Theatre Review: Jekyll and Hyde

I don’t know anything about dance.

Anton and Erin tours aside, I've never seen any live dance before. I don’t know the terminology, I don’t know what makes it objectively good or bad and I don’t have any idea how to review it.

I think you can see where this is going.

Jekyll and Hyde is a two act ‘dance thriller’ choreographed by Drew McOnie and staged, at the Old Vic, by his eponymous company. And because I have no idea what I'm talking about beyond that, I’ll say right now that I think it’s fantastic and a real treasure of a show.

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For a non-dance person, probably the most striking thing about this production is the clarity of the storytelling. Admittedly, Jekyll and Hyde is a story that I think most people would say they know reasonably well. It’s also a story that seems peculiarly susceptible to being overcooked though, as ITV demonstrated so dramatically in their recent 1920s-set version. McOnie’s take is refreshingly clear, updating the action to the 1950s and recasting Jekyll as a botanist but otherwise keeping the story untouched and unornamented. The production contains no lyrics or spoken script, bar the occasional guttural moan or death throe, but it is impossible to lose the thread of the action (again unlike the ITV version where this was very much possible). And I think this would still be the case even if the story was entirely new to you.

This crystal clear narrative is facilitated mostly by the innovative characterisation that breathes through the choreography. Jekyll and Hyde, played by two different dancers which really opens up the story, move differently: Jekyll has a sort of sweeping ballroom set of moves whilst Hyde is much spikier with more rock and roll swagger. Jekyll is awkward, gentlemanly and funny, Hyde is sexy, brutish and thrusting (great word). Hyde, as usual, is better dressed and much cooler but it’s Jekyll who has the bigger, more bravura part.

All of this is reinforced by Grant Olding’s brilliant, eclectic and evocative earworm of a score; surely one of the best examples of storytelling through music out there. Five days later and I still have Hyde’s theme dancing round my head. Soutra Gilmour’s clever design, with the production’s handful of sets on a revolve made of chain-link fence which is manually pushed around as necessary by the cast, is so effective. I especially liked the care that had gone into ensuring that the whole stage is used, not just the bit that forms the current set. Because the ‘walls’ of every set are, essentially, see through then people sat at certain angles can see what’s going on in the background. This had been considered and accounted for really well, even if it only meant simple things like ensuring that cast members entering and exiting did so in keeping with both their character and the current mood of the music. It’s sadly rare to see so much thought going into sightlines and it really paid off.

I have no idea how you talk about the relative merits of dancers beyond what I've heard on Strictly. With that in mind, I have one word for the super talented cast of Jekyll and Hyde: uh-may-zing. In a small but perfectly formed cast almost everyone is a standout, but the biggest praise must go to the simply brilliant Daniel Collins’ sublime Jekyll. As good an embodiment of a character as almost any I've seen on stage this year which is all the more remarkable given it was all delivered via dance. Hurrah also for yet another of the West End’s super understudies, Jason Winter, on as Hyde on the night I was in - which also happened to be the first preview so, y’know, no pressure. He was great, a perfect swaggering Hyde, and if no one had told me he was an understudy I’d have never guessed in a million years.

To summarise, you should see Jekyll and Hyde. Regardless of what you know or don’t know about dance or about the story, this is a genuinely great production. It’s easily one of my favourite things this year. A ten from Len, if you will. Get your skates on though - its run is tragically, if understandably, short.

Jekyll and Hyde plays at the Old Vic until 28th May. AKA this Saturday. Hurry up.

 

Theatre Review: Lawrence After Arabia

There are few things more frustrating in my theatrical book as a wasted premise, especially when the premise is really interesting.

What became of Lawrence when he is no longer Of Arabia is a great premise. Super interesting, super politically relevant and with a hefty dollop of historical controversy chucked in for good measure. It should make for a great play.

And perhaps it does, somewhere. But Lawrence After Arabia, currently playing at the Hampstead Theatre, is not that play. Really, really not.

