David Oyewolo in Coriolanus. Photo: Misan Harriman
David Oyelowo has been rarely seen on stage in the last twenty years, thanks to the lure of Hollywood. I am pleased to report he does not disappoint. As for the production, this is a Tragedy of Coriolanus without the tragedy.
The problem with this particular Shakespeare play is that we never really get inside the head of the lead character. Unlike protagonists elsewhere in Shakespeare’s tragedies, he has no soliloquies. So we don’t understand and empathise with him in the way we do with, say, Hamlet or Macbeth.
He is a Roman soldier, but more than that he is a weapon, created by Rome’s military culture and specifically by his mother (the only human being he seems to care about). At the beginning, he establishes his military credentials in warfare. After that, it’s all about Rome trying to control this missile they have launched.
Actual physical fighting takes up a small but, in this production, memorable part of the play. Mostly we watch people talking about Coriolanus, trying to persuade him to be what he can’t be, which is to say someone who bites his tongue, compromises and flatters, and fatally underestimating him.
When he returns to Rome a hero, he seems an obvious candidate for a peacetime leader. The trouble is, he can’t hide his feelings of contempt for people and politics. Rome turns against him, then finds the missile pointed at them.
Coriolanus is up against the two great forces of Rome at that time, the plebeians and the patricians, and Shakespeare appears to have little time for either. The former are a rabble who are easily swayed, the latter are self-serving: ‘the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians’.
Coriolanus at the National Theatre. Photo: Misan Harriman
On the face of it, Coriolanus is a simple soldier, a man of principle who refuses to play the political game and seeks revenge when betrayed. As in any tragedy, his actions lead to his downfall but we are uncertain whether they are a symptom of arrogance, pride, humility, or simply a soldier’s rigid ideas of right and wrong? Lindsey Turner‘s production doesn’t discount or endorse any of these possibilities, leaving us with his inability to empathise and his black-and-white view of the world.
David Oyelowo provides us with a Coriolanus full of power and subtle feelings. He is undoubtedly a man of action. No-one in a Shakespeare play can be said to be a man of few words, and certainly Coriolanus bestows sone of Shakespeare’s finest metaphors in on those who let him down. Still, by the Bard’s standards, he is positively tight-lipped. Mr Oyelowo speaks the poetry clearly and fluently but it’s through his face and body that he most expresses his puzzlement and anger at what he encounters.
From the start, Mr Oyelowo conveys nobility- but he is a soldier first. As another soldier says: ‘Let me have war…it exceeds peace as far as day does night.’ He has a soldier’s bearing and bluntness. He bares his ripped body more than once, which contributes to the sense that he is very much an alpha male in a world of betas. In Rome during peacetime, he walks and sits awkwardly. He only seems comfortable when fighting. And the sword fight scenes are pretty exciting, as choreographed by Sam Lyon-Behan.
Whenever he leaves the stage, the temperature drops. None of the other characters emerge with much credit or force, although the actors do. Peter Forbes as Menenius, the wily politician trying to pour oil on troubled waters, is suitably patrician. Stephanie Street and Jordan Metcalfe as the devious populist tribunes Sicinius and Brutus are appropriately slimy. Kobna Holdbrook-Smith as Aufidius is also a successful soldier but, in contrast to his sworn enemy Coriolanus, he can play the political game. Pamela Novete as Coriolanus’s domineering mother has the right hectoring tone and, judging by the way she influences him into his fateful decisions, gives us another major clue to Coriolanus’s character. He respects, even fears her, but there’s no hint of love between them.
Lindsey Turner’s production brings out the contrast between the soldiers, who built and protect Rome, and the inhabitants who take for granted the benefits of peace that the army’s feats bring them. Her production begins with a video projection, designed by Ash J Woodward, where people are shown from high above scuttling around like ants.
Es Devlin provides an impressive set that continues this theme. It dominates the production and the people- maybe a little too much. The story may speak about war and democracy, heroes and the populace but it is told on a human scale. The huge set distracts from the humanity. On the other hand, when those massive marble blocks descend to create a feeling of the power and history of Rome, we get the sense that the current Romans, both the elite and the people, are like the ants we saw earlier.
