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“A Midsummer Night’s Dream” at the Barbican Theatre

Director Eleanor Rhode’s production of Shakespeare’s comedy won rave reviews earlier this year at Stratford-upon-Avon. The show certainly looks great. Designer Lucy Osborne populates a bare stage with enormous bead curtains and huge paper lanterns that form a canvas for Will Duke’s excellent video design and Matt Daw’s accomplished lighting. But, regrettably, while it’s a treat for the eyes, the rest of the play offers little pleasure. I’m confused about all those starry reviews.

Rhode does have great new ideas. There are moments of tension between warring couples (Oberon and Titania, Demetrius and Helena) that show the depth of their relationships. Having Titania’s attendants appear as lights is nice and, like several illusions masterminded by John Bulleid, well executed. There’s also an excellent end to Act 3, Scene 2 when Puck leads the lovers “up and down”. Instead of seeing actors pretending not to notice one another, they appear fleetingly one by one, giving the scene extra energy.

These highlights are exceptions, though, within a production that feels flat. Act 1 doesn’t seem to interest Rhode very much. It’s horribly rushed, with nearly every line coming at breakneck speed, so it is difficult to work out what’s going on. The speed causes lots of problems later, especially for the quartet of Athenian lovers (energetically performed by Nicholas Armfield, Ryan Hutton, Boadicea Ricketts and Dawn Sievewright), who are hard to distinguish from one another or care very much about. 

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Oddly, delivery becomes slower as the action speeds up. Here, the comedy suffers and the cast struggles (a few actors are breathless). Only Matthew Baynton’s Bottom seems comfortable working at the pace, giving a confident, if broad, performance that is credible enough. A lot of laughs come from the performers’ gestures rather than their lines, which are predictable and not as well delivered as they should be. We’ve all seen ruder and funnier chinks in walls.

Just as big a problem is how one-dimensionally all the characters are depicted. Might we feel a little sorry for Bottom, or even repulsed by him? Baynton’s version is strictly for laughs. His fellow hempen homespuns fade into the background (although there are nice nods to horror films in their play within the play). Even Adrian Richards makes more of a mark as Philostrate (he’s the Master of the Revels). 

Worst of all are the fairies, who should provide fascination, typified by Katherine Pearce’s Puck. Pearce presents an amiable character (and she has a lovely singing voice), but there’s no mischief and certainly no sense of danger about the role. Of course, there doesn’t have to be. Not every reading of the play needs to take literary theory into account. But losing any thrill or mystery is a mistake. For all the characters, there’s too much nuance lost. This dream is not a nightmare, but it’s forgettable.

Until 18 January 2025

www.barbican.org.uk

Photos by Pamela Raith

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“The Buddha of Suburbia” at the Barbican Theatre

One of my favourite directors, Emma Rice, brings Hanif Kureishi’s novel to the stage with every effort to achieve her usual flair. The rambling story, about the early life of Karim – his family, fortunes, and sexual exploits – has its moments, but regrettably, big failings.

Rice co-adapts the book with its author and the result is long. There’s detail, to a fault, but also rushing; the unevenness makes the show a slog. While the characters are vivid, maybe there are just too many of them? Making each role three-dimensional is an achievement but the overall result is confusing.

It’s nice that this hard-working cast each get their moments in the spotlight. Karim’s father (Ankur Bahl) impresses with his yoga, Katy Owen has two roles (Karin’s mother, then lover) and does well contrasting them, Rina Fatania has three and is on fine form in each. Lucy Thackeray and Natasha Jayetileke are strong as women in search of fulfillment. Individual scenes are often good but as a whole the show seems to lack purpose.

All the action, and anecdote, relate to Karim of course. And herein lies a problem. Kureishi’s anti-hero isn’t a strong enough creation. His self-absorption is a turn-off, his struggle strangely unconvincing and, put simply, he isn’t very nice. It’s the role of a lifetime for Dee Ahluwalia who has to carry the whole show; his commitment and stamina is impressive but Karim is hard to care about. 

There are inventive touches throughout; Rice can delight like few other directors. It helps that Karim is an actor and scenes in rehearsal rooms are great fun (and provide a super role for Ewan Wardrop as a director). The “mess” of theatre is evoked, creating bursts of energy and fun. Choreographed scenes from Etta Murfitt help and Rachana Jadhav’s set embodies the fluidity of the action. It’s a puzzle as to why it doesn’t work.

“Class, race, fucking and farce”

Taking a look at the play-within-the-play that Karim stars in might help. The onstage director devises a show with “class, race, fucking and farce” which describes The Buddha of Suburbia itself perfectly.

