Michael Balogun, Hadley Fraser & Nigel Lindsay in The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
Lehman Brothers Inc was the highest profile bankruptcy of the 2008 financial crash. Of course there were bigger investment banks in America that played an even bigger part in the collapse of the financial markets and many banks, in the UK as well as the US, ended up being bailed out with our money. But it was important that someone got punished and Lehman was not in the category of ‘too big to fail’.
We are all still suffering from that collapse and subsequent bailout, of course, but at least one good thing came out of it- The Lehman Trilogy. It began, as so many great shows have, at the subsidised National Theatre, went on to the West End then to Broadway and now it’s back in the West End, laden with Oliviers and Tonys, at the Gillian Lynne theatre. With a new cast. So do they measure up to the originals, and what is it that has made a play about a subject as dry as finance such a huge success?
The Lehman Trilogy asks the question, how did a company as important and powerful as Lehmans end up being so reckless and destructive. To find out we travel back to when Henry Lehman and his two younger brothers first came to America back in 1844.
It’s an epic story told on a large stage. At the centre is a large box in which the action takes place. Parts of it are glazed, and the inside is divided into spaces by glass. It is the kind of modern characterless glass office occupied by financial institutions everywhere. It is decorated with a desk, a boardroom table, and lots of boxes used for transporting files- memorably seen as sacked employees carried them out of the building.
We start with the moment Lehmans went bust. Everything that happens in the 164 years leading up to that moment takes place in that space, so we never forget where we’re heading. At the back and sides of the stage, designer Es Devlin has placed a semi-circular wall onto which projects appropriate landscapes that give us a visual context- the cotton fields of Alabama that provided the Lehmans with their first trading opportunity to the skyscrapers of New York.
The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
As I said, the scale of the story is epic, the set feels epic, yet amazingly, just three actors play not only those three brothers but the succeeding generations and everyone they come in contact with. They tell us the story, and act it out, sometimes without even carrying out the actions they are describing. At one point, a character says about himself ‘he adjusts his tie’ but he doesn’t actually do it. Our own imagination creates the epic.
Myriad characters come and go, often briefly but vividly sketched. The actors, without changing costumes, become children, brides-to-be, cotton farmers, and many more. This leads to a lot of comedy but it also means they never quite stop being, nor can we forget, those immigrant brothers who started it all.
It is the purest kind of acting that relies not on props or costumes but entirely on voice and body. They speak a rhythmic language that verges on poetry or perhaps more accurately rap. In fact, much of this play’s power comes from Ben Powers’ adaptation of Stefano Massini’s Italian original script.
It’s a Brechtian way of telling a story, interesting, funny and gripping but not emotionally involving, which is reinforced by it taking place within a glass box. So, we always see that this is a story not of a family but of American capitalism.
It is an acting tour de force from Michael Balogun, Hadley Fraser and Nigel Lindsay. There is one wonderful moment I remember when Hadley Fraser plays eight different potential brides in rapid succession. Or the same actor, who I would have to say was the first among equals, briefly plays a man described as someone whose body is built around his smile. And it is.
So, in three acts, we see the brothers committed to their Alabama community trading in actual goods- cotton- buying , selling and transporting it. Helping rebuild the cotton trade after a disastrous fire. At first, you admire their ability also to see disasters as opportunities.
The new generation born in America begin to forget their Jewish roots: shiva when the first brother dies lasts seven days, the next three days, then, so anxious are they not close the business, three minutes silence for the last of the brothers.
Money becomes all important. They no longer trade in something physical- they never see the coffee or iron or other commodities. They trade shares not products. As the new generations succeed the old, the Lehmans become shareholders not partners so they have much less to lose, and the risks become greater. After a period of regulation following the Wall Street Crash, the American idea of liberty, so inspiring but also so potentially damaging, re-emerges and the scene is set for the final disaster.
It’s a salutary tale that makes you admire these entrepreneurs, then despise the heartless money grabbers they become, while laughing at the sheer lunacy of ithe world of finance.
Hadley Fraser in The Lehman Trilogy. Photo: Mark Douet
The third act tails off a little as the final Lehman dies, without any of them suffering the consequences of their actions. It is others that take the company and the financial world over the edge. But not without a , as they found out when the music stopped moment when a metaphor of dancing sees the last of the Lehmans, again it’s Hadley Fraser, no longer making decisions but simply standing on a table doing the twist, as the computer coding spins across the back projection, showing the algorithms that have taken over from human beings, making him and his colleagues more and more money but taking them further and further from the real world. It is literally dizzying, as dizzying as the bankers found it trying to understand their own complicated and ultimately worthless financial packages, which became apparent when the music stopped. A special word of praise to the video designer Luke Halls.
This may not be a story that you can get emotionally involved in, but this is Theatre at its finest, thanks to director Sam Mendes and his writers.
If you haven’t already seen it, don’t miss this opportunity.
Janet McTeer excels in a dramatic tale of forbidden love by Simon Stone
★★★★
Phaedra at the National Theatre. Photo: Johan Persson
On the whole, I loved Phaedra by Simon Stone at the National Theatre‘s Lyttelton auditorium. There was just one element I didn’t like. First, let me tell you what was so good about it.
Don’t worry if you’re not keen on Greek tragedy. This is not a production full of togas and choruses. It’s a bang-up-to-date tale of a politician who has an affair. The essential story of Phaedra is still there, as told in Ancient Greece by Euripides, in Ancient Rome by Seneca the Younger, in the middle of the last millennium by Racine, and many times over since including relatively recently by Sarah Kane.
It’s always been a tale of forbidden love, originally of a princess falling in love with her stepson, but in this new version, the young man is already in his forties and he’s the son of a former lover. So, not a stepson, and certainly not a young man being taken advantage of. I guess most of us can understand the way love, or lust, can overtake reason. The forbidden love is, on the face of it, that of someone whose passionate feelings lead her into infidelity- simple adultery, although not so simple, as it turns out.
Our protagonist, called not Phaedra but Helen, is a shadow cabinet minister. You might think her forbidden love is not so much for someone other than her husband but her love for herself. This play is dominated by an examination of a certain kind of liberal middle-class people who have no moral code beyond what they feel.
We first meet a family bickering over breakfast. A teenage son is uncontrolled in his language or subject matter in front of and towards his parents. The older daughter, just visiting, is not much less restrained. The affable father jokes with them about sex. It seems to be a family without boundaries. You may or may not approve of the liberal principle of treating the children as equals, as quasi-grown-ups but, in this case, the children seem to have become self-centred and lacking in respect. Helen, the mother, leads by example. This is brought home by the way they speak over one another, barely listening. You may find this scene appalling or laugh-out-loud funny or both.
The self obsession extends beyond family to the rest of the world. Helen can be seen as the patronising face of first world- imperialist, even- attitudes towards other cultures. For example, when Helen spent time in Morocco, she didn’t bother to learn the language, and she hasn’t taken the trouble to find out where her black, best friend was born.
McKenzie Davis and Assaad Bouab in Phaedra. Photo: Johan Persson
Then Sofiane arrives. He reminds Helen of his father- her past Moroccan lover, a man who died in a car crash and whose letter to his son provides an intermittent sub-titled voiceover expressing hope and regret. Sofiane makes clear he reciprocates the feelings Helen has for him. It’s not just that he’s like his father physically, he too is a political activist and that reminds her even more of how she not only has traded physical excitement for a boring marriage but has given up the thrill of activism for the compromise of party politics. I don’t need to tell you how often an older person has an affair to try to recapture lost youth.
Despite changes to the plot and the modern setting, this is still a Greek tragedy in its structure. I won’t go any further with the story, except to say Simon Stone has retained those ancient ideas that people who misbehave get punished, and revenge moves through the generations. So, there are many twists, and it does all end badly. In fact, the ending is very dramatic, almost melo-dramatic.