There are many artefacts on tables which suggest a museum, perhaps indicating the past was once the present, that this story will soon be history, and that history constantly repeats itself. After all, we can see many examples today of populism and political ambition threatening democracy, and of people who would rather fight than compromise. This is underlined by the way the actors are in modern dress. There is a moment at the end that indicates fighters like Coriolanus will always be needed and always remembered.
A sense of hubris- that the character has brought his fate upon himself because of decisions he made deliberately- is essential to tragedy. In presenting Coriolanus as a soldier who has no interest in democracy or even other people, we lose any sense of him making a decision. In his mind there is no choice. At the Donmar a few tears ago, Tom Hiddleston made Coriolanus an arrogant aristocrat, which is one of many possible interpretations. The audience could see he’d brought his fate upon himself by choice. To me, that is why, despite David Oyewolo’s brilliant performance, this production is flat, a situation compounded by making the plebeians and the patriachs so pathetic that you wouldn’t blame Coriolanus even if had made a conscious decision to fight them.
With all the other characters reduced in stature in this production, the drama of conflict is diminished. No-one really tests him (except maybe his mother). It becomes very much about how Coriolanus is a misfit, and he’s a one trick pony, a single-minded soldier with no inner conflict.
It remains an interesting evening, but not I think one for the history books, despite an unforgettable performance from David Oyelowo.
Coriolanus can be seen at the National Theatre until 9 November 2024
Arthur Hughes and Peter Sandys-Clarke in The King’s Speech. Photo: Alex Brenner
One of the best things about where I live is that my closest producing theatre is the Watermill in Newbury, which was named The Stage’s Theatre Of The Year. The venue is quite a miracle really because it has a tiny stage and it no longer receives an Arts Council grant, yet it consistently knocks out excellent shows and occasionally an absolute banger- like The King’s Speech.
One of the challenges of mounting a play like The King’s Speech is that you, as an audience, know what’s going to happen. If you’re not familiar with British history pre-World War Two, then you’ve probably seen the film. This means the drama is not in what’s going to happen, but how it happens.
The King’s Speech was originally written as a play, even though it was first produced as a film, and you can easily imagine, when you watch the screen version, why it succeeds so well on stage: most of the action takes place in small rooms. By the time we get to Westminster Abbey, we’re so absorbed, we don’t even think about the missing grandeur. Well, I didn’t anyway.
The triumph of David Seidler’s script (he also wrote the Oscar-winning screenplay) is in the portrayal of two men from very different backgrounds- one a member of the highest family in the land, the other a commoner, and a colonial commoner at that- who form a bond. Prince Albert, as the future King Edward VIII’s brother, is being forced onto centre stage, to use a theatrical metaphor, but he is terrified of public speaking because he has a stammer. Lionel Logue is an Australian who has made a career as an outlier in the profession of speech therapy but has ambitions to be an actor.
At first the Prince is stiff and tetchy, not to mention skeptical of the process. He is played by Peter Sandys-Clarke who is every bit as good as his predecessors in the role- Colin Firth in the movie and Charles Edwards on stage. We feel his frustration, panic and the gradual thawing of his frigid persona. He communicates this so well, that you are at times on the edge of your seat wondering if he will get out a particular word, at others almost tearful when, even momentarily, he manages to overcome his affliction.
The relationship between the two blossoms partly because of the Prince’s desperation to be cured but as much because of Lionel’s lese-majesty. He treats the future King as an ordinary person, calls him ‘Bertie’ and thus builds friendship and trust. Arthur Hughes, with a believable Australian accent, is an extraordinarily good actor. He brings to the role an ability to look both indifferent to being rejected and caring about his client simultaneously, using a bend of the head, an intense look and a cheeky smile.
Another reason that they bond is that both are flawed. They are sensitive men who were bullied by their fathers and consider themselves failures. There is a particularly moving scene when Lionel cries in the arms of his wife. So, the success of the treatment would represent redemption for both of them.
