Broken Glass - Review

Young Vic, London

*

Written by Arthur Miller

Directed by Jordan Fein

Eli Gelb, Pearl Chanda and Alex Waldmann

Rarely is a production as muddled and disappointing as its underlying script as is to be found in Jordan Fein’s take on Arthur Miller’s Broken Glass.

Set in 1938 in New York's Brooklyn, Broken Glass is one of Miller's later plays. Through the dysfunctional marriage of Phillip and Sylvia Gellburg, the playwright seeks to explore his own interpretation of the American Jewish experience, set against a backdrop of the rise of antisemitism in Nazi Germany - the play’s title drawn from the infamous Kristallnacht, The Night of Broken Glass of November 1938 that saw German synagogues torched across the country. 

Miller explores a very tenuous connection that sees Sylvia lose the use of her legs, ostensibly as a reaction to the persecution of German Jewry. That Sylvia’s concern for events in Europe is dismissed by her isolationist husband and friends is plausible - but by rendering her immobile because of what the Nazis are doing, Miller, through such crass sensationalising, weakens his argument that seeks to explore her sense of ideological loneliness. Add in to the play's storyline the facts that: 1. the Gellburgs’ marriage has been devoid of physical intimacy for 20 years and; 2. Sylvia’s physician (Dr Harry Hyman played by Alex Waldmann) is a man whose sense of professional ethics has deserted him in his sexual desire for his patient, and it becomes clear that the whole (one-act)  evening really is a mess. Coming from a writer who’s demonstrably capable of literary genius, Broken Glass has to represent the nadir of Miller’s creative arc.

Fein has a lot to answer for too. A detail of his set, he has the Gellburgs' marital bed strewn with newspapers. If the newspapers had been facsimiles of 1930s newsprint that would have been fair enough. But with the subtlety of a brick however, Fein has selected real recent British publications, all with blazing headlines that have been chosen to demonise the right-wing of Britain's contemporary political spectrum, Fein clearly not realising that this country's current antisemitic hatred is largely being stirred up by the Islamist-sympathising Left. Fein's casting choices are equally mismanaged, Eli Gelb and Pearl Chanda as the Gellburg couple appearing far too young to have raised a 20 year-old.

Disappointing theatre.

Runs until 18th April

Photo credit: Tristram Kenton

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

Dracula - Review

NYT Workshop Theatre, London

****

Written by Tatty Hennessy after Bram Stoker

Directed by Atri Bannerjee

Bram Stoker’s Dracula really is immortal. For this gothic vampire, usually resident in the Carpathian Mountains of Transylvania, is currently to be found stalking the capital's streets in not one, but two staged productions. As Cynthia Erivo currently stars in a multi-million pound West End extravaganza, a short hop up the Holloway Road (where north London really is blood-red!) finds the National Youth Theatre’s REP Company having become literal stakeholders in a far more bonkers, low-tech and sanguinous interpretation of Dracula's gory tale, but which nonetheless turns out to be a show that proves lip-smackingly entertaining.

In a production that’s part funded by John Gore of the legendary Hammer Films company, Atri Bannerjee directs his young company with enthusiasm and energy, if not perhaps, finesse. Tatty Hennessy’s take on Stoker's story plays fast and loose with both time zones and settings, but throughout all the narrative's blood-soaked clutter, still offers a raft of emerging performers the chance to show off their skills.

The eponymous Count is notably absent from this production, however the cast is riddled with his victims. Louise Coggrave is Lorna, effectively the most prominent vampire in this show, and she’s fabulous. Returning from her own funeral to suck the blood from her sister Millie (don’t ask), played equally wonderfully by Maya Coates, as the plot becomes increasingly incredible, the acting just gets better and better.