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In many ways the production deserves credit for taking such an interesting premise and making it so tedious. It’s genuinely quite impressive. I'm not someone who can fall asleep in the theatre but this had me very close.

I think the biggest problem seems to be that the writing, by Howard Brenton (of whom I am generally speaking a fan), is so literal, unsubtle and, in places, just clunky. A key bugbear of mine, and an example of some of the play’s issues more broadly, was the constant dismayed references to Afghanistan, Syria and Iraq. Now, it’s absolutely valid to make the point that the way the British and French divided up the Middle East with literal rulers on a literal map is one of the biggest factors leading to the geopolitical clusterfuck that that region sadly is today. To make that point by having several of your lead characters wail the names of the three most contemporary and brutal examples of this again and again is not the way to make that point. I'm pretty sure that even the most dull witted audience doesn't need that level of exposition to get what’s being driven at.  There are frequent examples of this - of the audience being told in big, flashing, neon lights that a contemporary reference is being made - and for me it does both cast and audience a huge disservice. It becomes annoying very quickly.

My other major complaint about this production is not one that I get to make very often, thankfully: it just wasn't very well acted. I took a particular dislike to Jack Laskey in the title role, who for my money was wooden and stilted all evening (and also looks about 20 years too young for the part). Jeff Rawle was an entertainingly diverting G B Shaw, but his wandering accent started to grate quite quickly. Geraldine James, whose Charlotte Shaw was generally a merciful highlight, had the occasional wobbly moment, particularly in the climactic confrontation with Lawrence towards the end of the play. Mind you that confrontation contains some particularly wobbly dialogue - my favourite being a cringe inducing exchange on sexuality - so perhaps that’s to be expected. Khalid Laith as a charismatic Prince Faisal was the only actor who consistently won me over, impressive given some of the leaden dialogue he was given. Perhaps it was just an off night or perhaps I'm just spoiled these days, but I really expected better.

Other than Price Faisal there are a few other bright spots in this production. As always at the Hampstead, it looks fantastic and the staging is characteristically clever. The seamless transitions between Arabian desert and English manor drawing room are very well done. There are also quite a few good gags hiding away in the script. I particularly enjoyed the exchange between Lawrence and the Shaws about whether or not they really know anything about working class people, which elicits the response from Charlotte that ‘of course we do, we’re Socialists’. Got a very knowing laugh from the Hampstead crowd that one…  And John Dove’s direction keeps things clipping along at an admirable pace, bringing what is quite a complicated story in at just over two hours (including an interval, how unfashionable). Mind you if it was any longer I'm not sure I would've coped.

Unsurprisingly, I don’t recommend that you should spend any of your hard earned cash on Lawrence After Arabia, unless you suffer from insomnia and have tried everything else. Perhaps wait until Ross opens at Chichester, since from what I can tell it covers very much the same ground in a hopefully less soporific manner.

Lawrence After Arabia plays at the Hampstead Theatre until June 4th.

Theatre Review: Les Blancs

This year has so far been rather short of genuine must see shows for me.

Guys and Dolls, The Rolling Stone and The Painkiller certainly qualify but beyond that I would struggle to say anything else I've seen so far in 2016 is so outstanding. The serious drama front in particular has felt lacking and it’s high time this was remedied.

Enter the National Theatre’s production of Les Blancs.

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Les Blancs tells the story of Tshembe Matoseh, who returns home from London to an unspecified African country to bury his father. The country is on the brink of civil war with the final white settlers, some of whom helped raise Tshembe and his brothers, about to be violently driven out. The struggle tears Tshembe’s family - biological and otherwise - apart leaving a trail of tragic consequences in its wake. Light entertainment this is not.

Written, though never definitively completed, by Lorraine Hansberry (of A Raisin in the Sun fame), Les Blancs is a phenomenally powerful piece. And the NT’s production, directed by Yael Farber, is a phenomenally powerful production of it. In short: you should see this play.

