Theatre Review: Salome

If I were to draw up a list of my absolute favourite people in theatre, Yaël Farber would 100% be near the top.

I don’t really like the word visionary, and it’s thrown around a lot, but Farber definitely is one. The imagination of her productions is incredible and nobody builds the world around a play like she does. There’s no question that she’s an aesthetic director, in that staging plays a huge part in her world building, but she always chooses to work on plays of significant substance as well.

In her new production, Salomé at the National Theatre, Farber is on double duty as both director and playwright, though in reality even that probably does her influence on this production a disservice; this truly feels like Farber’s baby and Farber’s world in every way. Her new version of Salomé tells the Biblical story of the dancer girl who demanded John the Baptist’s head on a plate but with one major amendment: it places Salomé herself back at the heart of her own narrative. It’s thoroughly depressing how radical this feels. Combined with Farber’s usual aesthetic flair this creates a production of this oldest tale that feels completely modern. And ever so slightly bonkers, which is also pleasing.

The creation of Farber’s Jerusalem (for that’s where we are) begins the instant you enter the theatre with a very distinctive smoky smell and a barren, black stage lit with bright white spotlights. This forms the aesthetic base for the entire production, with the harsh white spots used incredibly effectively as highlight points, directing audience gaze in some unexpected ways. It also adds to an air of voyeurism that is maintained throughout the production, important given Farber’s thematic focus on colonisation of the female body, which is also highlighted by the continued presence of the entire cast on stage more or less all the time.

Music and sound is a huge part of this production, and there is a soundscape of both live and recorded sound that runs constantly throughout the show (the resultant, echoey use of microphones by all the cast is a minor bugbear) courtesy of sound designer Adam Cork. The highlight of this is the presence of two singers in the cast who provide a live soundtrack for Farber’s world - their voices are exquisite and the music they create adds considerable depth to the setting.

This is also a production that’s constantly in motion. The Olivier’s huge stage is used to great effect here with the revolve in near continual use throughout the play, moving cast and setting around in a way that is disconcerting and presents something of the tumult that Salomé and her story cause in her world. The other thing that features frequently, and is often moving, is sand. I’m not sure I altogether understood this as a reference point but as far as I can interpret it suggests a connection to the land, hence why it’s Salomé herself who is often interacting with said sand. Or perhaps the key is in Farber’s script - “the sand erases everything” - and it’s actually a comment on the way that Salomé’s story, her real story, is forgotten. Or perhaps I’m over thinking this and actually the sand is just there because it looks cool. But I doubt that in a Farber production.

As already alluded to, thematically Farber’s Salomé pins its colours very firmly to the mast: colonisation, of the land and of women’s voices, bodies and stories. There is no question that it works these themes very well, if anything it is occasionally overplayed and feels a bit Guardian columnist. The contemporary resonance is obvious and, thankfully, merely alluded to. There are some striking passages of text around the intentions of the coloniser, benign and not (I happened to be reading a book about the Nuremberg trials when I saw this show and was really struck how one passage in particular, Pontius Pilate talking about his hatred of the Jews, could have come straight from the transcripts). The points around the colonisation of women are arguably more interesting though, for me, slightly undermined by the fact that the only character who appears naked in the play, Salomé, is female whilst the male character who is specifically described as being naked, John the Baptist, is clothed. Though her nakedness does sometimes feel empowering - as during the powerful, decidedly unerotic dance of the seven veils sequence, which is great - for a lot of the time it simply feels like the classic Game of Thrones nudity double standard - women must be naked, but men absolutely cannot be. However, I realise this is more a question of interpretation than anything else and, in context, it certainly is not gratuitous.

The aesthetics are undeniably the star of this production which leaves relatively limited space for the cast to make much of an impression. To the extent they do, Paul Chahidi is a beautifully creepy Herod (though I didn’t quite buy his more straightforward ‘overcome with lust’ scenes) and Isabella Nefar is a striking Salomé. The standout though is Olwen Fouéré as Nameless (the older Salomé who serves as the narrator of the story) who gives one of the most unconventionally charismatic performances I’ve seen in a long time. She is utterly compelling - I could watch her for hours.

I was completely captivated by Salomé. It’s a short play (no interval) but is so enchanting and such a complete example of Yaël Farber’s unique brand of world building. It’s a beautiful thing and is absolutely worth your time and money.

