrigan as well as Stone and Stewart, are bad. Attempts at humour fail.

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David Hunter and Ross Dawes

Yet there is stuff to praise in the show. Buckhurst has a lot of success with the staging, helped by Chris Fisher’s illusions. Andrzej Goulding’s video and animation work is a highlight. Anna Fleischle’s design, particularly the costumes, are useful. There are also strong roles for Tim Mahendran and Ross Dawes as Henry’s friend and father, respectively. While the main love story is beige, these incidental figures get the best numbers dramatically. It just seems slim pickings for a big show and not worth travelling (far) for.

Until 30 March 2024

www.timetravellerswife.com

Photos by Johan Persson

“anthropology” at the Hampstead Theatre

Playwright Lauren Gunderson takes an impressively calm approach to artificial intelligence. The technology is here, the question is what we do with it. So rather than examine existential threats, anthropology is a thriller – a neat one, if flawed – that has AI solving a crime.

Gunderson takes many already established ideas about AI – which means we don’t learn much that is new – but our suspicions and fears are used effectively. Like Jordan Harrison’s play, Marjorie Prime, the technology helps someone grieving: a programmer called Merril creates an algorithm based on her missing sister, Angie. What happens next is a good twist and the plot is firm.

anthropology is smart and entertaining, with nice turns of phrase and well-handled light touches. But it is also cold. Despite Merril’s mental health, the breakdown of her relationship, and her troubled mother making an appearance, she is a distant figure. Indeed, all the characters are strangely rarefied. Given a title that indicates a study of people and societies characterisation is a struggle and the quartet of people we meet too small a cross-section.

Emotion is led by the strong cast, carefully guided by director Anna Ledwich. Taking the lead as Merril, a bravura performance means MyAnna Buring impresses – she can command Georgia’s Lowe’s bare stage and isn’t overpowered by Daniel Denton’s impressive video designs. Dakota Blue Richards has the tough role of Angie, (mostly) a disembodied voice or video, and excels at both sinister hints and comic touches.

The sisters are bravely unlikeable. It’s interesting to watch how the AI programme changes – as it gets better, Angie becomes worse! Or question how much Merril forces her unhealthy ideas on those around her. But loosely sketched back stories need to be clearer. All the characters seem trapped in their trauma and there’s little sense of them existing outside the scenario of the play. The roles of mother and girlfriend suffer most – while Yolanda Kettle and Abigail Thaw do a good job – their characters are flat and it is hard to care about them.

Unless…there is a deeper irony to anthropology? AI is based on patterns and both the play, and its characters, could be said to follow models. Gunderson uses ideas from science fiction, from thrillers and even the film Casablanca. Having a sense of what comes next – how much you can predict or, maybe, what we expect from a genre – runs through the piece. If that is the idea then it is a playfully intriguing one…but maybe better as a concept than as a drama.

Until 14 October 2023

www.hampsteadtheatre.com

Photo by The Other Richard

"I and You" at the Hampstead Theatre via Instagram

While not being able to visit the theatre, or blog about it, is low on the list of most people’s problems right now, any glimpse at a big part of my normal life is welcome. I’m grateful to Hampstead Theatre for streaming this play, first seen on its stage last October, and a chance to get as close to theatre as is currently possible.

Lauren Gunderson’s two-hander has its teenage characters occupied with death and art. Caroline is waiting for a liver transplant, trapped in her room for health reasons, while Anthony from her school is assigned to work on a poetry project with her. It’s serious stuff, but not as heavy as it sounds. Gunderson has a nice way of lightening the themes with some surprisingly gentle comedy. 

The performers, Maisie Williams and Zach Wyatt, are good with the jokes and Gunderson’s strong characters are a gift to them. Williams makes Caroline’s self-definition as “small and mighty” believable – the character is abrasive and obnoxious, but above all appealingly honest. It’s no small achievement to see past the illness to get a well-rounded role: her hatred of the “kittens and winky faces” people send her on social media, as well as her obvious intelligence, come through. And surely you have to admire someone who names their cat Bitter. Wyatt has a harder job but also does well: Anthony’s enthusiasm for the poetry of Walt Whitman feels forced, but it’s easy to see how it would have worked better on a stage than on a screen. For a lot of the piece, there’s too much of the teacher about him for someone who is supposed to be Caroline’s peer.

There are other problems, although all are mitigated by Edward Hall’s skilful direction. Claiming I and You is too shouty might be subjective, but there are clunky touches around sudden love and pain. We can pass over Caroline’s knowledge of a poem she supposedly hasn’t read, but her enthusiasm waxes and wanes too abruptly. And, while the budding friendship between the two youngsters is mostly touching, a potential romance feels superfluous. The play’s twist, which has potential, arrives a little too late and feels underexplored.

Nonetheless, this is a work of focus and skill. Gunderson has a strong ear for speech. The kids’ project is on pronouns, and proves thought-provoking, while Caroline’s dialogue, with its “prefaces” and “postscripts”, is fascinating. While there’s plenty of talk of collages, and how strange they can be, Gunderson’s work is far from bricolage and all the better for it. Caroline’s artwork focuses on close-up photography – the beauty that most of us miss – a quality shared with detailed moments in the text. I look forward to seeing Gunderson’s work live at some point and promise I’ll attend whatever show she, or Hampstead Theatre, has on as soon as I can.

Available @hampstead_theatre on Instagram until Sunday 20 March 2020

Photo by Manual Harlan