Thematically, Les Blancs is a huge thing. Race, identity, family, guilt, religion, prejudice and more all get a good, complex airing. Set against this, the writing and the language itself are pleasingly straightforward. The writing pulls no punches and offers a brutal condemnation - through the voices of both African and settler characters - of colonialism and its racist accessories. For all that, though, it remains a complicated and nuanced portrayal of the motivations and attitudes, good and bad, of everyone involved - black, white and everything else.

This is also an extraordinary beautiful production. Soutra Gilmour’s stripped back design contains only one set - the skeleton of the settler run clinic - but is striking nonetheless in its use of a rich colour palette of ochres and reds, the ever present smell of burning wood and smatterings of sand across the stage. The use of, for want of a better word, authentic music sung and played by four extraordinarily versatile female African ‘matriarch’ musicians is exceptionally atmospheric. If this all sounds a bit Disney then that’s the fault of my description not the production. The overall effect is hugely evocative and gives the production a distinctive voice before a single word of dialogue is even spoken.

The production is also exceptionally well acted across the board with an absolute belter (technical term) of a lead performance from Danny Sapani. In his hands, Tshembe is a conflicted riot of love, anger, sadness, tradition and modernity; basically a character study in the question of where our identity should and does come from. It’s masterful stuff, as physically powerful as it is emotionally raw, and certainly the best single performance I’ve seen so far this year. He has strong support throughout the cast, but Sian Phillips and Gary Beadle are particularly good as the flawed embodiment of well intentioned white settlers and Tshembe’s Catholic convert brother respectively.    

Overall then a standout production and one that is quite simply a must see. And with this production and The Suicide running concurrently, it finally feels like Rufus Norris’ NT has hit its stride; a very exciting, very overdue, prospect.

Les Blancs is playing in the Olivier theatre at the NT until June 2nd.

Theatre Review: The Suicide

For my money there’s something immediately funny about a comedy called The Suicide.

But perhaps that’s just me.

Updated by Suhayla El-Bushra from a Russian original by Erdman, The Suicide (currently playing at the NT) tells the story of Sam whose aborted attempt to kill himself goes viral after it’s caught on someone’s mobile phone. In the aftermath, rather than trying to help him, it seems that the world and his wife want Sam to reconsider and when he agrees to a high profile public suicide hilarity ensues. Which I appreciate is an odd sentence.

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From what I understand, the original Russian version of The Suicide was hugely subversive and landed its playwright a forced holiday in Siberia. And if something similarly subversive is what you’re looking for then this updated for 2016 production is not for you, though quite what in current London theatreland is for you I'm not sure.

Even though it tries very hard - too hard - to be subversive, or at least edgy, this production just isn't. Some of its attempts feel curiously dated too. I mean, is there really not a new bete noir for lefty types since Margaret Thatcher? Have we really not moved on from the stereotype chav living in a high rise? Other attempts at edginess feel strained - I didn't in any way understand the need for a live drummer, as good as he was - or gratuitous; and the one fleeting and bizarre instance of nudity is very much both.

But for all that this Suicide is still a very entertaining and crucially very funny production. No, there’s nothing earth shattering in jokes about vegan food, Tinder or organic community cafes but I don’t actually care as long as those jokes are funny. Yes, the characters are almost all caricatures rather than fully formed people but, again, they’re all very funny (and some of them ring truer than is comfortable). In other words, if you judge this production on its own merits rather than hold it up against its revolutionary original then there’s much to recommend it. Chill the fuck out and enjoy it is I suppose what I'm trying to say.

If you are insistent on finding the political point that this play does successfully make then its skewering of various well meaning lefty tribes is very astute, something that can be attributed to the funny and ballsy cast as much as the writing. Paul Kaye in particular is great - not a phrase I use often - as an ‘activist’ filmmaker desperate to record Sam’s last moments and kickstart a new Arab spring. He conjures up a particularly unpleasant mixture of vanity, self righteousness and BO (that anyone who’s ever been to Brighton will definitely recognise) with the sort of conviction that makes one wonder how much of this is just Paul Kaye without dreadlocks playing Paul Kaye with dreadlocks. Either way it’s very funny. Kudos also to Pal Aron as a distressingly believable, mercilessly entertaining local (Labour) councillor with questionable morals and deep pockets.

