Tag Archives: National Theatre

2014

“Here Lies Love” at the National Theatre

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The National Theatre’s gone all trendy. Passing the new, stylish Understudy Bar, to the swanky refurbishment of the Dorfman (formerly Cottesloe) auditorium, you can see that plenty of money has been splashed around. And the first show in the renamed space is just as startling: a musical ‘experience’ by David ‘Talking Heads’ Byrnes and Fatboy Slim (aka Norman Cook).

To be fair, the National does its best to embrace all kinds of work and this production comes from New York’s Public Theatre. Here Lies Love is so achingly ‘out there’ it could annoy, but there’s a stubbornness to do something different that wins admiration. Something this fresh, almost innocent, has its appeal.

Byrnes and Cook aren’t known for musical theatre, rather their iconoclastic approaches to pop music. Here Lies Love is about Imelda Marcos – yet there’s no mention of her infamous shoe collection. It’s a story of revolution, like other notable musicals, but the Philippines People Power Revolution was a peaceful one; a truly inspiring story, but not automatically the greatest drama.

The dance music works surprisingly well with dramatic political events that call on the crowd. But the beat fails to deliver when a song aims for emotional sincerity, creating bathos instead. A DJ, played by Martin Sarreal, presides over events, but it’s notable that his finest moment is with an acoustic guitar rather than at a turntable.

The show is a collection of songs rather than a true musical – which is interesting, but creates some problems. Exposition comes from signs and voice-overs rather than the songs. Lyrics aren’t strong but occasions when real life transcripts are utilised are gripping. Imelda’s rags to riches story isn’t exactly wasted but it isn’t fully explored either. What depth the characters have comes from the performances.

Jpeg 4. Christopher Chung (ensemble) and Mark Bautista (Fedinand Marcos)_Here Lies Love_credit Tristram Kenton
Mark Bautista as Fedinand Marcos

And the performances are fantastic. Seldom have I seen such an energetic cast on stage, nor, incidentally, such a good-looking one.  is stunning in the lead role, making Imelda an unexpected heroine and a suitably magnetic figure. Imelda’s love interests, first the aspiring, later rival, politician Ninoy Aquino (Dean John-Wilson) and then her husband Ferdinand (Mark Bautista), both have great stage presence. All can sing and dance powerfully well – and that’s no mean feat when you are running a country at the same time.

The staging is remarkable; a huge technical treat, forcefully directed by Alex Timbers, with special ushers to marshal the crowd around a rotating stage. All this immersion is so fashionable it can seem tokenistic, but if it’s your thing you will dance and sing along. There’s a lesson in line dancing – and don’t forget the Philippines invented karaoke. Here Lies Love almost lives up to its tag line of being ‘revolutionary’. Despite connections to other musicals and theatre trends, it’s not quite like anything else – which is a pretty strong recommendation.

Until 8 January 2015

www.nationaltheatre.org

Photos by Tristram Kenton

2014

“The James Plays” at the National Theatre

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Rona Munro’s trilogy about Scottish Kings James I, II and III has arrived at the National Theatre, co-producer of the shows, after opening at the Edinburgh International Festival. The plays make a theatrical marathon, each a meaty two-and-a-half hours long, but are an easy race to run. And while satisfying as a threesome, each stands alone and is startlingly individual.

James I: The Key Will Keep The Lock gets off to a rollicking start. It’s the story of the first King’s return to Scotland from England, where he was held captive, establishing power amongst warring chiefs and battling with the powerful Stewart family. James McArdle takes the lead in style – his might be the finest male performance of the trilogy. There’s plenty of action and even the ghost of Henry V. Best of all is his romantic relationship with his English Queen Joan, performed with spirit by Stephanie Hyam, which has an authentic and unsentimental ring to it.

James II: Day of the Innocents takes a different approach, looking at the trauma the next King suffers from seeing his father murdered and being abandoned by his mother. James’s early years are manically reconstructed, using puppetry and a lot of running around, so it takes a white for Andrew Rothney (pictured above) to get into the title role. There’s another strong wife, but of greater interest is his relationship with Mark Rowley’s Douglas, the best friend he subsequently betrays. This is a fascinating mix of rivalry and compassion as the two bullied young men fight for their independence.

Although the writing for women is strong throughout, Munro really focuses on the ladies at court in the final play, James III: The True Mirror. This King is an aesthete, and a lascivious one at that: think Edward II in a PVC kilt. The play has an even more modern feel to mark this ruler out as the first Renaissance monarch. Jamie Sives takes on the role with an extravagant bravura. But the attraction is his Queen Margaret, played by The Killing star Sofie Gråbøl, who is thoroughly engaging in every scene and benefits from being joined on stage by the excellent Blythe Duff, who excels in all three plays.

