Tag Archives: Robert Icke

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“The Doctor” at the Duke of York’s Theatre

It’s not hard to make theatre contemporary; cram a work with topical concerns at your peril. This play, transferring from the Almeida and created by Robert Icke, has it all: abortion, anti-Semitism, Alzheimer’s disease, medical ethics, euthanasia, politics, racism, religion and sexism. And above all comes the hot topic of identity. The unusual thing about The Doctor is that it can boast rigour and passion in equal measure, making it a phenomenal work.

“The best way to die”

The action, in a play which is mostly people talking, starts with a priest refused access to a dying young girl. This begins a battle between medicine and religion that is a big enough topic on its own. The contest isn’t just fought on social media (although Icke’s insight here is strong and could make another play of its own) but shows divisions within the hospital staff that create the atmosphere of a thriller.

Icke opens up issues that connect to the medical dilemma of what a patient wants and what the best treatment is – and he refuses to edit. The head of the hospital, Ruth Wolff, and the institution she founded come under the spotlight and stakes escalate to great effect. The question becomes how much impact identity, including beliefs and background, does or should have – or is all that just  “biographical nonsense”?

“Crystal Clear”

Icke doesn’t make any of this simple – quite rightly. Wolff, depicted by Juliet Stevenson who gives one of the best performances on a stage I’ve ever seen, wants to be “crystal clear” but is an ambiguous character. Her dry humour and self-awareness will appeal even if her opinions do not, she commands respect even with her flaws. But the character’s private life is deliberately confusing on stage; her partner (played with great sensitivity by Juliet Garricks) and a young person who comes to visit her home are puzzles. There are reasons, and as we learn more the emotional impact is great. Just be prepared.

Now for a big spoiler.

The race and gender of many characters is not the same as that of the performers cast in the role. It’s a debate in theatre, touching on opportunity and authenticity, brought to this stage with particular effect. In terms of drama, the revelations about characters are startling. The difference between differences we can and cannot see could not be made more starkly. The casting makes an intriguing point in a play where identification is so central.

“Do groups really matter”

It’s essential to Wolff that she compartmentalises her professional and her private life. Icke reveals how difficult this has become. Does Wolff’s reserve deny something to others? Does she really have the option of keeping her own heritage or sexuality to herself? As pressure mounts, Wolff chooses to defend herself on TV (a ruthless device to present a variety of views as well as a humiliating experience for the character). Woolf’s privilege becomes an explosive focal point. Whether there is any justice in this scene or merely martyrdom for Wolff will keep you thinking late into the night.

A lot of The Doctor is extreme. From the patient whose tragic death starts everything to the radical opinions and articulate characters that we meet. Woolf and her colleagues are brilliant people working to cure dementia (another subject matter powerfully handled). The rage and fury in the play – from everyone – is palpable, culminating in a scene of Stevenson running in circles which feels close to a panic attack. There’s certainly the danger of leaving the show with a headache – everyone shouts an awful lot.

This much conviction can be scary, but does the obstinacy of the characters become unbelievable? Icke tries to shut down the potential comfort of dismissing so many of them as bigots; the (somewhat flat) roles of a Government minister and the hospital’s PR manager (well performed by Preeya Kalidas and Mariah Louca) aim to be practical or calm…but prove useless. Little can be dismissed outright, rather, there are divisions here that cannot be overcome. There is little hope, despite the play searching for just that quality. Icke sees a polarized world – one that may strike you as contrived, but without doubt, makes for intense drama.

Until 11 December 2022

www.thedoctorwestend.co.uk

Photo by Manuel Harlan

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“Hamlet” at the Almeida Theatre

With Andrew Scott in the title role, this Hamlet already qualifies as one of the most exciting Shakespeare productions of the year. A consummate and intelligent performer whose lilting accent is a joy to hear, Scott uses the intimacy of the venue superbly. Combining sensitivity and ferocity he makes a strong philosopher prince. He also makes a great team with star director Robert Icke.

