Tag Archives: Thalissa Teixeira

“Women Beware Women” at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse

Like Thomas Middleton’s Jacobean play itself, this production has its bumpy moments. The exaggerated characters, plot twists and sexual politics all have to be negotiated in any revival. And director Amy Hodge does well, making the play entertaining, fast paced and full of drama.

Hodge focuses on the three female leads and makes the all the talk of honour and virtue convincing – Thalissa Teixeira and Olivia Vinall give captivating performances as two very different young women in love. Meanwhile, Tara Fitzgerald has the great role of arch-villain Livia and deals well with the camper moments of her truly wicked “shop of cunning”.

Women Beware Women at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse
Tara Fitzgerald

Make no mistake, a lot of what happens in Women Beware Women is awful. The sexual violence and coercion aren’t shied away from and Teixeira in particular handles this bravely. But the production also deserves praise for connecting this with the sexism that pervades the play, for example, the ‘advice’ about what kind of woman should be wed is delivered as a song (James Fortune’s music for the show is consistently strong). There’s a creeping nausea about the confined lives of all the female characters.

Simon Kunz

Sinister performances from the play’s powerful male characters add to the tension. Simon Kunz makes the most of a relatively small part as the Duke of Florence. Daon Broni is truly creepy as Hippolito, who tricks his niece into an incestuous relationship. Best of all is the mercantile Guardiano, a consistently strong performance by Gloria Onitiri, who brings out scheming, snobbishness and wrath by turns.

Despite all this praise, the production has glitches. Joanna Scotcher’s design is confusing (the aim was the 1980s, but you’d struggle to work that out). Comedy in Women Beware Women is a tricky affair, full stop, and the character of the hapless Ward, played by Helen Cripps, is an unhappy one. And there’s the decision to stage the Masque within the play with tongues in cheek. I happen to disagree and think this scene should escalate the drama, instead of comically diffusing it. But I understand the thinking – the genre is tricky to get your head around – and the decision is well executed, indeed so many bodies on such a small stage is handled superbly. Yet the Masque remains the most obvious moment when Hodge doesn’t smooth over the play’s faults as might be wished. Arguably, it’s not her job to. But the resulting production is a staccato affair that has plenty to praise but also too many stops and starts.

Until 18 April 2020

www.shakespearesglobe.com

Photos by Johan Persson

“Julie” at the National Theatre

Polly Stenham’s new play, described as “after” August Strindberg’s Miss Julie, has just enough going for it. A bold authorial voice and strong performance from Vanessa Kirby in the title role compensate for flaws in a stylish script full of contemporary touches.

Strindberg’s play, about a love affair that defies class, has been adapted before, but this updating is particularly bold. The 1888 text has been stripped bare: it’s all about the money, as a poor little rich girl starts an affair with her daddy’s chauffeur, with tragic results.

Stenham’s skill is with dialogue, and the way Julie speaks is exemplary, instantly recognisable and witty. We’ve all heard Julie around town or worked with her (one summer I served her in Selfridges). We see how smart she is, how superficially appealing her “technicolour” personality might be, and the tragedy of her “shapeless” life.

Julie makes for an in-depth character study that Kirby embraces – her performance will keep you watching. But sympathy with the character isn’t allowed – any self-pity is a luxury. You may agree with Stenham, or wonder why she is so tough, or speculate on how her decisions relate to Strindberg’s infamous preface to his play. But the sentiment slims the play down and director Carrie Cracknell ends up padding it out with party scenes that look expensive but add little. Robbed of credibility, Julie’s relationships with her servants, fiancés whose romance she destroys, are too crass; there’s little drama and no sexual tension.

Both Eric Kofi Abrefa and Thalissa Teixeira do well in the roles of Julie’s employees, taking advantage of the depth Stenham gives their roles. But the characters are a little too noble, lacking edge or danger. Likewise, Kirby depicts Julie’s mental instability with intensity, but the character is a mess from the start, her end too predictable. The problem is a lack of nuance that makes the show, like Tom Scutt’s stylish set, rather too monochrome.

