Tag Archives: Lydia Wilson

“The Maids” at the Donmar Warehouse

As any of the characters in his new production might say, director Kip Williams is having a moment… and I’m here for it. Following a thrilling go at Oscar Wilde (and aren’t we all excited about Dracula next year?), this is his new version of Jean Genet’s 1947 play. There are problems – maybe concessions would be a fairer description – but The Maids is stylish, intense and intelligent.

That moment Williams is having is very now. Achingly so. The play is frequently changed (Jamie Lloyd’s version also “updated” the action), but here the Madame from Genet’s play could have walked in off the streets outside the venue. She is transformed into a social media fashionista influencer. Her titular staff are still poor sisters and they still want her life, but it’s a life online that they crave. So, a lot of Genet’s interest in power, particularly class, takes a different direction and is, perhaps, even lost. The religious overtones in the “rituals” the maids perform struggle for potency.

Yerin Ha as Madame in The Maids at the Donmar Warehouse
Yerin Ha as Madame

Instead, Williams goes for satire. And, of course, he has plenty to aim at with his new Madame and her followers. This is a strong performance from Yerin Ha as a spoilt rich kid who is breathtakingly solipsistic and easy to hate. It is to Ha’s credit that we sense the pressure her character is under (even if we think it is silly). There’s a similar doubt about the sisters. How serious or dangerous are they? Their bond to Madame is hard to explain and a plot to murder her (Genet’s initial inspiration) almost disappears. 

Williams focuses his efforts on the language that Phia Saban and Lydia Wilson, who take the titular roles, handle marvellously. Mixing Genet’s flowery, morbid, somewhat suffocating vocabulary with a lot of swearing and contemporary slang is a bravura achievement. The script creates a vivid alternate reality that’s far more intoxicating than anything online. It is here where we see how crazed the sisters are, trapped in their imaginations as much as their employment.

This is a script I really wanted to read. And it is frequently funny. The humour throughout is great (Saban is particularly strong) and, if tension is lacking, despite excellent music from DJ Walde, it is still compulsive viewing. Williams’ direction is sure. Despite the one-room setting, the play is never static. There’s a lot of looking at phones and filters, but projecting these on to the mirrored doors of Madame’s wardrobe is a brilliant move from set designer Rosanna Vize. Darker moments are lost, and it seems fair to question this decision. But it is surely a knowing sacrifice in a play that is executed superbly.

Until 29 November 2025

www.donmarwarehouse.com

Photos by Marc Brenner

“Walden” at the Harold Pinter Theatre

It’d be lovely to roundly cheer producer Sonia Friedman’s idea of bringing new writing to the stage as the West End reopens. And bravo to director Ian Rickson and the performers of this first show of the ‘Re:Emerge Season’. Unfortunately, Amy Berryman’s debut play only musters polite applause.

Walden is the story of estranged scientist sisters Cassie and Stella, with Stella’s fiancé Bryan thrown in. Cassie’s just got back from the moon – the job Stella wanted – and is visiting the off-grid cabin her sister has retreated to. You can’t call Berryman’s writing bad – it’s studied, careful and competent – but it is predictable, and the story is thin.

One hour, 40 minutes is a long time to spend on sibling rivalry. With the legacy of their father’s space travel adding little, and a former love interest’s sketchy presence, the conflict between the sisters isn’t firmly grounded. It’s Gemma Arterton and Lydia Wilson’s performances as the sisters that hold the interest and bring conviction to the, admittedly detailed, roles. The only tension, as moments of passion and conflict fluctuate, comes with trying to work out which sister is really the coldest or most damaged… or which is the least likeable.

The near-future sci-fi elements of the play aren’t original (the same old climate catastrophe and mass migration) and nothing new is done with them. There’s a conspiracy theory (of course), this time a nasty Nasa. And a debate over moving to the moon feels tacked on – only phraseology is discussed – Cassie doesn’t like the word ‘Colony’.

It is with the character of Bryan – which Fehinti Balogun does a brilliant job with – that the play really shows its flaws. Too obviously introduced to create discussion – he is an ‘Earth Advocate’ opposed to science – it is solely Balogun’s skill that makes watching the character bearable. Only there to serve up questions to the other characters, which are subsequently ignored, Bryan’s own backstory is tacked on in almost insulting fashion. Frustratingly, Bryan should be essential – it is his “life in the woods” that the action is set in. 

Apart from a cabin, there’s little of Henry David Thoreau in the play that takes the name of his famous retreat and book – surely a missed opportunity? There are plenty of influential ideas in Thoreau that could be explored, but any you might think connect with the play are only superficial. At best a brief discussion of Thoreau allows us to make up our mind about Cassie: describing him as a “whiney hipster” could confirm your opinion about her – I was ready to see her off the planet as soon as she said it!

It’s great to see performers on a stage again. And these are great performers, well directed. But it’s frustrating to see so little done with the stage. Waldenv could easily be a radio play. Indeed, a therapy session might be a more accurate description? More than once, characters ask one another “Tell me what you’re feeling”, before we settle down to a description. Too many scenes are duologues with forced debate.

An unresolved ending indicates how lost the script becomes. Despite the performances, it’s hard to care what happens to either sister. There’s a lot of talk of purpose in the play but too few interesting questions are raised or developed, leaving Walden itself with little point.

Until 12 June 2021

www.sfp-reemergeseason.com

“Hysteria” at Hampstead Theatre

Hampstead Theatre’s new production of Terry Johnson’s Hysteria is a significant revival, not least because the writer himself directs it. One of the most successful plays to mine the rich seam of psychoanalysis, it imagines Freud on the couch. Like the man himself, it explores trauma and humour in inspired fashion. This is a work of big ideas that boggles the mind and attempts to explain deep truths.

The action is set down the road from the theatre in Maresfield Gardens, during Freud’s exile in London just before the Second World War. The father of the unconscious approaches his death with plenty of humour. Antony Sher is magnificent in the lead; Freud joins Stanley Spencer and Primo Levi as famous figures Sher has embodied so well. Elements of farce abound as he hides a naked woman in his closet from his Doctor (David Horovitch – excellent) and a visitor paying homage, none other than Salvador Dali.

The scenes of farce are a delight. Adrian Schiller’s “doolally” Dali is superb and his accent a triumph. But the play soon develops into a tense exploration of Freud’s methods and the foundation of his movement. In an emotional performance as the unwanted guest in his bathroom, Lydia Wilson highlights one of Freud’s failures, a case study he presumptuously reported as a success, and a change in his theories that she questions. Her interrogation of him reveals his doubts and the trauma in his own life.

Johnson’s play is full of clever touches and is a close study of his subject. It can’t have hurt the farce that Freud’s study was full of erotic sculptures but picking out the Surrealist painter’s visit is inspired. The final tableau, depicting Freud’s dream, realised by Lez Brotherson’s superbly ambitious set, rises to the challenge of a problem Johnson highlights – that depicting the unconscious diminishes it – but can still create fine theatre.

Until 12 October 2013

www.hampsteadtheatre.com

Photo by Alaistair Muir

Written 13 September 2013 for The London Magazine