Titus Andronicus - Review

Swan Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Max Webster

Natey Jones takes a chainsaw to Simon Russell Beale's hand

It is a rare treat that sees a theatrical giant step up to the role of Titus Andronicus, Shakespeare's tragedy that boasts the Bard's highest body count. So it is that a one-handed Simon Russell Beale dons his chef’s apron to lead us through Max Webster’s modern take on the tale. Jet fighters roar overhead in the mise-en-scene suggesting that this is a turbulent Rome at war with the Goths and set is to become the arena for revenge -fuelled murder and mayhem.

Beale offers up one of the most sensitively nuanced takes on the noble general, delivering perfectly pitched pathos amidst the carnage, while also understanding the comedic themes that underscore the play. Late in the play, when his Titus greets Wendy Kweh’s Tamora masked up as the spirit of Revenge, Beale milks the moment exquisitely – we know the violence that is about to be unleashed and yet it is impossible not to grin at the charade being played out on stage. Beale equally imbues Titus’ tragic moments – notably manifest if his love for his grievously injured daughter Lavinia (Letty Thomas) – with a powerful emotional depth

Natey Jones’s Aaron is the production’s stand-out supporting performance. The energy in his evilness is palpable, with his Act 5 confessional monologue delivered as a hymn to barbarity. Jones inhabits the verse with a gripping excitement that makes for a rollercoaster ride of Shakespearean delight.

The evening’s other cracking performance is from Kweh who captures Tamora’s smouldering and insatiable sexuality with a fiercely brutal streak of the harshest cruelty. *SPOILER ALERT* In the final act, asTamora learns that the pasty that she is eating includes her sons' flesh, that Webster has her return for a second helping only underscores her fierce defiance.

There is exquisite pathos too from Letty Thomas whose Lavinia suffers the most unspeakable degradation.  For reasons not explained Titus’ brother Marcus Andronicus is gender-swapped to Marcia, played by Emma Fielding. In the scene in the woods that sees Lavinia discovered by her aunt uncle following her rape and mutilation, the scene's usual powerful tenderness seemed blunted in this iteration.   

There is a touch of Hollywood to Webster’s highly mechanised and stylised violence. Hooks descend from gantries and while the stabbings may all be suggested with murderer and victim often metres apart on stage, strobe lighting and gallons of stage-blood make for a gloriously horrific ambience. Matthew Herbert’s music that accompanies moments of carefully choreographed movement, adds to the evening’s compelling ghastliness. The blood flows so copiously in this production that the actors occasionally slip on the Swan’s sanguine soaked thrust. Audience members in the stalls’ front splash-zone seats are offered protective waterproofs, sparing them from soggy bottoms during the finale’s blood-soaked bake off.

A good Titus Andronicus should offer up an evening of entertaining violence that also draws out the story’s vicious misogyny and unspeakable cruelty. Simon Russell Beale serves up a mouth-watering performance.

Runs until 7th June

Photo credit: Max Brenner

The Lehman Trilogy - Review

Piccadilly Theatre, London


****


Written by Stefano Massini
Adapted by Ben Power
Directed by Sam Mendes

Simon Russell Beale, Ben Miles, Adam Godley

Amidst the financial crash of 2007/08, one of the most memorable images was that of the summarily fired employees of Lehman Brothers investment bank streaming out of their offices in New York and London’s Canary Wharf, their personal possessions unceremoniously borne in those ubiquitous cardboard Bankers Boxes.

Those branded boxes form a scenic mainstay throughout Stefano Massini’s The Lehman Trilogy and in this opus of a play, that spans from the middle of the 19th century through to the early years of the 21st, the writer’s suggestions are clear. Not only were the seeds of the bank’s downfall planted at its very inception, but also that much of the responsibility for this most recent of financial calamities, lies at the feet of the three Lehman brothers who had arrived on the USA’s eastern seaboard as penniless Jewish immigrants some 160 years before.

This is an unpleasant even if unsurprising conflation, for the last surviving member of the Lehman dynasty to have actually served on the bank’s board was Bobby Lehman, a grandson of the founders and who himself had died in 1969, some 40 years prior to the bank’s collapse and hence well distanced from the decisions that led to its demise. This lapse of time however has not troubled Massini. Much as was sung in Monty Python’s Spamalot: “You won’t succeed on Broadway if you dont have any Jews”, so Massini switches Broadway for Wall Street and, like an East End mural, subtly fuels a troubling trope. 