A portrait of the monarchy at a turning point
Arthur Hughes, Aamira Challenger and Peter Sandys-Clarke in The King’s Speech. Photo: Alex Brenner
Director Emma Butler uses the stage well, with characters entering from the back of the auditorium as if from the world outside, the would-be puppetmaster leaders appearing high up at the back of the stage, and the Prince moving right to the front when he speaks to the people, so you can see the rabbit-in-the-headlights look in his eyes.
The flaw in this play is in the use of the other characters. With the exception of the wives, they are there primarily to provide historical context. We need to know that King Edward VIII wanted to marry a divorced woman and this threatened a constitutional crisis- and if we were in any doubt about whether this was fair, we are also told he was a Nazi sympathiser. And we need to be informed that there was a lack of confidence among the elite about Prince Albert becoming King George VI just before the war, because he would need to be able to speak to the nation, in order to reassure them in our darkest hour.
The supporting cast provide us with fine cariacatures but inevitably there is no depth to them, and no matter how it’s dressed up, it feels like we’re being given a potted history lesson. Jim Kitson is Churchill, Stephen Rahman-Hughes plays Edward VIII and prime minister Baldwin, and Christopher Naylor is an excellent snobbish and waspish Archbishop of Canterbury. That reminds me that are a great many funny lines in this play, including the one where Churchill says to the Archbishop: ‘You may have been elected by God, but he only has one vote.’
The wives are important for the support they give but also because they are the people their spouses can speak to about their intimate feelings. Aamira Challenger is an amusing Elizabeth, and Rosa Hesmondhalgh brings out the frustration and compassion felt by Lionel’s wife Myrtle.
In this play, we find the monarchy at a turning point. The rise of radio, as well as a less subservient press, make it vital that the future King speaks confidently. He will no longer be a remote figure. Instead, he will be expected to talk directly to his people in their own homes, and will be seen by them as a human being. So, the sound, designed by Robin Colyer, plays an important part in the production, from the gramophone Lionel uses to help Bertie, to the microphone that looms in front of him, to the thumping of his heart over the speakers.
Breta Gerecke is the latest designer challenged with fitting a quart of set into the pint pot of the Watermill stage, and she does a good job. The floor is kept clear of all but essential furniture but at the back are three rising dominant structures which start as staircases and break up into planks of wood, symbolising the perilously disconnected structure of Prince Albert’s brain.
It’s an absorbing and uplifting production in which the script, the two principal actors and the intimate space of the Watermill combine to provide generous measures of tension and empathy. If you live anywhere near Newbury, you should go see it.
Adam Dannheisser in Fiddler On The Roof. Photo: Marc Brenner
Fiddler On The Roof opened on Broadway in 1964, and became the first Broadway musical to pass 3000 performances. Since then there have been tens of thousands of productions: there are said to be 500 amateur productions a year in the USA alone. Proof, if needed, that this story of a small Jewish Community in Russia at the beginning of the twentieth century is an audience favourite, all over the world and across all races and faiths. But why does it touch so many hearts? And what is so special about this latest iteration at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre?
Fiddler On The Roof is built around the story of a milkman called Tevye and his conflicts with his daughters over who they should marry. If you haven’t seen Fiddler, or maybe even if you have, you might have the impression that this is all it’s about- a comedy in which Tevye talks to the audience, talks to God and even talks to the violin player about his dilemmas. The idea that it is a light-hearted musical has been reinforced by the cheeriness of the most famous Tevye, Chaim Topol, and the way all the best tunes are loaded in the first half.
We move through Tradition, Matchmaker and If I Were A Rich Man, almost while people are still taking their seats; Sunrise, Sunset follows rapidly, then The Dream which is performed hilariously in this production by all the cast dressed in white acting out Tevye’s apparent nightmare, and, at the climax of act one, the great Bottle Dance, based on Jerome Robbins’ original idea but in this production excitingly choreographed by Julia Cheng, best known until now for her work on the current hit production of Cabaret. All these most familiar moments are gone by the time you claim your interval drink. Which is not to say there aren’t some good numbers in the second act.