Salomé is in the Olivier at the National Theatre until 15th July.

Theatre Review: Consent

Is it possible to connect with a play when all of the characters are utterly hateful?

It may not be the intended takeaway but that was my main thinking point after watching Consent, Nina Raine’s new play currently on in the National’s Dorfman Theatre. It’s fantastically written, superbly acted and immaculately staged. Objectively, it does almost everything right. But I just didn’t connect with it. At all. And I really do wonder how much of that is because I cared 0% what happened to any of the characters.

Consent discusses depressingly pertinent issues to do with rape and women’s agency over their own bodies, something it does cleverly by both directly portraying and then subverting the legal form and language of the opposing arguments in a rape trial as put forward by two barristers who are, at least in theory, friends. With the trial as its initial catalyst, the play expands out to carry on exploring the issues by imposing them onto the clusterfuck home lives of the two barristers and their families. This structure - legal forms and norms used both in and out of context - works extremely well and allows Raine to make her overriding point without Consent ever disappearing into the realms of an issue play (although that is clearly what it is). For example, there’s a great sequence immediately after the actual court scene, where barrister Ed cross-examines a clearly traumatised victim, where Ed and wife Kitty ‘cross-examine’ their barrister friends Jake and Rachel whose marriage is in the process of falling apart using the same mannerisms, choreography and linguistic ticks. It’s subtle, but it totally works in making the point that discussions of consent should and do go far wider than the courtroom.

Raine’s writing is superb in dealing with what is, let’s face it, a pretty grim subject in an entertaining and provocative way. For my money, the humour is the highlight of the writing; punchy, biting, brutal, often black as pitch and with some top class swearing peppered in throughout. A favourite example comes when Ed, who seems to monopolise the best lines despite being the absolute worst, is railing against the man his wife is having an affair with and who believes his flat to be haunted: “opportunist prick, using a poltergeist as a wingman!” Raine is excellent too at putting lines and thoughts into characters’ mouths and minds in a way which subverts audience expectations. For example, and though I take issue with the idea that there is any debate to be had about it, it’s a pleasingly leftfield step to have Rachel taking Ed’s side and Jake taking Kitty’s in the question (it’s really not a question though) of the play’s second rape (that definitely is a rape): Ed’s of Kitty. (Seriously, there was a lot of chatter about this in the various cast and creative pre-opening interviews and how they all wanted the ‘did-he-didn’t-he’ discussions to be had. There is no discussion. He definitely rapes her; as Jake says in the play, it’s textbook marital rape.)

Now, this play is, as previously noted, staged in the Dorfman so you didn’t expect that you’d be aloud to leave without me having a pop about sightlines did you? And, as ever, they are a problem in this awful space. I know I’ve made the joke before, but Max Bialystock’s line from The Producers about “theatre in the square: nobody has a good seat” applies here once again. Like, I don’t mind spending an afternoon staring at the top of Ben Chaplin’s head, because he has excellent hair, but it doesn’t always help you understand what he’s doing as an actor. However, by Dorfman standards this play actually uses the space pretty well. It’s produced in the round (square) with the audience stacked up around the stage to add to the general atmosphere of conflict and adversarialness (clearly not a word but I’m going with it). The staging itself is pretty much nonexistent, with no scenery bar a few lights, minimal props and no soundtrack of any sort except occasional music to mask the change of scene. Combined with Roger Michell’s so-light-touch-as-to-feel-completely-absent direction, it provides the perfect platform for the writing and the acting to shine. To the extent you can see the latter, of course.

The acting is fab across the board, not least in its level of detail and subtlety (which rather reinforces the issues with sightlines). Special praise on that front to Ben Chaplin (more handsome in real life, Apple Tree Yard fans) who not only has excellent hair but, as Ed, also serves up a performance of supreme control and detail - the use of eye contact, hand gesture and body language is superb even without reading the programme note which highlights its importance to someone playing a barrister - whilst making sure that his 100% unsympathetic shit of a character stays completely plausible and never becomes a caricature. His wheedling, almost oddly singsong, delivery is a great piece of characterisation too. The reliably excellent Anna Maxwell Martin is, reliably, excellent as his wife Kitty, as is Adam James as human trashpile Jake, giving a performance that almost made me feel sympathy for him. Almost.