It’s a well-told story with much comedy and many great set scenes. One in particular takes place in a restaurant where the family and close friends are gathered for Helen’s 60th birthday. Revelation follows revelation in a scene that wouldn’t go amiss in a farce, with glasses smashing, home truths spewing out, and Helen all the while lamenting loudly about the distraction from her celebration.
Janet McTeer in Phaedra. Photo: Johan Persson/
The acting is marvellous. Janet McTeer is so on point as this totally self-absorbed politician. She talks at speed, with passion and intensity, and expresses her feelings so naturally, that you forget she’s acting. The script gives her the platform for what will surely turn out to be one of the acting performances of the year.
Paul Chahidi as her husband Hugo is terrific too in the role of this put-upon husband and father who manages to keep afloat with jokes and diplomacy. He’s charming and likeable, but also exudes insignificance. You can see why he appealed to the dominating Helen, but also why she was ready to be unfaithful to Sofiane, played by the handsome, charismatic Assaad Bouab.
All the cast impress but a special word for Akiya Henry as Helen’s friend and fellow shadow cabinet member Omolara. She portrays an easy-going person who seems to take Helen’s ignorance of her background and her mockery of her religion with good humour, but you sense an iron core that emanates from her moral grounding (something Helen lacks) and she has the kind of painted smile that conceals an objective, calculating mind.
Canadian screen star Mckenzie Davis makes an impressive stage debut, riding a rollercoaster of emotions as Helen’s daughter Isolde.
No thinking outside the box
So what didn’t I like? The design. All the action takes place within a revolving glass box . This was an interesting coincidence because only the night before I saw Phaedra, I saw The Lehman Trilogy which also features a revolving glass box. But, whereas the latter worked, this didn’t. The effect is perhaps of making the audience feel like the Greek and Roman Gods who would look down on humans and their folly. Or it could suggest the way in which the characters are trapped, in this case in a cycle of betrayal and revenge. The many uprights may have been intended to reinforce the idea of the characters being in a prison but they too often obscured the faces of the actors. It was a shame not to see the agonies their characters were going through.
The biggest problem caused by the design is that every change of scene took forever. Sometimes the scene change was longer than the following scene! When you’re dealing with a raised box with awkward access and egress, everything takes much longer than it would if the action had taken place on the stage floor and scenery could be rolled on and off easily. The extended blackouts would have been intolerable but for Stefan Gregory’s hypnotic sound which played as we waited.
Designer Chloe Lamford’s talent is beyond question, and the sets within the box did look fantastic. It’s just the box that didn’t work. I don’t want to lay all the blame at her door because it could well be that she was simply doing what director Simon Stone wanted. The last production by him that I saw was Yerma at the Young Vic, and that too took place behind glass walls, so maybe it’s his thing.
Crown star Emma Corrin is mesmerising in comedy about gender freedom
★★★★
Emma Corrin in Orlando. Photo: Marc Brenner
It may be nearly a hundred years since Virginia Woolf wrote the novel Orlando, but it’s only todat that our society has caught up with its story about the fluidity of gender, desire and time. As the novel, quoted in the play, says: ‘If you can just live another century.’
Emma Corrin, probably best known as young Princess Diana in The Crown, plays the eponymous protagonist. When the play begins, Orlando is a young male aristocrat in the court of Queen Elizabeth I.
In our first encounter with him, we catch a glimpse of a penis. It’s a startling and funny moment that sets the scene for the rest of the evening. His trusty servant-come-dresser-come-tutor-come-guardian angel Mrs Grimsditch tries to get him to put his trousers on. Deborah Findlay is funny, warm and down-to-earth, providing a necessary foil for Emma Corrin who gives a mesmerising performance as the romantic, confused, freedom-loving hero. The symbolic trouser-wearing is a motif throughout the play.
Even if they prefer the non-binary pronoun ‘they’, Emma Corrin, of course, doesn’t have a penis. It’s a theatrical prop. Before long, Orlando has lost that organ and mysteriously become a woman, as well as moving on many years to the court of James I without getting much older. To confirm the sex change, we catch a glimpse of her breasts, which I think were real but this is theatre, a world of pretence, so who knows?
In fact, theatre is a theme of this play. It moves through many theatrical styles as Orlando navigates from Elizabethan (a hint of Shakespeare) to Jacobean to Regency to Victorian times to the gradual liberation of the modern era. This substitutes for the literary journey that Orlando undertakes in the original novel. Theatre is not as effective a barometer for the changing attitudes to women, but it works nicely as a metaphor for being whatever you want to be.
To support the theme, Michael Grandage and designer Peter McKintosh have created a set that looks like a bare stage with brickwork and a large metal door. It’s populated with the trappings of a theatre- ropes and counterweights, a large costumes basket, a clothes rail, a stepladder and more. The set frequently features a bed that starts large and becomes much smaller in Victorian times (the worst of all periods for women). Having set up the theme, I think Neil Bartlett could have put it across more strongly in the script. There seems to be no equivalent of the constantly changing book that Orlando is writing and that provides a unifying thread through the novel.
From the start, this dramatised version offers the kind of inventive freewheeling imagination found in the original novel, because no less than nine Virginia Woolfs appear, speaking together and separately, to tell us the multi-faceted story of Orlando.
Emma Corrin in Orlando. Photo: Marc Brenner
Much as she liked being a man, Orlando likes being a woman more and that’s how they remain, as the play develops into a romp through three centuries of the history of women in our society. And just as there are many different Virginia Woolfs, Orlando discovers there are many different ways we can desire. They also realise that time is elastic rather than linear, and that (spoiler alert) life needs to be enjoyed go the full in the here and now. It is above all a story that lauds the freedom of poetic imagination above the prosaic.
Orlando finds out what it is to be a woman, an experience made more shocking by them having been a man. They experience the disturbing effect a bare leg can have on heterosexual men and the way misogynistic men subjugate women. They realise that women can love each other, that love and betrayal go hand in hand. They find that men and women can dress up as each other for practical as well as sexual purposes.
Emma Corrin and DEborah Fidnlay in Orlando. Photo: Marc Brenner
Orlando is an everyperson rather than an intrepid hero or overpowering genius. Emma Corrin is tremendous at portraying the inarticulacy of the character, the frequent lack of understanding, but also the enthusiasm and optimism. They dominate the stage with their wide eyes, knotted features, hesitant speech, squirming body and sparkling smile. It’s a performance that is both funny and sad, and thoroughly engaging. As with the relationship between Orlando and Mrs Grimsditch, Emma Corrin’s youthful exuberance is balanced by the twinkly-eyed experience of Deborah Findlay.
In a play where gender is fluid, an entirely female cast bar one takes on all the roles, which of course leads to some mockery of men. Lucy Briers memorably plays a blustering naval officer who moves like a bantam cock. She also provides a haughty Queen Elizabeth.
Although writer Neil Bartlett couldn’t hope to convey the depth and complexity of Virginia Woolf’s novel, he does pick the important themes and moments, and by introducing the author onto the stage we get to hear direct quotes from the novel in her stream-of-consciousness way of writing.
Missing, in this fast moving 80 minute play, were the deeper relationships. Orlando’s first love Sasha whom they never forget, is played with verve by Millicent Wong, and their last Marmaduke is given a sensitive portrayal by Jodie McNee. But these lovers flash by as we skim across the surface of Orlando’s life. Their journey is not always pleasant, but it is ultimately optimistic.
Orlando is an entertaining evening thanks in no small part to Emma Corrin who displays all the signs of being a great star of the stage.
Orlando is playing at the Garrick Theatre in London until 25 February 2023.
