Like Tammy Faye herself, the musical by Elton John, Jake Shears & James Graham is good but flawed
★★★★
Andrew Rannells and Katie Brayben in Tammy Faye
The music for Tammy Faye the musical is by Elton John. It’s hard to tell at one listen how catchy the tunes are but they’re in the style of his glam rock heights and a few certainly get the heart racing. His lyricist is Jake Shears of Scissor Sisters fame. He does the job of illustrating what’s going on but on first hearing the lyrics are sharp but without any of the unexpected words or rhymes that you find in the very best.
The book by James Graham is funny and revealing. He’s maybe a little too interested in the story of the rise and fall of TV evangelists in 1980s America than that of Tammy Faye herself, despite it being the most human of tragedies.
James Graham clearly believes in the adage “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” So, this musical is another example of him giving us a history lesson and telling us why it’s important.
In This House, he told us about what happened behind the scenes in 1979 during a minority Labour government. In Ink, he wrote about the rise of the Murdoch-style tabloid. In Labour Of Love, he examined the last few decades of the Labour Party.
His most recent play Best Of Enemies, which has just opened in the West End (I gave it a 5 star review when it premiered at the Young Vic a year ago), tells us about two what we would now call political pundits who faced up to one another in the first popular TV debates in America back in 1968 (when President Nixon was elected). He showed that it sowed the seeds of today’s polarisation between the liberal left and the conservative right.
In Tammy Faye, he again goes back to the early days of television and the rise of the conservative right. Evangelists, following in the footsteps of Billy Graham, were inspiring masses of people in churches and arenas with their fiery sermons. Then they discovered television and in the 70s and 80s became known to millions who paid massive amounts of money to their churches, a lot of which they pocketed. More importantly, perhaps, is their association with politics in America.
I thought Presidents had ended their speeches to the nation with ‘God Bless America’ since time immemorial but I learned from this musical that President Nixon was the first to use it. Prior to that, Presidents carefully stuck to the constitutional requirement to keep church and state separate.
The evangelists expanded on this, with the help of Ronald Reagan, to create the so-called Moral Majority and a Christian right. One evangelist Pat Robertson, played in this production as a smarmy snake by Nicholas Rowe, even put himself forward as a potential Republican Presidential candidate. Ever since then, the Republican Party has relied on the Christian right to deliver them substantial numbers of votes, and has tailored its policies accordingly. So, the establishment of women’s and gay rights has been slowed down, and, in the case of access to abortion, reversed. So, very relevant to today’s world.
Anyway, that’s the history lesson, and you really wish James Graham had been your history teacher in school. The characters he creates are funny and frightening at the same time. Take the evangelist Jerry Falwell, Tammy’s nemesis. He is portrayed as a humourless, negative, mean-spirited man with narrow eyes, a dead voice and a hangdog expression. In one of the many funny lines, it is said he didn’t die of heart failure, he lived with it. It is actually hard to believe this character could evangelise anyone but the brilliant performance by Zubin Varla sends a chill through the auditorium.
Tammy Faye the musical
Tammy herself is seen rising from a tacky Christian puppet show to faltering TV presenter to the star of America’s biggest Christian channel, and the founder of a Christian theme park (“like Disneyland but with better people”).
Of course, it’s her husband Jim Bakker who initially gets top billing, because the evangelical Christians believed that a woman’s place is in the home or, if not, as a support for her husband. All the evangelical men we meet behave badly, eventually succumbing to pride, greed, adultery or some other sin. Her husband too lets her down.
He’s played by American actor Andrew Rannells who is extremely funny whether he is being nervous at being on TV, pompous when he believes himself to be in control, or snivelling at his failure.
Tammy’s star shines because she is not the stereotype mousey housewife. She is bright in brain, eyes and dress- great glittering costumes from Katrina Lindsay by the way. She is witty, and she’s compassionate to the point of crying on a regular basis. It takes someone exceptional to play a funny, warm woman who can also belt out high octane songs. This production has such a performer in Katie Brayben who has a beautiful voice and powerful lungs, and can hold the entire audience in her hands. Even when she is brought down by her only too human failings, we continue to love her because she exudes goodness and humility and humour.