Andrew Scott with Amaka Okafor and Calum Finlay
Andrew Scott with Amaka Okafor and Calum Finlay

Scott’s Hamlet is tactile, all hand holding, wriggling fingers and pressing palms to his face – he even hugs his ghostly father (a brilliant performance from David Rintoul). This is a sensual Dane, aided by the casting of Amaka Okafor as Guildenstern (which adds tension for Calum Finlay’s Rosencratz, who sees Hamlet as a sexual rival). It all focuses us on Hamlet’s morbidity – his knowledge of man as “this quintessence of dust” – a cerebral point given theatrical physicality.

Icke is never short of ideas. He has so many thoughts on Hamlet it’s awe-inspiring. The overall tone is far less histrionic than many a past trip to Elsinor – even the furniture has a tasteful Scandi feel. Such restraint has a peculiar power, most notable in Claudius – a chillingly cold figure played by Angus Wright, whose controlled delivery would try the patience of many performers. It’s the first time I haven’t seen the King storm off the stage during the play-within-a-play and it’s brilliantly unsettling.

Juliet Stevenson and Angus Wright watch with Andrew Scott
Juliet Stevenson and Angus Wright watch with Andrew Scott

Other novel points include the decision to be open about Hamlet’s relationship with Ophelia. It makes more sense of her madness, giving us a modern woman to relate to that Jessica Brown Findlay exploits well. For Peter Wright’s Polonius there’s the suggestion that the respected government minister isn’t just a bore, but is suffering from dementia. And there are the videos and live recordings that are a bit of a trademark for Icke. Denmark as a surveillance state is fair enough, and rolling news broadcasts save some time, but wouldn’t it have been better for Horatio to take charge of the camera after Hamlet asks him to watch the King?

Not all of Icke’s introductions are as successful. Hamlet’s gun toting seems jarring – is it bravado on his part? While it adds shock to his confrontation with his mother (the magnificent Juliet Stevenson), pointing a gun at Claudius become confusing. The production uses a knowledge of the play heavily – a fair assumption – but loses power. An air of predestination predominates later scenes – like the audience, the characters seem to know the end. For much of the final duel, music predominates (it’s a puzzling selection throughout) while Hamlet’s “I am dead Horatio” is taken literally. Our finale – of ghosts at a party rather than corpses littering the stage – has odd tones of reconciliation. It’s all interesting, unmissable for bardophiles, and frequently brilliant, if a little cold.

Until 15 April 2017

www.almeida.co.uk

Photos by Manuel Harlan

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“Mary Stuart” at the Almeida Theatre

Friedrich Schiller’s play, about 16th-century monarchs Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I, is full of dramatic speculation about the personalities behind a continually popular historical power struggle, and it is adapted and directed by Robert Icke in rousing fashion. With Mary’s flight into England, engendering a political crisis for her sister Queen, much is made of international law and refugee status. Having two powerful women in charge begs for a study in gender politics. You can’t blame Icke for leaping on the opportunities offered – if hardly subtle, he marvellously stokes the flames within this early 19th century text.

At the start of each show, a toss of a coin decides which role the two leads, Lia Williams and Juliet Stevenson, will take. That Icke emphasises one of the play’s many debates – the role of chance and fate – with such speedy excitement is indicative of his talents. As for the performances, both are impeccable. The night I attended heads and tails meant Williams played the Catholic monarch with a convincing mix of religious fervour and sensuality. Stevenson’s Virgin Queen was up there with the best – a shrewd executive struggling to hide hysterical fear about assassination plots. Physical threats to both women are highlighted by Icke, an expertly handled tactic that ramps up the drama.

Rudi Dharmalingham as Mortimer
Rudi Dharmalingham as Mortimer

A strong male cast joins Williams and Stevenson, with notably restrained performances. Occasionally the reserve strikes as almost odd. Rudi Dharmalingam’s double-dealing Mortimer presents a coolly controlled fanatic – his attempt to rape Mary is disturbing. Leicester is another duplicitous character who John Light makes it a pleasure to hate. Vincent Franklin and Alan Williams make their skill and experience show as Elizabeth’s loyal advisors, Burleigh and Talbot, who have to present different sides of an occasionally clunky argument about beheading Mary that are.