Class and race are tackled, but too briefly and with little imagination. Maybe the source material, published in 1990, has dated. Or our ideas about the 1970s have solidified. But the shorthand of events and sociology is laboured and sloppy. Ahluwalia struggles to deliver summaries that provide context, he’s even given a microphone to help, and is reduced to waving his hands around. More importantly we hear nothing new. There’s no challenge, just a mush of vague ideas. Even the clips used in Simon Baker’s video design are the usual retro stuff. There is little peril or drama; a traumatic attack is shockingly dismissed. And ideas about representation, surely pertinent, are dealt with lightly. It’s fine if you want the tone of the piece to be celebratory… but too many issues are raised and then left hanging.

There’s also little drama around Karim’s sex life, which is surprising. It makes the “fucking and farce” sections light and funny. Using fruit as a stand in for genitals is a genius move (it’s sure to be how the production is remembered) giving the whole show a big banana energy. It shows Rice’s playful wit and is brilliantly theatrical. Likewise, the party poppers used when characters climax is a super touch. The sex comedy (so appropriate for the 1970s) is a relief to the pedestrian talk of politics and class. But two out of four isn’t great.

Until 16 November 2024

www.barbican.org.uk

Photo by Steve Tanner © RSC

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“Cowbois” at the Royal Court Theatre

Into a no-name town, sometime when the West was wild, walks a wanted man. He’s doubly in demand because all the guys who used to live there have gone missing. The twist is that he’s transgender. Cue the show’s sell, that Cowbois is “a rollicking queer Western like nothing you’ve seen before”. They aren’t joking. Charlie Josephine’s show, which they co-direct with Sean Holmes, is tough to describe. 

I guess, in a way, we have seen Westerns like this before – Josephine is playing with cliches. It’s a sensible genre to adopt if you want to explore masculine identity. The story itself is solid, the characters well written, and the twists great. Oh, and the show is a romance, with fantasy thrown in, powered by two superb central performances from Sophie Melville, as saloon owner Lillian, and Vinnie Heaven as the bandit on the run, Jack.

All the tropes make the show funny, and the cast play up to them brilliantly. Melville and Heaven have a great handle on the humour and are aided by energetic performances from, in particular, Emma Pallant and Lucy McCormick. Paul Hunter has a great turn as a drunk sheriff on another journey of self-discovery. It’s affirming and inclusive (of course), even jolly – but none of this goes far enough to pin down what’s going on.

The energy does dip. Maybe it’s a deliberate irony that when the men come home, the play sags; there’s tension but we care less about the new arrivals and the comedy takes a while to get back up to speed. There are too many stories to do justice to. Sensitive performances from Lee Braithwaite and Bridgette Amofah seem wasted – maybe that’s just an indication of how interesting all the characters are? But the show does get a little messy.

Music goes a long way to hold everything together – Jim Fortune’s work, and the onstage band, are superb. Heaven has a voice that is… well, they are aptly named. Indeed, Cowbois’ biggest failing is that we don’t get more songs. But what really solidifies the show is the excellent movement work, credited to Jennifer Jackson. Highlighting how performative gender is and adding touches of fantasy through choreography, the way everyone moves is worth paying attention to. A marked majority of the show is played to the audience – Josephine and Holmes highlight how aware of they are of us. The result is compelling. Maybe, magnetic is the word I’m searching for?

Cowbois gets crazy. Even before the finale, featuring a slapstick shootout (great fun), there are party scenes that mix violence and euphoria in a startling fashion. “If in doubt dance” might sum up the approach. And, by the way, a show-stopping cameo from LJ Parkinson, as a bounty hunter hoping to catch Jack, is jaw-dropping. Josephine has created a unique, uncanny world that pushes towards something new. Theatre often provides a space to invent and imagine – to play, in a way – but to take a show to this extreme is audacious. What’s the right word for Cowbois? I’ve got it. Fearless.

Until 10 February 2024

www.royalcourttheatre.com

Photos by Henry T © RSC

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“My Neighbour Totoro” at the Barbican Theatre

This smash hit production, winner of six Olivier Awards last year, is back. It’s easy to appreciate why it’s packing them in as the staging is superb. Retaining the feel of its Japanese source material, the show is just that little bit different for London. And the atmosphere is great. Suitable for theatregoers from the age of six, hearing the audience’s delight is almost as much fun as what’s on stage.

