Theatre review: Cyrano de Bergerac

Adrian Lester as Cyrano is funny, lyrical and tragic, often all at once

Noel Coward Theatre

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑

Adrian Lester as Cyrano de Bergerac. Photo: Marc Brenner

I have rarely enjoyed a night as good as this in a theatre. This new adaptation of Cyrano de Bergerac first seen in Stratford and now in London pays homage to the language of poetry, and provides a uniquely theatrical experience. Best of all, it features a performance by Adrian Lester to rank among the greats. He is funny, lyrical and tragic, often all at the same time.

I last saw him as Othello in 2013 at the National Theatre, when he won an Olivier Award for Best Actor, and I don’t believe he’s been in a fully staged play in the UK since. Which is a loss to those of us who love great acting.

It was his idea, apparently, to play Cyrano de Bergerac. And you can see the attraction: an awesome anti-hero possessed of supreme swordmanship, a quick wit and a poet’s passion for language, but cursed with a tragic flaw- he is convinced his large nose makes him an unattractive laughing stock.

Of course, the story of a man who is so self loathing that he cannot declare himself to the woman he loves and instead woos her through a proxy has become one of the most familiar in the world since it was written by Edmond Rostand at the end of the 19th century. Thankfully, this adaptation doesn’t attempt to modernise the narrative. In fact it sticks pretty closely to the original, even to the setting in 17th century France. What makes it special is the translation into modern poetry by Simon Evans, who also directs, and Debris Stevenson, poet and author of one of my favourite recent musicals Poet In Da Corner. She was brought in to provide the actual poems within the play but she has clearly contributed to the whole script with a dazzling display of wordplay.

Just as the original play was written in verse, so much of the dialogue is here is based on classical poetic metres, but each character has his or her own rhythm and use of language. I can’t convey to you how well this is done. but here is a sample of the verse. Cyrano talking as he faces battle: ‘This is what words mean here: / Not beauty. Not art. But armour. / Words that hold the line when hands can’t. /That give the dying something to chant. / That beat across time like a giant’s drum, / and say: I was here and I was Loved and I was someone.’ I didn’t scribble them down while watching the show- I was so impressed by the script that I bought a copy!

The adaptation squeezes every drop of comedy out of the play as well. We first meet Cyrano in a theatre, the theatre we’re in. Someone introduces a show we’re apparently about to see. There’s clearly some nervousness that Cyrano might turn up. Actors looking for him appear all over the place- in the boxes, at the back of the stalls, leaning over the circle, sitting among the audience. (Try doing that in the cinema.) And instantly we’re involved.

When Cyrano does appear he’s accompanied by a six piece band. He won them in a bet about grammar, what else? Sometimes they play at his command, sometimes they play when he doesn’t want them to, but mainly they play sublime music by Alex Baranowski that enhances the emotions being expressed by the characters.

He gets into an argument with Valvert, a stooge of his arch enemy the Comte De Guiche. Cyrano is disappointed that the best insult about his nose that antagonist can come up with is ‘It’s fucking huge’. Apart from the fact that we go on to witness one of the best stage sword fights I’ve seen, Cyrano decides to accompany it with an acrostic. He explains that he’s going to take each letter of that insulting phrase and make it the beginning of a whole line about his nose. So- ‘F: Look Papa Geppetto, I’m a Real boy. U: Utilitarian- what’s it for? Hanging coats, putting out candles, herding wild goats? C: Capricious – should we worship it, for fear it might destroy us? K: Kinky – Do women moan if you pull it out mid-coitus?’ And so on. But before that, he gets us, the audience, panto-style, to join in and remind him of the insult.

Susannah fielding and Adrian Lester in Cyrano de Bergerac. Photo: Marc Brenner

Now, I don’t know how funny I’ve made this sound but I can assure you that when it’s done by Adrian Lester, it’s hilarious. The deftness of the dialogue is present throughout. When he meets Roxane, the woman he loves and whom he has known since childhood, they play a word game, constructing a conversation where all the words begin with the same letter. She apparently has something to tell him, so here’s some of the repartee: ‘Some secret?’ ‘Soon.’ ‘Straightaway.’ ‘Stop searching.’ ‘Silence?’ ‘Suspense.’ ‘Stubborn!’ and so it goes on.