Terry Johnson’s new play about ‘Swingers’ is a mess
★★
John Hopkins, Lisa Dwan and Molly Osborne in The Sex Party. Photo: Alistair Muir
It’s hard to describe how disappointed I was by my visit to the Menier Chocolate Factory to see The Sex Party. In the past, I have laughed at and thoroughly enjoyed plays by Terry Johnson, from Insignificance and Dead Funny to the recent Prism, but The Sex Party, both written and directed by Mr Johnson, turns out to be a very po-faced comedy.
There’s no sex and not much partying. But that’s not why I was disappointed. I fully expected Terry Johnson to be dissecting the party-goers rather than, metaphorically, taking off his undies and joining in. It had hints of the play it could been, one that used laughter to skewer middle-class liberal hypocrisy, and provoked thoughts about gender and sexuality. Instead, The Sex Party is so sensitive about doing and saying the right thing, all the light-heartedness has been sucked out of it.
At every turn, something else is thrown in to expose the limits of the apparent libertarianism of the people who are taking part in this orgy. So thick and fast do they come, that you hardly have time to consider the implications of one point, before we move on to the next one, until you wonder how much more will be loaded onto the ship before it sinks. Add to which, the play’s characters are just too lightweight to carry its heavyweight themes.
The play is entirely set in Tim Shortall’s naturalistic set which wonderfully recreates a kitchen in affluent Islington. Now, I know it’s not unusual for people at a party to gather in the kitchen, but there was meant to be an orgy taking place. That was through the door to the right. There was also a door to the left leading into the garden. A perfect set-up for a French farce, you might think. Think again. No, this is about what happens in the kitchen.
That’s where we meet all the couples. That’s where we learn about their relationships, and what happens when sexual permissiveness puts those relationships to the test. And that’s not the only trial these party-goers face.
Molly Osborne, Jason Merrells & Lisa Dwan in The Sex Party. Photo: Alistair Muir
So, couples start to arrive. The host Alex is friendly and organised but somewhat world-weary and dissatisfied- and reluctant to leave the kitchen. Jason Merrells is very good at portraying that point when a mature man is going from craggy to seedy. His much younger partner Hetty, played by Molly Osborne, is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and looking forward to lots of sex with lots of men. Jake and Gilly, played by John Hopkins and Lisa Dwan, are first timers and are there to watch and maybe have sex with each other, but not with anybody else. However, it seems Gilly is keener to experiment than uptight Jake, but she needs a lot of alcohol, as do most of the characters.
In an interview with Terry Johnson in the programme, he talks of the need to get a big laugh in early, so the audience knows it’s a ‘laughing audience’. The play succeeds in that respect when Gilly says that her safe words during sex are ‘Don’t stop’.
Other couples- and more very good actors- follow. Jeff is played by the great Timothy Hutton. What a coup to get this Oscar-winning film actor and splendid stage performer to make his London debut in this play. His character is , and Mr Hutton is magnificent in the role of a rich, right-wing American. He and his plain talking Russian wife Magdalena, played with a heavy accent by Amanda Ryan, are both experienced partygoers. The insults this couple throw at each other certainly liven up the evening, but then, insulting each other turns out to be par for the course for all the guests.
The final couple are Tim, high on drugs, and Camilla, an uptight radical feminist, played by Boris Johnson lookalike Will Barton and Kelly Price. I don’t think we ever find out what they have in common, except perhaps that he likes to be dominated and she likes to have the keys to the cage.
So, they’re there to take part in an orgy. But we’re not. It’s clear we’re not here to be titillated, nor to exploit these actors. There’s no sex going on in the kitchen: a little bit of kissing, but no other physical contact. And, whatever might be going on elsewhere, there’s no nudity. The women do wear lingerie, and two of the men bare their chests, but that’s the extent of it. This is a serious comedy.
A major problem with this play is that, with the possible exception of the host Alex, all these characters are caricatures. They all seem like they’re from a 1960s bedroom farce. I suspect this is a deliberate ploy by Terry Johnson, so that our expectations can be eventually confounded. The difficulty is, when it seems like they’re only there for the laughs, it is extremely hard to believe in them, or their situations.
Act One seems to go round in circles, arriving again and again at the same question of will they, won’t they do whatever it is they are arguing about doing, or not doing.
John Hopkins, Timothy Hutton, Kelly Price & Pooya Mohseni in The Sex Party. Photo: Alistair Muir
Then at the end of act one, the arrival of Lucy, a single person, changes everything, because Lucy is a trans woman. And to the great credit of the production, she is played by a trans woman Pooya Mohseni, who is an excellent actor and brings elegance and sensitivity to the role. So act two resumes with the gang cross-examining Lucy but soon the situation is reversed as the play explores the attitude of these heterosexual cis men and women’s toward sex with a trans woman. The limits of their liberal views are severely tested.
In that interview I mentioned, Mr Johnson says: ‘ Everyone is very careful now. I was full of resentment about it before I took this play on. But I’ve had to adjust to a whole new vocabulary and attitudes.’ Well, he certainly has. The play feels sanitised. Even innuendoes are given short shrift. I understand that many sexual jokes that once had people rolling in the aisles may now be considered offensive, but good comedy is grounded in the world as it is, not as we’d like it to be. I find it hard to believe that a largely middle-aged and often nervous set of people at a sex party wouldn’t have made the occasional double-entendre. Still, perhaps we should be thankful that we were spared the ‘thank you for coming’, ‘thank you for having me’ kind of humour.
I think The Sex Party could have worked well as a play, if it had been less concerned about causing offence, and if it hadn’t tried to shoehorn every gender and sexuality issue you can think of into its two-and-a-bit hours. I’m exaggerating, of course, but here are a few examples: a reference to trans women competing in women’s sport events is lobbed in and batted out within seconds; there’s an interesting but fleeting moment when it’s suggested that although the women appear to be enjoying the freedom of choosing their lovers, the men may still be calling the shots; someone reads out a list of the many genders we can identify with in our modern world that is so tedious, the play loses all momentum. By the time two more serious incidents occurred, instead of taking in the implications of them, I was wondering how much more would be stacked on and taken away from this Jenga of a play.
It also ties itself in knots. There’s a moment in the first act, a kind of precursor to the transgender debate of the second act, when it’s pointed out there are no black people at the party. I thought this could have been explored further but the play moved on, leaving me, at least, to ponder the irony that there are no black actors in the cast.
Every so often there were noises off in the form of loud bangs. I know it was probably a loose door but I couldn’t help wondering if it was the sound of so many half-baked ideas clunking to the floor.
Marvellous, the opening production at the West End’s newest theatre @sohospace, is the story of Neil Baldwin. You may have seen the award winning BBC film of the same name. In which case, you will know about Neil, a man with a learning disability, who, thanks to his sheer determination and happy disposition, became an honorary graduate of Keele University, a clown in a circus, and kit man and mascot for Stoke City football club, as well many other honours including a British Empire Medal.
His story is uplifting, and this play, which originated at the New Vic Theatre in Newcastle-under-Lyme does him justice. It not only recounts the major events of his life, it does so in a way that reflects the anarchic approach of Neil himself.
Thanks largely to his mother, Neil has never accepted any limitations because of his disability. He simply goes and asks, or sometimes goes without asking. accordingly, he applies to be the manager of Stoke City. He doesn’t get that job but he persists and is taken on by the appointed manager Lou Macari as someone who can and does boost morale.
Similarly he rolls up at Keele University where his mother works and starts welcoming students. He is never formally employed there but he is elected a life member of the students union and 50 years later is celebrated with an honorary degree.
Despite his confidence, there are moments when his disability is a cause for discrimination. He is unpaid and treated badly by the circus owner. But, when he’s bullied at school or later at work, he takes it in his stride and gets his own back with a practical joke.