An adaptation of the legendary Studio Ghibli’s animation, the story is very simple: two young sisters move to the country when their mother becomes ill (don’t worry – nothing that bad happens). In their new home, they meet a spirit of the woods who comes to comfort and help them… even if he is noisy and smells like mud.

While there are more sad moments that you might expect, the story impresses with its light touch – both the characters and the audience are enchanted by the titular creature. Mei Mac and Ami Okumura Jones give energetic performances as the girls and get a lot of laughs. And they can deliver when it comes to big emotions – having a toddler temper tantrum is a hard act to pull off!

Director Phelim McDermott brings it all the stage with fantastic style. The puppets, designed and directed by Basil Twist, are very big and look very cuddly. It’s possible you might be tempted to buy a toy version helpfully on sale at the theatre. The sets are also fantastic. As well as an appropriate paper-inspired aesthetic, the family home opens up and splits apart to great effect. The house itself can be considered part of the incredible movement direction for the show, credited to You-Ri Yamanaka. An impressive troupe makes the magic happen. Operating as stagehands as well as puppeteers, they are cast as spirits with touches of humour and they provide remarkable personality (considering they’re mostly dressed in black with their faces covered). They don’t compete with the props or puppetry – they complement them.

It’s the pace of the show that sets it apart. There are plenty of slower moments when we’re invited just to enjoy the spectacle. Time is allowed to appreciate Jessica Hung Han Yun and Tamykha Patterson’s gorgeous lighting design, while Nicole T Chang’s work (credited for sound effects and as soundscape designer) adds atmosphere. These almost contemplative moments might try the patience of adults more than children. This isn’t the first show I’ve seen where those being naughty were old enough to know better! But the ones that matter – the real fans – love it. It is great to hear them, and Tortoro, roar.

Until 23 March 2024

www.barbican.org.uk

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“The Merchant of Venice 1936” at Wilton’s Music Hall

This touring production, in association with the RSC, the Watford Palace Theatre and Home Manchester, has already received deserved acclaim. But since director Brigid Larmour has relocated the action to a specific year in the East End of London, seeing the show in Grace’s Alley is extra special. Video work from Greta Zabulyte showing the battle of Cable Street (just around the corner) is chilling. At the end, an ovation is built into the production as we are invited to stand against fascism just as East Enders did 87 years ago.


Given current tragic events, it is sad rather than surprising that the show has extra power. Nonetheless, this abridgement of Shakespeare is excellent. Although less than two hours I didn’t miss much. You might say some romance has gone – or, rather, that nonsense with riddles and caskets is handled swiftly – and the role of Shylock’s daughter Jessica does suffer. But the focus on antisemitism here is clear and bold. The extent to which the establishment that money-lending Shylock is pitted against encourages hostility is a focus – hatred of the Jew is literally institutional. Casual prejudice is highlighted and often painful to watch.

The big twist is to see Shylock’s intended victim Antonio, often viewed as heroic , as an Oswald Mosley figure and it is jaw dropping. It is a marvel that a simple black shirt can change the play so much. Raymond Coulthard, who takes the role, makes a great villain. But all the characters become tainted by hate, including Hannah Morrish’s excellent Portia, who we want to like, but whose contempt of Shylock is disturbing. Also of note are Xavier Starr and Jessica Dennis, who play two relatively small roles that they make powerful, showing a mix of ignorance, spite and violence.

Of course, the star is Shylock, played by Tracy-Ann Oberman. A strong accent, impeccably delivered, emphasises her outsider status. While there is defiance, there is also a depressing resignation about the prejudice suffered. Larmour and Oberman are too smart to make Shylock a sympathetic figure. But we come closer to understanding the rage the character carries around – and how the chance at revenge is so quickly taken. A speech after the applause might explain why this performance is so brilliant – Cable Street is close to Oberman’s heart. At the risk of making a cold observation about such an impassioned performance, Oberman reminds us how live – as well as raw – theatre can be.

Until 11 November 2023 and then on tour until 10 February 2024

www.merchantofvenice1936.co.uk

Photo by Marc Brenner

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“The Tempest” at the Barbican

If you ever needed a reason to forgive computer company Intel for its annoyingly catchy ad jingle then its collaboration with the RSC is it. A large team, working with designer Stephen Brimson Lewis, has added ground- breaking effects to Gregory Doran’s production of Shakespeare’s late romance, and the result is a big theatrical event.
It’s a good choice of play to unleash the clever technical trickery on. From the shipwreck that sends Prospero’s enemies into his territory, the island becomes awash with projections. And spirits really do melt into air in the case of Ariel, played by Mark Quartley, as a live motion capture suit is employed on stage for the first time. The resulting imagery is appropriate and surely becomes more and more impressive if you understand how difficult it all is. Even so, the designers might be a tad aggrieved to know that all eyes are really on the live actor. Quartley gives a sensitive performance of remarkable physicality that doesn’t really need assistance.

