The White Chip - Review

Southwark Playhouse, London

****

Written by Sean Daniels

Directed by Matt Ryan

Ed Coleman and Ashlee Irish

The White Chip (a reference to the Alcoholics Anonymous programme) is a meticulous exploration of one man’s journey through alcohol addiction. Following acclaimed USA productions, Sean Daniels’s play now makes its London debut under the sharp eye of director Matt Ryan and producer Danielle Tarento.

In a Herculean performance of physical and mental prowess, Ed Coleman is Steve, Daniels’s loosely autobiographical protagonist. Lee Newby’s simple yet effective designs create a space in which we follow Steve from his first beer (aged twelve) through his stumbling into the grasp of addiction and the ensuing college and workplace trauma and on into rehab admittances and despair.

Daniels’s script is relentless in its tracking of Steve’s tragic arc, with the extent to which we witness the denials and deceptions, to family, friends and co-workers proving harrowing and profoundly well written theatre.

Alongside Coleman, Mara Allen and Ashlee Irish deliver all the necessary supporting roles to flesh out the narrative, both giving performances that reflect the energy of the show’s leading man. Amidst an array of Tarento’s typically excellent production values, with the evening’s dialogue being so rapid-fire and intense, there are some disappointing moments when the usually excellent Max Pappenheim’s sound design wanders in its accuracy.

But for all this play's brilliance in its writing and its powerhouse performances and notwithstanding the story's uplifting endgame, at 100 minutes with no interval it all makes for an evening of tough drama that at times prove too exhausting to effectively digest. The breakneck sequencing of scenes and tableaux, all key points in the narrative that are lined up to demand our attention can feel overwhelming. 

The White Chip is an important play that demands to be seen. Tough gig though.

Runs until 16th August

Photo credit:Danny Kaan

The Night Of The Iguana - Review

Noël Coward Theatre, London

*****

Written by Tennessee Williams

Directed by James Macdonald

The play's company

Set in a rundown hotel in 1940, atop the cliffs of Mexico’s Pacific coast ,  Tennessee Williams’ The Night Of The Iguana offers up a glimpse of troubled lives in a dramatic cocktail that proves as intoxicating as a well mixed rum coco. The play was inspired by Williams’ own 1940 Mexican travels and his evident love for both time and place – and all set in a period before America had been sucked into the maelstrom of World War 2 – are evident. 

Clive Owen plays the Rev Lawrence Shannon, a defrocked minister now banished from the USA and reduced to leading guided tours around the world’s less glamorous regions. Shannon has led a reluctant party of Texan schoolgirls and their teacher (Finty Williams as a wonderfully Southern Baptist Judith Fellowes) to the hotel - a stop not included on the published itinerary - and their apparent entrapment at the remote location only heightens aspects of the story’s tension. We learn that Shannon has committed statutory rape (sex with minors) and as the evening unfolds we witness this priapic priest barely able to control his lust. Owen (who bears more than a passing resemblance to Jeremy Clarkson) is on stage throughout most of the play, and his delivery of this strangely, vilely, complex role is a tour de force.

Playing Maxine Faulk, the wise and recently widowed hotelier, is Anna Gunn. There is evidently a complex history to Faulk and Shannon. She knows him inside out, replete with all his failings and yet is passionately drawn to the deeply damaged man. Gunn’s work is masterful – sassy yet vulnerable, and hinting at an absolutely fascinating back story.

And then arriving at the hotel are the penniless Hannah Jelkes played by Lia Williams, a middle-aged (con) artist accompanied by her nonagenarian poet grandfather, delightfully fleshed out by Julian Glover. Williams lays down yet further sadness as Jelkes outlines her back story of a woman who has seen love pass her by, save for two seedy encounters over many decades - and a childhood that she hints at as having been traumatised by profound emotional and sexual abuse. 

This being 1940, (and the play having been written in 1961) Williams also cheekily lobs in a family of raucous Germans to his “Mexican Berchtesgaden”, Nazis fleeing Europe and using Mexico either as a gateway to South America or a back-door to the States. 

The play’s themes are as complex as they are ultimately simple - but what stands out from this three hour opus is that it was written at a time when literary craftsmanship was at its finest. Williams touches upon some of the most painful and intimate aspects of humanity - sex, love, loneliness and abuse – but does so throughout with a beautiful and carefully worded prose that displays a complete absence of profanity. The strength of The Night Of The Iguana rests upon a sensational cast bringing the most sensitive of images into relief, via their spoken word. As they perform, the most moving and painful vignettes play out in our minds’ eyes - and it makes for a truly rare event to see theatre that is so richly created and performed.