Hennessy imbues her iteration of the classic with three Brides of Dracula. (Amy Young, Jo Bentley and Rachael Dowsett). These three characters are as madcap as they are sensuously stylish, and whilst an act one scene that sees them wringing out sponges that are literally drenched in stage blood, whilst the storyline may be indecipherable, the horrific visuals are magnificent. There’s always been a very thin line between humour and horror, and this production deliciously drains that rich flowing vein of humour.

Sasha Jagsi as Lucy, one of the shows more standout victims is another treat, while Rhia Burston as her best buddy Mina is charmingly convincing in a relatively blood-free role.

In a coup of theatrical casting, a youthful Christopher Lee (yes, that's his real name!) plays psychiatrist Jonathan, who also gets his hands dirty with lashings of stage blood as Jack David Collard puts in a fun turn as Arthur, who once held his affianced Lucy in the deepest adoration. Sumah Ebele offers an intriguing north American accent as she sinks her teeth into playing Professor Van Helsing, complete not just with crucifix and lashings of holy water, but a hacksaw too, ready to decapitate Dracula's infected followers. Luka Wellman's lunatic Renfield is a blast, as is Nicky Dune's Noah who struggles with the nuances of 21st century clubbing in the play's second half.

Much of the beauty of Stoker's Victorian original has been callously allowed to bleed out from Hennessy's version, however Alex Musgrave's stark lighting serves Naomi Dawson's simple staging very well, and all the while the stage blood spurts and gushes.

Dracula from the NYT is a fun and thrilling ride that's not for the squeamish.

Runs until 13th March

Bird Grove - Review

Hampstead Theatre, London

****

Written by Alexi Kaye Campbell

Directed by Anna Ledwich

Owen Teale and Elizabeth Dulau

Bird Grove is a well crafted and beautifully performed study on fathers, daughters and the conventions of the 19th century.

The title of the play is drawn from the Warwickshire home shared by Mary Ann Evans and her widowed father Robert. Mary Ann (played by Elizabeth Dulau) was an educated woman, as her father (played here by Owen Teale) was a traditionalist who, as his daughter’s challenges to his faith and his lifestyle become more apparent, finds such evolutionary thinking increasingly hard to bear. What makes this story even more remarkable is that Mary Ann was to go on and change her name to George Eliot, becoming one of the greatest forces in English literature of her time.

Dulau and Teale are magnificent protagonists. As Mary Ann rails against the stifling and oppressive chauvinism of the era, Dulau imbues her with a measured yet powerful presence. She commands our respect and as the evening evolves, our sympathy too, director Anna Ledwich deftly helming the narrative of Mary Ann's complex arc.

Teale is a man whose stature and character is chiselled from the granite of humanity. There are hints of both Lear and Tevye in his temperament and he commands his scenes with passion and pride, his love for his daughter matched only by his inability to recognise her wishes and desires. A man trapped by the strictures of both church and convention, his struggles are recognisable and, in many ways, timeless.

A handful of supporting characters enhance the narrative, with Jonnie Broadbent’s take on Horace Garfield, a would-be suitor to Mary Ann, proving a first-half cameo that comes close to stealing scenes, such is his comic excellence.

Alexi Kaye Campbell’s writing is, for the most part, delightful. His dialogues are deft, even if some of the plot’s advancement (notably the epilogue) is at times a little expositional and clunky. Sarah Beaton's set and Matt Haskin's lighting design create an elegant suggestion of the titular country house.

Fine new writing, Bird Grove makes for a night of provocative, stimulating theatre.

Runs until 21st March

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Grindr Mom - Review

Waterloo East Theatre, London

**

Written by Ronnie Larsen

Directed by Gerald Armin

Jessica Martin

Billed as a “funny, fast-paced comedy” and “a riotous plunge”, Grindr Mom turns out to be neither. 

Jessica Martin turns in a fabulous performance as a married Mormon mother who discovers that her son is gay, however Ronnie Larsen’s 80-minute monologue does not deserve her acting and (sometime singing) genius.

Larsen’s script lurches from one tediously bigoted cliché to the next, and while the drama’s closing chapter comes close to genuine pathos, the story’s ultimate finale is predictable and trite.