The tech goes to town with the masque that Prospero conjures, its design based on Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones’ work, so that part of the play that can drag looks great. But again, beyond the spectacle, it’s the basics of the show that really work. A large cast of spirits add immeasurably and this is truly an island “full of noises” with a strong score composed by Paul Englishby that combines a variety of genres.
There’s a glitch in the application, too. The autochthonous Caliban could be the key to the island but he isn’t granted any modern magic. This rationale makes sense but it makes the character out of place, with no link to his inheritance – surely a missed opportunity? It’s a game performance from Joe Dixon, but the monster costume, the only foot Brimson Lewis puts wrong, suggests the aim is to get some laughs – what else can an actor do if he gets given a fish as a prop?

The key ingredient isn’t the intel inside but Simon Russell Beale’s performance as Prospero. Directed as a family drama, the relationship with Jenny Rainsford’s Miranda – an excellent performance – is deeply moving. Similarly, as his treacherous brother, Jonathan Broadbent makes a role often forgotten memorable. A complex relationship with Ariel, suggesting a substitute son, is also explored.

Russell Beale can be magisterial with ease but focuses on Prospero’s neurotic moments. The all-powerful magus sees his plan on a knife-edge, adding excitement to the production. This Prospero has many a mini breakdown, as the tension of plotting gets the better of him – at one point he even screams, and the prospect of changing overwhelms him. Doran was clearly sensitive to the possible drawbacks of a high-tech collaboration. Never losing sight of the fine cast here, his supervision shows a calm hand at the helm.

Until 18 August 2017

www.barbican.org.uk

Photo by Topher McGrillis

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“King Lear” at the Barbican

Gregory Doran and Antony Sher consistently turn out gold-standard work for the RSC. Their latest offering from Stratford is Shakespeare’s tragic monarch – a big challenge no matter how good your credentials – and they deliver in predictably impeccable style. Here, Lear is presented as a pagan priest. With Celtic touches from designerNiki Turner and an imperiousness from Sher that few could match, exhortations to the gods make a lot of sense. And there are plenty of well-used supernumeraries: Lear’s “insolent retinue” of Knights are out in force, while the unwashed masses that the king has neglected are there from the start. The additions, on top of traditional foundations, ensure interest and create a grand scale.

Despite Doran’s keen eye on the extras, Sher’s Lear has been allowed to overpower the production. The rest of the cast includes some fine performances, but other roles struggle to make a mark. One exception is Antony Byrne’s Kent, whose transformation into Caius is so fine that you almost believe he’s unrecognisable. Another is Paapa Essiedu’s Edmund. The parallel plot of the elderly Gloucester’s trials and his bastard son’s betrayal is delivered with intelligence and vigour. Essiedu joins the list of ones to watch.

As for Sher in the title role, while it has to be admitted that he takes few gambles, his delivery never fails. This is a physically frail old king, whose movements seem limited and difficult. Oddly, this fails to generate the sympathy you might expect and means tension slacks at some points when Lear should still seem capable of violent assault. But it’s a classy affair with key speeches marked out (it’s easy to imagine the pages turned down in a copy of the text), and Sher always sounds splendid. His charismatic presence further consolidates our monumental impression of this colossal production.

Until 23 December 2016

www.barbican.org.uk

Photo by Ellie Kurttz

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“Henry V” at the Barbican

Reprising his role as Hal, after last year’s turn in Henry IV Parts I & II, Alex Hassell ascends to the throne in a Christmas treat for Londoners from the RSC. Gregory Doran directs, offering a fulsome and classy production. Hassell is a suitably thorough performer. Strongest when showing the nervousness of a new monarch dwelling on the morality of war, his transformation into a convincing martial leader is a carefully paced achievement.

Doran’s populous show looks and sounds great. There’s an exhibition about the gorgeous lighting, designed by Tim Mitchell, in the Barbican’s foyer space. Period instruments and a beautifully sung Te Deum (performed by Helena Raeburn) are highlights. Most memorable is an avuncular performance from Oliver Ford Davies as the chorus. Placed to the fore, his humorous calls to our imagination give the show a surprising intimacy and his modesty makes a pleasant foil to the production’s grandeur.