This is a form of theatre that steps outside the restrictions of a formal stage play and makes the audience and the creation of the drama part of the show. So, from the start, the actors gather to construct a play about Neil Baldwin and within minutes Neil, or an actor playing the part of ‘Real Neil’, appears from the audience and becomes an active participant in its creation. This is interesting because Neil himself was involved in the making of this play. And, as we find out at the end, the real Real Neil is actually present, sitting in the Stalls.
Marvellous @sohoplace Photo: Craig Sugden
So he- the character Real Neil- is consulted and increasingly shapes the play that is apparently being created before our eyes. Planned scenes are scrapped, new interpretations introduced. In keeping with his nature, Neil is determined that there should be no serious stuff, keep it happy is his motto.
Nearly all the actors are called upon at one stage or another to play Neil, indicating perhaps his many roles in life. By the second act, Real Neil is playing himself. And what a superb actor Michael Hugo is. He mimics Neil’s characteristicly slow speech, and offers us recognisable twinkling eyes and mischievous grin.
The other actors are also very talented and play a multitude of characters. Alex Frost, Gareth Cassidy, Daniel Murphy and Shelley Atkinson (who was standing in for Charlie Bence), kept us amused with their multitude of accents and their physical comedy. Jerone Marsh-Reid is a brilliant clown and has a breathtaking ability to fall crashing to the ground. Suzanne Ahmet is a commanding presence as Neil’s mother.
The play is packed with displays of stage skills. The slo-mo replays of football tackles are hilarious. Neil has a Mary Poppins-style bag from which most of the props appear (thanks to much activity understage). There are copious custard pies and other forms of slosh including spraying the audience with water and foam. In fact, audience participation is de rigour.
The problem with this show is, the longer it goes on, a play which is at first quick-witted and fast-moving, begins to try too hard to get laughs. It’s as if director Theresa Heskins, who also gets a co-writing credit with Malcolm Clark and of course Neil Baldwin, is throwing in everything but the kitchen sink (well actually there is a kitchen sink of sorts). I was almost expecting a pantomime dame to appear. And in addition to the forced fun, it becomes, by the end, overly sentimental. All of which meant I was less involved than perhaps I should have been.
Behind the comedy, there are some serious points about disability discrimination but also that disability need not be a barrier to achieving your dreams. Of course, in the play, and in the spirit of Neil Baldwin, that would be a cue for another custard pie, because above all else Marvellous is a happy show about a happy man. If you’re looking for a fun night out, it’s certainly worth a visit.
Marvellous can be seen @sohoplace until 26 November 2022.
Douglas Henshall and Brian Vernel in Mary. Photo: Manuel Harlan
This thrilling drama is about the men who surrounded her, exploited her and decided her fate. One is Sir James Melville, a real historical figure, who is the central character of this play. Inspired by a muscular, vigorous script, Douglas Henshall, of Shetland fame, gives a towering performance as an apparently good man, who gave her his support, but ultimately has both his conscience and his loyalty tested.
Mary is part of a series of plays that Rona Munro is writing about the Scottish Stewart monarchy before it amalgamated with the English crown (when James VI of Scotland became James I of England).Unlike the Shakespeare history style of the so-called James Plays, Mary is essentially a three hander but- and this says a lot- Mary Queen Of Scots isn’t one of those three. In fact she hardly makes an appearance.
Yet by the end, you understand a great deal about Mary annd about the position of women in 16th century society, even a queen. When I say 16th century, the script says it’s set in 1581 ‘but it could be any time’. You may not see much of Mary but by the end I think you will feel very sorry for her and shocked by how she was treated.
Ashley Martin-Davis’s set creates the mood perfectly. The back of the stage is filled with wood panelling, the doors invisible until they open. So, it’s very claustrophobic but also quite neutral in terms of the era. Matt Haskins’ lighting design suggests the sun feebly penetraying the darkness of the castle.
The costumes are also not pinned to the 16th century and, in their simplicity, could easily be worn today. In fact, I’m pretty sure I saw Jimmy Perez wearing something similar. The language is contemporary, not cod Shakespearean. All reinforce the idea that what happened to Mary as a woman could happen today, even to a powerful woman.
We begin with John Thompson, lying bloodied on the ground. He’s been beaten up by the powerful but nasty Bothwell. Sir James enters. He has known and served the Queen since her childhood.He’s an authoritative figure, knows his way around court, is confident he can see problems and solve them. He wants to get Thompson cleaned up because he doesn’t want the Queen to see the blood, since that will upset her. From this, we see he is patronisingly protective. He tries to persuade Thompson to help the Queen escape the castle and the clutches of Bothwell- someone else we never meet.
Thompson is ambitious and wants to be sure he chooses the right side. Brian Vernel is a great choice for the part. In the course of the play, we see this weasel of a man change from subservient to dominant without ever losing the sense of his cowardly pragmatism.
Also in the room is a servant, Agnes, played by Rona Morison with an appropriate fire in her belly. Like Thompson, she is a made-up character. It may need a stretch of the imagination to think she could get away with speaking so forthrightly to these men- both of them do express their frustration with her- but she is important to the play, both to show the power and fanaticism of the Protestant faith at that time and therefore the suspicion of the catholic Mary, but also because she gives a woman’s perspective on this man’s world.
In the second act, everything has changed. The Queen is on the verge of being overthrown, Thompson is on the rise, and Melville is adrift and less powerful. The conversation between the two, with interventions from Agnes, is thrilling, as Thompson tries to persuade him to stand against the Queen by wheedling and questioning like a prosecution lawyer. Melville’s previously professed love of the Queen is tested and his defence of his actions becomes increasingly shaky. Did he really love her or was it the power of her he loved? Did he use her or try to use her just as much as the other powerful men around her?
Douglas Henshall, Brian Vernel and Rona Morison. Photo: Manuel Harlan
Douglas Henshall is phenomenally good in this role. If you’ve watched him in Shetland on TV, you’ll know how his portrayal of detective Jimmy Perez lifted the series from the ordinary to something special. Here, as his character struggles to keep his belief in himself, tries in vain to assert his authority, faces a most difficult challenge to his conscience, Douglas Henshall’s performance, moving from confident to hectoring to desperate, is a tour de force.
It’s a triumph too for Roxana Silbert, Hampstead Theatre’s Artistic Director, who directs this tight, tense production.
Keeping Mary off the stage is a masterstroke by Rona Munro because this play is about how powerful men use her to their own ends. So she becomes a blank sheet of paper and what we learn about her is entirely what is written on it by the men, and at the end by Agnes. And what we learn is that she was badly advised, including by Melville, was given no choice but to make bad decisions, and in a shocking revelation which I won’t spoil, was physically powerless against their violence.
It is possible that Rona Munro also intends the Queen to be a metaphor for Scotland the country and the way politicians and landowners have treated it.
I would love to think that things have changed in 400 years, and perhaps they have in terms of women standing up for themselves and each other (and plenty of men supporting them). However there are still many men, some powerful, who continue every day to use and abuse women.
This powerful play is far more than a lesson in history.
Mary is running at Hampstead Theatre until 26 November 2022.
Chichester’s magnificent Crazy For You gets a London transfer but how does it compare to Anything Goes?
★★★★★
Crazy for You. Photo: Johan Persson
Crazy For You at Chichester Festival Theatre is a faultless production. Just like Anything Goes, another song-and-dance Broadway musical that also originated in the 1930s, it is a joyous, jaw-dropping spectacle with some of the best songs ever written and the best dancing you will ever see.
Charlie Stemp who has already impressed in Half A Sixpence, Mary Poppins and more is here stretched – literally – into twists and leaps and other astounding physical feats. He is not only athletic, his dancing conveys emotion and is beautiful to watch.
It’s interesting to compare and contrast Crazy For You with its rival, both in the 1930s and now, Anything Goes.