What really sets her apart, other than being a woman in this man’s world, is that, while the others preach hate, she preaches love. Her fellow evangelists are homophobic and consider AIDS to be a plague sent by God. She says Christians should love everybody. She brings people onto the TV show who would normally be persona non-grata to evangelicals, including most famously a gay pastor who has AIDS. This occupies a small amount of the show but is immensely moving.
But this isn’t a play, it is a musical and so stands or falls on its music. Elton John is experienced at writing musicals. He has had hits with The Lion King, Aida and of course Billy Elliott. He knows how to integrate the music with the plot so that it keeps the story moving and adds to its depth. You could easily imagine songs like If Only Love, which is a beautiful ballad, Empty Hands, If You Came to See Me Cry or Right Kind Of Faith slotting neatly into his 1970s songbook, (though perhaps not on a greatest hits album). They are stirring and often accompanied by a large chorus line of dancers, choreographed by Lynne Page. However, none of the songs are quite showstoppers, except maybe the finale See You In Heaven which certainly gets people bouncing in their seats.
Bunny Christie’s set is just right. She leaves plenty of room for the actors to move on a relatively small stage but At the back is a set of 25 identical openings that act as TV screens but are also windows out of which characters poke their heads to contribute to and comment on the on-stage activity. These include, hilariously, the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury.
The director is Rupert Goold, who is the Almeida’s Artistic Director. You can see his hand in making this such a slick, punchy musical.
So why isn’t it a five star musical? I think the problem is that, interesting as the story of the rise and fall of the male TV evangelists is, it’s not that engaging. Yet so much time is spent on them that the central character of Tammy ends up being shortchanged. She and Jim are clearly fascinating, tragic people but they’re not explored enough, which meant I wasn’t able to get fully engaged with their story either. So, like Tammy Faye herself, this musical is very good but slightly flawed.
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.
Nicholas Woodeson & Anton Lesser in The Two Popes. Photo: Manuel Harlan
If like me, you have little knowledge of the Roman Catholic Church and even less interest in it, you might think an evening with not one but two popes would be akin to a visit to the Spanish Inquisition. In fact, this combative conversation between Pope Benedict XVI, who abdicated in 2013, and Pope Francis, who replaced him, is both intriguing and amusing.
It helps that one is deeply conservative and the other highly liberal, so there is plenty of room for conflict. It helps even more that these two contrasting kings of Catholicism are played by two sovereigns of the stage, Anton Lesser and Nicholas Woodeson.
Benedict XVI’s abdication was almost unprecedented. (I say ‘almost’, because a pope did abdicate 700 years previously.) Anthony McCarten’s play about this conservative German and his successor, the liberal Argentinian Cardinal Bergoglio, was first produced by Northampton’s Royal & Derngate Theatre in 2019, before Covid intervened. Their Artistic Director James Dacre directs this revived co-production, which I saw at the Rose Theatre in Kingston before its tour to a number of regional theatres.
Mr McCarten, who previously wrote The Theory Of Everything, Darkest Hour and Bohemian Rhapsody as well as the film version of this play, recently penned The Collaboration. It’s another play about two people with contrasting characters and views, the artists Andy Warhol and Jean-Michel Basquiat. It was very enjoyable and is now on its way to Broadway following a run at the Young Vic.
You can see why the idea of a meeting between these two very different popes intrigued Anthony McCarten. The facts of the transfer of power are true but the details of what conversations may have taken place come from his fertile imagination.
The two popes don’t get together straightaway. Initially, we meet each of them separately, beginning with Pope Benedict played by Anton Lesser. We find him in his apartment with a German nun, played by Lynsey Beachamp. They share a conservative nostalgia for their country of birth that manifests itself in the food they eat and the German whodunit series that they watch enthusiastically on TV. He moves stiffly, conveying both old age and, metaphorically, a rigidity of views. Mr Lesser has a clipped but silky way of speaking, that conveys both authority and warmth. The warmth is important because he is publicly perceived as ‘God’s rottweiler’. The reality is, we learn, that he is more shy than cold, more a scholar than a front man. He didn’t want the job of Pope and he still doesn’t.
