It has been a vintage year for Tennessee Williams. His early Spring Storm revived in a stunning production at the Royal & Derngate Northampton and then the National Theatre and now his first major commercial success receives a touching revival at the Young Vic.
It is an immensely personal show, perhaps Williams’s most autobiographical, echoing the authors own family struggles.
Narrator Tom, a not too distant echo of the playwright, draws memories out of his life, a tale of an insensitive mother and a daughter as fragile as the glass animals she collects. At times it is painful to watch but always gripping.
Director Joe Jill-Gibbins has chosen to play up the dream like qualities of the piece, a overtly theatrical set and lighting helping to distance any thought of realism. The dream like state is further enhanced by Dario Marianelli’s evocative score, played live by an accomplished band. It all comes together to create a sense that we are voyeurs into a young man’s mind, rather than the intense realism prevalent in other Williams works.
As Tom Leo Bill gives a strong performance as a young writer desperate to escape the confines of home for the freedom of the pen. That his desire to spread his wings is tempered by his devotion to his sister adds much to the dramatic tension. Acting honors of the evening however must go to Sinead Matthews as the fragile Sister Laura. Her brief moments of hope soon fall back into pain and distress.
The staging does take some getting used to and the pace sometimes falters, however this is a gripping production of one of Williams’ most heart felt pieces.
Photo: Sinead Matthews in The Glass Menagerie, photo by Simon Annand
As unemployment continues to cast a spectre over many and the ideal of job security with a job for life becomes increasingly rare, Arthur Miller’s Death Of A Salesman has never been more timely.
As Willie Loman faces unemployment after 34 years working for the same company, his life begins to unravel. Ghosts of the past come to haunt the Loman family as family truths and past lies come crashing into the present. It’s a potent mix of emotions and one that doesn’t always make comfortable viewing but, in Open Space Theatre Company’s production, one that is utterly gripping.
Played against a minimalist staging, this is a production focused on the human impact of a life falling apart, with the play's mix of flashbacks well handled. Direction from David Green sensibly focuses on the family interaction and fractions, giving a solid background for the repercussions to ripple out over the years.
At the centre of the piece are two wonderfully detailed performances by Paul Baker and Yves Green as on the scrapheap salesman Willie and wife Linda. Baker’s Loman visibly emotionally falls apart as his life slowly unravels while Green’s outwardly strong matriarch slowly lets the cracks begin to show.
By the end of the second act, the decline of the couple is almost too painful to watch; Loman deserted by his employer, his sons, and his business contacts with only his devoted wife to comfort him. Tragically, though, by this point Loman is too deep in the pit of despair to recognise his wife’s devotion. There are also nice characterisations from Mark Burridge and Peter Long as the Loman sons and Steven Phipps as successful neighbour Charley.
In these times of increased fiscal prudence, when retirement ages are being raised, Death Of A Salesman raises some topical questions, with financial pressure on employers to balance costly experience with cheaper inexperience. Maybe the impact of this move won’t be felt for several years but this echo of post-War American life can perhaps act as a warning from the past.
Miller’s Death Of A Salesman may now be 61 years old but this production shows there is still plenty of life in it.
Picture: Paul Baker as Willie Loman and Dawn Symonds as The Woman in Death Of A Salesman
In a rare outing, Alan Bennett's epic play The Madness Of George III is currently touring the country but the only madness that sticks in one’s memory is that of the show's designers.
The wig designer, for example, seems to have raided a fancy dress shop to come up with tonsorial topiary that resembles an insane rendition of a Smurf, Elvis, and an accident in a cycle helmet factory. The costumes look as though they have been cobbled together by the actors themselves from a pile of fabric remnants.
Things get off to a shaky start with an opening projected montage reduced to a series of vague blobs. Technically things don’t improve, the shoestring budget staging never conveying the lavish excess of Court life. Staging consists principally of two sets of voile curtains that are swished across the stage so often that you expect to see them have their own credit in the programme. At the back of the stage stands a set of double doors, poorly installed with large gaps to allow the audience to watch wandering cast members behind the set. Thankfully the dim, flat and insipid lighting design renders much of this mess virtually indistinguishable in pools of gloom.
So technically the show fails badly but surely with a script as vivid as Bennett’s and with some star name casting, the performances will compensate? Sadly, performances are as patchy as the staging.