With brilliant performances, and some sprucing from Icke, this lengthy play, crammed with ideas and long sections of argument, races along. Success comes from the staging, with designer Hildegard Bechtler’s help. Played in the round, a rotating circular stage adds an adversarial air throughout. A climactic scene, utilising the stage’s movement is magical: accompanied by a song from Laura Marling, Elizabeth is transformed into Gloriana – face paint and all (it’s just too tempting for a story teller) – while Mary, in a simple shift, is freed from the “slavery” of the crown and worldly concerns. It’s a tough sell and, if you’re enamoured of Good Queen Bess, you won’t fall for the Marian martyrdom. But presentation of the debate about these women is brought up to date, the story shown at its gripping best, and there’s no doubt that Icke has produced stunning theatre here.

Until 21 January 2016

www.almeida.co.uk

Photos by Manuel Harlan

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“The Red Barn” at the National Theatre

I am happily reading Penguin’s reissue of George Simenon’s Maigret novels, so David Hare’s adaptation of a stand-alone novel from the great author offers the chance to branch out from brilliant detective stories into a psychological thriller of a different kind. Hare’s adaptation is accomplished. Moving away from the book’s first-person narration, which details the mental breakdown of a successful lawyer, here we have a superb ménage à trois of lawyer, wife and mistress that’s better suited to the stage.

As for the production’s dressing – it is truly impeccable. Given that Simenon was concerned more with clarity than any modishness, the 1960s nostalgia goes possibly too far here. Robert Icke directs with a strong cinematic feel, creating cool that isn’t out of place… but feels almost fetishised. The stage curtains slide – up and down, left and right – creating apertures for us. With astonishing rapidity, we are taken to the different scenes of Bunny Christie’s meticulous set – homey farm, glam penthouse – and it’s a real technical achievement. Icke feels the need for a camera’s speed, which is a slight shame with a story this good, but there’s no doubt the show is gripping and the ending a real shock. No quibbles either with the soundtrack, a subtle masterpiece by Tom Gibbons that gets you slowly sliding to the edge of your seat.

The cast is stellar. Mark Strong leads, convincing us that his character, Donald Dodd, was once a decent man. It’s a single event, almost whimsical – when no effort is made to save a friend lost in a blizzard – that changes everything. The subsequent turmoil feels real and, impressively, is never overplayed. And Dodd’s pent-up frustration is more than sexual, an important point that Icke preserves throughout. By the by, Strong’s wig is superb.

Hope Davis plays Ingrid, the “serene” wife, whose husband’s paranoia makes her all-seeing. Davis skilfully brings out Ingrid’s intelligence without making her seem too cold, portraying the occasional moment of frankness with subtlety. Donald’s affair is with his former friend’s wife, Mona, played by Elizabeth Debicki, who also gets the chance to reveal layers of a character that comes to fascinate. Determined not to play the “weeping widows”, at a couple of points it’s Ingrid and Mona’s relationship that excites most. It’s with the two women in the piece that Hare makes his mark, doing justice to Simenon’s skills and creating a theatrical piece worthy of his name.

Until 17 January 2017

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Manuel Harlan

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“Uncle Vanya” at the Almeida Theatre

Following his triumphant Oresteia last year, director Robert Icke has created a similarly bold and fresh adaptation of Chekhov’s masterpiece. Contemporary in feel, especially its humour, Vanya is translated into John, wearing comfy slacks, while his brother-in-law Alexander, retiring to the country, could easily be an Islington academic. Alexander’s second wife Elena accompanies him and unrequited love leads to questions about the meaning of life.

Icke breaks up the action into bite-sized chunks. The short opening act establishes these “closed off eccentrics” – family and friends – living too intimately together. Tobias Menzies quickly captivates as the local doctor with a passion for ecology (more big themes here). John’s problems are clear: feeling his life has been just “notes in the margin”, he wittily woos Elena with his guitar, while his steely mother (Susan Wooldridge) looks on.