The stagecraft on display in this 3.5 hours epic is breathtaking. Assuming all roles, genders, and ages, Simon Russell Beale, Adam Godley and Ben Miles are a tour de force of a trio. With accents that are never too laboured and Sam Mendes having focused on the tiniest of nuances in each man’s work, their performances have to be amongst the finest in town. Es Devlin’s staging is ingeniously and suggestively slick - a simple minimally furnished revolve (complete with said boxes) enveloped by Luke Halls’ wraparound video screen - but it is the three actors who convincingly convey time, place and characters as they drive the narrative from the brothers’ humble beginning as Alabama cotton traders through to their dominance of New York’s financial district.

Massini keeps the three brothers clad in European/Victorian tailcoats throughout, reflecting the costume and time of their arrival on the eastern seaboard. But while this simplicity of clothing places a dramatic requirement upon the three men to enact their respective characters through their performances - a challenge that they not only rise to, but emphatically smash - its continual presence throughout the piece only heightens the play’s subliminally uncomfortable associations. 

Taking a step back from the production’s breath-taking technical brilliance - opening now in the West End having only just returned from an acclaimed, brief, New York transfer - the quality of the writing does not match the standards of Mendes’ cast and crew. While the story revolves around (and not entirely incorrectly) the brute avarice of capitalism with the horrors of the 1929 Wall Street crash featuring heavily in the second act, the argument is one-sided and there is little if any respect paid to the positive aspects of capital markets.

For sure the markets are imperfect, often profoundly so, but it was and remains risked capital that often created national as well as private wealth and much mass employment too. But for Massini it seems that these are inconvenient truths. Similarly, the story’s vast timeline is managed well until the third act’s endgame, when the four decades following Bobby Lehman’s demise are telescoped into a barely fleshed-out finale.

Notwithstanding its flawed message, in these times of unparalleled political polarisation The Lehman Trilogy will be lapped up by eager audiences. And for sheer technical theatrical genius, the play is in a class of its own.

Runs until 31st August. To be screened via NTLive on 25 July 

Photo credit: Mark Douet

The Lehman Trilogy - Review

National Theatre, London



*****


Written by Stefano Massini
Adapted by Ben Power
Directed by Sam Mendes

Simon Russell Beale, Ben Miles and Adam Godley

The creation, rise and ultimate fall of one of the largest investment firms in the USA might not seem like the most interesting subject matter to embrace for three and a half hours, but with The Lehman Trilogy at the National Theatre Sam Mendes directs an epic and engrossing tale of three brothers over three centuries, forever foreshadowed by our knowledge of the 2008 financial crash.

The trilogy opens with ‘Part 1: Three Brothers’, with each Lehmann brother arriving on the shores of the newly prosperous USA from Rimpar in Germany and settling among the cotton plantations of Montgomery, Alabama. The impeccable Simon Russell Beale plays Henry Lehman, the oldest of the three and the chief decision maker much to the chagrin of second brother Emanuel Lehman (Ben Miles). Adam Godley completes the trio as Mayer Lehman, affectionately (and less affectionately) referred to as ‘the potato’ and the intermediary between his older brothers. The three narrate the tale and, between them, bring to life the wives, classmates, colleagues and children required to take us through their journey of growth and multiple rebrands thanks to the invention of that ineluctable staple of today’s business world: the middlemen. From cotton to coffee to Wall Street, the three performers are a masterclass in storytelling. Es Devlin’s design, a surprisingly unpretentious square, rotating, glass-laden stage; video backdrop from Luke Halls; and live tinkled ivories played by Candida Caldicot drive the action from light business banter to massive loss.

In ‘Part 2: Fathers & Sons’ the second generation of American Lehmans take the helm, with the scarily strategic Philip (Beale) pushing the business into the industrial age in much the same way he chooses a wife (marks out of 100, obviously, with Godley hilariously embodying each candidate). In this Act, the play really embraces its “The Big Short”- esque style, informing the audience as much as entertaining them, as Philip’s own son (Robert, played suavely by Godley) describes the impending shift of fortune from industry to entertainment at the beginning of the 20th Century. This style is further highlighted with the delicate balance of the ever present but unseen and fictitious tightrope walker Caprinsky as a masterly metaphor, together with the continuous comic candour that Mendes directs so well.

‘Part 3: The Immortal’ sees an interesting female finally but briefly enter the fold with the introduction of the brash Ruth Lamar from Illinois (Beale, charming), who is Bobby Lehman’s wife and partner through the crash of 1929 where Lehman Brothers’ hangs on by the skin of its teeth. The imminent downfall of the company at the beginning of the next century is underscored by the repetitive script, which is as deafening as the quite purposeful shift into consumerism which firmly earns the bank its “evil corporation” crown.

