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“Collaborators” at the National Theatre

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Having welcomed Danny Boyle earlier this year, the National Theatre now stages a new play written by his frequent collaborator John Hodge. A fantasia inspired by Mikhail Bulgakov’s play about Stalin, commissioned for the dictator’s 60th birthday, Collaborators is a romp around censorship and responsibility.

Working in the round for the first time in many years Nicholas Hytner directs with zeal. Designer Bob Crowley’s constructivist inspired set doubles as the Bulgakov home and a bunker under the Kremlin where the writer and tyrant meet. The theatre-loving Stalin can’t resist helping out. “Leave the slave labour to me,” he says, offering himself as amanuensis, then taking up the pen in person – on the condition that Bulgakov has a turn at running the country. It’s a glib allusion, but performed with such brilliance that its questionable taste is pushed to the back of your mind.

The wonderful Alex Jennings is Bulgakov, a “smack head groin doc turned smut scribe,” as Hodge brilliantly describes him. Jennings brings every nuance out of the role showing convincing relationships with Jacqueline Defferary, who plays his wife, and Mark Addy, who excels as the Secret Service man tasked with directing the play. Addy’s changing attitude to his artistic challenge, and the snippets of the play we get to see performed so skilfully by Perri Snowdon and Michael Jenn, are a real joy.

There aren’t many stage actors that can rival Jennings. But Simon Russell Beale is among them. His despot with a West Country burr is a hilarious and chilling creation – one who manipulates the audience as skilfully as his character plays with the writer.

Collaborators suffers slightly from the brevity that is also frequently its virtue: Hodge’s writing is immediate and clear but, as the drama increases, the play itself is not always dark or detailed enough to satisfy. Nonetheless, Collaborators is very funny indeed and, with its stellar cast, is an unmissable winter highlight.

Until 31 March 2012

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 8 November 2011 for The London Magazine

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“13” at the National Theatre

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After the success of last year’s Earthquakes in London, Mike Bartlett’s return to the National Theatre with his new play, 13, has something of triumph about it. Promotion to the grand Olivier Theatre would be a dream for most playwrights, but Bartlett seems undaunted and bravely presents us with a fear-fuelled nightmare that’s ambitious, big and bold.

It’s one nightmare, to be specific, spookily shared by 13 different people. This clever device shows a disparate section of society, from a cleaning lady to the Prime Minister (Geraldine James on excellent form), all living in anxious times and searching for something to believe in.

It would be impossible to mistake Barlett’s version of the future as the very nearly now – social networking, riots on the streets, economic catastrophe and the threat of war – it’s all highly topical, with enough iPads on stage to make Steve Jobs smile down on us. As if this weren’t enough, Bartlett introduces religion as a fulcrum to his play. A central messianic character, John, performed with gnomic intensity by Trystan Gravelle, raises yet more questions and heightens the dramatic stakes.

Thea Sharrock’s direction and Tom Scutt’s design match Bartlett’s vision. With the Olivier’s revolve used to great effect, this is a precise production, technically impressive and rewardingly theatrical. The dreams the cast share, full of “monsters and explosions”, are complemented by spectacular lighting design from Mark Henderson.

After detailing a depressing catalogue of ills that beset our world in fantastically dynamic fashion, the pace changes to present a debate between the PM, the prophetic John and Danny Webb who plays an atheist academic with commanding presence.

It’s possible Bartlett has a young audience in mind for 13 – a crowd fresh for debate and highly engaged. If so, then I applaud him. But, despite Bartlett’s skill, the ideas behind 13 don’t match the novelty of their execution. It isn’t that the issues aren’t important or interesting, rather that they have been debated so many times before. What is impressive is that Bartlett presents them with a degree of impartiality seldom seen. And that is a very grown-up thing indeed.