Support roles here seem as thinly drawn as the constantly moving voiles, with the cast seeming to offer little apart from a dry line reading. In the original production and subsequent film, Nigel Hawthorne shone, unravelling the complex character of the King. Here, though, Simon Ward is inconsistent at best. When in the grip of the Monarch’s mania he is both moving and touching but, for the rest of the time, fails to convince. Despite the illness there still needs to be an echo, however faint, of a man that can lead his Country and Empire; Ward's performance, however, just offers a befuddled old fool shuffling around the stage. As his devoted Queen, Susan Penhaligon fares little better, again never giving the much-needed sense of regal Majesty, hindered perhaps by a cod-German accent that draws sniggers rather than sympathy.
On paper it all looks so promising; an award-winning play by one of Britain's best-loved writers, a long list of technical credits in the programme and star casting in the form of Ward and Penhaligon. That it turns out to be a turkey of giant proportions in an ill-conceived and poorly-executed offering is therefore even more disappointing.
Far from giving us an insight into the demons that beset this Monarch and the relationship between Court and State, the only response this curiously overblown yet paper-thin production elicits is how on earth it ever reached the stage and why a cast of this calibre would want to be associated with it. This is one production that an audience would be mad to want to watch.
Photo: The Madness of George III company. Photographer George Riddell
A caveat first - this review is based only on Act 1. It is extremely rare that I leave a production midway through a performance but, sadly, this production joins those ranks.
A stage adaptation of Bram Stoker's supernatural thriller should be dark, full of other-worldly elements and chills. Sadly Sell A Door Theatre Company’s latest production, taking up residence at the Greenwich Playhouse has replaced tension with camp melodrama that results in moments of unintentional comedy.
Liz Lockhead’s adaptation of Stoker's novel is celebrating its 25th anniversary this year but it’s not a particularly gripping version of the classic tale to revive. Lockhead’s script turns Stoker's chase across the Carpathian mountains into a series of wordy vignettes that offer little insight into the characters or the prevailing sense of menace required for this tale of vampires and innocence lost.
The narrative is confused and can't seem to decide if it is going for a literary adaptation or Victorian Melodrama.
Things aren’t helped by a production that also seems confused over what genre to take, at times striving for realism but far to often lurching into overblown melodrama, again making it hard for an audience to engage or care for the characters. As such, when Dracula kills his first victim at the end of Act One we don’t know her well enough to care.
Director David Hutchinson needs to look at the pace of the piece; several cast members seem to be in a rush to deliver their lines without pause for breath or dramatic intent but, overall, the pace seems staid.
Some work is also needed to make the characters more than the two-dimensional sketches that they currently appear to be.
There are some nice performances in supporting roles; Kieran Hennigan’s disturbingly intense psychiatric patient, Renfield, and Sophie Holland’s down to earth maid, Florrie, impress. However, the more central characters disappoint. Matthew Grace’s Jonathan Harker is pedestrian, while Louis J Parker needs to pull his Count Dracula back several notches to stop the arch vampire becoming a comedic caricature. Far from being menacing it verges on high camp comedy, not helped by a cod Transylvanian accent that causes many a stifled giggle.
This is a young company with commendably ambitious aims but, sadly, this anaemic version of Dracula is nothing to get your teeth into.
In 1949, George Orwell’s bleak vision of the state control in the 1980s seemed almost unthinkable. In his vision of 1984, government spin, PR speak, and CCTV surveillance would become prevalent, now while thinks haven’t become as dark as his novel envisaged many of his predictions were uncannily accurate.
It makes the piece timely and relevant and in Northern Broadsides clear adaptation never more accessible.
Nick Lane’s adaptation of Orwell concentrates on narrative drive and clarity, using a chorus of ‘comrades’ to narrate the tale of Winston Smith, a clerk working in the Ministry of Truth rewriting archive newspapers to fit the State's changing position. It’s a device that works well, enabling the small cast to convey the sense of conformity and repetition that prevails in this micro-managed society. Freedom of thought is a dangerous deviation that needs to be extinguished.
Director Conrad Nelson’s production is fast and frantic but still allows time for the audience to engage with Winston, his fleeting love with fellow free spirit Julia and his ultimate mental destruction by Big Brother. Nick Haverson as Winston anchors the entire piece, firstly opening up to freedom of free thought before being crushed by the state. Kate Ambler as his love interest Julia and Chris Garner as devious O’Brien also give memorable central performances however the whole ensemble works well so credit must also go to Andrew Price and Carolyn Tomkinson
Credit should also be given to the design team of Sue Condle, Brent Lees, Rob Pointon, Karen Sayle, Louise Hodkiss and David Phillips for creating a highly effective multi-media setting. In the surveillance state, their multiangled set leaves no corner in which to hide with multiple video screens not only broadcasting state propaganda but also giving an animated insight into the mind of Winston. It is easy for multimedia to detract and overwhelm a production but here it is a perfect marriage, charcoal drawn animations blending seamlessly with the onstage actors to create a truly memorable staging.