James Macdonald has assembled a masterful team of creatives. Rae Smith’s mountainous Latin mountaintop convinces on its own – but accompanied by Max Pappenheim’s exquisite soundscape, the suspension of our disbelief is complete. The Night Of The Iguana is world class theatre.


Runs until 28th September

Photo credit: Brinkhoff Moegenburg

My Eyes Went Dark – Review

Finborough Theatre, London


*****

Written and directed by Matthew Wilkinson

Thusitha Jayasundera and Cal MacAninch

"...If a country can't protect the rights of its people, what can a man do? A man must stand up... A man must defend himself."

Matthew Wilkinson's My Eyes Went Dark is an extraordinary piece of work. It tells the story of man, Nikolai Koslov, (played by Cal MacAninch) who loses his wife and two young children in a plane crash that occurred when two planes collided mid-air.

Grief stricken and utterly disconnected from the world without his family ("My life. As any family is the life of the individuals within it"), he seeks justice. This search begins immediately; as he is digesting the reality that his family is gone at the beginning of the play, he questions what happened, asking for an update on the flight recorders and attempting to coerce an explanation, of any sort, from the official he is speaking to.

This is a particularly striking characteristic of Koslov who, as a successful architect and family man, is probably used to drawing clear lines between events, ideas and thoughts, drawing out rational conclusions accordingly. He seems to be a rational being and a normal functioning one at that. This is best typified in professional settings, such as when he is giving an interview or operating in a work environment. 

This two-hander also features an outstanding performance from Thusitha Jayasundera, who plays ten different characters to incredible effect. 

Beautifully suited to the intimacy of the Finborough, the staging is simple; it features only two chairs. The sound design (Max Pappenheim) and lighting (Elliot Griggs) are flawless. Props are invisible but acted with such conviction that their physical absence is barely registered. 

The performance lasts approximately ninety minutes and comprises an intense sequence of scenes, cutting back and forth over the span of five years, over three different countries. Throughout its course, a range of themes including commentaries on justice systems, corporate responsibility and politics are investigated and provide much for consideration. 

What is incredibly powerful about My Eyes Went Dark is its ability to explore the complex and permanent effects of plane crashes. It is a tragedy that most of us are familiar with, blessedly, only through news reports that the media thrive on. The play however offers a stark reminder that the effects never leave those who have experienced loss and for whom so many questions are left unanswered.  

Wilkinson, MacAnich and Jayasundera capture this tragedy perfectly and hauntingly.


Runs until 19th September
Guest Reviewer: Bhakti Gajjar

The Grand Tour - Review

Finborough Theatre, London

****

Music and lyrics by Jerry Herman

Book by Michael Stewart and Mark Bramble

Directed by Thom Southerland

Nic Kyle and Alastair Brookshaw

Thom Southerland's production of Jerry Herman’s The Grand Tour may tell a bittersweet fable, but the show defines all that is good in fringe theatre today. Whilst Broadway success may have eluded its 1979 premier, a staging in the 50 seater Finborough offers the rare privilege of seeing this eclectic work make its maiden voyage across the Atlantic.

The pedigree of Herman, Bramble and Stewart was already established when they collaborated on this tale of tragic whimsy, set against a backdrop of France's encroaching Nazi occupation. Jacobowsky, a Jew who has already fled his native Poland and subsequently Austria and Czechoslovakia must flee Paris. So too must Colonel Stjerbinsky of the exiled Polish Army. Like the Nazis, Stjerbinksy hates Jews but the Germans are after both men and so out of necessity an unlikely allegiance is formed. Throw in a beautiful French woman Marianne, to whom not only is the Colonel betrothed but who can also recognise the human decency of Jacobowsky and the tale evolves into the most tragi-comic of Road movies, as the Holocaust’s tragedy looms.

Alastair Brookshaw’s Jacobowsky is a stunning performance that leads the show. Avoiding caricature, Brookshaw (an actor whose choral career has seen him more accustomed to Westminster’s Abbey rather than Syngaogue and who now, following his outstanding Leo Frank in Tarento’s 2011 Parade confirms his Jewish credentials) nails Jacobowsky’s desperate vulnerability in a performance that combines hilarious chutzpah with profound pathos. Onstage almost throughout, Brookshaw’s opening number I’ll Be Here Tomorrow, sung as he walks, stumbling, across the outstretched arms of the company, evokes the frailty and the tragedy of the time perfectly.