Until 8 January 2012

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

Written 28 October 2011 for The London Magazine

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“The Veil” at the National Theatre

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As the nights draw in, what could be more apt than a ghost story? Conor McPherson’s new play, The Veil, aims to chill and thrill over the winter months at the National Theatre.

Set in early 19th-century Ireland, the local gentry, living in not so genteel poverty, and their staff are haunted by both the past and current events in their politically divided nation. Lady Lambroke looks to her daughter’s marriage as a way to escape debts and the country. Her brother, a clergyman defrocked for his interest in spiritualism, is to escort the girl to England for marriage, but his interest in his niece has more to do with her ‘gift’ for the supernatural.

Fenella Woolgar and Emily Taaffe make a convincing mother and daughter who, despite their snobbishness, gain our sympathy and admiration. Jim Norton plays the Reverend Berkeley (named for his interest in Idealism) in an appropriately intelligent style that’s passionate enough to convince us he believes his ideas, but leaves room for us to laugh as well.

The staff, including the redoubtable Mrs Goulding (the excellent Bríd Brennan), are a source of further drama. They come together on appropriate windy, candle-lit nights, as the ghost stories and séances get under way. McPherson directs these scenes wonderfully. Unfortunately, there isn’t much sense of time or place in The Veil and Rae Smith’s impressively designed set and costumes start to seem rather pointless – it all looks great but it isn’t put to enough use.

If McPherson wanted to achieve more than an entertaining evening of ghost stories it seems he has fallen short. Extra themes are hinted at yet never materialise. But The Veil is satisfying supernatural and is sure to appeal to his fans. The storytelling is as good as ever, his characters as likeable and well realised, and the language wonderfully lyrical.

Until 11 December 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org

Photo by Helen Warner

Written 5 October 2011 for The London Magazine

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“Grief” at the National Theatre

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The way Mike Leigh makes a play is unlike anyone else. His new work, Grief at the National Theatre, was devised in collaboration with his cast and crew, in secret and from scratch. The result is something very special indeed.

The story of a 1950s war widow and the life she shares with her brother and only child is grim. The period detail of repressed emotion is familiar ground but Leigh presents it devoid of cliché – we see the price paid for such control and it isn’t pretty.

The long period of gestation that made the play results in an investment from the cast that produces magnificent performances. Lesley Manville has created one of the finest roles of her career: continually on brink of tears, the way she holds back is astonishing. Joined by Ruby Bentall, in a remarkable performance as her troubled daughter, as well as a host of other Leigh regulars – this is one of the finest ensemble you will see onstage in London at the moment.

Ironically, the quality of the acting makes Grief very hard to watch. For a play obsessed with death there are some very funny lines, but there is a sting in the tale: each laugh brings us closer to the characters, makes them seem unbearably real. The sense of foreboding Leigh manipulates in the audience becomes cruelly oppressive.

Be warned. The dark denouement that ends Grief is shocking and deeply disturbing. Manville’s final break down is harrowing: occurring offstage the effect is akin to Timanthes depiction of Agamemnon, covering his face to hide his pain, and all the more harrowing for being unseen. The plays rejection of any resolution makes it one of the most powerful nights at the theatre you can imagine.

Until 28 January 2012

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by John Haynes

Written 27 September 2011

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“The Kitchen” at the National Theatre

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Bijan Sheibani’s spirited revival of Arnold Wesker’s The Kitchen provides audiences with an insight into 1950s catering and post-war Britain. The acting is commendable, the production values high – but it is difficult to recommend going to see it.

The 30-strong cast perform impeccably. They convince us that The Kitchen is a working environment, overflowing with rows and romances, consuming their lives and making them fight to retain their individuality. Tom Brooke does especially well as the German chef Peter and becomes the focus of the plays finale. Along the way, Samuel Roukin impresses and Rory Keenan’s comedy skills stand out.

The mechanics behind running a massive restaurant are brought to life by Sheibani quite remarkably. Giles Cadle’s set echoes the mass of the Olivier Theatre, with space for the impression of chaos and enough cookers to make you worry about the National’s gas bill. With a touch of fantasy (cue flying waitresses) the kitchen is presented as another world.