However, ultimately despite all the good things going for this production, I found it just too difficult to care about what happens to a group of six of the most awful human beings ever represented in drama (and one normal person, who commits suicide, which did make me sad). I sat and admired the play, but I never really got into it and, despite all of the above, couldn’t honestly say I liked it. Still, because I enjoy being complex and contrary, I do recommend it.

Consent plays in the Dorfman at the National Theatre until 17th May (though currently only the 11th May performace is not sold out).

Theatre Review: Alice's Adventures Underground

On Thursday evening, I was invited to a blogger event for Les Enfant Terribles' immersive adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, Alice's Adventures Underground, at The Vaults.

Despite accepting immediately, mainly due to the suggestion that there would be free food and booze, I was apprehensive about this one. Being a classic introvert, slightly claustrophobic and generally anxious about literally everything immersive theatre didn't seem like something that would be for me. Too unpredictable, too few points of familiar reference to cling on to, too much audience participation (two of my least favourite words in the English language).

Now, I don't like to admit when I'm wrong, but happily I was so completely wrong about this one. Like, 100% wrong. More than 100% wrong, were it mathematically possible to be so.

I loved Alice's Adventures Underground. It's unlike anything I've ever seen before - and likely will see again. Calling it theatre or a production, though it is undeniably both, seems to do it a disservice. It's an experience in the fullest sense of that word, and one that's very difficult to do justice to with a few photos and a few hundred words. But that's what I'm here for so let's give it a go, shall we?

The badge and the suit card were part of my story for the evening.

The first thing to note with this show is that it's actually more than one show. As each audience moves through the series of rooms that comprise the gigantic set, it's split up (bear this in mind if you're going in a group, you're unlikely to stay together). First by whether you choose to 'eat me' or 'drink me' (I went eat, the little peach jelly sweet you get was yummo) and then, randomly, by suit (I got hearts). Certain audience members also get selected to do particular tasks too, including me - and it says a great deal for this show that I both got totally into my task, helping the Nine of Hearts write a love note for the Two of Hearts and secretly delivering it over the course of the story, but also was so into everything else that was going on that I frequently forgot all about it.

Adding to the variations, the cast basically works in rep within the show. Each cast member is assigned to a team and each team covers four parts, cycling through them so that each actor gets a chance to play each part. That little factoid blew my tiny mind. I cannot fathom how on earth you prepare for that in a show like this. Learning four sets of lines aside, the level of precision of timing involved, the fact that you have to know where you're going through the huge multi-room, multi-storyline set, the proximity of the audience to you at all times etc etc etc - how can you keep that level of information in a human brain and still properly lose yourself in the part you happen to be playing that night? But everyone manages it - the entire cast were great; so charismatic, so talented and so completely into it.

Alice holding court at the afterparty.

The other thing that I must mention here, as they are also cast members in their way, is the amazing use of puppetry throughout the show. In my story, I got to spend a lot of time with the Frog, a fantastically well realised human size and operated puppet (think Timon in the stage version of The Lion King) who melded object and actor so well it started to mess with my head. The butterfly and the Jabberwocky, that the whole audience met in the climactic trial scene, were more traditional puppets but still so effective, the latter in particular. I was just sad that I never got to meet the Cheshire Cat who apparently was equally impressive.

The star of the show for me though is the set. Covering I don't know how many rooms on I don't know how many floors the first thing that's impressive is the sheer scale of the endeavour here. The Vaults is a huge, cavernous space immediately under Waterloo station (it took me an embarrassingly long time to realise what the rumbling noise overheard was...) and every millimetre of it has been transformed for this show by set (and costume) designer Samuel Wyer. Scale aside though, the thing that completely floored me is the level of detail in every room. If this were a book, you'd describe what Wyer achieves as universe building. Layer upon layer of minute detail - from the obvious fun to be had with making your audience feel that they're growing or shrinking right down to ensuring that every letter and book that anyone could possibly see has something meaningful written on it - is built to create a very distinct atmosphere of a faded, dirty, slightly wrong but still wonderful land.

I was really lucky as part of the evening to be able to take some photos of one of the best sets - The Mad Hatter's Tea Party - at an afterparty with some of the cast and creatives.

Tea party place settings.

Afterparty at the Mad Hatter's.

Time, also party of the Tea Party set.

