The Price - Review

Marylebone Theatre, London

****

Written by Arthur Miller

Directed by Jonathan Munby

Henry Goodman

Arthur Miller’s The Price, now playing at the Marylebone Theatre is a timely reminder of the writer’s ability to dissect both the human condition and the American Dream. As Victor Franz, a cop, meets up with Gregory Solomon, a furniture appraiser in his dead father’s house, he is unexpectedly joined by his brother Walter, a successful doctor. Solomon is there to give Victor (and Walter) a price for the building’s contents, but as Miller’s narrative unfolds and we learn of the resentments and envious complications that simmer between the brothers (where Victor had previously devoted much time caring for his dying father, as Walter had been more estranged towards his family), it becomes clear that the prices Miller seeks to explore are more than just monetary.

Elliot Cowan and John Hopkins are respectively Victor and Walter, but it is in Henry Goodman’s take on Solomon that this production truly takes flight. Miller’s language is acutely New York Jewish in its style, with Goodman savouring every word, delivering his words with an immaculate understanding of the pauses and emphases that each sentence demands. Miller’s observations are wry and Solomon is gifted some sublime wisecracks and perceptive analyses to inject into the conversation from time to time. Under Goodman’s masterful delivery, each gag lands perfectly – the audience chuckling at the accuracy of the actor’s interpretation.

Faye Castelow plays Victor’s wife Esther, in a role that adds little heft to the narrative. Castelow’s performance is fine, but the dialog and reactions given to her frequently sound superficial and cliched.   

Jonathan Munby directs with sensitivity, but ultimately The Price is not Miller’s finest work. The play’s second act in particular as the brothers’ verbally spar, each line revealing yet another twist in their father’s decline, feels more like an emotional whodunnit rather than the critique of wealth, poverty and jealousy that Miller has sought to explore.

The Price may not sit alongside Miller’s Death of A Salesman or All My Sons, as a seminal work of 20th century American literature – but it is nonetheless compelling theatre.

Runs until 7th June

Photo credit: Mark Senior

Dr Strangelove - Review

Noel Coward Theatre, London

****

Adapted from Stanley Kubrick's film by Armando Ianucci and Sean Foley

Directed by Sean Foley

Steve Coogan

It is 60 years since Kubrick’s movie Dr Strangelove stunned audiences. Playing to a world still grappling with the aftershocks of the Cuban missile crisis, his satirical take on the superpowers’ governments and their armed forces tapped into existential fears of mutually assured nuclear destruction. Today, Armando Ianucci and Sean Foley offer up an adaptation of Dr Strangelove in an entertaining tribute to Stanley Kubrick’s brilliant original.

On screen it was the comedic genius of Peter Sellars that played three of Kubrick’s key roles:  a stiff upper lipped British RAF officer (itself a character offering a precursory hint towards Rowan Atkinson’s Blackadder of later years); the American President; and finally the eponymous Strangelove, a crazed nuclear scientist. The story’s satire was inspired, with Kubrick’s movie now recognised as one of the great anti-war narratives of the last century.

In a bold casting move, Ianucci and Foley give Steve Coogan the Peter Sellars responsibilities - adding to his roles by also making him Major Kong, the maverick pilot of the nuclear-armed B-52 bomber. Coogan is a class act, not least when playing Strangelove afflicted by alien hand syndrome. But his evening on stage is a tough gig and he perhaps needs a little longer to become fully fluent in his performance. The supporting company are a blast, with notably great work from Giles Terera as US General Turgidson and John Hopkins as the deranged General Ripper.

It was always going to be a challenge - transferring the opening salvos of a B-52-delivered Armageddon from the broad canvas of film, to the comparative intimacy of a West End stage - and hence it is little surprise that the production team rely on projections (aka film) to convey some of the story’s more graphic moments. The videos are strong but they have a few distracting glitches that need attention.

Wrapping the whole show up, Penny Ashmore rises from the Noel Coward’s bowels to assume the part of Vera Lynne and lead the company in We’ll Meet Again as the world explodes around them. It’s a neat theatrical moment that almost leads into an audience singalong, but it doesn’t match the powerful brutality that Kubrick achieved in his juxtaposition of that song, set to a backdrop of global conflagration.

Dr Strangelove may cut corners in its interpretation of Kubrick’s masterpiece but it still makes for a hilarious night at the theatre as well as a sad reflection upon our world today.

Booking until 25th January 2025 - then on tour to Dublin

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Candide

Swan Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

*****

A new play by Mark Ravenhill

Inspired by Voltaire

Sarah Ridgeway

Mark Ravenhill’s Candide, is one of those rare pieces of theatre that not only sets out to challenge some widely held perceptions on life, but actually succeeds in its mission, via provocative stagecraft that is close to perfect.

Ravenhill's starting point is Voltaire’s hero Candide, an eternal optimist who believes that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. Candide’s progress however sees him encounter a succession of grim realities that continually test his gloriously naïve and eternally hopeful presumptions, until the argument is ultimately proposed that optimism is simply people tricking themselves.