But the kitchen isn’t another world. The first act serves as an extended entrée to deeper concerns about the place of work in our lives, using the “united nations” of kitchen staff to look at life after the war – and dreams of improvement that began when the fighting stopped.

Much humour comes from the dated nature of what’s on the menu – the characters dream of chicken Kiev as an adventurous dish – but the nostalgic appeal of The Kitchen mixes uncomfortably with its politics. The first act isn’t meaty enough to make us care about the characters, while in the second the politics are too dated to engage with.

The 1950s are in vogue along the South Bank and celebrating Arnold Wesker makes sense, but The Kitchen seems so much of its own time that reviving it, no matter how thoughtfully, fails to whet the appetite.

Until 9 November 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

Written 9 September for The London Magazine

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“A Woman Killed With Kindness” at the National Theatre

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Thomas Heywood’s 1603 domestic drama, A Woman Killed With Kindness, has a fair claim to still being relevant; family fortunes and adultery are great topics for drama. Nowadays, not many would contemplate the solutions for debt or infidelity Heywood’s characters come up with but Katie Mitchell’s bold production at the National Theatre makes it a fascinating night.

This is a story of the gentry; Heywood’s subjects hadn’t been seen on stage before, they are neither the great and the good nor the lowest in society. But confusingly, designers Lizzie Clachan and Vicki Mortimer present two well-off households next door to one another – giving the impression this is a troubled terrace, a kind of grand Coronation Street, when these are really two country estates.

The staging means that Mitchell can draw parallels between the women in the two stories; characters echo each other’s actions, creating an intense stereoscopic experience that is surreal and unnerving. It is continually arresting but never fully believable.

Mitchell moves the action to 1919. The stiff upper lips adopted by the nobility fit oddly with the passion so obvious in Heywood’s text. Homespun honesty is provided by an ensemble of solicitous servants (Gawn Grainger’s laconic Nicholas stands out) but their relationships are surely more feudal than the upstairs-downstairs setting suggests.

Heywood’s naturalism is acknowledged with lots of action off-stage, yet for all Mitchell’s previous ‘collaborative’ work with actors, the cast struggle against a touch of Grand Guignol. There are great performances from leading ladies Liz White and Sandy McDade, who use the extra time on stage created for them by the design well, but even they sometimes appear like puppets directed from above.

Mitchell is a director with such a strong vision she seems in competition with the author. And yet maybe that’s what the play needs: A Woman Killed With Kindness can be objectionable and Heywood’s morality perverse. It’s thrilling to hear the heroine grab the last line – it really seems to belong to her, although Heywood’s text has her husband say it. Mitchell’s version is more chilling and complex, and at times almost manages to convince.

Until 12 September 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Stephen Cummiskey

Written 20 July 2011 for The London Magazine

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“One Man, Two Guvnors” at the National Theatre

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Richard Bean’s adaptation of Carlo Goldoni’s commedia dell’arte play, One Man, Two Guvnors, is a story of lovers, disguise and an overworked servant, set in 1960s Brighton. The decade is a great excuse for a nostalgic design, rock ’n’ roll songs, and plenty of saucy jokes that some sensitive souls might frown at. And the seaside is an appropriate location for the silly stuff we see on stage – it’s picture postcard time at the National Theatre, with plenty of slap and tickle to enjoy.

The humour couldn’t be less sophisticated, and the gags as old as they come (“men will do anything to get you into bed. Lie, cheat, buy you a bed”). We are offered some theory as an excuse. Commedia dell’arte deals with stock characters and director Nicholas Hynter makes sure his cast delivers the broadest of performances. None of this stops the play from being funny – predictability is part of the joke, but it does make delivery the most important thing. Here, One Man, Two Guvnors does very well indeed.