UNCLE VANYA 97 - JESSICA BROWN FINDLAY AND VANESSA KIRBY BY MANUEL HARLAN
Jessica Brown Findlay and Vanessa Kirby

During the second act we meet Alexander, depicted so skilfully by Hilton McRae that it’s easy to understand how John feels “conned” into working for him. It’s clear that John’s drunken singing to Iggy Pop’s Lust For Life isn’t going to make up for years of devotion. But the scene belongs to Alexander’s daughter Sonya (Jessica Brown Findlay) and Elena, a part that Vanessa Kirby gets an impressive amount of comedy from. The women’s relationship is acted with the naturalism Icke aims for: stopping and starting conversations that reveal their exhaustion with the “petty cruelty” of their lives and their desperate search for love.

The boredom Elena and Alexander have brought with them is a dangerous “contagion”, contrasted with the not-so-gainful employment that’s been occupying everyone until they arrived. It’s John who suffers most. His breakdown is dramatic, if not without comedy, and Paul Rhys’ stumbling, fumbling portrayal is profoundly moving.

Icke is always sure-footed. Using Hildegard Bechtler’s slowly rotating stage, we get a great view of this human goldfish bowl. Addresses to the audience make this Uncle Vanya unusually direct. For the finale, the search for ‘The Art of Living’, glibly proposed as the title of Alexander’s next book, is never going to be lightweight. The only solace on offer seems to be hard work – literally. Join the characters as they hum ‘Hi, Ho, Hi, Ho’ and get off to see this show. Just don’t expect to leave smiling.

Until 26 March 2016

www.almeida.co.uk

Photos by Manuel Harlan

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“Oresteia” at the Almeida Theatre

A sterling start to the Almeida’s Greek season, Robert Icke’s new version of the Oresteia is a mammoth achievement, presenting all three plays in one spirited and, at times, gruelling evening, where the trilogy’s themes of society and justice come alive in a stirring, contemporary fashion.

Agamemnon comes first, the king powerfully portrayed by Angus Wright as a politician, military leader and man of faith, who sacrifices his daughter Iphigenia before setting out for Troy. The murder occurs onstage, which some will find objectionable in itself, but for me the clinical approach of feeding the young actress some pills makes the scene so brutal I cannot say I fully support the decision to show it.

After a break that is strictly timed by a countdown on television screens, Clytemnestra comes to the fore. Consummately controlled, plotting to kill her husband as revenge, Lia Williams is mesmerising in the role, her exclamation that “the war came home” emphasising the consequences of battle abroad on the families left behind.

For the second play, The Libation Bearer, we see Orestes avenge his father by killing his mother. Previously presented as undergoing therapy, he joins forces with his sister Electra, with Jessica Brown Findlay making a forceful stage debut, the highlight of which forms a meditation on mourning. The fate of Electra later brings a penny-drops-twist from Icke that doesn’t deserve a plot spoiler.

The Eumenides sees the judgment upon Orestes for his matricide. Wright and Williams, reappearing as legal council, aid high emotions, and issues of gender are satisfyingly forefronted. But the scene rests too heavily on Luke Thompson’s fraught performance in the title role. At least those countdowns make sense – it wasn’t just to hurry people’s G&Ts – we have been watching a re-enactment in real-time. Instead of being treated, Orestes was being cross-examined.

It’s possible the production is too stylish for its own good. Hildegard Bechtler’s design, with its ghostly sliding glass that becomes opaque, looks so great that, combined with the moody background soundtrack, it becomes slightly distracting. And having live recordings played back onto screens may illustrate the public nature of this family, but it’s becoming a bit of a theatrical gimmick.