This gives you a sense of what I mean both about the general universe building that runs through the whole show and also the level of detail involved. This scene in the show was one of my favourites as it so totally captured the essence of its part of the story and was, for my money, where set, characters and plot united the most effectively. The fact you get a cup of 'tea' (vodka and something, not sure what, but emphasis on the vodka, regardless) probably helped.

The fantastic theming stretches to every moment of your experience in Wonderland, not just in the show but in the whole building - the Wonderland Bar, designed by Darling and Edge, for example is just as carefully themed and home to amazing cocktails by Smith and Sinclair and yummy comfort food by Saucy Chip. A small caveat here: though I was lucky enough to be able to try them for free, the food and drink are at proper London prices. They are also *so* good and the cocktails are super imaginative, super on theme and super strong (the latter is probably why I got into my task so thoroughly tbh).

The Wonderland Bar.

Entering the space.

Smith and Sinclair cocktails: The Cheshire Cat (L), a colour changing gin and
green teas concoction and Painting the Roses Red (R), rose gold liqueur, lemon,
honey, hibiscus paint and prosecco.

Saucy Chip's Dodo Dolce Vita mac n cheese

I absolutely adored Alice's Adventures Underground. It's so imaginative, so much fun and so completely immersive in every possible way that I can't imagine how anyone could not enjoy it. As I've said though, it's also completely impossible to do justice to in words and pictures - you really have to experience it to understand its power. Suffice it to say it's the best thing I've seen in London this year and I can't imagine how anything else will dethrone it.

Alice's Adventures Underground is at The Vaults until September 23rd.

Theatre Review: Guards at the Taj

I like going to theatres I’ve not been to before. It always feels like a small adventure. And given this particular theatre, the Bush, is in Shepherd’s Bush and thus somewhat out of the way for this West Sussex-ite, in this case it felt like a very literal adventure too. (I got to go on the Overground, for me this is very exciting.)

The Bush has just undergone a multi-million pound redevelopment which they were kind enough to invite me to have a nose around before watching their season opener, Guards at the Taj by Rajiv Joseph.

The new building is, in short, is a fantastic space. The front of house and bar/cafe area is great - airy, welcoming and with a really nice, relaxed vibe that is quite rare for a theatre. It’s also added a 60-seat studio to its 200-seat main house which is a space I’m definitely keen to check out.

A selection of crap photos of the new Bush building.
The middle two are of the toilets which for some reason I really liked!

Guards at the Taj is mostly a play about beauty: what it is, where it comes from, who should own it and how we judge it. It tells the story of two men, Humayun and Babur, guarding the Taj Mahal on the morning that it is unveiled for the first time. The emperor has decreed that noone can look at it as the dawn light hits it for the first time, but Babbur and Humayan do and are cosmically rewarded with the gruesome task of fulfilling the Emperor's demands that nothing so beautiful should ever be built again - by cutting off the hands of all 20,000 men who have worked on it. Karma’s a real bitch.

Beauty appears in several forms here, notably the Taj itself and in nature. The Taj’s beauty, Joseph seems to suggest, is destructive, not only practically for the 20,000 handless men but also to the happiness of Babur and Humayun and their friendship (another sort of beauty in itself). Nature’s beauty, symbolised here by flocks of birds, is redemptive and comes to represent a happy, peaceful time in the character’s lives. The Taj, manmade beauty, can only be seen by the privileged; the birds, natural beauty, can be seen by everyone.

For all that though, this production isn’t overtly aesthetic. Soutra Gilmour’s design is incredibly effective and incredibly simple; a rusty looking elevated platform set diagonally across the back of the equally rusty looking performance space (it’s not a stage in this production, though it may be in future - the new main house is completely adaptive), whilst ominous trenches run out towards the audience, again diagonally. It’s angular, stark and more than a little grim. An inauspicious setting for a play that’s all about beauty.

Beauty is evoked though. A really clever use of sound and lighting, courtesy of George Dennis and Richard Howell respectively, does it on one level. Fantastical bird song and a warm peachy light stand in for nature’s, and memory’s, beauty whilst unforgiving bright white lighting stands in for the Taj Mahal itself - use your imagination, it totally works. But the grimness of the story is also evoked too, notably through an ominous and judicious use of music, clever variation of the volume of sound to the point it occasionally makes the seating in the tiny theatre shake and an interesting use of backlighting to project weird shadows against the bare walls, usually of the two actors themselves.