1984 may have come and gone without the apocalyptic vision Orwell foresaw coming true but this outstanding production should be compulsory viewing for all politicians and spin doctors as a warning of the dangers of State control.
Picture: Nick Haverson, Chris Garner and Andrew Price in 1984
These days we're used to the image of National Lottery winners collecting a huge cheque but, in the 1960s, attention was focused on the Saturday football results rather than lottery numbers. The chance of matching eight score draws kept many hopes alive. When impoverished Yorkshire couple Keeith and Viv Nicholson win £152,319 on the Pools (around £5million in today’s terms) their life will never be the same again. When Viv was famously asked what she was going to do with her new-found wealth she famously replied she was going to ‘Spend, Spend, Spend’ and, true to her word, that’s what she did.
Spend Spend Spend! the musical is a rags to riches and back to rags again tale following Viv’s life before and after her win. In musical form it’s something of a Northern folk opera; life may be bleak but that doesn’t stop Viv from dreaming of the high life and looking, mostly unsuccessfully it has to be said, for love.
Although based on Viv Nicholson’s own autobiography this is not an entirely sensitive portrayal, with the musical making no attempt to portray her as a victim, despite the hardships and violence she endures.
Steve Brown’s score draws on a wide musical heritage, from folk anthems to 60s inspired numbers to moving torch song ballads. Director Craig Revel Horwood allows Viv’s feisty character to take centre stage and, while his choreographic background is clearly in evidence, apart from a couple of gloriously over the top dance numbers, movement is integrated into the action. With actor-musician shows, the musical instruments can sometime intrude into the action but here Revel Horwood and musical supervisor Sarah Travis have ensured that the instrumentation forms part of the action rather than distracting.
Any actor musician show relies on the company working together as a true ensemble and the Watermill Newbury have assembled a first rate versatile cast for this tour of their hit revival. Karen Mann and Kirsty Hoiles, as Viv and her younger self, anchor the show with impressive vocal and emotional performances. Rarely off stage, the duo provide a real emotional heart to the piece, the older Viv reflecting on the decision her younger self took. Their duet Who’s Gonnna Love Me leaving many a damp eye in the auditorium. There are also memorable performances from Greg Barnett and Jack Beale as two of Viv’s five husbands but the whole company deliver wonderfully detailed performances.
Some shows have been shoehorned into the actor-musician format with various levels of success. Spend Spend Spend!, however, shows that the format can bring new emotional depths to a show and that, often, small scale is better than the blockbuster spectacle. Spend Spend Spend! turns out to be a fascinating and surprisingly moving look on how money can bring happiness but can also bring pain and despair.
The current financial climate may encourage fiscal restraint but any lottery winner, or indeed banker, would be wise to visit this show to understand the perils of instant wealth. .
Photo: Greg Barnett and Kirsty Holies in Spend Spend Spend! - photographer Robert Day
The second of the Donmar Warehouse’s concert celebrations for Sondheim’s 80th birthday turns attention to his 1970 score Company. This one was a hit for the Donmar back in 1995 and as with last weeks Merrily We Roll Along features many of the cast of that production.
Also like Merrily Company is not your traditional linear plot structure, with Company featuring a series of loosely connected scenes around 35yr old Bobby’s quest for (or avoidance of love).
Company is also an examination of the loneliness big city living can bring and the pressure to conform to preconceived ideas about marriage. As with all Sondheim scores it’s also a celebration of wit and wordplay.
Without being indelicate there is obviously a problem with a 15year company being reassembled to play thirty something’s but the concert makes not attempt to hide the mismatch in ages and instead makes some wry humour of any script references to age.
Despite the mismatch in ages now there are some nice performances here. Sophie Thompson gives echoes of Acorn Antiques Mrs Overall with her rendition of Not Getting Married Today while Haydn Gwynne more than overcomes any comparisons with Elaine Stritch in Ladies That Lunch. The Gentlemen perhaps fair less well, with Adrian Lester giving a spirited performance bur lacking the real vocal power needed for the role of Bobby while the other men in the cast seemed upstaged by their female counterparts.
Gareth Valentines musical direction was once again lively, drawing the most of his 8 piece ensemble (and even managing a mid show dance routine) but overall this wasn’t as rich a sound as last week’s Merrily.