The Lehman Trilogy is an intelligent look behind the scenes of the American Dream and the smoke and mirrors of the corporate world, brought to light by Mendes’ astute direction and a stellar cast. 3.5 hours well spent.

Runs until 20th October

Reviewed by Heather Deacon

Photo credit: Mark Douet

The Tempest - Review

Barbican Theatre, London

****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by  Gregory Doran

Simon Russell Beale and Jenny Rainsford

In just seven days it has been possible to catch the RSC doing what they do best - offering an insight into Shakespeare’s profound understanding of the breadth of the human condition. At Stratford last week Titus Andronicus evidenced man’s capacity to wreak bloody revenge. This week with The Tempest, we observe the power of forgiveness.

In a literally magical production, the London transfer of Stratford upon Avon's 2016 hit sees Simon Russell Beale as Prospero shipwrecked on an enchanted island in the Med, with only his daughter Miranda to accompany him and a library of books and spells. 

Also resident on the island are Caliban, a hulkingly ugly witch’s son and Ariel, a spirit, both of whom are under Prospero’s spell - and as the (literally fantastic) story unfolds we learn of Dukedoms usurped, resentments nurtured, smouldering love and passionate jealousies.

What makes Greg Doran’s production soar is a virtually seamless marriage of some of the finest acting to be found, alongside breathtaking 21st century technology. Stephen Brimson Lewis’ stage design is magnificent - the entire play taking place within the massive gaping ribs of a shipwreck’s hull. Onto these perished timbers, The Imaginarium Studios and Finn Ross project digital creations which through a combination of both ingenious imagery and the screens onto which their work is projected, breathe a supernatural life into the island.

Russell Beale’s Prospero is wise and measured, with the actor’s hallmark twang of wry exasperation giving a lilting cadence to some of Shakespeare's most beautiful verse. Jenny Rainsford as Miranda is a young woman brimming with desire. Her joy on first encountering the subsequently shipwrecked Ferdinand, the King’s son played by Daniel Easton is almost palpable and the love that evolves between the couple, albeit within the confines of a tale based on magical whimsy, is entirely plausible.

As the grotesquely piscatorial Caliban, replete with flapping fish, Joe Dixon’s spinally exo-skeletal costume could almost have been designed by H.R.Giger. Dixon captures Caliban’s slow-witted complexities perfectly, while as Ariel, the bodysuited, lithe Mark Quartley turns in a performance that is as acrobatic as it is stunningly empathetic. Excelling throughout, in a performance that blends bewilderingly believably into the digital domain Quartley’s understated elation as Ariel receives his liberty in the final act, is a celebration of sensitivity.

While all of the performances are spot on, there’s a niggle in the casting of Jonathan Broadbent as Antonio. He may well be Prospero’s brother, but the significant age gap between the performers makes that particular conceit hard to grasp. There must however be a mention for the outstanding soprano work from Elly Condron, Jennifer Witton and Samantha Hay as Iris, Juno and Ceres respectively, who only add a further degree of enchantment to the consecration of Miranda and Ferdinand’s union.

Paul Englishby’s music and Lucy Cullingford’s movement alongside the production’s stunning sound and lighting only add to what is yet another work of excellence from the RSC.

Runs until 18th August 2017

Photo credit: Topher McGrillis

King Lear - Review

National Theatre, London


****

Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Sam Mendes

Simon Russell Beale and Olivia Vinall

There’s a vogue at the National to thrust Shakespeare’s work into the modern era and with a nod to thrift, the military garb from the South Bank’s recent Othello is coldly furnishing forth the costume requirements of Simon Russell Beale’s King Lear. Indeed, as the closing act conflict plays out, the Dover denouement is often interrupted by the sound effect of jet fighters screaming overhead. It’s a leap in time that doesn’t always sit easily with a tale so firmly rooted in pre-Saxon history.

In an image that highlights the play's thematic plea for Lear to “see clearly”, the programme cover features a half-face close up of the bearded, brooding, Beale. The reality, at least for much of the first half is a very different King. Barely thirteen years since he delivered his career defining Hamlet, Russell Beale’s Lear, stooped and Stalin-like, scuttles around the stage suggesting a hybrid of Captain Birds Eye and Del Boy’s Uncle Albert. There are moments when his overly clipped delivery is eased off, but some noticeable early episodes of agony are squandered. His curse of sterility upon Goneril, arguably one of the most harrowing speeches written, falls short of the mark and that a few of the audience chuckled during Lear’s “O reason not the need” speech further suggests that the production still needs some fine tuning. After the break, Russell Beale excels and the moment late on, as Olivia Vinall’s Cordelia wakes him in his hospital bed is exquisite.