Munro’s writing is assured. What could have been dry history and, given the recent referendum, a victim of obvious political points, is fresh and often funny. She brings out questions of autonomy and responsibility lightly and her thoughts on family and loyalty are absorbing. Full of modern touches, most notably some ripe language, Munro creates distance with the Shakespearean parallels her work inevitably evokes. Laurie Sansom’s direction is a grand achievement, although there are moments when it feels unsubtle, a little like the giant sword that presides over the action. The prop is big but not clever, unlike the plays themselves, which are grand and intelligent. Try to see as many as you can.

Until 29 October 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Manuel Harlan

Written 26 September 2014 for The London Magazine

2014

“The Silver Tassie” at the National Theatre

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You are warned before entering the National Theatre’s new show, The Silver Tassie, “contains loud explosions, pyrotechnic effects and gunshots”. They aren’t kidding. Howard Davies’ production really is explosive – all credit to the technical crew and a team of designers – but all the whizz-bang effects can’t distract from the conclusion that it’s a tricky evening out.

Sean O’Casey’s play about World War I is famously difficult to stage. Though the story of sporting hero and winner of the eponymous trophy Harry Heegan is simple enough – showing his experience of war and then life as a cripple afterwards – the undoubtedly powerful language is complex and the influence Expressionist. I suspect it reads better on the page than it could possibly be delivered on stage.

And the hugely experienced director Davies, who I normally admire so much, does little to aid the delivery of O’Casey’s poetry. The cast seems lost on stage, struggling to fill the space no matter how dynamic the language. There seems little chance to form a connection with the characters. And as for the second act…

On the battlefield Davies uses noise, lights and explosions in an attempt to create a frightening, surreal world. It’s an honest attempt to deal with O’Casey’s experimentation. Unfortunately the action is incomprehensible and alienating. Theatregoers know war and song can go hand and hand (the recent revival of Oh! What a Lovely War makes an uncomfortable contrast with this show) but here, despite Stephen Warbeck being on board for the music, the results seem pretentious and almost farcical. Placing an emphasis on singing, surely it would have been wise to cast some strong vocalists?

THE SILVER TASSIE national theatre
Ronan Raftery

Should you decided to return after the interval, and I am sure many will not, you will be rewarded as the play returns to realism. There’s a fine performance from in the lead role. Now in a wheelchair and full of fury, Ronan Raftery is commanding and dedicated. There’s also strong acting from Harry’s former fiancée, played by Deirdre Mullins, and a fine double act from comedy commentators Sylvester and Simon (Aidan McArdle and Stephen Kennedy). But the script deliberately lacks coherence and Davies embraces this flaw. Without those explosions to keep you awake this is just a confusing bore.

Until 3 July 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 24 April 2014 for The London Magazine

2014

“A Taste of Honey” at the National Theatre

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Having started the year with a fantastic production of King Lear, the National Theatre has a second must-see show in as many months. The revival of Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey is the finest work from director Bijan Sheibani that I’ve seen. This important and influential play, as much about dreams and aspirations as any grim-up-north reality, is given its due in a deft production that subtly injects moments of fancy, revealing the rich inner lives of its poverty-stricken characters. Sheibani indicates, rather than shouts, how shocking Delaney’s 1958 play must have been when first shown.

The performances are superb. Kate O’Flynn takes the role of Jo, surely one of the most fascinating parts for a young actress (and famously written when Delaney herself was only 19). She brings out the ‘ill-starred’ schoolgirl’s mercurial quality; spotlighting her innocence, and the worldly wisdom that comes with her upbringing. While dealing with her mother’s fancy man, her own brief affair with a black sailor and then homemaking, while pregnant, with gay friend Geoffrey, O’Flynn is captivating. Meanwhile, the male supporting cast – Dean Lennox Kelly, Eric Kofi Abrefa and Harry Hepple – convince while avoiding sensationalism.

But it’s Lesley Sharp’s performance as Jo’s mother Helen that steals the show. The role is presented as hugely overblown – exaggerated; outrageous; camp in its truest meaning – and the result is remarkably rich. With eyes and hips rolling like Mae West, Sharp makes Helen sexy (something Dora Bryan, for all her skill, didn’t attempt in the 1961 film). Seen as a virile middle-aged woman, her selfishness makes more sense. And she’s funny – ferociously so. The original Broadway cast of the show had Angela Lansbury in the role, and it would be lovely if she could catch Sharp’s performance while in rehearsals for Blythe Spirit (and even better to know what she thinks of it).