Rarely does an evening of comedy fall so flat.

Runs until 1st March

Here There Are Blueberries - Review

Stratford East, London

****

By Moisés Kaufman and Amanda Gronich

Conceived and directed by Moisés Kaufman

The cast of Here There Are Blueberries

Only on for two more weeks in this the play’s UK premiere, Here There Are Blueberries is a compelling and chilling history lesson.

The play is a tough 90-minute one-act drama inspired by a collection of photographs, all snapshots rather than formally posed images, and all taken at Auschwitz concentration camp in the final months before its liberation, that were discovered towards the end of the 20th century.

Moisés Kaufman conceived the play on learning of the photographs’ existence, and it is a cleverly conceived presentation of the images that drives the evening, delivering a chilling comment on the society that allowed its antisemitism to fuel the industrialised slaughter that defines the Holocaust. Technically ingenious, the creative team’s digital wizardry has breathed a gruesome vivacity into the projections of these authentic images from the 1940s.

Not until the play’s final paragraphs do we witness any images of the victims of Auschwitz. Rather, throughout the drama, we observe the SS leadership of the concentration camp and their assistants, who went about their murderous work with the detached air of any corporate management team. The titular blueberries refer to an image of the camp’s communication corps, a bevy of teenage girls perched on a fence at Solahütte, an SS holiday lodge on the perimeter of the Auschwitz camp, grinning as they eat bowls of the fruit.

And that is the essence of this piece - the sheer normality, the banality of those who individually were 'ordinary people' but who, when in collaboration, could wreak such horror on the Jews of Europe. Before they had joined the SS, we learn that the camp’s officers had been accountants, confectioners, bank clerks or such like, many coming from Germany’s professional classes. 

Much of the play’s narrative is verbatim theatre, drawn from meticulously researched interviews with not only survivors of Auschwitz, but also a number of grandchildren of the SS criminals who commanded the camp and who appear in the photos.

The evening’s most chilling revelation  comes from Tilman Taube (played by Clifford Samuel). Taube’s grandfather was Dr. Heinz Baumkötter, an SS doctor responsible for atrocities in a number of the Nazis’ concentration camps.

Late in the play, we learn from Taube that before Baumkötter died, he had said to his grandson, “with a twinkle in his [Baumkötter’s] eye”, that his time briefly in Auschwitz, but primarily in Saschenhausen concentration camps, implementing Hitler’s Final Solution to the Jewish Question, had been “the best years of his life”.

That vile comment alone makes Here There Are Blueberries essential theatre.

Runs until 7th March

Photo credit: Mark Senior

Dracula - Review

Noel Coward Theatre, London

*****

Written by Bram Stoker

Adaped and directed by Kip Williams

Cynthia Erivo

To understand why Cynthia Erivo is the Vice President of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, just go and see Dracula. For close to two-hours straight through, Erivo doesn’t just dominate this intriguing production, she creates it, assuming all 23 roles of Bram Stoker’s classic yarn.

Kip Willliams’s take on Dracula sees a fusion of gothic horror with 21st-century technology, as physical, practical theatre is (almost seamlessly) joined to painstakingly crafted pre-filmed videos. As a squad of steadicam operators buzz around Erivo’s live work, a big screen merges the real-time with the recorded, taking the concept of live performance to a newly defined dimension.

The play’s design respects the original’s Victorian origins, with Marg Horwell creating images that ingeniously and subtly shift the action from London to Romania. The repressed sexuality of Stoker’s novel is similarly played out, with Erivo bringing a sensuousness to the characters’ carnal desires, both the mortal and the undead.

The teeth, blood and bite marks are elegantly done in this subtle portrayal of horror, but for all the show’s visual wizardry and Craig Wilkinson's stunning videos, it is Erivo’s acting that is spellbinding. While her Professor Van Helsing, Stoker’s vampire-slayer, may be slightly more Gandalf than is necessary, her interpretations of the traditional characters, alongside her effortless transformations is breathtaking.