That’s it for the philosophical comment of this review and if you want to learn more, see the show! But if Voltaire provided the seed of Ravenhill’s journey, then the structure of his play is at times more of a nod to Doc Brown’s time machine from the movie Back To The Future rather than the classic French tale. The play opens in 18th century Westphalia where Candide, in a performance from Matthew Needham that just occasionally feels slightly forced, is expelled from his adoptive home after virtually seducing his young cousin Cunegonde. Conscripted into the army, battle follows and whilst at all times following Voltaire’s underlying themes, Ravenhill brutally lurches us into the present day and the birthday celebrations in a swanky hotel of an apparently catatonic Sophie. Awakened from her trance like state, Sophie in a performance of electrifying menace, massacres her family one by one, whilst bewailing her grief at the destruction that modern humankind is wreaking upon the planet. Candide’s arc broadly continues in modern times, amongst shocking, visceral theatre, beautifully envisioned by Lyndsey Turner that is as exhilarating as it is disturbing to watch. If Ravenhill’s mission has been not only to provoke and to stimulate his audience but also to entertain them, then he gloriously succeeds.

Stylish writing is matched here by sublime performances. Ian Redford (is this really his RSC debut season?) shines as Sophie’s Ray Winstone like grandfather, going on to threaten as an ultimately corrupt Pangloss. Sarah Ridgeway’s Sophie brings a chilling intensity rarely seen outside Tarantino movies, to leafy sleepy Stratford whilst Rose Reynolds, who like many of her peers has delivered consistent excellence throughout this season, is a delight as the wide-eyed coquettishly climactic Cunegonde. John Hopkins as cynical film director Tim again shows his versatility in a range of roles, whilst Kevin Harvey’s Voltaire is just a delight to listen to. Harvey's scouse diction, so perfectly clipped and matching his immaculate presence enhances all his scenes, whilst veteran Susan Engel’s final act is as shocking as it is enthralling. Soutra Gilmour’s designs that bridge continents as equally as they span the centuries keep up with the mania that appears to be Ravenhill’s powerfully creative mind.

This production is such a stunning confection of ideas and imagery that it deserves a wider audience. With apologies for yet another cinematic comparison, but the political and philosophical absurdity of Ravenhill's interpretation of Candide's journey suggested echoes of Lindsay Anderson's seminal movie, O Lucky Man! The RSC who well know how to exploit a successful production, should consider engaging a British filmmaker to translate Ravenhill’s visions on to the big screen. His ideas have a contemporary beauty that is rare, wonderful and refreshingly free of all pretension and his Candide is a story that must be seen.

Runs until 26th October 2013

A Mad World My Masters

Swan Theatre, Stratford upon Avon

****

Written by Thomas Middleton

Edited by Sean Foley and Phil Porter

Directed by Sean Foley



Ian Redford



With bawdy banter, cross dressing, a spot of flagellation and smutty double-entendres aplenty, Sean Foley has taken Thomas Middleton’s 1605 comedy and vaulted it forward to London’s Soho in the 1950s with a leap in time that for the most part works lasciviously well. Soho has a natural affinity to amorality, with the programme notes wryly documenting the area’s association with gangland villainy as well as its celebrated strip joints, so for a play that bursts with sexual frustrations, the geography works well.

Some aspects of the plot are timeless. Lust, womanising and the inclusion of that well worn glorious seam of bawdy British humour, the infinite comic potential of the penis, (truly a gift to writers that keeps on giving) are all deployed in an incongruous tale of sexual deception and bungling theft. Oh, and there are also the frequent, pre-Chaucerian gags at the expense of elderly gentlemen whose sexual desires outweigh their abilities, confirming the adage that there is “no fool like an old fool” whenever possible.

The 1950’s are acknowledged via costume and music and in a nod to the skiffle of the recent One Man, Two Guvnors, a beautifully balanced 6 piece band create a mise-en-scene with Shake, Rattle and Roll, going on to pepper the script with other 1950’s gems including the smoothest of takes on Cry Me A River. The musicians are complemented by the powerful Soul presence of Linda John-Pierre, a glorious diva whose voice alone suggests a mellow jazz trombone and slowly rotating 1950’s glitterball with every note she sings.

Heavily stylised maybe, but this confection of a piece contains some cracking performances. Ian Redford’s RSC debut as the blustering Sir Bounteous Peersucker creates a delightful hybrid that suggests the fondly remembered legends of Richard Grifffiths and Robert Morley. Richard Durden as his doddering butler Spunky similarly turns in a marvellously complementary performance as yet another ageing gent, desperately seeking female charms.

Among the boys, Richard Goulding’s Dick Follywit bears more than a passing resemblance to a young David Cameron in his Bullingdon Club days, whilst John Hopkins’ ridiculously named Penitent Brothel is comically priapic in his adulterous seduction of Ellie Beaven’s Mrs Littledick. Hopkins’ singing of the hymnal Yield Not To Temptation, solitary in his bedsit whilst whipping himself, before steamily fantasising about Littledick is a slick combination of acting, comedy and song.