There is some outstanding company work on offer. Stanley Townsend’s Kent offers an energetic brute of loyalty to the King whilst Anna Maxwell Martin’s vitriolic Regan positively sizzles, first as the uncaring daughter and later as a steamily seductive merry widow. Sam Troughton’s bastard Edmund is as dark a baddy as he should be and Tom Brooke’s Edgar is an eloquent and touching interpretation of a complex soul, bravely performed nude through much of the Mad Tom storm sequence. As the Fool, Adrian Scarborough gives an intelligent interpretation to another of Shakespeare’s enigmatic characters and Mendes offers his own explanation to that Bard-Cluedo question: What exactly happens to the Fool? Well in this show he is brutally murdered: by Lear; in a bathtub; bloodily battered with the lead piping. Perhaps the standout performance amongst Lear’s court is that of Stephen Boxer’s Gloucester. Boxer effortlessly coaxes the beauty from his verse and rarely has his character’s confession “I stumbled when I saw” sounded so poignant. If Shakespeare knew that Gloucester’s blinding would entertain a blood-thirsty Elizabethan audience, so too does movie-maker Mendes who with an eye for a good visual and perhaps a nod to Quentin Tarantino, updates the hapless man's torture having him first waterboarded during the “wherefore to Dover?” interrogation before the required eye-gouging. In this production administered with a corkscrew, natch.

The production is unquestionably a brilliant King Lear, even if not one of the finest. It’s a fresh interpretation of the classic tale and its extremes of good, evil and the redemptive blessing of forgiveness prove as relevant today as ever. It’s a version that will be talked about for years and if you are lucky enough to acquire a ticket, (they are like gold dust) it is an evening very well spent.

Booking through to May 2014

The Hothouse

Trafalgar Studios, London

*****

Written by Harold Pinter

Directed by Jamie Lloyd

Simon Russell Beale and John Simm

The Hothouse is a delicious treat of a Pinter play. Unashamedly political, it encompasses sexiness, absurdity and menacing violence, as well as some brilliantly comic moments.

Simon Russell Beale is Roote, an ex-military man who leads the team at an undefined state institution, administering psychiatric treatments to its residents, none of whom are named, only numbered. John Simm is Gibbs his oleaginous but oh so perceptive number two, with eyes for Roote's job. It is Christmas, one patient has just died whilst another has just given birth to a child, apparently fathered by one of Roote's team. It is quite clear that Roote has lost his grip on managing the institution and Russell Beale plays him as a tragi-comic with gloriously controlled eye-popping incredulity. Think Basil Fawlty crossed with his long-term hotel resident, The Major and when in act two, Russell Beale directs his formidable acting firepower towards some perfectly timed slapstick involving whisky throwing and cake eating, the comedy is sublime.

By way of contrast, clean shaven Gibbs is no laughing matter at all, though his repartee with Roote is as good a double-act as you are likely to see. He has the measure of his buffoon boss, along with his colleagues and his elegant yet smarmy and duplicitous servility is another masterclass of performance. Where his fellow staffers only aspire to climb the ladder of promotion, Simms scales it ruthlessly and when his ambition and motive demand that his colleague Lamb be subject to brutal Electro Convulsive Therapy (ECT), Gibbs does not flinch from arranging the shocking voltage to be applied. The reasons for patients'  detention in this facility are never made clear, but the frequent references to “the Ministry” combined with Soutra Gilmour's brilliant set depicting a greying, publicly-funded government department, add weight to the suggestion that the unit adminsters a brutally harsh response to those who seek to challenge an authoritarian regime.

Key supporting cast are Harry Melling's Lamb and John Heffernan's Lush. Both are on the faculty staff albeit with different responsibilities and both deliver impressive monologues, mastering Pinter's complex concepts and Melling's delivery of his character’s reaction to the ECT is harrowing to watch. Indira Varma is Miss Cutts, a seductively attractive staff member who, trapped in the stifling hothouse of the institution , craves male approval and knows how to use her body to attract it. That actors of the stature of Clive Rowe and Christopher Timothy have been recruited for critical but nonetheless tiny cameo roles, speaks volumes for the cache and impact of this wonderfully slick production.

It's not a long show - each act barely 45 minutes or so, but the production is an accessible collection of performances that provides The Hothouse with a very fresh interpretation as well as also making it a useful introduction to Pinter for those not familiar with the writer’s work. Encapsulating absurdity and menace, as well as outstanding satire, this company rank amongst the best to be found on a London stage.  

Runs to August 3 2013