Not only is Erivo’s physicality meticulously rehearsed, her vocal reach is sensational. As Jonathan Harker, the London lawyer sent to Transylvania with property deeds for Dracula to sign, Erivo is required to narrate the story’s opening. Listen to Erivo's exquisite Received Pronunciation and there are hints of Richard Burton in her perfectly measured tone and cadence.

A bold move by the show’s creative minds sees Erivo draw on her Nigerian heritage to voice the bloodthirsty Count with a deeply African pronunciation - a refreshing change from the cod-Slavic accent so often deployed. And look out too for some of the projected images of Erivo’s vampires that pay homage to, amongst others, Klaus Kinski and Christopher Lee’s legendary portrayals of the classic monster.

Be in no doubt, this is a story re-worked for our times. Cynthia Erivo drives a stake through the heart of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, defining it as her own.

Runs until 30th May

Photo Credit: Daniel Boud

Man and Boy - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Terence Rattigan

Directed by Anthony Lau

Ben Daniels and Malcolm Sinclair

Anthony Lau’s take on Terence Rattigan’s intriguing Man and Boy is a deliciously stylised slice of Manhattan in the 1930s.

Played out on a green baize and beneath an oppressively interrogatory lighting rig, the moments of the play’s high drama are delivered from table-tops. Rattigan’s world is one of high-stakes deals, with Georgia Lowe’s set and costume design creating an atmosphere that's driven by malevolent corruption and greed.

The plot hinges around the complex relationship between Romanian tycoon Gregor Antonescu and his sometime estranged son Basil Anthony - played by Ben Daniels and Laurie Kynaston respectively. 

Daniels’s Antonescu is a monster of corporate greed and manipulation - almost a Jeffrey Epstein of his time - with a compelling performance that commands both attention and contempt. Kynaston by contrast presents a complex creation of a profound fragility.

But in this melodramatic wonderland of neo-noir, it emerges that almost everyone is loathsome. Nick Fletcher turns in a great performance as Sven, Antonescu’s long-serving lieutenant. Malcolm Sinclair is equally magnificent as Mark Herries, a millionaire American industrialist who is as motivated as much by his homosexual cravings as he is driven for success on Wall Street. And then there’s Isabella Laughland as Countess Antonescu - a trophy blonde of a wife whose two-dimensionality is divine.

A fun script, cleverly performed, in a production that is fuelled by America’s era of Art Deco. As a glorious glimpse of human vileness, it’s quite possibly the finest show in town.

Runs until 14th March

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry - Review

Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

***

Music & lyrics by Passenger

Book by Rachel Joyce

Adaption co-created by Rachel Joyce, Peter Darling & Katy Rudd

Directed by Rachel Joyce

Mark Addy, Jenna Russell & company

There’s a flicker of a good yarn at the heart of The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. Rachel Joyce’s story sees the titular Fry walk 500 miles across England, fleeing the baggage of a grief-laden marriage, to visit the bedside of a dying friend.

Not only are there the makings of a good story, the show also boasts standout excellence from Mark Addy as Fry and Jenna Russell as his wife Maureen. Both leading characters are deeply damaged and it is a credit to both performers that they deliver performances of a tender complex fragility.

It’s just a shame that such excellence is smothered in an evening of mediocre musicality, wrapped up in a plot that lurches from one shallow cliche to the next. Passenger’s lyrics are found to be frequently expositional and witless, while the band of crusties who follow Fry on his pilgrimage appear to be little more than a bunch of lazily drawn two-dimensionals, straight out of central casting. 

The musical’s (rare) highlights both fall in act one with a classy tap-routine in From The Rooftops, and a moderately amusing set of lyrics in Out of Luck. 

Those who love Rachel Joyce’s book will probably enjoy the show. Otherwise The Proclaimers’ 1988 single I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) offers a similarly themed story, and in under four minutes.