Nic Kyle is the Colonel. His is a tough act, playing the bad-guy/straight-guy to Jacobowsky’s antics, yet the kiwi Kyle skilfully manages his character’s transition as he learns to love his Jewish travelling companion. Completing the trio is Zoe Doano’s Marianne. Doano’s singing matched by her perfect poise and presence that convinces without once becoming sugary, evidences her West End experience.

As well as producing, Danielle Tarento casts the show and her eye for talent is, as ever, spot on. Blair Robertson’s murderous SS Captain defines a villainy that is cliché free, whilst Vincent Pirillo’s Jewish father whose grief as the Nazis destroy his daughter’s wedding (in a scene that is one of several gloriously choreographed routines from Cressida Carre) is a beautifully sung turn that also avoids melodrama.

The Finborough’s stage is tiny yet Phil Lindley’s ingenious scenery, comprising panels that open to reveal differing backdrops sets the locations wonderfully. The act one closing number, One Extraordinary Thing, set in a circus big top complete with high wire routine is a particular delight. Max Pappenheim’s well crafted sound design adds authenticity, whilst Joanna Cichonska’s filleting of the orchestral score to an arrangement for just two pianos maintains the charm of Herman’s melodies whilst never drowning the un-mic’d actors. Southerland has got the balance of song and setting just right – every lyric is crystal clear.

Reflecting the fate of France’s Jews, The Grand Tour offers no happy ending. The narrative may be fiction, but the backdrop is the most painful truth and in this expertly assembled troupe, Danielle Tarento offers up yet another slice of theatrical genius.

Runs until 21st February 2015

Three Sisters

Southwark Playhouse, London

****

Written by Anton Chekhov

In a new version by Anya Reiss

Directed by Russell Bolam

Paul McGann and Holliday Grainger

Anya Reiss’ adaptation of Three Sisters at the Southwark Playhouse proves to be a remarkable interpretation of the Russian classic. Set in modern times and based around a British Embassy located somewhere in a land in turmoil, Reiss’ sisters are long-term ex-pat Brits who have built their lives 3,000 miles from home, each nurturing either a fondness or a yearning for home. Where Chekhov created a grand Russian sense of bleakness in the sisters' world, so too does Reiss. This production hints at a location in the east but it could be anywhere, the adaptation's structure deftly reflecting the women's hopes and frustrations.

The themes are grand and classic but the setting is intense and opressive. Olivia Hallinan is Olga, the most controlled of the three orphaned sisters, convincing with an understated youthful maturity that provides a modest emotional compass to her siblings, with Russell Bolam having coaxed a subtle allure into the actress' presence. Holliday Grainger plays Irina, a complex woman who attracts the attentions of two soldiers posted to the Embassy. Where Tusenbach (a sometimes awkward performance from David Carlyle) is a devoted paramour, his rival Solyony, forever sanitising his hands such is his familiarity with death, displays a more basic and brutal desire to make Irina his. Reiss skilfully narrates the path that will lead to the play’s tragic denouement.

Masha is the more volatile of the sisters and Emily Taffe imbues her with a provocative fragility. Her frustrations with her local-born husband Kulygin are tangible and through a combination of skilled writing and excellent performance her desire for the soldiers’ commanding officer is a perceptive portrayal of a love tragically stifled.

Paul McGann is Vershinin, the commanding officer, bringing a clipped maturity to the role. He too is trapped in a frustrated and difficult marriage and finds himself craving the emotional succour that the three sisters offer. Whilst he succumbs to his love for Masha, the evident fondness he displays for the world that the three women have created in exile is a gem of understatement in a classy performance. McGann’s name on the bill hints at a star quality performance and he does not disappoint.

Co-producer Danielle Tarento’s hallmark fingerprints of excellence adorn the production. Howard Hudson’s lighting is as ever spot on, enhancing both nuance and location whilst Max Pappenheim’s sound design is also subtly excellent.

Reiss’ perceptive prose is all the more remarkable given her youth. Following her treatment of The Seagull (also recently directed by Bolam at the Southwark Playhouse) she clearly knows how to make Russian poetry accessible to a wired 21st century audience. Her work is peppered with modern cultural references and though they may appall traditional Chekhovian scholars, they are likely to prove invaluable in guiding many of Reiss’ generation towards such classic literature.

Runs to 3rd May 2014