The Importance of Being Earnest - Review

Noel Coward Theatre, London

**

Written by Oscar Wilde

Directed by Max Webster

Stephen Fry

When it opened at the National Theatre late last year, Max Webster’s take on The Importance of Being Earnest was a work of theatrical quality and imagination, delivered by a company that dripped in expertise and experience. Now, transplanted across the river for a 3-month West End residency, the original’s acting genius is replaced by stunt casting and celebrity that takes an inspirational concept, reducing it to poorly performed moments of silliness.

Topping the bill for the evening is Stephen Fry, best known for his screen achievements rather than a career on the boards. In an unexplained gender-swap, Fry replaces (the previously excellent) Sharon D Clarke as Lady Bracknell. In what should be one of the most exquisite roles in the canon for women over 50, Fry gives a hammy performance that other than showcasing his distinctly recognisable voice delivering some of the most famous lines in English literature outside of Shakespeare, adds nothing to Lady B whatsoever. He is of course a big star and will no doubt draw in the punters - but they’ll be disappointed to find the actor delivers little more than a pound-shop Julian Clary.

The evenings other star name is Olly Alexander as Algernon Moncrieff. Alexander focusses on silliness over dramatic heft and while the role is undoubtedly complex, one feels that he barely skims its potential. Likewise Nathan Stewart-Jarrett who seems to concentrate more on the mania of Jack Worthing rather than his character’s depths.

Kitty Hawthorne and Jessica Whitehurst are respectively Gwendolen and Cecily, two parts that again, inexplicably, Webster has chosen to play through channels of over-acted histrionics. The physical comedy of Hayley Carmichael, doubling up as the faithful retainers Lane and Merriman has faint echoes of Tom Eden’s genius as Alfie in One Man Two Guvnors - but its little more than that, as Carmichael’s work descends into repetitive cliché. In a rare moment of class, Hugh Dennis as the Rev'd Canon Chasuble is brilliant.

The scenery is tired. Back at the Lyttleton, Rae Smith’s original designs were sensational. Here, the grassy banks of the Hertfordshire garden scenes are shockingly frayed, while actors waiting offstage for their cue are clearly visible in the wings.

This is a poorly executed transfer and other than the stunt casting, it is hard to see why the National and their co-producers have staged it. Perhaps they could resist everything except temptation?

Runs until 10th January 2026

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

The Importance of Being Earnest - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Oscar Wilde

Directed by Max Webster

The company

Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest is a sharply observed farce that sets improbably false identities against a gorgeously satirical examination of the hypocrisies of English society in the late 19th century. Given a makeover by Max Webster in his revival for the National Theatre’s Lyttleton stage, the production’s colourblind casting may give rise to moments of cultural inconsistency, but its performances are sublime and the cast’s delivery of Wilde’s script, exquisite

Sharon D Clarke is magnificently matriarchal as Lady Bracknell. Deliciously costumed in an African/Caribbean style, Clarke exudes commanding snobbery together with a sharp social awareness. Her interpretation of one of the canon’s most fearsome women is a delight.

As the two bachelors Algernon Moncrieff and Jack Worthing, Ncuti Gatwa and Hugh Skinner are on point throughout, their flamboyant japery delivered with pinpoint timing. Opposite them as Gwendolen Fairfax and Cecily Cardew, the subjects of their wooing, are Ronke Adekoluejo and Eliza Scanlen respectively who equally immaculately capture their roles.

But it’s not just in the five lead roles that this production excels. Richard Cant as Revd. Canon Chasuble and Amanda Lawrence as Cecily’s Governess Miss Prism absolutely nail their deliciously nuanced parts, their modest but critically important contributions to the narrative only adding to the evening’s comedy. Similarly, doubling up as the butlers in both the town and country houses of the action, there is lovely work from Julian Bleach.

Rae Smith’s scenery and costumes are a marvel although one has to question the expensively costumed, camped-up pantomimes that are performed at the opening and closing of this production. The play alone is a gorgeously crafted - it does not need such accoutrements.

Only on for a few more days and mostly sold out, if you can grab a ticket it's well worth catching!