Runs until 18th April

Photo credit: Tristram Kenton

Debate: Baldwin vs Buckley - Review

Wilton's Music Hall, London

****

Adapted & directed by Christopher McElroen

Arnell Powell and Eric T. Miller

Only on for this week, Debate: Baldwin vs Buckley gives a historical trajectory to a remarkable event of some 61 years ago at the Cambridge Union.

In February 1965, Civil Rights activist and author James Baldwin, together with conservative publisher William F. Buckley Jnr. were both flown across the Atlantic to debate the motion “Is The American Dream At The Expense Of The American Negro?”. In what is perhaps one of the most effective pieces of verbatim theatre staged, Christopher McElroen directs his fellow  Americans, Arnell Powell (as Baldwin) and Eric T. Miller (Buckley) in a recreation of the debate.

An ingenious deployment of grainy archived newsreel footage - Norman St John Stevas the presenter - frames the speeches as Powell and Miller proceed to offer stunning interpretations of their characters’ arguments, each offering monologues of breathtaking length and complexity that prove compelling in their delivery. The text is of course a matter of record, with the evening’s artistic strengths therefore lying not so much in the words that were spoken, but rather in the flair with which they have been animated with such conviction and credibility.

The historic arguments are fascinating. In 1965 much of America’s black population was disenfranchised with much of the country’s South still segregated. Contexting the oratory of the era with the USA of today makes for interesting comparisons. While the Civil Rights movement achieved great milestones, the political dialogues of the 21st century of course offer a different and troubled take on America’s still fractured society. As the Far Right continues to preach hatred, many will argue that in much of the country the liberal Left equally weaponises racial disharmony and discord in pursuit of their objectives. 

Simply staged at a packed Wilton’s Music Hall, the show is enhanced by the supporting performances of Christopher Wareham and Tom Kiteley as David Heycock and Jeremy Burford respectively, who were the student pro/opponents of the motion back in the day.

For those with an interest in modern American history and politics, the play is unmissable.

Runs until 7th February

Photo credit: the american vicarious

Mrs President - Review

Charing Cross Theatre

***

Written by John Ransom Phillips

Directed by Bronagh Lagan

Keala Settle

By a curious coincidence, London’s Trafalgar Square is currently proving a theatrical shrine to Mary Todd Lincoln. As Oh, Mary! plays on Whitehall, just around the corner sees artist John Ransom Phillips’s Mrs President making a return visit to the Charing Cross Theatre, offering its own perspective on this most intriguing of First Ladies.

Remarkably, the work is not so much a piece of dramatic fiction as a (quite possibly ghost-written) authorised biography. On reading the production's programme notes we learn that the writer “..heard her [Mrs Lincoln]. She said, “I want you to tell my story”” Ransom Phillips also tells us that spirits are part of his life. But if the man is truly hearing voices then he is either mentally unwell, or alternatively and quite possibly, gifted with a truly remarkable access to the spirits of presidential wives.

A two-handler, Keala Settle is breathtaking in her take on the title role, exploring Mary Lincoln’s love for her husband and her grief at the loss of three (of four) children as well as witnessing President Lincoln’s assassination. Opposite Settle is Hal Fowler as Mathew Brady, the photographer who captured Lincoln’s portrait for the USA’s Five Dollar bill. Brady also morphs into other male characters who impacted upon Mary’s life, with his performance proving as carefully crafted as Settle’s.

Set throughout in Brady’s studio, the structure of the play (that has been 10 years in the writing) hints at a fascinating potential. But Ransom Phillips’s writing stumbles from expositional lecture (there’s an awful lot of history to cram into the evening’s one-act of 85 minutes) through to pseudo-psychodrama as he explores Mary’s tragedy. There’s a sound core to his narrative, but as a play it’s all just too inconsistent to sustain credibility.