Until 8 September 2018

www.nationaltheatre.org.uk

Photo by Richard H Smith

“Yerma” at the Young Vic

For all the praise heaped on Simon Stone’s adaptation of Federico García Lorca’s play, my heart sank when the curtain rose to reveal two of my pet hates: the action takes place in a glass box and sound is relayed to the audience. Separated from the audience twice over, it’s an isolating experience. But this clinical technique, putting lives under surveillance, is actually used to perfection.

‘Her’, the contemporary Londoner whose life we follow in chapters, has it all – even a house. From the start, Billie Piper shows she’s worthy of the Olivier award she received for this performance, endearing us towards a character she makes instantly recognisable. The chemistry with her onstage husband is similarly convincing (taking that role, Brendan Cowell should have picked up a trophy, too).

It turns out that ‘Her’ has everything except a baby. The play follows her efforts to get pregnant with painful exactitude. The effects on the family are detailed with further great performances from Charlotte Randle and Maureen Beattie as ‘Her’ sister and mother. As desperation increases, mental health deteriorates rapidly and Piper’s performance becomes harrowing.

Stone is forceful about bringing his adaptation into the here and now. Piper’s character is a journalist, with blog posts that becomes increasingly personal. Egged on by a younger colleague (Thalissa Teixeira) the over-sharing may be predictable but it’s startling and provides pause for thought.

On a very literal level, it seems hard not to view the play as reductive – woman goes mad because she can’t reproduce – and it’s impossible not to feel uncomfortable about this. To add to such a challenge is the assumption the modern woman has fewer societal expectations since Lorca wrote in 1934. But does she? That desire to confirm is the uneasy question Stone leaves hanging, making his work a vital piece of theatre.

Until 31 August 2017

www.youngvic.org

Photo by Johan Persson

“Othello” at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse

This is an uncharacteristically poor production from one of London’s most gorgeous and surefooted theatres. Shakespeare’s tragedy of the Moor of Venice should be pretty foolproof – hard to mess up even if you muck about with it. But director Ellen McDougall overburdens the text with trendy touches while wilfully ignoring the poetry of the play.

From the moment the cast walk onstage to don their minimalist costumes (good work by designer Fly Davis) it’s clear McDougall wants to do something new. We have pop songs a cappella, ‘selfies’ and re-writing Cassio as a woman. All this could be exciting, and there’s clearly no shortage of ideas, but the ramifications of each addition are underdeveloped. McDougall surely has her reasons, but it is too hard to see what they are.

Which brings us to rhyme. Working with dramaturg Joel Horwood, there are stumbles due to the change of Cassio’s gender. Adding the odd joke or altering Shakespeare’s insults can be justified but add little here. Maybe tackling the text should have been bolder – presenting something new, in the spirit of last year’s Cymbeline, transformed into Imogen, outdoors at the Globe? McDougall’s cast adopt a bland approach to the verse. Presumably an attempt to make it sound natural – it actually makes it dull.

Natalie Klamar’s Desdemona suffers most from this prosaic delivery – she whines. Joanna Horton’s Cassio, a transformation that should offer such exciting potential, is humdrum. Peter Hobday’s Roderigo fails to deliver comic appeal, and he is even worse when performing as Duke Lodovico, entirely lacking charisma. Sam Spruell’s Iago comes close to making his role work – a gruff delivery denies Iago the intelligence to make him truly frightening but at least he holds the stage. The notable exceptions are Thalissa Teixeira, who develops her Emilia nicely, and the lead – Kurt Egyiawan – who thankfully, sounds wonderful. At a best guest, it’s a clumsy attempt to set up a contrast between Othello and everyone else. But it leaves far too much for Egyiawan to do and the majority of the production is just tedious.

Until 22 April 2017

www.shakespearesglobe.com

Photo by Marc Brenner