The lovers we encounter include Pauline Clench (Claire Lams) and her RADA-trained fiancé Alan Dangle (Daniel Rigby) whose postured emoting gets more laughs than his lines. Their marriage is endangered by Rachel Crabbe (the excellent Jemima Rooper) disguised as her brother, who has been killed by her lover Stanley Stubbers, played effortlessly by Oliver Chris, the nice-but-dim public school boy who, taking inspiration from the street, disguises himself as Dustin Pubsign. His is the star turn of the night.

Chris steals the show, which might surprise some, since One Man, Two Guvnors seems rather unashamedly designed as a vehicle for James Corden. As the servant who takes on two jobs, he rarely leaves the stage and his energy is fantastic. The physical comedy poses no problems for Corden and he deals playfully with his colleagues, especially his own love interest Dolly (sassily portrayed by Suzie Toase), but his character is supposed to be more hapless than devious and – whisper it – Corden doesn’t possess quite enough charm to hold the role.

And yet Corden’s star appeal overpowers any deficiencies in his performance. His confidence is enough to entertain and he’s undoubtedly a crowd pleaser. If audience participation strikes you as a little tawdry, then stay away. But, as they say on the X Factor, the audience is the judge, and the level of near hysteria following Corden’s every move makes for an electric atmosphere.

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Johan Persson

Written 26 May 2011 for The London Magazine

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“The Cherry Orchard” at the National Theatre

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Director Howard Davies is well known for his work on Russian classics. Last year, his production of The White Guard did phenomenally well at the Olivier Awards. His new production of The Cherry Orchard is a quality affair from a director who doesn’t rest on his laurels.

Davies is working again with designer Bunny Christie. Her set offers the first glimpse that this is something different: there’s no trace of quaint dacha here and not a samovar in sight (for that, you have to nip into the National’s bookshop for a particularly twee display), a set is a huge barn of a place, that really is dilapidated, whose owners are in dire financial straits.

Andrew Upton joins the team again with a text that is wilfully modern. Every effort has been made to make Chekhov’s story of the landowning Ranyevskaya seem contemporary. It will certainly jar on some ears. Maybe in our credit- crunched times her poverty rings a chord, but Ranyevskaya isn’t a member of the squeezed middle. She’s a frightful snob, yet her obstinate refusal to recognise the reality of her situation is conveyed with charm by Zoe Wanamaker.

There is little sense of Ranyevskaya’s journey in this production. Like her brother Gaev (James Laurenson) she seems little aware of the times she is living in. A sense of history that Chekov certainly saw as a theme of his work is diluted, the production seems more immediate and less didactic, but it’s a trade off that is debateable.

Wanamaker’s performance is generous, allowing the other characters to shine out: stories of lovers of different ages and status, all given equal weight, bring out the plays rich complexity. Kenneth Cranham is a truly revolting Firs, playing with Emily Taaffe’s Dunyasha with great cruelty. Mark Bonnar is convincing as Petya Tromfimov, one of those scholastic characters Russian dramatists love that are so difficult to perform; his impassioned relationship with Anya (Charity Wakefield) is a highlight of the evening.

Lopakhin, the merchant whose capitalism is so much at the core of The Cherry Orchard’s historic concerns, is played by Conleth Hill with passion. Hill is perfectly farouche and, if not quite believable as the businessman who could save the estate, his fragility makes his the most moving performance of the night.

All the casts’ performances are mobile, running around in a play that is usually static. The party scene is particularly raucous. These Russians know how to live it up but, of course, not how to live. The pain as they all try to find a place for themselves in their changing world easily transcends historical circumstance. Davies preserves the philosophical dilemma at the heart of The Cherry Orchard while presenting it with fresh eyes.

Until 13 August 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 18 May 2011 for The London Magazine

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“Greenland” at the National Theatre

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Over population is just one of the huge problems facing the natural world. It’s an irony that the National Theatre’s new play about the environment, Greenland, suffers from a similar issue. With four writers having contributed, the play is a disaster in itself.