Delaney’s text still startles. Poetic and provocative after all these years, it now appears more direct, and more focused, than those by her equally angry contemporaries. Delaney wrote her ground breaking ‘minority’ characters with striking maturity, and her political aims remain inspiring. While you might admire works by Arnold Wesker and John Osborne from a similar era, you fall in love with A Taste of Honey and Delaney. She should take the final bow.

Until 11 May 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

Written 20 February 2014 for The London Magazine

2014

“King Lear” at the National Theatre

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The National Theatre has rolled out the big guns to start 2014 – Simon Russell Beale as King Lear directed by Sam Mendes. It doesn’t matter what the weather is doing, or what your budget is like, make a resolution to see this one.

It’s a grand production in many ways. Star director Mendes was widely rumored for the top job at the National Theatre (it went to Rufus Norris), and is clearly at home here. Behind Anthony Ward’s deceptively simple design, the Olivier auditorium is used for all it’s worth. The sense of space is appropriately magisterial and the endlessly revolving stage reflects the play’s conceit of a wheel of fortune. Lear’s kingdom is a noirish nightmare inhabited by gangsters, militia and Blackshirts.

It isn’t just the superb spectacle that makes this Lear memorable. Simon Russell Beale gives the first unmissable performance of the year. His physical transformation is striking – he seems to shrink into the role in a degeneration that accelerates before your eyes. Always an intelligent performer, Russell Beale’s frequent work with Mendes shows how well he interprets the director’s powerful vision. This Lear is scary, a potent psychopath and giving up his throne is acknowledged as inexplicable. It’s a strategy that makes sense of his rages and fills the stage with fear. In a bold move, Lear kills Adrian Scarborough’s thought-provoking fool (in this production he’s even occasionally funny) in an agony of anger.

Matching him in menace, Lear’s daughters are clearly from the same mould. Fantastic casting is made the most of with Kate Fleetwood’s Goneril and Anna Maxwell-Martin’s Regan stealing many of the scenes they are in. Vampish and vicious, they are full of manoeuvres. Olivia Vinall’s Cordelia is also defiantly active, donning army fatigues as she leads an invading force to rescue her father. This Lear is action packed throughout. The plot fuels the tragedy in a way that emphasises that justice isn’t abstract, or the twisted sport of a divinity, but the work of man. From this, the end is even more tragic than usual, with a near unbearably moving performance by Russell Beale.

Until 25 March 2014

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Mark Douet

Written 27 January 2014 for The London Magazine

2013

“Edward II” at the National Theatre

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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.

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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

2013

“Children of the Sun” at the National Theatre

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One of the many creative teams who have contributed to recent successes at the National Theatre, director Howard Davies and writer Andrew Upton – whose reputation rests on a series of adaptations of Russian classics – are back with Children of the Sun. Maxim Gorky’s play, adapted and directed with justified confidence, is fresh and vital. Also re-collaborating, designer Bunny Christie has created a stunning set that makes the most of the National’s Lyttelton stage.

A perceptive psychological drama about the “fools and idiots” in and around one family, there are love affairs galore in Children of the Sun. Intense Russians might be a cliché in hands less skilled then Upton’s, but here the morbid emotions and high-flown ideals engage. The diverse characters are so well drawn and developed that the actors can truly embrace their roles. From the “great nanniness” still living with this distinctly infantile family, played by Maggie McCarthy, to the man ostensibly in charge as head of the family, Protasov (Geoffrey Streatfeild), the cast is uniformly impressive.

More than a moving family drama, Children of the Sun abounds with issues as well: it questions the role of art and science and the nature of society. Gorky the commentator, very much of his time, seems relevant with Upton on board. Hindsight is used but, thankfully for the drama, it feels as if anything might happen. The privileged Protasov is a scientist so obsessed with work that his family and the whole village suffer. The intelligentsia, to which he belongs, feel they are battling superstition – but you can’t blame the locals when it turns out they are being poisoned by his experiments. The play’s bloody, depressing conclusion shocks and stirs. The characters’ fates and the broader questions Gorky raises make for an explosive mix.

Until 14 July 2013

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Rupert Hubert Smith

Written 20 April 2013 for The London Magazine

2013

“Port” at the National Theatre

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Following the success of their production of The Curious Incident (which transfers to the Apollo Theatre in March) it feels as if the National Theatre is rewarding writer Simon Stephens and director Marianne Elliott with a revival of the 1992 play, Port, which they first worked on in Manchester. Set in Stockport, where they both grew up, it’s a piece close to their hearts – indeed the whole play is sincere to a fault.