The Donmar are rightly proud of their Sondheim back catalogue and here’s looking forward to a long continuing association.
As the country struggles with financial hardships it’s a timely revival for the National Theatre of Ena Lamont Stewart’s look at the 1930s depression. Set in a rundown Glasgow tenement, life is tough for the Morrison family. Eleven family members are crammed in the tiny, dank, dark kitchen and bedroom set up. Dad is out of work, mother struggling to feed the children and keep the depressing rooms as close to homely as possible. Add in an elderly grandmother, a son suffering TB, teenage rebellion, affairs and police problems and it doesn’t sound like a cheery evening.
Stewart’s script though is packed with dry, dark humour. The family may not have much but they do possess a sharp tongue and a quick wit.
Designer Bunny Christie’s multi-tiered set hints at the cramped conditions that replicate floor after floor in this impoverished Glaswegian community, we can merely glimpse the lives of the neighbours but it’s enough to show how the Morrison family troubles are by no means unique.
This is a community where women are a force to be reckoned with and at the heart of the piece is a gutsy performance by Sharon Small as put upon mother and wife Maggie. Most of the time she bites her tongue but when she lets forth she’s a force to be reckoned with. Husband John (Robert Cavanah) and wimpish son Alec (Pierce Reid) may try to convey that they are alpha males but it is clear who wears the trousers in this household. There are also wonderfully observed performances by Karen Dunbar and Isabelle Joss as well meaning but intrusive neighbours and Sarah MacRae as rebellious daughter turned good Jenny.
Director Josie Rourke plays the piece naturalistically and sensibly allows the comedy to develop from the characters. She also downplays the melodrama, again allowing for the grim reality of life in the block to establish its own pathos.
This isn’t a show for the faint hearted but it does reward the concentration. Yes it does take a while to attune to the thick Glaswegian dialect and the ‘happy’ ending does seem somewhat contrived but this is a well deserved revival of a historically relevant slice of Scottish life.
What does community actually mean? Does your nationality reflect the country you live in, the country you were born in, or even the country your parents were born in?
Based on interviews with residents of Peterborough, Eastern Angles' latest production, Lincoln Road, attempts to tackle these questions. Author Danusia Iwaszko takes this look at multicultural city life and sets it in the context of a second generation Italian young man who wants to bring his community together and comes up with the concept of holding a carnival to celebrate the wide variety of nationalities who inhabit Lincoln Road.
It’s not going to be an easy task - a council facing financial cutbacks, a community who don’t talk to each other, violence, prejudice and general apathy all conspire to thwart Gianni and his carnival dreams.
What does shine through though is the strength of community, even if the community doesn’t recognise its own strengths. From moving oppression in Zimbabwe to comedy Pakistani sari-totting Aunts, as the quote goes all human life is here, all Gianni needs to do is marshal them into recognising their similarities, while also celebrating their cultural differences.
Bringing a whole community to the stage is always going to be a challenge but the cast of four (Jason Deer, Theo Devaney, Naveed Kahn and Djalenga Scott) create a string of wonderfully observed characters, shifting swiftly from character to character, nationality to nationality. Even American TV legal diva Judge Judy makes a cameo appearance.
Occasionally the script shifts slightly into lecture mode, for example when a fireman talks about his motivation, an unnecessary diversion as the character interaction is strong enough on its own to allow the audience to draw their own conclusions. Overall, though, Lincoln Road works well to chronicle the challenges facing the changing landscape of our communities.
There are obviously barriers to be faced but productions such as this can only help open up the debate
Photo: Jason Deer and Theo Devaney in Lincoln Road. Picture Mel Evans
Martin Luther King Jr and Malcolm X, two giants of the American civil rights movement held radically different approaches to the cause. Their beliefs and methods differed wildly but both were working towards a common goal. Jeff Stetson’s play The Meeting imagines what would have happened had the two met to discuss their beliefs. It is an interesting proposition, two intellectually different beliefs, two determined individuals and two men who inspired complete devotion from their followers. Who has the correct approach; how do they view each other and how could they work together?
Set on Valentine's Day 1965, a week before his assassination, Malcolm X has invited Martin Luther King Jr to New York. Will the Reverend attend and how will the men get on?