Crazy For You was created in 1992 but based on a 1930 musical called Girl Crazy by George and Ira Gershwin. Cole Porter’s Anything Goes followed in its 1934. This was the first golden age of the Broadway musical. The modern musical, in which a serious plot and deep characters drive the show, was still a decade away. It was the time not only of the Gershwins and Cole Porter but of Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern and Rodgers and Hart. The Jazz Age was at its peak. Light-hearted song and dance with a romantic plot were the order of the day.
Both musicals were revived in the late 20th century as Broadway made something of a comeback after the invasion of weighty British musicals. The sheer escapism of both musicals, and their predecessor 42nd Street, was just what audiences were yearning for. While the 1987 return of Anything Goes left it largely intact, with a few song changes and a rewriting of the plot, the 1992 revival of Girl Crazy, now called Crazy For You, involved a root and branch reappraisal. The plot was substantially altered, many of the original songs were excised and loads of additional Gershwin songs introduced. The result was, and is, a triumph for the book writer Ken Ludwig, director the late Mike Okrent and choreographer Susan Stroman.
The Plots are fun
So, what about those plots? Well, they’re both simple fun. Anything Goes features a romance aboard an ocean-going liner, Crazy For You is a romance taking place in a run-down theatre in Nevada. Both involve bumps on the road to love and, of course, disguises. Here, I think, Crazy For You has the edge, for a plot that is a little more coherent and more muscular, by which I mean Anything Goes is almost too frothy.
The Music is divine
So, dare we compare the music? I think this is going to be a matter of taste. I love Cole Porter’s work. It’s such a perfect marriage of music and lyric. The melodies seem effortlessly elegant. The words always clever and witty. But sometimes this elegance and wit makes them seem removed from real life. His greatest love songs are up there with the best in the Great Amercian Songbook- Night And Day and Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye (‘There’s no love song finer, but how strange the change from major to minor’)- but they’re not included in Anything Goes which nevertheless has some of the cleverest songs ever written (‘Good authors too who once knew better words / Now only use four-letter words / Writing prose / Anything goes’).
In my opinion, George Gershwin was the finest popular composer of his day and Ira Gershwin is a contender for the finest lyricist (although I might award that title to Lorenz Hart). Ira has a way of finding the unexpected rhyme. Take Someone To Watch Over Me: ‘I’d like to add his initial to my monogram
Tell me, where is the shepherd for this lost lamb?’ or the internal rhyme in Embraceable You: ‘I love all the many charms about you
Above all, I want these arms about you’. Fabulous.
It’s very hard but I have to choose the Gershwins for that extra feel of real emotion. And in Crazy For You, you get almost the best of the Gershwins, with Shall We Dance?, I Got Rhythm and possibly my all time favourite love song They Can’t Take That Away from Me all thrown in. The new orchestrations by Doug Besterman display a masterful lightness of touch, by the way.
The productions are extraordinary
Carly Anderson, Charlie Stemp & the company of Crazy For You. Photo: Johan Persson
So what about these two revivals of the revivals? Anything Goes undoubtedly scores on its set, with a huge ship occupying the back of the stage. Chichester’s thrust stage makes large sets impossible, so, although the great Broadway designer Beowulf Boritt’s sparkling curtain representing a Broadway theatre sent a tingle down my spine when the lights went up, and his trucks showing the exteriors of a Nevada hotel and theatre are effective, the Chichester production of Crazy For You never feels as lavish as you might hope for a major musical. Anything Goes also features a cast about twice the size of the pretty big Chichester ensemble.
The Performers are outstanding
The current production of Anything Goes at the Barbican in London, originally starred Sutton Foster and Robert Lindsay, and now features the equally enjoyable Kerry Ellis and Denys Lawson. The co-lead is a comic gangster and not, as might have been the case in previous productions, Miss Ellis’s romantic interest. Crazy For You features Charlie Stemp and Carly Anderson as the two lovers, Boby and Polly.
Both musicals are well led and offer a talented cast in depth. In Crazy for You’s 26 strong cast, it’s difficult to pick out individuals but I must mention Tom Edden as Bela Zangler, the exasperated producer, and who extracted maximum laughs. The mirror scene in which he and Charlie Stemp match each other’s actions is hilarious. Meryl Ansah is Bobby’s desperate, dominant would-be fiancée who gets to sing the delightful Naughty Baby. Gay Soper is Bobby’s imperious mother, and Matthew Craig is Lank, Bobby’s threatening but ultimately comical rival in love.
The performers in both productions sing well. Kerry Ellis is possibly the finest singer of the bunch, but I did love Carly Anderson’s moving versions of Embraceable You and Someone To Watch Over me.
Charlie Stemp in crazy For You. Photo: Johan Persson
As for the dancing, of course they are all great. The chorus line tap dancing in Anything Goes, led by Miss Ellis, is eye-popping. But, when it comes to individual dancing, Charlie Stemp is in a different class to the others. Superlatives fail when it comes to his ability to spin and jump over and over again. He combines this athleticism with beauty and emotional truth. Crazy for You is worth the ticket price just to see him. He’s also nice looking and sings and acts well.
The Directors are geniuses
Both musicals have a combined choreographer and director. The great Kathleen Marshall brings her skills to Anything Goes and the result is very slick and impressive, especially in the chorus work. Susan Stroman, who choreographed the original 1992 Crazy For You, now directs as well. I left feeling I’d like her choreograph every musical I see from now on. There is so much invention in the solo, duet and chorus numbers.
I have one reservation about Crazy For You. Act one ends in an overwhelming routine for I Got Rhythm. It builds and it builds, and just when you think it can’t build any more, it does. A standing ovation halfway through a show is a rare thing. But it also happens in Anything Goes, when the title song is given a similarly exhausting work out. You think, how can they follow this? Well, Anything Goes does with Blow Gabriel Blow, and a big ending. Crazy for You continues to excite with brilliant song and dance but never again hits the height of I Got Rhythm. The end is more of a walk down than a finale. Then again, that soaring final line of ‘Who Could Ask For Anything More’ did bring the audience to its feet once again.
I’d love to see both these shows again but if I was offered tickets for them both right now, which would I choose? At the end of last year, I said Anything Goes with Sutton Foster had given me my best night in a theatre since they reopened. But, right now, I would choose the exuberant Crazy For You at Chichester Festival Theatre starring Charlie Stemp.
Crazy For You ran at Chichester Festival Theatre until 4 September 2022. It will transfer to the Gillian Lynne Theatre in London’s West End from 24 June 2023 to 20 January 2024
Kelvin Fletcher & Caroline Quentin in Jack Absolute Flies Again. Photo: Brinkhoff Moegenburg
Richard Bean and Oliver Chris took the characters and plot of Goldoni’s The Servant Of Two Masters and turned them into the modern classic One Man Two Guv’nors. Now they’ve tried the same approach with another 18th-century comedy, Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s The Rivals.
There are a lot of laughs, thanks in no small part to Caroline Quentin’s Mrs Malaprop: ‘I’m overcome with emulsion’ she says; and ‘ flatulence will get you everywhere’. There are also some well-executed elements of farce. But in the end, Jack Absolute Flies Again doesn’t quite take off. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)
There’s not the wow factor of the plot of One Man Two Guv’nors nor that play’s sudden and hilarious lurches in unexpected directions. It’s funny, certainly, but the action and some of the jokes are predictable in a way that Sheridan’s sure-footed, razor-sharp original never is.
Still, Emily Burns’ production offers a great deal of rollicking good fun. Actually, mostly rollicking: there is an underlying serious point about young people going off to war.
Fails to take off
The Rivals was written at the time of the American War of Independence. This version is also set during a war, World War Two, and in particular The Battle of Britain, which celebrated its 80th anniversary in 2020. Both were times when young men, perceived by an older generation as silly and unfit to fight, needed to shape up. And so they do, although there’s a great deal more silliness than shaping up. They are aided to maturity by the women in the play. Ultimately the play is a tribute to those ‘few’ young Spitfire pilots who took on the might of German air power.