Reservations are small compared with the scale of Icke’s accomplishment. The dialogue is modern and easy to follow, with references to Whitman and even G&S. Icke is obsessive about retelling these stories, which justifies the liberties he has taken but also aids the coherence of his production; the omnipresent reiteration of concerns for signs, stories and interpretation is clear, convincing and engaging.

Until 18 July 2015

www.almedia.co.uk

Photo by Manuel Harlan

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“1984” at the Playhouse Theatre

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After a successful tour and sell-out run at the Almeida, Robert Icke and Duncan Macmillan’s adaptation of George Orwell’s 1984 has arrived in the West End, opening last night at the Playhouse Theatre. It’s a slick affair, all 101 uninterrupted minutes of it, right down to the marketing – rave reviews outside are censored and tickets are on sale for £19.84.

This truly superb adaptation of a classic text is faithful to the original, full of insight and presents a clear interpretation for us to consider. Icke and Macmillan prioritise the appendix to the novel, The Principles of Newspeak, to highlight the text’s status as an historic document read by people in the future.

The show starts with a kind of book club. Anachronistically, our hero (I use the term unreservedly), the ‘author’ Winston Smith, is present and Big Brother looms large. Those discussing the book segue into characters from the story. Orwell has so many ideas, important ones but often abstract, so to extract the drama needed to create a gripping play is an accomplishment. Atmosphere rather than plot is the key and this high-tech production delivers. The set full of surprises, live video work, superb sound and lighting design make this a visceral experience. You’ll want to calm down in a quiet room afterwards.

Not Room 101 of course. The location where the tyrannical regime tortures dissenters is our final destination. From the moment Winston becomes a ‘thought criminal’ to his capture, the play is appropriately, uncomfortably, powerful and not for the squeamish. The way Big Brother manipulates Winston’s fears is both moving and as powerful as Orwell intended it to be. It’s also wonderfully theatrical – cleverly engaging the audience.

The performances are smooth. Sam Crane plays Smith as confused and petrified from the start (well before any mention of rats) and escalates his performance into something remarkable. His love interest is played by Hara Yannas, who perfectly embodies a distinct kind of rebelliousness. And the rest of the ensemble, including a spookily commanding villain in Tim Dutton’s O’Brien, is well drilled. Icke and Macmillan, who shared the direction, evidently make a superb team.

Until 23 August 2014

www.atgticket.com

Photo by Manuel Harlan

Written 9 May 2014 for The London Magazine

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“Boys” at the Soho Theatre

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The young men in Ella Hickson’s play, presumably entitled Boys because of their behaviour, are just what you might expect: crude, boorish and pretentious, with the obligatory stolen road sign and traffic cone in their squalid flat. But Hickson’s writing goes beyond stereotypes. The jokes here are on the boys themselves and the humour serves to heighten Hickson’s impressively unerring sense of the dramatic.

The cast of Boys presents a convincing group of flatmates whose young lives are complicated by a tragic suicide. Danny Kirrane stands out as the “great protector”, raising philosophical questions, and becoming increasingly unstable under pressure. It’s a nice irony that the strongest performances come from the women in the piece: Alison O’Donnell is moving as a “motor mouth” girlfriend and Eve Ponsonby superbly cast as an intelligent graduate in the grips of a moral dilemma.

Despite popping pills and attempting to party themselves into oblivion, the boys fail to have much fun. And anyone older then them isn’t going to be cheered by the fact that all the characters see “the beginning of the end” in their graduation and the world of work. Boys is pretty bleak stuff.

As Hickson broadens her play to take on the topical, there are some heavy metaphors and a series of overlong goodbyes, not helped by some indulgent direction from Robert Icke, which diminishes the piece’s power and makes you wish these boys could grow up a little faster. But why would they want to? Hickson’s point is important – the filth the boys live in isn’t of their own making, the council is on strike and the city rioting. Are the boys simply sensitive souls lost in a generational mire? Possibly your age will determine how you answer that, but it’s a question worth raising and Hickson asks it well.

Until 16 June 2012

www.sohotheatre.co.uk

Photo by Bill Knight

Written 30 May 2012 for The London Magazine