Keala Settle’s work alone is worth the price of admission, even if Ransom Phillips’s script does not match her excellence. But if the writer can truly access the minds of America’s First Ladies, I can’t wait to see his take on Jill Biden.

Runs until 8th March

Photo credit: Pamela Raith

OVO - Review

Royal Albert Hall, London

*****

Written, choreographed and directed by Deborah Colker

Cirque Du Soleil's crickets leaping in the Royal Albert Hall

Just opened for their annual residency at the Royal Albert Hall, Cirque Du Soleil’s OVO dives down into the long grass, transporting its audience into a stunning world of bugs and creepy-crawlies, all depicted through a cast of ridiculously talented circus performers.

As a mysterious egg appears on stage, three clowns (Mateo Amieva (Spain), Robin Beer (UK) and Neiva Nascimento (Brazil) respectively performing as a scarab beetle, a bluebottle and a ladybug) break the ice with slick comedy and audience interaction. As is the hallmark of all good circus productions, recognisable dialogue is out – the performers relying on their miming skills to tell their brief moments of narrative. The emphasis here is on laughter rather than bravado and within minutes these gifted insects have the audience in the palm of their claws.

With the crowd suitably warmed up, five ants (a troupe from China) snake their way onto the stage, before they flip themselves onto their backs and start juggling, with their feet, first kiwi fruit and then corn cobs and finally each other! The artistes’ skill and co-ordination is frankly mind-boggling.

Before our eyes Caitlin Quinn and Ernesto Lea Place, from North and South America respectively, emerge as moths with breathtaking aerialist skills before the Japanese Eisuke Saito, here depicting a weevil, juggles 5 luminescent diabolos that brilliantly suggest fireflies darting around the arena. The first half of the evening wraps up with beetles suggested by a multinational troupe of trapeze artists, taking our collective breath away as they loop and leap between lofty platforms suspended from the venue’s ceiling.

Six performers wriggle onto the stage as leaf-bearing fleas before launching an assault on the Chinese Poles, which all paves the way for the show’s arachnids to be on display, the Chinese Qiu Jiangming deftly treating the slackwire as though it were spun silk. Also as a spider, Mongolian Nyamgerel Gankhuyag contorts herself into apparently impossible permutations of the human form as she lithely prowls in search of prey.

The evening’s final act is left to the crickets who bounce themselves off and back onto a trampo-wall of impossible height. Such is their pinpoint co-ordinated timing that the act becomes a blur of green people literally taking flight before our eyes!

Yet again, Cirque Du Soleil deploys meticulous planning, rehearsal, strength and above all skill, to present to their audiences a show that fuses the laws of physics into the absolute limits that a human body can endure. With a cast of more than 50 plus a stunning band to deliver the evening’s live score, the tickets are worth every penny. OVO is breathtakingly beautiful.

Runs until 1st March

Photo credit: Anne-Marie Forker

High Noon - Review

Harold Pinter Theatre, London

**

Written by Eric Roth

Based on Carl Foreman's motion picture

Directed by Thea Sharrock

Billy Crudup and Denise Gough

The translation of High Noon from Western to West End is a gamble as risky as awaiting the arrival of a convicted vengeful murderer on the midday train. But where Fred Zinnemann’s 1952 Oscar-winning masterpiece told a wondrous story, Eric Roth’s debut stage-play guns down the legendary yarn, leaving the exquisite original bleeding in the dust. 

Zinnemann relied on immaculate performance, cinematography and music for his screen masterpiece. Roth condenses that narrative into a claustrophobic work of trashy pulp fiction that’s very heavy on exposition and includes a liberal use of foul language that jars when set against the beauty of Carl Foreman's movie screenplay.

Billy Crudup delivers a decent turn as marshal Will Kane, a man forced to confront his nemesis Frank Miller, and on his wedding day too. Opposite Crudup and perhaps the evening’s biggest disappointment is Denise Gough’s two-dimensional and cliched turn as Kane’s bride Amy Fowler. The only performance that comes close to matching Crudup’s work is from Rosa Salazar as the town’s bar-owner and hooker, Helen Ramirez. Hers is a role of curious complexity that Salazar delivers with compassion and sensitivity. Elsewhere, too many of the cast are doubled or even tripled up in the roles they are allocated - that at times is more of a confusing distraction than an advancement of the plot.