This is Sam’s play though and on the night we saw this production that role fell, for the first time by the look of his curtain call reaction, to understudy Adrian Richards. And frankly he smashed it, giving a believable, funny but ultimately quite tragic performance of a young and confused Sam. Keep an eye on that name because on the evidence of this performance he deserves some considerable success in the not too distant future.

Technically, this production looks great too. There is excellent use of video projection, lighting and music (even if some of this does occasionally slip into the ‘trying too hard to be edgy’ category). The most impressive aspect of Ben Stones’ design though is its use of sliding screens and blocks to portray the shifting cityscape as well as provide a suitably fluid and neutral backdrop for all the noise and colours happening around it. It’s really well done as well as looking very funky. I love that word.

I really enjoyed The Suicide. Even if it’s not as clever as it thinks it is, or some reviewers would evidently like it to be, it’s still an entertaining, funny show done very well. Definitely worth your time.

The Suicide plays in the Lyttelton at the NT until 25th June.

Theatre Review: Miss Atomic Bomb

Sometimes in theatreland it’s fun to go and see a show of which you have really low expectations.

It’s much more fun to go and see something that the critics hated and find you enjoy it rather than something the critics loved and you end up hating (Waste, for example).

Miss Atomic Bomb, a new musical by Adam Long, Gabriel Vick and Alex Jackson-Long (too many cooks?), is mercifully a case of the former. Given a fairly vicious savaging by most of the critics, the show tells the story of a small time Las Vegas hotel manager trying to cash in on the wave of tourism around the testing of atomic bombs in the Nevada desert by staging a beauty pageant. It tries to tell a lot of other stories too, and herein lies the problem.

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The issues this show has are all in the writing. Plot-wise it’s all over the place. What should be a simple and fun story with interesting historical context is weighed down with so many tangents, subplots and irrelevant throwaway characters that it quickly becomes very confused. The book, though it has its occasional comic flourish, tends towards the plodding. There is basically no attempt at character development - even the leads get only the most perfunctory backstory. The first act in particular would benefit from substantial cuts, both to the plot and the characters.

The songs fare better - they’re fun even if they’re not especially memorable - though the occasional one feels stylistically out of place and the lack of coherence in the characterisation and plot means that many of them feel out of place in the narrative too. The big production numbers of the second act suffer especially in this regard, jumping out of nowhere to play on facets of characters barely even hinted at previously. Whilst things do otherwise generally pick up in the second act (it feels much more coherent and sticks much more closely to a single plot) the segments aping Gypsy and, especially, Les Miserables are wholly unfunny, add nothing and don’t make a huge amount of sense.

For all that though I didn't hate this show and that’s because, if you ignore the shortcomings of the piece itself, the production is actually pretty good. Probably the star is Bill Deamer’s characteristically first rate choreography. In a show whose plot is so messy that almost everything feels like a production number, his choreography delivers the requisite glitz, glamour and sense of fun to make this work. The showgirl-heavy tap routines are particularly good. The use of video in place of scenery is effective too - I especially enjoyed the nuclear blasts, which is not a phrase I ever thought I’d write.

The hardworking cast also deserves substantial credit. Almost everyone does the best with what they've been given (I felt especially sorry for the ever vocally excellent Daniel Boys stuck with his second rate Javert) and there are a couple of performances which are genuinely very good. Simon Lipkin - an increasing favourite in these parts - in particular carries much of the show with a wonky charisma that is totally endearing and gives the whole proceeding a necessary touch of class. For the girls, it’s Florence Andrews who stands out with a gutsy performance and a gorgeous voice. Catherine Tate, the billed headliner, is a bit disappointing by her own standards (and the reviews were right about her wandering accent) but entertaining enough in what is a typically underdeveloped role.