John Hopkins and Ellie Beaven

 

Beaven’s performance is a wonderfully controlled contrast that ranges from an initially frustrated and modestly dressed wife through to a Fosse inspired fantasy seductress in sizzling lingerie that evokes the Daily Telegraph’s Charles Spencer’s famous “pure theatrical Viagra” description from years back, as her character mercilessly messes with Brothel’s mind. Sarah Ridgway’s protagonist prostitute, Truly Kidman, is another chic performance from an actress who knows how to blend naïve coquettishness with downright hilarity, as her character’s arc journeys from bedroom to the impersonation of a god-fearing Irish nun. Ishia Bennison as Kidman’s mother and pimp is a modest role yet one of outrageous and well portrayed depravity with comic moments that belie her talent in flashes of maturely controlled understatement.

Not for the easily offended, Foley’s editing is generally sharp, well-tailored and very funny, though a reference to FGM  from Kidman’s mother as she tells of repeatedly re-creating her daughters virginity is the one intended joke of the night that lacks both taste and sensitivity.

The 2013 RSC Swan company are a sensational troupe. This fusion of Carry On humour and slickly rehearsed Commedia d’ell Arte would easily grace a London stage, whilst their Titus Andronicus continues to shock and astound. Bring on Candide!

In repertory until 25 October 2013

Titus Andronicus

Swan Theatre, Straford Upon Avon

*****

Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Michael Fentiman



Stephen Boxer and Rose Reynolds

If the RSC’s Titus Andronicus were a DVD (which it damn well should be, but that’s another story) it would sport an 18 certificate, with the warning “contains scenes of extreme gore and violence”. This production actually deserves a further rubric: “contains scenes of outstanding acting and visionary design”.

Michael Fentiman’s production messes with our mind as costume and design take us on a Back To The Future ride, blurring the 1950s and Saturninus’ gorgeous pinstripe suit, with the downright medieaval as Tamora dons wolfskin: head, teeth and all, to portray Revenge. This review will not outline the plot – a synopsis can be found on the RSC website (link below) and to describe too much of how this freakish story is told, would only spoil.

Stephen Boxer as Titus is masterful. He conveys the nobility of a decorated and battle hardened General, who notwithstanding his love for his family, puts duty above all. When his loyalty to Rome is abused by the new Emperor and his wife, Boxer’s interpretation of that snub gives an added dimension to the plot. His final scene that bears more than a nod to kitchen queen Fanny Craddock, is a Tarantino inspired episode of Come Dine With Me.

Tamora, the Goth Queen, is a smoulderingly lustful display from Katy Stephens. Rarely is a Shakespearean MILF so wickedly portrayed, and Stephens’ performance does not disappoint. By contrast, Rose Reynold’s Lavinia brings a fragile fragrance to the production. Her character’s arc takes her from fair, prized beauty to violated mute victim, almost Cordelia like in the tragic fondness that evolves between her and father Titus. It is hard to believe this is Reynolds’ debut season at the RSC and she remains a talent to look out for.

John Hopkin’s Saturninus is a leader who claims his authority solely based on heredity. His subtle portrayal of a nice-but-dim man, in charge of a powerful empire, has chilling echoes of a world where even today a dictator’s son can take over from his late father.

Jonny Weldon and Perry Millward as Chiron and Demetrius are feral, hoody-wearing scum, who ride BMX bikes onto the stage in another chilling comment on the world today. Their offstage acts of rape and violence are so abhorrent that when we witness their being slaughtered, the revenge is so satisfying that one could cheer. Their on-stage deaths are as brutal as their crimes and these two young actors, also company debutants, deserve a nod for the physical extremes of their performances, being suspended above the stage, upside down by their ankles, for what seems like an excruciating eternity





Katy Stephens bites off more than she can chew



The final treat of the night (though all the cast excel, to a person) is Kevin Harvey’s wickedly evil Aaron. A Scouser with a massive presence and a beautifully weighted voice to match. That I was reminded of the Narrator in Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers during his monologues, should only be taken as a compliment ( Did you hear the story of Tamora’s twins…..?)

Fentiman makes a classy impression with this his first production for the RSC and he has well exploited the design genius of Colin Richmond and the trickery of illusionist Richard Pinner. Titus Andronicus is a play typically produced on the fringe with a shoestring budget and relying on no more than good acting, inexpensive props and gallons of stage blood. So to see in this version the RSC invest expensive world-class technology into making the show soar, is an absolute treat for theatregoer and practitioner alike.

The only preparation for seeing this play is a tolerance of extreme gore. If you can stand the sight of blood, then travel to Stratford and enjoy this fine collection of individual and company performances. At times funny, often tragic and downright bloody brilliant.

Read my feature on Titus Andronicus and interview with director Michael Fentiman here.

Runs in repertory to 26 October 2013