I don’t want to talk too much about the second half, in case you haven’t seen Fiddler, but it becomes much clearer that what the first act was setting us up for is the need to compromise our traditions as the world changes, wherever we live, whatever the time, and whatever our own age. And that this will help us face adversity, and not give in to despair. And while this is a positive message in this sometimes depressing world, it comes against a dark backdrop of a small impoverished Russian Jewish Community in 1905, living in relative poverty and threatened by antisemitism. That it still packs a punch today is a credit to the writer of the book Joseph Stein, the lyricist Sheldon Harnick and of course composer Jerry Bock who combined a traditional east European sound with modern music to make unforgettable show tunes.
I was a bit worried when I realised the director was Jordan Fein who was responsible for the downbeat version of Oklahoma! at the Young Vic. I do realise there is a dark undercurrent in Oklahoma! but I felt his gloomy treatment sucked all the joy out of the musical. But here, his ability to see the dark side of a musical is tempered by a lightness of touch, and the heavier theme is handled with sobriety rather than despair. He doesn’t labour the destruction of the community nor the modern parallels, any more than the musical itself does, but he doesn’t skate over them either, as previous productions have tended to do. You could say he has succeeded in balancing the traditional view of Fiddler with a modern sensibility.
Fiddler On The Roof at the Open Air Theatre. Photo: Marc Brenner
Tom Scutt’s design is extraordinary. The costumes feel authentic, all loose simple clothes, that look handmade. The irony is not lost that The Open Air Theatre is the only major London theatre without a roof, but he has created a roof across the stage that looks like a wheat field, symbolising the way the community live off the land. It acts as the village’s protection, yet seems ready to crush them like a Venus Flytrap. The roof dominates but never distracts and it’s high up on that roof that the fiddler is first seen and heard. Raphael Papo is the talented violinist.
Adam Dannheisser banishes all thoughts of Topol
The choice of Adam Dannheisser to play Tevye is inspired. He has a great ability to convey his attempts to reconcile the previous way of matchmaking and the new way of marrying for love. His commanding physical stature helps him seem like an authoritative father figure, but this is accompanied by a world weariness, an uncertainty and a benign quality, expressed through his gentle eyes and gestures. Strong on the outside, soft on the inside, he articulates the inner conflict he feels in trying to reconcile tradition and the modern world. It’s an eternal conflict that audiences identify with.
It seems invidious to pick out other members of the universally excellent cast but I have to bring attention to Lara Pulver as Golde, who provides a strong willed wife for Tevye and has an superb singing voice, best illustrated in the bittersweet duet Do You Love Me?
All the daughters sing and act beautifully. The oldest daughter Tzeitel is played by Liv Andrusier with chutzpah. Dan Wolff is a suitably shy and awkward as her choice of husband Motel. Daniel Krikler is the passionate radical Perchik who wants to marry another strong-minded daughter Hodel, played by Georgia Bruce. Hannah Bristow is the bookish daughter Chava who falls in love with Fyedka, played by George Milne. Comedy is provided by Beverley Klein as the matchmaker Yente, and Michael S Siegel as the miserable butcher Lazar Wolf.
It’s a production that perfectly balances the humorous and the serious.
Fiddler On The Roof can be seen at the Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre until 28 September 2024
Paul paid for his own ticket
Click here to watch this review on the YouTube channel Theatre reviews With Paul Seven
It’s a Mystery why Witness For The Prosecution is a Success. Here are the Clues
★★★
Witness For The Prosecution at County Hall. Photo: Pamela Raith
It’s been on since 2017 but somehow I never quite got round to seeing Witness For The Prosecution. To be honest, there was a little bit of prejudice involved. Partly, much as I enjoy an Agatha Christie novel, I have seen her plays before and found them a little stilted. Secondly, it seemed a bit gimmicky to be presenting the play in the old County Hall. The mystery is, it works. So, I’ve engaged my little grey cells and I think I’ve solved the mystery of why it’s a success.