Runs until 25th January

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

Waiting For Godot - Review

Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

****

Written by Samuel Beckett

Directed by James Macdonald

Ben Whishaw, Lucian Msamati, Tom Edden, Jonathan Slinger

With a luxurious cast, Samuel Beckett’s opus drama returns to London’s West End.

Lucian Msamati and Ben Whishaw are Estragon and Vladimir, the hapless duo prescribed to await Godot’s arrival on Rae Smith’s set that is as bleak as the narrative. A barren setting, save for a tree, captures the pair’s desolation in a story that is hard to define. 

Beckett’s tragicomedy plays with aspects of loneliness, co-dependency, base humanity, cruelty and abuse - there is also a theme of faith and divinity that underpins the whole piece. Premiering some 71 years ago, in Vladimir and Estragon we can see some of the comedic duos that were to follow in the 1960s and 70s. Think of Albert and Harold Steptoe, Rigsby and his tenants in Rising Damp, Basil and Sybil Fawlty to name but three examples - all relationships doomed to an eternity of complex mediocrity from which no protagonist can ever escape. But unlike a 30minute sitcom episode, Waiting  For Godot is a challenging 2 1/2 hours (including interval) that at times makes huge demands on its audience to keep up with its dry genius.

Msamati and Whishaw are superb in their interpretations. They are brilliantly assisted by Jonathan Slinger as the cruel yet ultimately vulnerable Pozzo and Tom Edden as his unfortunately named slave, Lucky. Edden’s first-act monologue is a masterclass in spoken and physical drama. On the evening of this review Luca Fone played the (Christ-like?) boy, perpetually sent to herald the next-day’s arrival of Godot.

A rare treat to find this work on a major London stage and for those with an appetite for Absurdist Theatre, the show is unmissable.

Runs until 14th December

Photo credit: Marc Brenner

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

Translations - Review

National Theatre, London

****

Written by Brian Friel

Directed by Ian Rickson

Colin Morgan

The National Theatre presents a gorgeous revival of Brian Friel’s Translations, a sweet play set in the wee parish of Baile Beag, Ireland, in 1830, just before the infamous potato famine and during the Anglicisation on the country. The plentiful foresight and the vibrant exploration of the beauty and challenges of language make it a play to catch this summer. Ian Rickson directs, with language quite rightly at the forefront, as Irish and English characters come to wordy blows with Colin Morgan’s Owen translating between the tongues. With most of the spoken Irish translated, it is left to the performers to make it abundantly clear just who has understood what, and to drive the play’s plentiful humour home. 

Owen, a worldly character for the time having lived six years in Dublin, returns home to a village that quite simply has not changed at all.  (Itself a sensation shared, quite possibly,  by every Londoner in the audience who heads “home” to rural parts every few months). He brings with him two British military cartographers, the uptight Captain Lancey (Rufus Wright) and the more fanciful Lieutenant George Yolland (Adetomiwa Edun). Yolland is the typical Englishman abroad - incapable of handling his drink and immediately setting his sights on the local female talent, going on to create an unlikely corner of a love triangle with Owen’s lame brother Manus (a gentle portrayal from Seamus O’Hara) and the impressively ambitious Maire, played by Judith Roddy. With eyes on a boat across the Atlantic, Maire's wish is to escape calloused hands at the next harvest.

The two officers have come to survey the land for the six-inch-to-the-mile map being drawn up, and in so doing to Anglicise the renaming of local landmarks and disrupting the blissful peace of the locale. The brothers’ father is the drunken scholar and teacher Hugh, portrayed gruffly by Ciarán Hinds, who spends most of the play trading Greek poetry and myths with Dermot Crowley’s Jimmy Jack Cassie who steals the show with a tearful confession towards the end of the second act.

Translations’ designs are by Rae Smith, herself theatre’s go-to rural scenescape guru of the moment, having only just created the shattered idyll for the Bridge Theatre’s Nightfall a mile or so down the Thames. Smith's designs clearly evoke the countryside's delightful chaos, suggesting  world that is akin to intruding upon a remote local pub in the middle of nowhere. A place where there are in-jokes and relationships only born out of  those who’ve known each other throughout their lives. Uplit lighting by National regular Neil Austin and violin filled morose sound by Ian Dickinson complete the eerie, mist-filled staging. 