And then of course there’s all the blood. Honestly, a lot more blood than I was expecting - and clearly more so than some of the audience members sitting in the front row nervously watching it approach their shoes were expecting too! That said, there is much less gore than director Jamie Lloyd (yes, that Jamie Lloyd) could have chosen to have included. For example, and spoiler alert, the moment where Humayun cuts off Babur’s hands is portrayed in this production via blinding white light and a piercing alarm tone. Reading Rajiv Joseph’s original play text, however, the scene is much, much more explicit and icky. It’s an interesting decision, perhaps dictated by the limitations of a small theatre, but I’m not sure it’s the one I would have made. As gross as the scene would be to watch, a play that is so concerned with beauty would only be strengthened, in my view, by showing us a bit more anti-beauty as well.

Beauty is also passionately evoked in Joseph’s text - modern, simple, surprisingly funny, humane and presented without dialect as per the stage directions - which is handled really well by the two young actors, Danny Ashok and Darren Kuppan, who comprise 100% of the cast. Ashok’s Humayun is the stronger performance for my money, though to be fair he is also the stronger character for my money, and is a study in stoic devotion to duty that crumbles and expands beautifully towards the end of the piece. Kuppan’s Babur isn’t weak by any means though, and he handles the emotional meat in the middle of the play, the horror at having cut off 40,000 hands and “killed beauty”, fantastically.

For a play that, plotwise, ends with someone lopping off their best friend’s hands Guards at the Taj ultimately left a very optimistic taste in my mouth. The final scene, a flashback of Humayun’s to the time he and Babur watched the flight of a million brightly coloured birds, drives home the ultimate triumph of natural over manmade beauty; nothing will ever be as beautiful to Humayun as those birds were. Possibly it’s because manmade everything is such a fucking disaster at the moment, or possibly it’s just that I really like birds (I do), but I found that a comforting thought.

Guards at the Taj plays in the main house at the Bush theatre until 20th May.

Theatre Review: Limehouse

Limehouse is, pleasingly, a play that doesn’t mess about.

“The Labour party’s fucked!” bellows a tense David Owen in the first line of Steve Waters’ new play, currently on at the Donmar Warehouse. A huge, knowing, slightly weary laugh erupts from the audience and very much sets the tone for the entire 105 minutes that is to follow. This is a play that knows exactly what it’s about: telling the story of the imagined action which immediately preceded the founding of the SDP and the Gang of Four who brought it about but also drawing out the parallels with the situation the Labour party finds itself in today. And let’s be honest those parallels are obvious, many and depressing.

If there’s anything to complain about in this production it is the very obviousness of these parallels, in that they make it difficult to feel that Waters is saying anything new. Yes Michael Foot and Jeremy Corbyn are both shit, what of it? Yes the Europe debate is a mess, we’re very well aware of that thank you very much. Even the big question mark that hangs over the very existence of the play - is the Labour party about to split again? - feels over thought at this point. I mean have you read The Guardian recently?!

However, even if he doesn’t add anything new to the debate Waters’ writing is irreverent, interesting and, most importantly, funny enough to make a very entertaining contribution to it nonetheless. Not afraid to be punchy and chuck in a big swear here and there, but equally not afraid of some deeply elegant and lengthy speeches about the importance of values to notions of identity which will resonate with anyone watching this play who possesses a soul, regardless of what colour rosette that soul happens to wear. With one exception - a po-faced and unnecessary coda which labours the point about historical resonance to an irritating degree - Limehouse is an excellent piece of writing.

And it is exquisitely acted. It’s a necessarily tiny cast - Waters’ only addition to the Gang of Four being David Owen’s seemingly quite excellent wife Debbie - but it positively drips class. I think Tom Goodman-Hill’s David Owen is probably my favourite, a study in charm, barely concealed menace and old school British bombast which results in a portrayal that is arguably much more appealing than the real thing. Paul Chahidi’s Bill Rogers is the most sympathetic of the Four, excellently observed and played with an endearing shyness and gentle humanity which is difficult not to warm to. Roger Allam’s Roy Jenkins is very near perfectly observed, yet somehow still manages to be more than an impression despite being a very, very good impression; capturing the middle class sensibilities which would ultimately be part of the SDP’s undoing perfectly. Debra Gillett’s Shirley Williams rounds out the Four and replicates the good sense mixed with passion (and natty waistcoats) that makes the real Shirl such a treasure really well but, again, remains more than just an impression. Nathalie Armin completes the cast as Debbie Owen and exploits the fact that we don’t know her real life counterpart to create an entirely sensible, rational and constructive foil to all the politicians - perhaps a small point of satire in and of itself.