Director Chuck Mike’s production starts as the audience enter the theatre with riot police patrolling the foyer and placard-waving protestors singing We Shall Overcome. Inside the auditorium the play starts with speeches from the two leaders. While this should serve as a strong introduction to the piece it actually acts as a barrier, taking 15 minutes for the actual action to start. Given the renowned oration skills of the protagonists it’s not surprising that Stetson’s play is a wordy one but it makes to keep dramatic tension. Running at nearly 1hour 45 without interval, the majority of which consists of just two men talking, there is little variety in tone or pace to keep attention. Ray Shell’s Martin Luther King Jr and Cornell S John’s Malcolm X are performed well, although John’s projection at times made some lines inaudible.
These two men are pivotal in 20th Century history and there is clear potential here for theatre to examine their possible relationship. Sadly The Meeting reveals little new about the pair and the complex differences and similarities that drove them in the name of freedom.
The phrase Jukebox musical has become something of a derogatory term, for every hit such as Mama Mia there is a Desperately Seeking Susan or All The Fun of The Fair. The source material helps, if your songs are story lead there’s obviously a much stronger chance of them working in a dramatic format. Even given strong material though it’s a brave move for a group to allow their back catalogue to be used in this manner. For Craig and Charlie Reid, otherwise known as The Proclaimers though thankfully Sunshine On Leith can hold its own with the not just JukeBox musicals but in the wider musical genre. Sunshine on Leith turns out to be both epic and personal in a remarkable production.
As is the case with many of these shows there’s a love story driving the piece, in this case Leith residents Davy and Ally return from army service and try and rebuild their lives in Scotland. Both need to cope with the changes to the town since they left; the battle to find love and the ties that keep them in Leith.
Writer Stephen Greenhorn has woven The Proclaimers songs into this love story with great care, yes there are the inevitable contrived moments to fit a particular song in but on the whole the score could have been written especially for the stage show and not from past hits. The script also teases those familiar with Proclaimers music by giving a couple of red herrings where you expect a particular number to appear, only to be surprised with an alternative offering. The Reid brothers music soars, combing folk, rock and country with soaring ballads and enthusiastic ensemble numbers.
One of the true joys of the evening however is a collection of outstanding performances from a company obviously enjoying the material. Billy Boyd shakes off any Lord of The Rings memories and comes out with an impressive vocal performance though the highlight of the evening has to be Ann Louise Ross with her rendition of the title song, full of emotion and power in an arrangement that recognises the original version but adds a whole new dimension of its own. It is one of those numbers that defies even the most cynical audience member to keep a dry eye.
For an English audience the strong Scottish accents can take some getting used to and the ending does seem rushed but overall this is a wonderful evening of pure entertainment. Sunshine On Leith shows that with some thought the jukebox musical doesn’t have to be a genre to avoid, with a strong framework to hang the songs on and a talented cast it can be a true theatrical treat.
Tell Me On A Sunday has gone through many revisions over the years, and the current touring version is classed by Andrew Lloyd Webber as the ‘definitive’ version. Now the composer should know best but it is hard to see his reasoning. Back in 2003 he made a similar proclamation when Denise Van Outen took on the role and that production took Lloyd Webber and lyricist Don Black’s 80s song cycle and brought it bang up to date. The story flowed and was the perfect vehicle for Van Outen as the English woman taking the huge leap to head of to America to find love.
This production sees ex-Brookside star Claire Sweeney take on the role. It is a perfect vehicle for a musical theatre actress as Marti Webb, Sarah Brightman, Van Outen and the string of actress who have tackled the show over the years will attest; unfortunately, while a valiant attempt, Sweeney fails to deliver.
Claire Sweeney has a powerful voice, and it must be exhausting touring this show as a string of mainly back to back one nighters but there are several pitch issues during the piece. The girl in the story may go on a journey across America but the biggest journey of the evening, sadly, is Ms Sweeney’s vocal deviations from the score. While some numbers such as Unexpected Song and the title number work well, she seems to struggle with some of the higher notes in other numbers and also battles to keep pace with the orchestra in others.
The cohesion of the piece isn’t helped by the revisions to the script. While earlier versions give us a clear dramatic flow of lost love and loneliness, this latest version never fully engages with the character, resulting in a string of unconnected scenes. Tamara Harvey’s direction doesn’t help with a constant parade of costume changes providing a lazy way of differentiating scenes without any real emotional connection.
Although the logistics of touring for one night engagements does limit set potential, things are not helped by staging the show on a dimly lit rag bag collection of clothing-strewn furniture that looks like the before shots of Claire's 60 Minute Makeover TV Show.
Tell Me On A Sunday is one of Andrew Lloyd Webber's most evocative scores. Sadly this disappointing production does little justice to the score.