This is a long Henry V. Scenes of light relief are given plenty of time: one section of Act 3 Scene 2, often discarded, has not just an Englishman, Irishman and Scotsman but also a Welshman thrown together for fun (Joshua Richards’ Fluellen is satisfying throughout the show). And Doran wants to address the peace as much as the war – perhaps a little more than Shakespeare can be bothered with. The romance between Henry and Kate is rather dragged out (despite Jennifer Kirby’s charming Katherine) and Jane Lapotaire’s Queen Isobel takes centre stage for a speech on the state of France that is, again, sometimes skipped. Even though you might be left agreeing with productions that condense the action, this luxury edition of the show drips quality.

Until 19 December 2015. The King and Country four play cycle of productions, including Richard II, will be performed in January 2016.

www.rsc.org.uk

Photo by Keith Pattison

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“Death of a Salesman” at the Noël Coward Theatre

Gregory Doran’s revival of Arthur Miller’s Death Of A Salesman fully justifies the director’s claim that this is the greatest American play of the 20th century. Although rooted in post-war US society, Miller’s family tragedy and critique of capitalism transcends time and place. Perhaps recent economic woes make this powerful play freshly pertinent: the loss of job security for long-serving salesman Willy Loman rings alarm bells for us all. And perhaps, too – aided by our increased awareness of dementia – Willy’s tragic decline has added poignancy. Just as likely, the play is simply a masterpiece.

Antony Sher is confident and controlled in the lead role. Clearly passionate about the part, Sher projects an intensity that enfolds you. It’s an exceptionally subtle and intelligent delivery: for all Willy’s faults, we see why his family loves him, he isn’t made an underdog and there are no excuses for his behaviour – but he still retains our sympathy. Willy’s confidence seesaws constantly, moments of self-doubt are carefully hinted at. When Willy is presented with the gas pipe he plans to kill himself with, Sher’s whole body becomes frozen. It’s a tremendous theatrical moment.

Backed by Harriet Walter as Willy’s wife, with Alex Hassell and Sam Marks as his sons, the family struggles with the delusions of success and excess of optimism that construct their dreams. This is an unbeatable quartet of performances. The fight to see facts instead of fantasy is a relentless focus. Willy’s memories, possibly false, presented as the consequence of his age and misfortune, slide into the action dynamically. The downward spiral of the whole family in the second half is gut-wrenching and miraculously suspense-filled. We can all predict what’s coming but Doran makes it riveting, obeying the play’s demand that “attention must be paid”.

Until 18 July 2015

www.rsc.org.uk

Photo by Ellie Kurttz

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“Oppenheimer” at the Vaudeville Theatre

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The RSC’s transfer of Tom Morton-Smith’s new play immerses us in the history of the first atomic bomb and the mind of its maker, J Robert Oppenheimer. It’s a story with overwhelming potential – a rich mix of documentary and speculation – and the play is fascinating, if over ambitious. Angus Jackson’s direction deserves credit for inventive staging that aids dryer moments, using Robert Innes Hopkins design, and an impressive injection of music from Grant Olding.

Overall, strong performances balance some over enthusiastic accents – émigré scientists drafted onto the project to build the bomb prove too much of a temptation – so acting that benefits the script sits alongside some delivery that’s tricky to comprehend. The women in the piece stand out, both Hedydd Dylan and Catherine Steadman, as Oppenheimer’s love interests, do well with roles that come perilously close to tokenistic.

There are passages of writing that make it clear how talented Morton-Smith is. But he seems in thrall to history and detail, so the play ends up too long. Are this many characters really needed to explain the allegation that Oppenheimer turned his back on friends and ideals to win fame? And difficult though the science is, I’ve seen better attempts at explaining complex theories on stage. The biggest problem is knowing where to end the story: the bombs’ impact on all our lives might be a whole other play – tacking it on to this one doesn’t do the phenomena justice.

Nor does Morton-Smith make it easy for his leading character. Oppenheimer is a man of iron, cold and remote, yet forced to reveal enough trauma for any lifetime. His affairs, childhood, politics and philosophy are all tackled and none of it is simple. All the more credit, then, to John Heffernan in the title role. Seldom have I seen a show rest so heavily on its leading man. Heffernan’s performance confirms his status as one of the finest actors around – conveying the complexity of the physicist, making all that history and politics seem manageable and even convincing us of his character’s particular charisma. A stunning performance that gives this show enough bang to counter the occasional whimper.

Until 23 May 2015

www.rsc.org.uk

Photo by Keith Pattison