The first clue is the venue. County Hall, near Waterloo, and by the Thames, is a magnificent building. It was the home of the old London Council. Just entering is a stunning experience. The auditorium for Witness For The Prosecution is the former debating chamber. Consequently, it has very comfortable seating, with a terrific view- you wouldn’t expect anything less for the politicians running the capital city. It’s almost worth going to see the play just to sit in the chamber.
Although you can regard setting the play there as a gimmick, it may be more generous to call it ‘site specific’. The important thing is, it works. That’s partly because the auditorium has the grandeur you associate with the Old Bailey, where most of the play is set, and partly because the layout of the chamber with two sides facing one another matches the adversarial nature of a court case, which is the main subject of the play.
Then there’s the play itself. It starts with a scene in the chambers of a defence barrister Sir Wilfrid Robarts. This seems to confirm your worst fears. In 1953, when Agatha Christie wrote Witness For The Prosecution, theatre was changing- it’s the same year that Samuel Beckett’s Waiting For Godot premiered, and three years before John Osborne‘s ‘kitchen sink’ drama Look Back In Anger opened- both of which are being revived in the West End this year, by the way. But the style of this play looks backward rather than forward. The people are middle class, and everyone speaks as they ought to, rather than as they would. The dialogue is like any standard so-called ‘drawing room’ play- or film- from the early part of the century.
Then, we are taken to the criminal court. The place where to this day, they still behave like people from the 1950s, or 1850s even.
The clue here as to why Witness of The Prosecution is a success against the odds is in the talent of the creators of this production, director Lucy Bailey and designer William Dudley, to see the potential for this old building as a setting for a play mainly taking place in a courtroom. Chris Davey’s lighting is pretty impressive too- emphasising drama and contrast.
And the final clue: Agatha Christie herself. Now her characters may be ciphers, in the sense that they exist purely in the service of the twisty legal drama and don’t have a lot of depth, but the plot is grippingly good. It’s not just a clever story full of mystery and twists (although it is) but it’s also supplied with a lot of realistic detail. Ms Christie studied many court cases and had the help of a barrister to make sure the legal details are accurate.
George Jones and Meghan Treadway in Witness For The Prosecution. Photo: Pamela Raith
That helps a lot. But so does her story. We begin with Leonard Vole, a handsome cockerney lad accused of murder. He protests his innocence and we believe him but he is clearly too honest and too naive for his own good. The cast changes every so often but currently George Jones plays him with conviction – sorry, that’s probably an inappropriate word, better to say, ‘convincingly’. Leonard had befriended an older well-off woman who was found dead one evening not long after he had visited her, and it turns out she’s left him her fortune.
It’s a challenge to defend him but Sir Wilfrid, with humour and a degree of arrogant self confidence, decides to take on the case. Oliver Boot nails the role and dominates the stage, as he should. Sir Wilfrid and Leonard’s concerned solicitor Mr Mayhew, played by Ewen Cummins, subsequently discuss the case with condescension, patronising humour, and a dash of misogyny.
And the case goes well. A benign and predictably stuffy judge Mr Justice Wainwright is played by David Killick with authority and a twinkle in his eye, as he watches Sir Wilfrid run rings around the exasperated prosecution lawyer Mr Myers, played by Gyuri Sarossy who keeps bouncing back like a punch drunk fighter. He destroys witness after witness including the forensic scientist Dr Wyatt played by Nicholas Chambers, and the vindictive housekeeper Janet MacKenzie, given an scene stealing turn by Veronica Roberts. Finally, Leonard’s wife appears as a witness for the prosecution and, under oath to tell the truth, demolishes Leonard’s alibi. It’s a bravura performance by Meghan Treadway.
Why has she done this? The second act reveals all. And you realise as twist follows twist just how much Ms Christie has misled you, maybe even taken advantage of your expectations of a traditional ‘drawing room’ play. You see that, dammit, just like the people who meet her character Miss Marple, you’ve underestimated the Queen of Crime.
It turns out to be a very satisfactory evening, well put together, well acted and well produced in a striking venue. Mystery solved.
Witness For The Prosecution can be seen at the County Hall in London for the foreseeable future.