Fulfilling plenty of prejudices Londoners might have about the north, Port is a grim affair that traces the life of Racheal from 11 to 23. The poor girl’s trauma starts early when her mother abandons her. And things don’t get much better as she moves into dismal jobs and abusive relationships. Everyday Stockport is dysfunctional and depressing, its inhabitants desperate and cruel as they stumble through life.

You can see why the play has its advocates. Stephens’ expletive-filled language has its own kind of beauty – full of skilled observations and rich imagery. And he has written wonderful roles: from Rachael’s mum, who only appears in the first scene and is performed skilfully by Liz White, to the lead, played from child to woman by Kate O’Flynn in a remarkable performance that can’t be praised enough. But the play is so bleak that it becomes monochrome and, under Elliott’s static direction, monotonous.

Giving away whether or not Rachael sets sail for brighter shores would be to ruin what little tension Port has and unfortunately the ending feels tacked on and unconvincing. Sadly, despite the commitment of the cast, it is unlikely that Port will win many hearts.

Until 24 March 2013

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Kevin Cummings

Written 1 February 2013 for The London Magazine

2012

“The Magistrate” at the National Theatre

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Stepping into a gap in the National Theatre’s schedule left by the cancellation of The Count of Monte Cristo, Timothy Sheader’s production of The Magistrate may be a last-minute stocking filler – but it doesn’t feel like one. Packed with laughs and polished to perfection, it’s a real gift for the Christmas season.

This is a theatrical achievement all the more impressive because Arthur Wing Pinero’s 1885 play isn’t all that great on the page. When Agatha marries Aeneas Posket, she lies about her age and turns her son, Cis, from a 19-year-old man into a 14-year-old boy. The ‘larks’ he gets up to drop the whole family, and any passing female, into deep water, forcing his new step-father, a Magistrate, to get involved. The exposition could be slow and the satire weak, but Sheader fills the show with energy, kicking it into life and giving the National’s last hit comedy, One Man, Two Guvnors, a run for its money.

Of course, comedy is all about timing and The Magistrate‘s wonderful cast excels at this: from the excellent Beverly Rudd, who shines in the small part of Popham the maid, to Jonathan Coy, who plays an Army Captain from Agatha’s past with enough bluster to steal a scene or two, and Joshua McGuire, who gets great laughs as the young son “swelling with agitation” as a result of the five years taken off his age. With so much talent on stage it seems that John Lithgow, who takes on the title role, needs to grow into his part a little – he’s certainly upstaged by his wife, played by Nancy Carroll, in absolutely fabulous style.

Musical interludes with lyrics by Richard Stilgoe (with a nod to Gilbert and Sullivan) add even more fun, and the sets from designer Katrina Lindsay are magnificent – pop-up fantasies that make the most of the Olivier stage, they hint at Christmas cards. But this show is so good that it’s not just for Christmas and should entertain for a long time afterwards.

Until 10 February 2013

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 23 November 2012 for The London Magzine

2012

“Damned by Despair” at the National Theatre

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In case it doesn’t become apparent, Tirso de Molina’s Damned by Despair is a theological exploration of salvation. It parallels two protagonists – a vile criminal who enters heaven because of his faith and a pious hermit who is guilty of pride, then despair, and ends up in hell. In the hands of director Bijan Sheibani, it’s hard to imagine who on earth would find this interesting, but on the off chance that you have a passion for counter-reformation theology, be warned – stay at home and read your catechism, as this production is truly awful.

The first flaw is Frank McGuinness’ adaptation: full of bizarre anachronisms that prevent it sounding modern but isolate the play from its historical context, it is jarring to the point of distraction. While Tirso’s play is predictable throughout – it has to be to prove its point –what’s remarkable is Sheibani’s inability to add any drama. There’s plenty of running around in circles and shouting, and lots of violence, but no tension at all. Even worse, both the text and production rob the play of any complexity.

What adds to one’s annoyance, and surprises for the National Theatre, particularly given this cast, is that not even the performances can be praised. Only Amanda Lawrence, who plays Satan, really holds the stage, despite this being a play where the devil doesn’t get the best lines. Rory Keenan gets a few laughs as the Monk Paulo’s devoted servant but, along with the immensely talented Bertie Carvel, seems woefully miscast. The ensemble in particular, who take on the role of various criminals and the police, couldn’t be less threatening if they tried. This dire production limps from failure to failure, damned by despair indeed.

Until 17 December 2012

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Brinkhoff/Moegenburg

Written 15 October 2012 for The London Magazine