Without this insight into Benedict’s human side, this would be a very one-sided play between a cold fish and the warm human being that is Cardinal Bergoglio. We meet the latter on a visit to a slum church in his home country of Argentina. Played by Nicholas Woodeson, he has an impish smile and bounces round the stage like a Duracell bunny. He too chats with a nun, played by Leaphia Darko, but this time about his liberal views, which appeal to the poor of the developing world. Ironically, he too wants to retire from his job.
Although they are as different as The Telegraph and The Guardian, Pope Benedict is aware that the Cardinal is his likely successor, and that he can prevent this from happening simply by accepting the Cardinal’s resignation. He decides to meet him and check him out.
The first meeting is very much a clash of views, which frankly I found a little tedious, but I suspect someone more interested in the Catholic Church might find it fascinating.
Anton Lesser & Nicholas Woddeson in The Two Popes. Photo: Manuel Harlan
The second act really takes off, as the two find out that despite their differences, what they have in common may be what is important. We know the outcome so it’s not exactly edge-of-your-seat stuff but the exchanges are funny at times, interesting at others, and sometimes quite moving, as when the two confess their weaknesses and shortcomings. It is a joy to see the interaction between these two great actors.
The set, designed Jonathan Fensom, comprises an artificial proscenium arch onto which a marble surface and the scene locations are projected- in Latin! This reinforces that what is happening is contained within the solidity of a church that has been around for two thousand years. So maybe these two popes, while appearing to be taking the church from one extreme to another, merely represent a natural adjustment that has and will take place again and again over time.
Roy Williams’ portrayal of racist England supporters retains its power
★★★★★
Sing Yer Heart Out For The Lads. Photo: Helen Murray
Seeing Roy Williams’ Sing Yer Heart Out For The Lads is not a comfortable experience but this is an important play in a flawless production from Chichester Festival Theatre. I suspect some people may think this is a play about football. It isn’t. It takes us to the heart of the dark side of English football supporters- the so-called hooligans, the ones who chant racist remarks, the ones who nowadays abuse black players on social media- and those who let it happen.
Racism exists in all corners of society but this play looks at a microcosm, the working class (or mainly working class) tribalism that afflicts the national game. It has its funny moments but for the most part, Sing Yer Heart Out For The Lads is horrifying. I came out shocked to the core by this forensic exposure of racist, nationalist England.
We meet the all too believable characters in the King George pub in London where they have assembled to watch England play Germany in the year 2000. To an extent, they are representative of various kinds of working class people, but Roy Williams imbues them with a complexity that takes them far beyond stereotypes. He writes natural-sounding dialogue that is fitting for each character but that also sparkles and punches. (If you’ve heard his BBC Radio 4 series The Interrogation, you’ll be familiar with his ability to create convincing conversation.) He is truly one of our finest living playwrights.
The play was first performed in 2002. I’d like to think we’ve moved on to a more equal and tolerant society since then, and perhaps we have a little, but there is still an unacceptable amount of racism around, as the Black Lives Matter campaign has shown, and as revealed, for example, by the report into racism at Yorkshire County Cricket Club.
Connected with racism, as the ‘England supporters’ in the play show, we are plagued by a kind of nationalism that goes beyond pride in one’s country to hatred of foreigners and immigrants. As Billy Bragg said recently: ‘Not everyone who voted Brexit is racist, but every racist voted Brexit.’
Fun set houses a serious play
This is a revival of the Chichester production which was first performed in 2019 in the so-called Spiegeltent. Nearly all of that cast has reassembled, and the immersive set, conceived by the original director Nicole Charles, is also reproduced but on a larger scale.
The first thing you see is the set, designed by Joanna Scotcher. It replicates in painstaking detail a traditional London pub, which overflows into and beyond the auditorium. Some of the audience sit around the perimeter of the set like drinkers in the pub. It’s actually a working bar and I had a drink there during the interval, perched on a barstool. Screens that show the match double as CCTV showing us private conversations.
But the fun stops as soon as the play begins. We meet and get to know these characters, some of whom are members of the pub’s football team, all there to watch England playing Germany in a game of football. Some are out-and-out racist; some are covert racists; some hide and are maybe even unaware of their racism, however it comes out at times when emotion takes over.