The main plot (plot may be too strong a word) concerns ace pilot Jack Absolute. He’s infatuated with Lydia Languish but upper class Lydia has a romantic notion that her future lies with a member of the working class poor. She fixates on an engineer from the north: Dudley Scunthorpe. Kelvin Fletcher of Emmerdale and Strictly Come Dancing fame is well cast as a man of big guns and few words. Jack decides to disguise himself as Dudley in order to seduce her, thus becoming his own rival. Others fancy Lydia but are never serious rivals.
Jack Absolute is the flawed hero and played with the right blend of dash and deviousness by Laurie Davidson. His friend Roy is a classic silly ass, straight out of PG Wodehouse. Jordan Metcalfe imbues his character with a splendid mix of puppy love and jealousy.
Modern touches to story of war heroes
To show that the war effort was the work of more than upper class English ‘Brylcreem Boys’, the play also brings in an Australian pilot played by James Corrigan, a Sikh played by Akshay Sharan, and two women. The presence of a Sikh pilot is historically incorrect but is just one of a number of modern touches that stop the play being offensive in ways that these characters would undoubtedly have been at the time. This not only applies to race but to the many sexual references. One sensitive man speaks of the importance of consent. The women talk to each other frankly about sex- and, affectionately, about one of the men’s willies.
Natalie Simpson & Laurie Davidson in Jack Absolute Flies Again. Photo: Brinkhoff Moegenburg
Let’s look at those women. They are not only liberated by the war but they are the most self aware characters. Lydia, played by Natalie Simpson (you may have seen her in the series Outlander), is a transport pilot; Julia, played by Helena Wilson, is an army driver. There is also the maid, Lucy, who is, as she says to the audience, ‘a dramatic device’. She’s the one who deliberately delivers love letters to the wrong people and causes mayhem. She regularly breaks the fourth wall to bring our attention to various theatrical devices and the mechanics of farce. Kerry Howard couldn’t be better in that familiar figure: the ironic, likeable servant, who is cleverer than her mistress and masters, and draws us into what we might otherwise think if as a ludicrous plot.
Caroline Quentin delivers comedy gold
But the glue that holds this otherwise flimsy kite together is Caroline Quentin’s Mrs Malaprop. She’s the first person we meet, when she too addresses the audience, and is pretty much the last. Maybe the malapropisms are overdone and a little too crude, but I enjoyed them. And they’re clever because, like Sheridan’s originals, the wrong word is often right one, as when she talks of ‘mutton dressed up as Spam’ (Spam being a cheap wartime tinned meat), or, referring to her birthday, ‘I passed a significant millstone’, or (I could go on for the whole review) when, in a moment of sexual excitement, she says she is ‘filled to the quim’. And Caroline Quentin delivers them with a delicious smile and perfect enunciation. There is also a moment when she does the splits, which is comedy gold.
Lovers of Strictly will not be surprised at her elasticity. And how lovely to see two alumni of that show dancing together. The dance is one of the highlights of the show, as all the cast join in on a Lindy Hop. In fact, it made me think this could one day be a great musical. Thank you, choreographer Lizzi Gee for that.
Mrs Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute (Jack’s father), represent the older generation, at first sceptical about these irresponsible young people, but slowly coming to see their qualities. Sir Anthony’s character may be overshadowed in this production by Mrs Malaprop, but Peter Forbes is outstanding as the reactionary, prejudiced, blustering army general (‘be quiet when I’m shouting’ he says), whose heart is gradually revealed.
Overall, it’s an excellent cast, but the young ones all seem nearer or over 30, rather than the 20 they should be. They don’t quite convey the gaucheness, the brash naivety of youth, that Richard Bean and Oliver Chris put across so well in the script.
The stage thrusts into the audience (well, bulges slightly). The set by Mark Thompson is a delight. It says: ‘this is the nostalgic England of pre-War.’ At the back is an English country house and countryside, complete with blue sky and fluffy clouds. But, on the lawn in front of the house, is a basic Nissan Hut- the RAF headquarters- which contrasts starkly with the house, and says there’s a war going on to defend those English values. Interior scenes roll on and off smoothly.
There’s an effective use of projections, designed by Jeff Sugg, of airplanes in deadly dog fights in the sky. The reality of planes hitting and being hit. Jack Absolute Flies Again itself is not quite a hit, but far from a miss.
Jack Absolute Flies Again can be seen at the National Theatre until 3 September 2022. Click here for tickets
The greatest play of the 20th century with our greatest actor
★★★★★
Mark Rylance in Jerusalem. Photo: Simon Annand
I’ve now seen the play that I probably anticipated more than any other in my life. And it exceeded my expectations. Jerusalem is the greatest 21st century play I’ve seen, and Mark Rylance‘s performance is as good as any.
Jez Butterworth’s play is set during St George’s Day, a day when John Byron and his dilapidated mobile home face eviction from his illegal campsite in a Wiltshire wood, the annual local fate stirs memories, his enemies gather, and friendships are tested. In the course of the three-hour play, we’re presented with a picture of an underclass whom society can’t accommodate and wants to pretend doesn’t exist.
It’s a kind of state of the nation play and that nation is seen as controlled and anodyne with its freedom squashed. A mythical past is evoked and the present found wanting. It helps that Mark Rylance’s character is a complex mixture
of light and dark, mischief and malevolence, but Mark Rylance so thoroughly inhabits the role, physically as well as verbally, that you forget he’s acting.
Before the curtain even goes up, we are given hints as to what to expect and what we can expect is going to be complex. The curtain is a huge St George cross faded and of course full of contradictory associations. It may be the England flag but it’s so often associated with a kind of xenophobic little Englander that we’re bound to wonder what’s in store, especially if we consider (and we are reminded later) that St George never even set foot in England.
Although it’s set during St George’s Day, it’s not looking back to Shakespeare, whose birthday is traditionally celebrated on that day, or indeed to the poet Byron who shares his name with the main protagonist. And it’s certainly not about the past colonialists and industrialists who made this nation rich.
A young woman dressed as a fairy, possibly a flower fairy, walks onto the stage in front of the flag and sings Jerusalem. The immortal opening lines hang in the air: ‘And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England’s mountains green.’ They didn’t, of course, but it’s a prelude to a play that has a lot to say about English myths. As she’s finishing, there’s a jolting shock of very loud dance music playing. The curtain goes up on a night time scene in a wood where there’s a rundown mobile home and lots of people having a rave.
The set designed by ULTZ is made up of real English oak trees and it looks like a real mobile home or trailer, as Americans would call it. Despite the mess, you feel you’re in the land of Robin Hood and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, something that should be conserved. Everything is going to happen on this set in the course of this one day in this tight perfectly
constructed play.
Incidentally, it’s the same set design as the original production. ULTZ is just one of the entire creative team that’s been
reassembled, the rest being director Ian Rickson, the lighting designer Mimi Jordan Sherin and the sound designer Ian Dickinson.
So, the scene’s been set for the exploration of a jaded present and a mythical past, gatherings that will reveal the characters, and the girl
that will be the downfall of Rooster Byron.
Then it’s dawn and the site is deserted. The messy state of this clearing in the woods is now clear. Two Council officers played by Niky Wardley and Shane David-Joseph arrive and, at precisely nine o’clock, serve an eviction notice on Rooster because he’s annoying his new neighbours on the recently built estate on the edge of this Wiltshire wood. We also learn later that the Council may be planning to build on this woodland, which may be why it’s taken them 27 years to come up with an eviction order. Their mechanical jobsworth approach is amusing but also inhuman. When they leave, we get our first proper sight of Rooster John Byron.