Moira Buffini, Matt Charman, Penelope Skinner and Jack Thorne have all attempted to address the issue of climate change. The idea of making Greenland a collaborative event is ambitious, and I guess all aimed at inspiring a Big Conversation reflected in a series of after show events. The writer’s stories are supposedly interwoven to scope out the effects of climate change and how we react to the threat. Unfortunately the stories don’t so much interweave as unravel. Even worse, none of them is that interesting.

The future, it seems, is not just bleak, but boring. Director Bijan Sheibani paces his production far too quickly. Maybe sleight of hand started to look like a good idea during rehearsals, but the problems of this script aren’t going to disappear just because you race through it. There’s quite a bag of tricks on display: wind machines, a rain curtain, and plenty of things dropping dramatically on to the stage. The National Theatre’s always excellent production department is to be praised, but for hard work rather than results.

Nobody doubts the environment is an urgent issue but there’s always the danger that you are talking to the converted. One of Greenland‘s faults is to not just preach to the choir but to shout at it. And shout in a rather unpleasant tone. It feels as if the National Theatre’s audience is to blame for the world’s woes with its greed (mostly for coffee) and its ignorance (particular concerning the capital of Mali). Even worse, Greenland is remarkably uninformative. You will learn nothing new here and that is shocking omission.

A large cast wonder haplessly around the stage and can do little to save things. Only Amanda Lawrence gives a stand-out performance and manages to bring some humour and warmth to proceedings. And it’s good to see some young talent on the stage, Isabella Laughland and Sam Swann deal ably with their roles as young activists and it’s a shame they don’t have more to do.

There is little hope in Greenland. The aimed-for humour points a finger at activists and the complacent but only hits home ironically – “this eco stuff is making you unhappy,” says an exasperated mother to her campaigning daughter. We know just how she feels. The prevailing feeling is one of anger, justified but hardly constructive. The preaching tone taken might make you angry, too. But, sadly, for the wrong reasons.

Until 2 April 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Helen Warner

Written 3 February 2011 for The London Magazine

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“Season’s Greetings” at the National Theatre

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Season’s Greetings is the National Theatre’s festive offering to its audience. It has a cast of shiny stars (Mark Gatiss, Katherine Parkinson and Catherine Tate) and might be thought of as well wrapped – designer Rae Smith’s set is impressive. Unfortunately, Alan Ayckbourn’s comedy of Christmas misery isn’t really the kind of gift you want to unwrap.

As a dysfunctional family come together for the festive holiday you can prepare yourself for laughs of recognition. Marianne Elliott’s direction gets the most out of Ayckbourn’s multi-vocal dexterity, but it is a touch laboured. The finale of Scene 3 may be hilarious, but it just takes too long to get there. Ayckbourn’s eye for detail delights some, and this piece has an additional nostalgic charm, but there’s a danger of having too many trimmings – just think about your Christmas dinner.

The cast of nine all get their moments in the spotlight and these are justly deserved but, as each marginally indulgent performance unfolds, the cumulative effect is forced. Nicola Walker is great at crying, Jenna Russell makes a tremendous stage drunk and Oliver Chris is superbly natural as the guest who sets the pulses of the families’ frustrated women racing. It is only Tate’s comic timing that is really spot-on. While Gatiss has great control, his character is so endearing that when the humour gets darker you feel a little guilty about laughing at him.

And the humour does get dark. Ayckbourn plays with the despair of the middle classes in a manner that can’t be described as fun – farce is often close to tragedy and the dark undertones here can take the smile off your face pretty sharpish. You will probably laugh – but it isn’t guaranteed. Nor will it leave you satisfied. It’s a Christmas present you don’t know what to do with afterwards.

Until 13 March 2011

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Catherine Ashmore

Written 13 December 2010 for The London Magazine