In summary then: weak show, decent production. Does the latter outweigh the former? No, not quite but it’s still worth a look if you’re after something that’s just good, disposable, sparkly fun. I saw it on a Friday night after a longass week and it was perfect! There are some excellent deals on tickets around too, funnily enough.

Miss Atomic Bomb plays at the St James Theatre until 9th April.  

Theatre Review: The Painkiller

There hasn't been that much farce in the West End in recent years, with the unintentional and brilliant exception of Stephen Ward. And honestly that’s just the way I like it. I'm not, with a few notable exceptions, a huge fan.

One thing I am very much a fan of though is Kenneth Branagh. You may have noticed this if you’re a regular reader or have, like, ever bumped into me in the street and seen my many, large tattoos proclaiming my love*. And if Kenneth Branagh and his eponymous theatre company are staging a farce, with the boss in a lead role, then I am damn well seeing that farce.

Enter The Painkiller, an adaptation of a French farce involving a hitman (Branagh) and a suicidal loser (Rob Brydon, who I also have deep, Welsh love for) in adjoining hotel rooms, directed (and adapted) by comedy ace and previous KB collaborator Sean Foley. As with all farces the plot is both deeply convoluted and sort of irrelevant, but safe to say there are lots of misunderstandings, prat falls, instances of semi-nudity and, perhaps less common, swearing.  

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For my money, farce has to be done exceptionally well to be funny. The Painkiller is more than exceptionally done and it is fucking hilarious. There’s your headline: you should go and see this play because it’s face-achingly funny. Really that’s all you need to know.

‘But why is it so funny?’, I hear no one ask. Well, I’ll tell you.

At the simplest level it is technically spot on. As far as I can see, to make this sort of slapstick stuff work is basically like choreographing a particularly ungainly dance, and the choreography here is perfect. There are several sequences that involve synchronised movements where neither actor can see the other that are bang on time and a lot of fight scenes that would be boringly repetitive, and deeply ugly, if they weren't so well thought through and executed. Structurally it’s very tight too, with some great call backs to earlier details and tiny throwaway references (the bit with the cushion shower and the subtle nod to Alan Partridge being my personal, spoiler free, favourites) which work really well. It’s a pacey little thing too, coming in at a breathless but not rushed 90 minutes. 90 minutes of utter joy.

I wouldn't normally go out of my way to praise the writing in a farce but this is a really fun piece even without the slapstick exploits. I have no idea, and no particular inclination to find out, how faithful Foley has been to his source material but either way it’s great writing with some great jokes. Similarly, whilst the plot is highly implausible it doesn't stray into the realms of the impossible and so stays funny rather than perplexing. And whilst the characters are very obvious comic constructs - straight man and pathetic foil - the way the play flips the constructs onto different characters at different points is cleverly done.

It won’t surprise you to know that, in my entirely unbiased opinion, it’s the performances that make this production sing. Rob Brydon is always great as the lovable loser, although quite how lovable this particular loser is is rather open to debate, and isn't asked to do much outside his comfort zone for the part of the hapless Brian. Which is in no way a bad thing - he is hysterical - and is actually quite a canny piece of casting as it gives the audience an anchor; you know what you’re going to get from Brian as soon as Brydon walks on the stage and he delivers it perfectly.

Of course you think you know what you’re going to get as soon as Ken Branagh walks on the stage as the suave and cool hired gun Ralph. But you’re wrong. Ralph almost immediately loses control of the situation and finds himself in the hands (/loving arms) of Brian and the clusterfuck of characters and situation around him, which allows for the joyous transformation of the straight man you expect into the slapstick comedy foil. This play on our expectations gets Branagh all the biggest laughs and rightly so. His temporary reinvention as a physical comedian is a revelation, even to a sad obsessive fan like me. He throws himself into the part - figuratively and literally - with a commitment that seriously pays off with a range of silly accents, falling over, dancing and physical contortions that are hilarious. Basically, if you want to see one of our most distinguished actor/writer/director/producers making a completely tit of himself, and clearly enjoying it, this is the play for you. Also he ends up in various stages of undress several times, which may be relevant to your interests. Or perhaps that’s just me.