Straightaway we’re made to sit up in our seats, as he clears his head by doing
handstand in a trough of water and then propels himself out of the trough and onto his feet. It’s the physical act of a gymnast, impressive for an actor in his 60s or indeed any age, and we may realise that, although he’s something of a slob, he’s a fit slob.
He then proceeds to spray the audience with liquid and throw eggshells at them. Well, that’s one way to get attention. Mark Rylance gives a tremendously physical performance as the free-spirited traveller. He walks with the puffed chest of a cockerel. Is that how he got his nickname? But he does have a limp and we find out later that he was injured when pursuing a career(if that’s the right word) as a daredevil motorcycle rider. This previous near fatal job is indicative of one aspect of his character- that he’s brave to the point of foolhardiness.
That’s why we admire him despite ourselves because he’s not only brave but he’s true to himself. He could certainly move but he defiantly refuses. He’ll not conform to society’s norms and expectations. We wouldn’t want him as our neighbour with his drug dealing, loud parties, and entertaining teenagers, but while his backyard is on that theatre stage, we’re on his side.
The other characters we meet only underline his character. The people who gather around him our society’s misfits and rejects. Now, Rooster may be both of these things but he actively chooses his life. He’s a rebel in an age of conformity. Part of his group are people he’s known all his life and it’s a magical element of this show that all the actors of those roles in the original production
are back. It’s as if Mark Rylance has said ‘I’m getting the band back together for one more gig.’
Mackenzie Crook is Ginger, the person closest to Rooster. He’s an unemployed plasterer and would-be DJ. Literal-minded, he lacks imagination but he does have a sense of humour, and he seems to live for his time with Rooster. He’s also shown to be a coward on more than one occasion. Such a contrast to Rooster who has flights of fantasy, sees a much bigger picture,
and doesn’t actually seem to be too bothered about who he’s with.
Mackenzie Crook is a joy to watch as he displays on his face the limits of his brain . He’s a lost soul and he looks it. When he first arrives, he’s full of excitement about the annual Flintock Fair. The fair runs as a motif throughout the play. He loves it because it’s part of tradition, but, like so much else, it’s a faded replica of what it once was. Ginger tells us: ‘When I was a boy, there was this big farmer and you paid 10 pence to take a run up and hoof him in the bollocks. What have they got now?’ he asks. ‘Throw a sponge at the lady vicar’ is the response. We also learn that Johnny’s daredevil rider act used to be the highlight of the show until he had his accident and Health and Safety stepped in to end his career. The fair can often be heard in the background.
Ginger’s annoyed at missing the previous night’s party but Rooster tries to tell
him there was no party and launches into the first
of many tall stories that display his imagination and gift of the gab. He was, he says, visited by the Spice Girls for a night of debauchery and, just to say here, that Mark Rylance is as good a verbal as physical actor. The voice he employs is that of someone stoned: slightly deliberate, slightly hesitant, and slightly very slightly slurred.
Alan David is again The Professor, another misfit and struck it seems by dementia. He has knowledge but can’t apply it. Gerard Horan is Wesley, the
pub landlord who publicly bans Rooster for his outrageous activities but is actually an old acquaintance. He does what he has to do but lets his wife Sue run the pub. He’s been forced by the brewery to dress up as a Morris Man for the annual fair but as the day goes on he becomes wasted and his white outfit stained and dirty. He reminisces with Rooster about their days as young men,
boys actually, getting their first experience of sex. His life now is clearly much less free. Rooster on the other hand never seems to long for the past because it’s inside him, and he feels free. He observes the others with a wry smile and occasional exasperation.
Young people are also attracted to Johnny’s campsite. Lee, played by Jack Riddiford with a ready smile, is fed up with his life in Flintock and intends to
leave for Australia the next day, but typically he has no plan beyond that. Davey, played by Ed Kear with an amusing offhand delivery, has a literally dead-end job- he slaughters cows at an abattoir all day. He’s no ambition to leave Wiltshire. In fact he’s positively hostile to the idea: ‘I leave Wiltshire, my ears pop,’ he says. He and the others are part of an underclass
unnoticed and unheard by the political elites.
Two girls appear. Pea and Tanya, played by Kemi Awoderu and Charlotte O’Leary, are barely sixteen. They mention their fifteen-year-old friend Phaedra Cox, the reigning May Queen, who’s gone missing. At the end of act one, we hear in the distance the PA announcing the opening of the fair.
Act two begins, again we see the fairy whom we now think is probably Phaedra, singing The Werewolf, a song about someone who ‘can’t help’ attacking young maidens.
It’s now afternoon. ‘Outcasts, leeches and undesirables,’ says Johnny about his
companions. They discuss how the beginning of May is a traditional time for misrule. Johnny is in his element. He fantasises about leading a Flintock rebellion that will go down in history, and he tells yet another story.
While the others have vague recollections of a better more interesting England in both recent and ancient times, Johnny the traveller seems to be the only one who recognises the power of the myth, and he goes about creating
some of his own.
In a play about myths, Mark Rylance is a legend
They’re all amusing but this is possibly the funniest. It’s about the time he me a hundred foot giant who’d walked from Land’s End. The giant tells him he built Stonehenge, although Johnny says that could be bullshit. They mainly talk about the weather. Then there’s a hilarious moment when Johnny puts his disposable lighter onto the ground to represent himself and takes on the role of the giant leaning down and stroking him. The giant gives Johnny a drum which was his earring and says he can use it to summon the giants.
Ginger takes him up on this asking why BBC Points West didn’t report a giant
striding across their patch. This leads to a lament about the way Points West has expanded its region so much that it’s no longer local. Davey thinks
they might have missed the story because there’s so much to report. He tells how he was upset by a story about an old lady being kicked to death, ‘before I realise it’s some old biddy from Wales, how could i possibly care less?’ he concludes. And this is what happens throughout Jez Butterworth‘s brilliant
play. He gives little examples and hints about the way things are not how they used to be, and asks whether we want to exchange freedom of speech and action for an obedient, safe society: the anonymous estate versus the individual, supermarket products versus the wild garlic in the wood (surely a metaphor for Rooster), a homogenous nation versus a tribal one, conformity
versus the free spirit, safety versus risk, rootlessness against Rooster’s rare bloodline.
The complexity of the content and of Rooster himself is what makes this play so great. It shows again and again that England’s past is a myth but
do the myths sustain the English or hold us back?
Ginger skeptically asks: ‘where is the drum?’ ‘You’re sitting on it,’ says Johnny, and, sure enough, under a cloth is an ornate drum. So the drum, which will feature at the end is cleverly and humorously introduced.
We’re halfway through the play now and it’s time to meet Johnny’s ex-partner Dawn and his son. The boy is clearly uncertain about this strange man who was supposed to be taking him to the fair but now can’t because of the pressing matter of the eviction. Dawn played by Indra Ove still cares about Johnny but has chosen a more conventional life.
The act ends with the arrival of Troy looking for his stepdaughter Phaedra. He suspects Rooster knows where she is. Troy is another acquaintance from way back and is played by the final member of the original cast, Barry Sloane. With a boxer’s stance, he’s incredibly sinister. His threat to Johnny is chilling. Johnny remains affable but he’s clearly worried in a way that we haven’t seen till now. Nevertheless he boldly- and recklessly- hints that Troy may be physically attracted to his stepdaughter, and it can’t be coincidence that in Greek mythology Phaedra falls in love with her stepson.
After Troy leaves, The Professor tells the tale of St George but, we ask ourselves, does the dragon represent the authorities and perhaps nasty
people like Troy, with Johnny as St George? Or Johnny the dragon, Johnny whom the authorities and Troy want to finish. Myths can work in many ways.
Then Phaedra emerges from the mobile home.