A short play with a teeny tiny cast demands a sharp and contained production which the team assembled for Limehouse absolutely deliver. Polly Findlay’s direction is crisp and pacey; Alex Eales’ design is simple but effective; Jon Clark’s lighting does a lot with relatively little (his use of spotlights in particular is sufficiently good that I actually noticed it). Special credit is deserved also by whoever makes the pasta bake that is eaten as part of the play - it smelled bloody amazing.

I really rated Limehouse and I think anyone with an interest in politics, of whatever colour, should consider this a must see. I’m not sure it has the beyond-politics appeal of This House, but for political geeks, nerds and apparatchiks it’s 100% worth your time and money. Assuming that is you can get anywhere near a ticket - day returns and standing are your best bet if you’ve not got one already.

Limehouse plays at the Donmar Warehouse until April 15th.

   

Theatre Review: The Miser

In my day job, I occasionally have days where I am obliged to spend upwards of three hours listening to Ministers and civil servants explain dry pieces of international trade rules to various select committees (seriously, if anyone understands the role of the WTO amber box on agricultural subsidies come talk to me).

This is, frankly, as exciting as it sounds and I usually spend the sessions wishing I was at the theatre. In many ways this review is therefore a cautionary tale of being careful what you wish for...

The Miser is apparently a classic French comedy by Moliere, adapted for a West End revival by Sean Foley (who also directs) and Phil Porter, that tells the story of Harpagon, the titular Miser, and his obsession with protecting his fortune from any and all threat - real and/or imagined. When the love lives of his two children pose a serious threat to his money passion and parsimony collide and hilarity ensues.

Or not.

Because this production is not funny. It's amateurish, sub-pantomime, puerile, cringe inducing fluff. Badly staged, barely acted.

I was, in short, not a fan.

The adaptation, for a start, is genuinely bizarre. The insertion of 'topical' 'jokes' (about austerity, payday loans, zero hours contract and 'le Sports Direct') at random points to serve no purpose becomes exceptionally tiring exceptionally quickly. More irritating still is the even more random insertion of French words and phrases at various points where they have no business ever being for, presumably, attempted comedy effect. Unless you think that French as a concept is inherently funny - in which case you'd be better spending your time reading your Route Nationale, a niche joke which I'm aware gives my age away heavily - there is no possible reason for this. Any subtlety, satire or sophistication that was in Moliere's original text is drowned amongst the cacophony of nonsense, which is a pretty damning indictment of any adaptation for my money. Sean Foley's comedy adaptations (he was, after all, the brains behind excellent French farce adaptation The Painkiller in the Branagh season at The Garrick) are usually reliably strong so all of this is doubly disappointing.

Disappointing too is the manner in which the text, for what it is, is approached. Presumably this, too, is a Sean Foley decision in his role as director and it is as baffling as the adaptation. There is zero sophistication; lines are shouted (SHOUTED!!!!!), speech impediments are used throughout to no particular comedy effect and I lost the will to care whether Lee Mack was genuinely constantly forgetting his lines and improvising or whether this was intended. Either way, in the formal setting of what is supposed to be classic French farce none of it cuts the Dijon (NB: this self consciously poor attempt at a joke is funnier than anything in the actual play).

The (mis)casting of the piece is also a real shame. There are a host of fantastic stand ups in the cast - not least the superb Lee Mack and Andi Osho who I just love - and the rare moments where I felt the corners of my mouth turning up were thanks to them breaking character entirely and reverting to their stand up personas. But this is a play. There should be acting, not stand up comedy. Or at least acting as well as stand up comedy. And there just isn't: there's shouting, mincing, stupid voices and weak slapstick, but really nothing in the way of acting.

The cumulative effect of all of this for me was a bizarre mishmash of a really lazy pantomime and contextless stand up which didn't fit together, didn't fit the piece and just wasn't funny. I can't even honestly say it was so bad it was good; it was just bad. I was, frankly, kind of angry that it was occupying the same stage that mere weeks ago hosted my beloved This House.