Roth's tinkering with the political nuances of the movie is clumsy. Where Foreman's writing offered up a poignant allegory upon the evils of McCarthyism under which he had been persecuted, Roth (no-doubt inadvertently) sometimes sets his Kane on a pedestal alongside Donald Trump and Rudolph Giuliani, in his references to how effectively the marshal had cleaned up the town's historic crime problem. 

The usually brilliant Tim Hatley has designed a set of wooden slats that creates an effective suggestion of the brilliant sunshine of America’s frontierland, but is otherwise too nondescript an affair to effectively portray the tumbleweed nature of the town. Hatley does however conjure up an enchanting arrival of the eponymously climactic steam train - a staging that leaves one wishing he could have been as equally inspirational in his far more bland railway designs that are currently the backdrop to Starlight Express. And quite why Roth has chosen to pepper his script with snatches of Bruce Springsteen and Ry Cooder has to remain a mystery.

A clock sits atop the stage counting down the show’s 100 minutes. With the play lasting a quarter of an hour longer than the movie, those minutes drag. If High Noon is to mark a trend of Westerns being transformed into stage productions then may I respectfully suggest that Mel Brooks is approached for the rights to Blazing Saddles.

Runs until March 6th

Photo credit: Johan Persson

Woman in Mind - Review

Duke of York's Theatre, London

*****

Written by Alan Ayckbourn

Directed by Michael Longhurst

Sheridan Smith

Sheridan Smith as Susan in Alan Ayckbourn’s Woman in Mind gives one of the finest performances to be found on a London stage. Barely a comedy, the play shows the playwright's deepest, darkest brilliance, his narrative exploring Susan’s descent into psychosis. Smith gives the most harrowing portrayal of a woman whose mind is decaying before our eyes, unable to separate the reality of her own naturally flawed family from the false creations of her illness-oppressed brain.

In what is perhaps Michael Longhurst’s greatest work as a director, Smith captures Susan’s complex fragility with a conviction that seems almost effortless and which belies her acting genius. Onstage throughout, Smith delivers a masterclass in her craft.

The supporting cast are almost as magnificent as their leading lady. Tim McMullan is Gerald, Susan’s husband. A vicar and historian, his loving support for his wife is made all the more poignant when set against her apparent hatred for his professional commitments. Fine work too from Louise Brealey who plays Muriel, Susan’s live-in sister-in-law, whose calamitous catering gives rise to the evening’s few truly comedic moments.

In a heavily promoted stunt-casting, comedian Romesh Ranganathan plays Susan’s doctor, Bill. Albeit an accomplished performer Ranganathan proves the show’s weakest link, lacking the heavyweight chops to tackle a major West End role. As Susan’s imaginary family however, Sule Rimi, Chris Jenks and Safia Oakley-Green are all magnificent. Similarly, and in a comparatively tiny role, Taylor Uttley as Susan and Gerald’s son Rick adds an exquisitely painful layer of emotional agony to his mother’s tragedy.

Technically outstanding, Soutra Gilmour’s set enhanced by Andrzej Goulding’s subtly haunting video projections, delivers a beautiful creation of an English garden. Paul Arditti’s sound design proves to be another of the production’s ingenious treats.

In a performance that demands to be recognised at the Olivier Awards, Sheridan Smith makes Woman In Mind unmissable.

Runs until 28th February in London

Then touring:

4 – 7 MARCH 2026

Sunderland Empire, High Street West, Sunderland SR1 3EX

10 – 14 MARCH 2026

Theatre Royal, Glasgow, 282 Hope Street, Glasgow G2 3Q

Photo credit: Marc Brenner