Act three begins, and we’re at the end of the day. Jez Butterworth has lit all the fuses. We know it’s coming to a climactic explosion. Phaedra persuades Johnny to dance with her but at that moment her stepfather Troy and his two brothers arrive. We hear them beat Johnny up inside the caravan and even brand him. They leave. In the distance the fair is winding up. Johnny emerges. He’s covered in the blood that he’s previously referred to metaphorically. He’s badly injured. Like a wounded animal he writhes on the ground. It’s a terrible and upsetting moment when you see all that prejudice against him made manifest.
Eventually, being the determined man he is, he gets up. The physical part of Mark Rylance‘s performance continues to impres to the end, but then so does the verbal part. He has one more meeting with his son, who’s got lost in the wood. His parental advice is: ‘don’t listen to no-one and nothing but what your
own heart bids. Lie, cheat, steal, fight to the death, don’t give up.’ He may be a bad influence, he may be deluded, but he does believe in himself and the link between past, present and future, and that the fight for his freedom is worth it.
He cares, so we care.
Finally Johnny is alone. The script notes that a Spitfire flies overhead
(our ‘finest hour’ when our outnumbered air force took on the might of the Germans and beat them?). He splashes petrol all over his home. He’s going
to set light to it. He evokes the Byron blood. He calls out the names of his forefathers. He curses his enemies. He beats the drum. He summons the legendary giants of a mythical past. Perhaps he himself will become a mythical
giant in the folk memories of future generations of ordinary people with disappointing lives. And, of course, Mark Rylance‘s performance is gigantic,
and already the stuff of theatrical legend.
This revival of Jerusalem was performed at the Apollo Theatre London in 2022
Powerful play by Stephen Beresford about tradition versus populism
★★★★
Alex Jennings in The Southbury Child. Photo: Manuel Harlan
What timing! The Prime Minister’s ethics advisor resigns and here’s a new play about sticking to your principles. A child has died, a child with the surname Southbury. The mother wants the church to be festooned with Disney balloons; the vicar says this is inappropriate for a church service. It becomes an unlikely cause célèbre and a test of wills that involves the whole community. What follows is an interesting, funny, emotional play about a battle between tradition and modernity.
The stage is a place for conversation. Creators of TV and cinema feel the need to keep us interested by constantly adding action or changing shots or putting on loud music. In a theatre play, the main currency is talk. So Stephen Beresford‘s The Southbury Child has lots of conversation exploring conflicts within today’s society, and, of course, conflict is the basis of drama. Physical acts whether violent or loving have all the more power for being rare.
The play looks at the importance of the past versus the need for change, principles versus populism, minority religion versus a secular society, a patrician elite versus the masses. Such rich content. The obvious comparisons are with Ibsen’s Enemy of the People and Chekhov‘s.. well, anything by Chekhov. I was also reminded of those drawing room plays of the mid 20th century that explored matters of morality, like T S Eliot’s The Cocktail Party or JB Priestley’s An Inspector Calls. In some ways, the dialogue could come from one of those plays. There’s an old fashioned feel to the way that the characters don’t mumble or pause or talk over one another, but it still sizzles. And there is a 21st century feel about the casual swearing and the popular references to Waitrose and Kerplunk.
The specific argument is over what a funeral is for. The vicar David Highland takes the high ground and says he won’t give the mother what she wants but what she needs. I’ve been to plenty of secular funeral services- I’m sure you have- where we’ve celebrated with lighthearted fun a life that has now ended, but, for those of faith, death is not an end but a beginning, and the funeral service offers hope of resurrection as well as a tried and tested way of dealing with grief. His decision throws up far more moral questions.
The vicar himself is far from moral. He’s had an affair, he drinks too much, he’s been in a drunken car crash. So is he a hypocrite? ‘You’re not exactly the poster boy for unshakable principles,’ says his curate. But do we expect too much of our leaders? After all, they’re only human, and isn’t it supposed to be what they represent that we respect, be it a spiritual post or a political position of power? Should we take their lead, even if we disagree with it, or should leaders follow the people?
There’s a lot of emotional conflict going on then, but the dialogue is full of humour. One character says, ‘These days you’re expected to be happy, like you’re expected to be hydrated’ or something like that. David imay be flawed but he seems kind, and well-meaning (which does make his stand against the balloon seem odd).
Alex Jennings gives a towering performance as the vicar. He employs a slightly higher voice than his usual rich voice which means he almost slips into an almost Alan Bennett impression, which is just right for some deliciously waspish sarcasm, like imagining heaven would have a branch of Waitrose. (He did play Alan Bennett in The Lady In The Van.) It’s not exaggerated so there is still warmth and authority in his impeccable middle-class speech.
Jack Greenlees and Jo Herbert in The SDouthbury child. Photo: Manuel Harlan
His is the only character given real depth. The others seem to be there to expose or test him. Nevertheless, the sketched outlines of these characters are clever enough to suggest that they have depth. His daughters are both following in his footsteps, in a way. Susannah is a teacher, and his verger, but not fitting well in the world. Her awkward but efficient character is played by Jo Herbert.
The other, Naomi, is an adopted black girl (providing an opportunity to criticise patronising white people). She’s become an actor and, by the way, much is made in the play of the way church services are like shows and priests like actors. David says that the annual blessing of the river is ‘the biggest house I play to’. Racheal Ofori gives a strong performance as the rebellious and somewhat wild young woman.
David’s wife Mary buttons up her feelings and finds it hard to cope with today’s touchy-feely world until it all comes spilling out in one tremendous moment. I did enjoy the way Phoebe Nicholls was able to hunch her body into a shy stiffness.
Craig, the new curate and the candidate for succeeding David, is played by Jack Greenlees. He may be holier than thou or indeed holier than David, but he is a gay man who is required by the church to deny his partner in order to pursue his vocation. Yet another cause and conflict thrown into the mix. As well as the interesting conversations- well, you might call them duels- with David, the other characters also have moments when they bounce off each other. There’s a lot going on.
One character David doesn’t spend much time with is the girl’s mother Tina, played by Sarah Twomey. She is the spark that started the fire but, to give more time to her grief would probably have unbalanced this largely sympathetic look at the way the vicar’s life spirals out of control.
The key opposition from the dead child’s family comes not from Tina but from the child’s young uncle Lee, played with a snarl by Josh Finan. I found myself shuddering every time he was on stage. Lee’s a nasty piece of work without any obvious redeeming feature, yet David as a Christian will not reject him. Lee returns again and again to challenge and needle the vicar.
The play takes place entirely in one room, maybe a drawing room. I don’t know much about the Church of England, however I do know that vicars are not well paid but they are often given a big house to live in. So there’s an appropriately shabby middle-class feel about Mark Thompson‘s set. There’s always a potential problem at Chichester, or any theatre using a thrust stage with an audience on three sides, iun that you can’t have much in the way of scenery. So, apart from a window and a few other pieces at the back, Mark Thompson‘s inspired main features are an image of the church at the back that towers over proceedings and a long wooden table that comes out towards the audience. Around it are 14 odd chairs, symbolic of the broad church perhaps.
Not that people sit down very often. This is a production showing the firm hand of director Nicholas Hytner in which people stand a lot, because that’s more aggressive than sitting, and stride around creating distance or nearness, as the conversation ebbs and flows.
You may find it hard to believe such a conflict could arise from something so trivial seeming, even though the play is apparently inspired by a real incident, but the beginning is nowhere near as contrived as the ending. Be that as it may, the grief at the loss of a child finally comes to the centre stage. And the final scene confirms that this is a play about loss of many kinds, both personal for many of the characters and for society, in terms of our traditions and heritage.
The Southbury Child performed at Chichester Festival Theatre until 25 June 2022 (tickets cft.org.uk) then at the Bridge Theatre from 1 July – 27 August London SE1 (bridgetheatre.co.uk)