However, all criticism and especially comedy criticism is subjective, and there were plenty of people in the theatre laughing their arses off so, who knows, maybe it was just me. (I don't think it was though. After all plenty of people voted for Brexit and Donald Trump. You can't trust plenty of people.)

Should you be so inclined, The Miser plays at The Garrick theatre until 3rd June. Tickets are available from BoxOffice.co.uk right here.

My ticket for this show was provided free by BoxOffice.co.uk but all opinions expressed in this review are, as should be glaringly obvious, my own. They also sell tickets to stuff I liked (such as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead).

Theatre Review: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

There's no denying that there's a certain pressure to watching a play by a playwright you don't tend to be a fan of when that playwright is standing three rows behind you. Especially when that playwright is Tom Stoppard. And the play is his fifty (FIFTY!) year old debut masterwork Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. 

Now, it is certainly the case that my Stoppard encounters to date - the ponderous and dull Hapgood and the slightly less dull but no less ponderous The Hard Problem - have not been happy ones. But I wanted so much to love The Old Vic's new production of R&G (as I shall be calling it because laziness) and I felt like I should love it, purely because it's such a classic. And you know what, Reader, I did love it. Huzzah and, indeed, hurrah!

I didn't just love it through sheer force of will either. In truth, and rather surprisingly based on past experience, it was the writing I loved most of all. It is baffling to me that this play is fifty years old. The writing feels so fresh and relevant ('I never believed in England' packing a particular punch in the post-Brexit world). It's also a fantastic example of the exact thing that has pissed me of the most in Stoppard before: the melding of an exploration of Big Ideas and an actual plot works so well in R&G whereas previously I've always found watching Stoppard a bit like being punched in the face with his latest Big Ideas whilst something purporting to be a plot is neglected in the background.

It helps that the Big Ideas that R&G seeks to explore are rather more accessible (and interesting) than those of Hapgood (particle physics) and The Hard Problem (game theory) too: the nature of truth (#fakenews), memory, drama, free will and identity are all given a very effective airing. Sometimes this is done in small ways  - the fact that no one, including the characters, are precisely sure which of R&G is which - sometimes big ways and long speeches. The latter occasionally gets a mite tiresome, particularly at the beginning of act one when you don't yet have a plot to put them in context, but overall it really works. If this is what Stoppard was shooting at with his aforementioned other work then I feel like I suddenly understand those plays a lot more. It's perhaps noteworthy that, according to the programme, whenever he's asked what R&G is about Stoppard still just replies 'two friends on their way to Elsinore'. I doubt this same casualness is applied if he's asked about Hapgood or The Hard Problem. There's probably a lesson - or a GCSE drama essay question - in there somewhere.

This R&G also has an exceptional R&G, as it were. The star booking is, of course, Harry Potter himself, Daniel Radcliffe, as Rosencrantz - a part in which he is very well cast. He does comedy very well and his downtrodden, slightly stupid, but genuinely likeable R completely works. Technically, his projection still isn't quite right for a venue the size of The Old Vic, but this is a relatively minor quibble and certainly doesn't distract from the enjoyment of the piece.

Joshua McGuire's Guildenstern is the real joy of the two titular characters. Likeable, despite being a bit of a dick; enjoyably superior, despite not actually being that much more intelligent that R when it comes down to it; and carrying the majority of the heavy lifting, text-wise, with ease. He is excellent and this is a fantastically accomplished performance from a relatively young (trans: younger than me) actor.

However, both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are acted under the table by the sublime David Haig as The Player, a joyous romp of a part. Dressed like a poor man's Jack Sparrow and reprising his Inspector Grim from The Thin Blue Line voice (to my utter delight, I loved that show), Haig doesn't so much steal every scene he's in so much as seduce it. It's a genuinely great performance, I challenge you to find one more all-round entertaining anywhere on the London stage,  with ultimately some real depth and a lot of heart. My performances of the year list has a new top billing.

I have finally found a Tom Stoppard play to fall in love with and I question the opinions of anyone who can see this production and not feel the same way. Another solid gold hit for the breathtakingly consistent Matthew Warchus' Old Vic. (What a booking he's turned out to be - Kevin who..?)

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead plays at The Old Vic until 29th April. It's also getting the NT Live treatment - The Old Vic's first - on 20th April.