Arcadia - Review

Duke of York's Theatre, London

*****

Written by Tom Stoppard

Directed by Carrie Cracknell

Isis Hainsworth

Arguably the zenith of Tom Stoppard’s all encompassing genius, Arcadia is a play that bends time to explore the intriguing complexities of maths, physics and art.

We meet the Coverly family on their country estate, firstly in the 19th century and latterly, some generations later, in the present day. Thomasina Cloverly is from the 1800s a gifted thinker who Stoppard aligns with the mathematical geniuses of her time. Aged just 16, her character is combination of precocious intellect fused with sexual curiosity. Played by Isis Hainsworth, hers is a masterful performance. Also striking from that era is Seamus Dillane’s take on Septimus Hodge, tutor to Thomasina. As the unseen Lord Byron drifts in and out of the narrative, Stoppard crafts a richly woven tapestry.

Fast forwarding to the modern era where the latter-day Coverlys are visited at their still-standing country pile by warring academics Bernard Nightingale (Oliver Chris) and Hannah Jarvis (Nikki Amuka-Bird). As the pair clash over the finer points of Lord Byron’s life and romances, Nightingale is ultimately and deliciously exposed as a pompously self-opinionated arse, all making for great theatre and as the 21st century family, aided by computer, uncover the genius of Thomasina’s mathematical theorems, the drama becomes electrifying. A further mark of Stoppard’s craft is that throughout both the story and the centuries that it spans, there is a beautifully penned undercurrent of lustful desires, both consummated and frustrated.

Carrie Cracknell has helmed her production that hails from the Old Vic magnificently. Stoppard created the piece to let the historical timelines segue seamlessly and Cracknell directs her cast with a perfectly placed accuracy. Alex Eales's set design of concentric revolves beneath suspended spheres emphasises the metaphysicality of Stoppard’s creation.

Three hours (including interval) makes for a long haul, but it’s worth it. Rarely is such brilliant writing so beautifully performed.

Runs until 12th September

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

While They Were Waiting - Review

Upstairs At The Gatehouse, London

****

Written by Garry Wilmot

Directed by Sydney Stevenson

Gary Wilmot

While They Were Waiting, Gary Wilmot’s debut play is a one-act two-hander that offers a delicious step back into Theatre of the Absurd in its analysis of the preciousness of time and the quirkiness of human nature.

Steve Furst is Mulberry who we find ringing the doorbell of an enigmatic door. When no-one answers he resigns himself to waiting on a nearby bench, shortly to be joined by Gary Wilmot’s Bix. What follows is 90 minutes of intriguing verbal sparring between this curious pair that offers up nods to Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot and Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead in the two men’s contemplation of their situation. Mulberry is a man with a passion for waiting. As he explains - the pastime doesn’t require any specialist gear and one can do it anywhere.

At times the evening’s philosophy is deep – but Wilmot’s writing keeps the dialogue well peppered with puns, assonance and alliteration and sprinkled with gags that have been timed to perfection in their delivery. Recognised as a a master of comic timing and structure, Wilmot steps back from relentless humour in this piece to offer some poignant and insightful reflections on mortality and the human condition. As Bix, as he recites his Ode To A Friend, the evening ascends to a moment of truly moving reflection.

The two men are a beautifully matched double-act. The cantankerous pedantry of Furst’s lugubrious Mulberry being deftly complemented by Wilmot’s lighter and kindly tolerance. This is a play not just about waiting per se, it is a tightly directed comment on humanity and the tenderness of friendship.

As a debut piece, Wilmot’s writing is stunning. The play’s staging at Upstairs At The Gatehouse may well be charming in its intimacy but While They Were Waiting demands a wider audience.

Runs until 22nd March

Photo credit: Simon Jackson

Indian Ink - Review

Hampstead Theatre, London

***

Written by Tom Stoppard

Directed by Jonathan Kent

Felicity Kendal and Ruby Ashbourne Serkis

Tom Stoppard’s Indian Ink is a time-hopping study on India towards the end of the Raj, that’s written and researched with meticulous detail and acted, in this revival, with equal finesse.

A coquettish young flapper named Flora travels to India in the 1930s to restore her health. A poet with a love for art, as she beds her way across the subcontinent we witness her discovery of the complexities of Indian society and politics. Ruby Ashbourne Serkis plays Flora, as Felicity Kendal plays Mrs Swan, Flora's (now elderly) younger sister who, towards the end of the 20th century, looks back and reflects on her sibling's short, colourful life.

Jonathan Kent directs his cast with pinpoint precision, against Leslie Travers’s ingenious (if sometimes wobbly) set and Peter Mumford’s impressive lighting design, but it’s all just far too long. Stoppard’s attention to the historical minutiae was impressive, but the evening for all its excellence, feels like a tedious, culturally name-checking, three hours. That this 1995 play started out as a 1991 radio drama, In The Native State (that back then, in an enchanting theatrical alignment, starred Felicity Kendal) is revealing, for it is possible that Stoppard's arguments may have been forged more concisely under the discipline of radio.

Indian Ink may perhaps crave yet a further adaptation, this time into a TV mini series such is its richness. On stage today however it feels like a bloated self-indulgence, albeit brilliantly performed.

Runs until 31st January 2026

Photo credit: Johan Persson