Michael Hodgson & Richard Riddell in Sing Yer Heart Out For The Lads. Photo: Helen Murray
At one extreme is Lawrie, an angry skinhead played by Richard Riddell as so close to boiling point that his face is lobster red. We can see that all of these people have reasons to resent their lowly position in society and that aggressively supporting their football team may give them some reflected status. But Lawrie is more than that. He is a psychopath looking for anyone to kick. At his side, whispering in his ear, is Alan, played with a cold voice and dispassionate demeanour by Michael Hodgson. He’s an articulate man who proudly justifies his sense of racial superiority. Like the leaders of fascist parties through the ages, he manipulates ignorant people like Lawrie to do his dirty work.
There are two black people in the group: Mark and his younger brother Barry. Mark has been in the army and fought for his country only to find that his country doesn’t seem to regard him as truly British. We discover that his own behaviour as a soldier has been brutal. Mark Springer plays him as superficially calm but with a low-key resentment that rumbles across the pub floor.
Makir Ahmed is Barry, the team’s star player. He knows that his teammates are racist, to a greater or lesser extent, but chooses to ignore that in an attempt to fit in. He even chants about winning World War Two (an event over 40 years before, even in 2000) and describes in mysoginistic detail what he’d like to do sexually to Victoria Beckham. These moments are cringeworthy but show how the disenfranchised fantasise about having power.
Also trying to fit in is Jess, played by Kirsty J Curtis, who goes over the top in what I interpreted as an attempt to be one of the lads, by using the most continuously and aggressively obscene language of any of them.
Steven Dykes is Jimmy, the father of the pub landlady. He represents an older generation which doesn’t like change. The play begins as he’s preparing the pub and singing a Kinks song. A deliberate choice, I suspect, as the Kinks started by playing a version of American rhythm and blues before they went on to epitomise a certain kind of English nostalgia. Ironically Jimmy can’t understand why his grandson Glen (Jem Matthews) is attracted to American rappers, and he bullies the sensitive teenager for being too soft.
Gina is the woman whose name is above the door. In a nuanced performance, Sian Reese-Williams shows her as someone used to getting her way through charm but having no control over her son or her customers. She threatens but never takes action over racist or aggressive behaviour. In this respect, she can be seen as a symbol of the rest of us, the majority in society who are against racism but don’t confront it.
Lawrie’s brother Lee is another example. He is an off-duty police officer, ostensibly against prejudice, but constantly turning a blind eye to Lawrie’s violence and racism. ‘I didn’t hear that’, he quips. His conflicted personality is conveyed brilliantly through haunted eyes, sagging shoulders and sudden violence by Alexander Cobb.
We do see that confronting bad behaviour works when teenager and would-be gangster Bad T (Duramaney Kamara) is not allowed to get away with bullying.
Harold Addo, Simon Armfield, Rob Compton and Jennifer Daley make the remainder of this talented, pitch perfect cast.
Well orchestrated crescendo of violence
As the match progresses, and goes badly for England, the tension grows, and an explosion by Lawrie becomes ever more likely. His racist comments are more and more explicit but, when the violence comes, it’s from an unexpected direction. I won’t say more about that for fear of spoiling the end but I will say that, in a shocking play, the crescendo of action was so well orchestrated that I was shaking at the end.
Massive credit must be given to the original director Nicole Charles, the director of the revival Joanna Bowman, movement director Chris Whittaker and fight director Kate Waters.
I felt I needed a shower after being in the company of this group of ‘England supporters’. If there is a message in this play, it is that racism will flourish unless we all take a stand against it whenever we encounter it on a personal level. And that you can’t fight something unless you understand it. Not only will this play give you greater understanding, it will stay with you.
Sing Yer Heart Out For The Lads performed at Chichester until 13 August 2022. Click here for CFT website
Paul was given a review ticket by the producers.
Click here to watch a video of this review on the One Minute Theatre Reviews YouTube channel
Do dance and a dead mother improve Lloyd Webber’s ‘problem’ musical?
★★★
Robert Tripolino & Lydia White in Whistle Down The Wind. Photo: Pamela Raith
This energetic production of Whistle Down The Wind at The Watermill Theatre offers a radical re-interpretation of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s problem musical. I say ‘problem’ because it’s never quite been the hit many of us thought it would be. The musical was launched in the USA back in 1998. I think it has one of Lloyd Webber’s better scores, the country rock style being preferable to his attempts at being a modern day Puccini.