In case you’re an idiot and haven’t worked it out, I loved The Painkiller deeply and with passion. There’s no great depth to it, no lesson to come away with at the end, but who the fuck cares? It’s just great, great fun and I urge you to see it immediately and repeatedly. It gladdened my stony heart, and not just because I got to see Ken Branagh in his pants.

The Painkiller is part of the Kenneth Branagh Theatre Company’s Plays at the Garrick season and plays until 30th April.




*This is a joke, but only because I can't find a tattoo artists prepared to ink 'I LOVE YOU KB' across my forehead. 

Theatre Review: The Rolling Stone

This review has posed me a dilemma: is it worth reviewing a show that’s already closed?

Admittedly this isn't the first time I've done this (see also: Hapgood) but that time it was accidental - I didn't realise the show had closed when I sat down to write the review. This time I know the show has closed. So it this post worth my time or yours?

Well, as for your time you’ll have to decide yourself. I'm not your mother. For my time, yes it is worth it. Because I loved the show and want to share that fact, even if it can influence no one to go and see it. I’ll try and keep it brief though.

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The show in question is The Rolling Stone by Chris Urch at the tiny and adorable Orange Tree Theatre (this was my first trip, it won’t be my last). The play tells the story of Dembe, a gay man in Uganda, and the effect of the country’s horrific anti-gay laws on him and his family, sister Wunnie and brother Joe. Joe has just been made pastor of their church, which is rather a complicating factor.

Even from those few lines you can probably predict roughly where the plot is going; there are no huge surprises or shocking twists here. But that doesn't matter. This play is so well written, with such authenticity that I was slightly surprised that it’s not verbatim, the characters so well rounded and everything so well acted that it’s a joy to watch regardless of the fact there’s a tragic inevitability to almost everything that unfolds.

Playwright Urch, who rightly won the Bruntwood Prize for Playwriting for this piece, is also exceptionally careful not to pass judgement on any of the characters involved either which makes the whole thing much more compelling. This play could so easily have been a dramatised thesis on why the Ugandan laws are awful (which they undoubtedly are), what it actually is is so much more interesting. He also wraps his plot up in some big themes each of which is drawn out and explored really well: identity (race, gender, religion, you name it), loyalty and how far we are prepared to go for our families.

In a cast of six, it’s difficult to find fault. Fiston Barek is just fantastic as Dembe, torn between his love for boyfriend Sam and loyalty to his family. Sule Rimi as Joe is magnetic; blisteringly good, slightly terrifying and probably my pick of the bunch. Faith Omole is a caring, angry Wunnie and a touching heart for her stricken family. Jo Martin as ambitious Mama, the sort-of-but-not-really villain of the piece, is perfectly imposing and Faith Alabi gives a moving, almost mute performance as her tragic daughter. Julian Moore-Cook is an enjoyable cocky Sam, who reveals his vulnerability slowly and touchingly. It’s a hard working group too as the cast are very rarely allowed to leave the performance space, spending their ‘off’ scenes sat amongst the audience, which doesn't feel as stagey or distracting as it probably should.

The staging is necessarily very simple - given there is no stage and no scenery - but nonetheless effective, particularly the use of sound, music and lighting to change the setting and mood. The wind effect used in the play's climactic final scene is also really well done and make for a more dramatic sequence than you would think possible in such a tiny space.

If it were possible, I’d be urging you to see this show because I really loved it. Having already transferred to the Orange Tree from Manchester’s Royal Exchange it would be fantastic to see The Rolling Stone get a ‘proper’ London transfer - it would fit well in the Young Vic or the NT’s Dorfman set up in the round - so that more people can see it. It deserves that much at least.