It is rare to find a show so good-natured and yet ominous and academic, all at the same time. Come for the raucous humour by the comedy pairings of Aoife Duffin’s Bridget and Laurence Kinlan’s Doalty. Stay for the dramatic, dirty colonialism and the lesson in the pros and cons of multilingualism. Beautiful and daring, go see it.

Runs until 11th August

Reviewed by Heather Deacon

Photo credit: Catherine Ashmore

Nightfall - Review

Bridge Theatre, London

**

Written by Barney Norris

Directed by Laurie Sansom

The cast of Nightfall

There was a 15-minute delay to the commencement of Nightfall on the occasion of this review, with an actor delayed on public transport. Sadly that delay was all too short, as what followed was a play that promised so much but delivered little more than poorly performed pretensions. Rarely has an on-stage tree stump been in competition for the evening’s most wooden performance.

Barney Norris’ play takes place on a Wiltshire farm that has been mortgaged up to the hilt. Claire Skinner is Jenny the farmer’s widow while Ophelia Lovibond and Sion Daniel Young play her children Lou and Ryan, with Ukweli Roach completing the quartet as family friend Pete. Skinner in particular is capable of greatness but here, weighed down by Norris’ turgid text, she’s left to utter unconvincing platitudes. To be fair, there is fine work from Lovibond who manages to convince us of her angst, but in what is little more than a pot-pourri of issues that touch upon race, class and aspirational social mobility Norris achieves very little. Second act denouements that are intended to shock, only prove that the family on stage are as dysfunctional as the drama from which they have been created.

Rae Smith’s imaginative set is impressive, but Christopher Shutt’s sound design - and this in one of London’s newest auditoria too - is poor, leaving chunks of the text inaudible. On reflection, this might have been a good thing.

Runs until 26th May

Photo credit: Manuel Harlan

Macbeth at the National Theatre - Review

National Theatre, London


***


Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Rufus Norris

Rory Kinnear

The themes of Shakespeare’s Macbeth are timeless. Avaricious envy, revenge, and the consequences of guilt have driven humanity’s darker side for centuries and in the hands of a talented cast, Macbeth’s journey makes for compelling theatre.

On the National Theatre’s Olivier stage, Rufus Norris has assembled just such a cast. Once the weird sisters have him under their spell Rory Kinnear's Macbeth convincingly topples from dutiful Thane to treacherous subject - his own frailties steeled by Ann-Marie Duff as his purposeful wife. Macbeth will always be a character imbued with his own late-dawning, if misguided, sense of immortality. In this production Kinnear, who is a joy to watch throughout especially in making the classic soliloquies his own, is never finer than in his endgame of realisation, learning of MacDuff’s untimely ripping from his mother’s womb. 

Duff is pure, if fatally flawed, evil. We believe in her capacity to dash her suckling baby’s brains out, with Duff then making Lady Macbeth’s descent into a suicidal insanity, entirely plausible. With any semblance of a moral compass long since vanished, hers truly is a lost soul. 

But it’s not just Rufus Norris’ starry leads that drive this production. The play reunites (in Shakespearean terms) Stephen Boxer’s sage Duncan with Kevin Harvey’s energised Banquo, last seen together when Boxer was Titus to Harvey’s Aaron. Both men are English theatre gems. It is only a shame that Banquo’s ghostly re-appearances carry no dialogue. Harvey’s mellifluous Scouse twang is a delight and one longs for his future Othello. Elsewhere, as a passionate yet cynical MacDuff, Patrick O’Kane defines burning vengeance.

Here however, the Bard’s beautiful prose is overburdened by Norris and designer Rae Smith’s contemporary interpretations. The setting is “now, after a civil war”, with the accompanying programme essays making throwaway comparisons to Margaret Thatcher, Hillary Clinton and Brexit. A curious set design comprising a steeply raked ramp, poles and drapes made from (what appear to be) bin-liners seems to have been constructed with more of an eye for the demands of a touring production (Macbeth takes to the road in the autumn) rather than using the full potential of the Olivier's gaping jaws.

The politics may be clumsy but the acting is beautiful. Make no mistake, Rory Kinnear is a magnificent Macbeth.

Runs until 23rd June in repertory - Screened via NTLive on 10th May at cinemas across the country.

Photo credit: Brinkhoff Mögenburg