You might think a clash of beliefs would be just right as a story for our times. In this case, the conflict is between children who believe an escaped prisoner (called The Man in the cast list) is Jesus and adults who think he is the devil incarnate. Yet, despite this, and Jim Steinman’s gothic lyrics, Whistle Down The Wind never made it to Broadway.
I suspect the fundamental flaw is that the leader of the children, Swallow, is not a child, as she was in the earlier book and film. Instead, she is portrayed as an adolescent and, really, too old to be so credulous. Maybe the decision was made so that an adult lead could be cast, maybe the authors thought it would be more interesting to include some sexual content. Whatever the reason, the wind never got into the musical’s sails.
Now Tom Jackson Greaves has been given a chance to resurrect this musical about a man mistaken for Jesus, and he has some radical ideas about how to make it work. So does his new interpretation solve the problem? I’m afraid not.
The show begins well. The set, a terrific design by Simon Kenny, is the interior of a building constructed of wide wooden planks, which merges with the auditorium and doubles as the church and the barn. The Watermill Theatre is an intimate space, so, from the start, it is as if we are part of the congregation and of the children’s conspiracy. And we feel the claustrophobia of this closed, deeply religious community, back in 1950s Louisiana. It’s a community that is wary of strangers and over protective of its children.
A spirited interpretation
So far so good, but, as I said, this is a major new interpretation. Tom Jackson Greaves has a long list of credits as a choreographer and, as director, he introduces a considerable amount of dance and stylised movement. This works well to enhance the emotional story and ratchets up the fraught atmosphere, as, for example, when the two sides circle to form impressive physical barriers against each other. And the clever use of dance as a metaphor enables The Man to move among them, right into the centre of scenes in which he would normally be hidden. This is done most notably in the powerful song Wrestle With The Devil in which the townspeople imagine The Man as The Devil.
The biggest change concerns Swallow’s dead mother. In previous productions, she has been an unseen presence, a catalyst in alienating Swallow from her father and therefore giving her greater motivation for wanting a parent figure in her life. In this production, her mother is an actual presence, watching over her shoulder and dancing with her. It brings grief to the forefront and therefore changes the balance of the musical, and indeed the balance of her mind. Grief seems to guide her every thought and deed. It may be an attempt to explain her irrational behaviour but there is, in my view, nothing in the script to justify this interpretation. In the end, it confuses rather than clarifies.
The Mother- beautifully danced by Stephanie Elstob– mostly gets in the way. In the A Kiss Is A Terrible Thing To Waste scene where Amos wants to kiss Swallow and The Man watches and comments, the Mother gets involved too and the tense musical trio becomes a muddled dance quartet. The stage is small enough as it is without squeezing a supernumerary.
Grief or Belief?
Much more than grief, Whistle Down The Wind is a musical about belief, particularly extreme beliefs. Its most well known song, the bland No Matter What, is an anthem for anti-vaxxers and climate change deniers. ‘What you believe is true’ is the essence of a divided society in which the two sides will not listen to a different point of view or accept evidence or be prepared to compromise. The children believe The Man is Jesus, the adults believe he is the Devil.
The musical is also about belief in people. We see that it can help redeem an individual, as in the moving scene between The Man and Swallow in which he sings Nature Of The Beast and realises that his life could have been different if someone had believed in him.
Robert Tripolino is outstanding as The Man. He has the right haunted look but also a powerful voice that moves up into a gorgeous falsetto. Lydia White as Swallow is also excellent. Her singing and acting display all the conflicting emotions of this adolescent girl and she plays the part of a grieving daughter with a convincing edge of anger.
Among the other actors, I liked Chrissie Bhima who gives a strong performance as Candy, cheated in love, and the only character with the willpower to leave.
As usual with The Watermill’s musicals, the hard working actors also play instruments. I noted particularly Emma Jane Morton, a one woman wind section including plaintive playing of a flute and saxophone. And she musters a wonderfully stern look as one of the townspeople. Alfie Richards plays his electric guitars beautifully, and sings well. Lewis Cornay as Amos, the rebel without a cause, could have stepped out of a boy band.
So, it’s a vigorous production but the problem of this musical is still to be solved.
Whistle Down The Wind can be seen at The Watermill Theatre until 10 September 2022. Tickets from watermill.org.uk
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)