Words, which are both Cyrano’s power and his protection, carry us through the play like a trip down the rapids. It all goes wrong when Cyrano, convinced he cannot possibly be attractive to Roxane, decides to assist a new recruit to his rag tag cohort, a farmer called Christian, in wooing her. She has told her old friend that she finds Christian attractive but it is the words supplied to him by Cyrano with which she falls in love. Now, I know this sounds unlikely, but, then, think of the verses in greetings cards that people use to express the feelings they cannot.

Christian himself is only be able to speak ‘plain, rough, simple, small’ words of love which are totally inadequate to her ears. He does actually appreciate some words- he has learnt the collective nouns for animals. So, when Roxane exhorts him to come up with a word other than the cliché ‘love’, in desperation he tells her ‘The collective noun for wildebeests is a confusion’. The door slams in his face. Roxane falls for Christian through the words of Cyrano, foolishly believing that good looks and a poet’s art go hand-in-hand. Ironically, she even realises that there is ‘a strange darkness lingering’ behind the flattery of the poems, she detects that the writer ‘hates the world in which he loves me’.

This quality of script means each actor is given the tools to be exceptional and the cast rise to the occasion. Susannah Fielding as Roxane is suitably bolshy and arrogant, so relaxed in Cyrano’s company and so blinded by the idea of romantic poetry that she loses touch with what is in front of her. My only caveat is that she doesn’t convey sufficiently the sadness of her situation.

Levi Brown as Christian could easily be eclipsed by the remarkable repartee of the two stars but he is perfect as the cheeky, naive farm boy with a big bursting heart. Scott Handy is superb as Comte de Guiche, sly and slimy but never overplaying the villain, always suggesting a sensitivity beneath the sneer. Greer Dale-Foulkes is a joy as Roxane’s randy servant Abigail. And Philip Cumbus and Christian Patterson are heartwarming as Cyrano’s faithful friends.

And what a production. Grace Smart‘s set is just right. At the back, various flats suggesting a theatre, a tavern, a courtyard, and, as we move to the finale, a battlefield and a garden. No gimmicks, just sensitive support for the story. The lighting too, designed by Joshie Harriette, bathes the various scenes in beautiful colours.

We move to war and tragedy. Then, far too late, Roxane and Cyrano realise how they have deceived themselves. We are told right at the beginning that our time in the theatre offers us ‘precious moments. The world out there. Us, quiet in here.’ To take time out from the cares of the world and immerse ourselves in the life of Adrian Lester’s Cyrano is a privilege.

Cyrano de Bergerac can be seen at the Noel Coward theatre until 5 September 2026. Buy tickets directly from the theatre

Paul was given a review ticket by the producers.

Watch this review on the YouTube channel Theatre Reviews With Paul Seven

April 14, 2024April 29, 2025

Underdog: The Other Other Brontë – National Theatre- Review

Gemma Whelan is a winner in this romp through the lives of the Brontes

★★★

Three actors Adele James, Gemma Whelan and Rhiannon Clements gather round to read a letter in a scene from Underdog: The Othe Other Bronte at the National Theatre — Adele James, Gemma Whelan, Rhiannon Clements in Underdog_ The Other Other Brontë. Photo: Isha Shah

It might be better if you know nothing about the Brontës and simply watch Sarah Gordon’s play Underdog as a portrait of the competition and mutual support that often co-exist among sisters, and of the challenges of being a female novelist in early Victorian times. If you do know a bit about them, you may be annoyed at the liberties taken by this interpretation of their relationship. On the other hand, like me, you may find it jolly good fun. It certainly gains from having the mightily talented Gemma Whelan as Charlotte Brontë.

Let’s start with Ms Whelan. It’s only right, since she begins the play. She enters through the auditorium, chatting to audience members about the Brontë novels. Unexpectedly, for the author of one of those ‘dour’ books, she’s wearing a bright red dress. She goes up on stage and explains that we are going to hear her story.

As promised, Gemma Whelan and her character dominate the whole evening. She is cocky and nervous, knowing and naive, likeable and unpleasant, and very funny. Supported by Natalie Ibu’s sharp and speedy direction, she holds us- and her sisters- in her grip throughout the evening.

This is a good point to tell you about the set. I know we don’t buy tickets to see the design but Grace Smart’s is impressive. At the beginning, there is a thick carpet of moorland gorse and heather. Almost as soon as Charlotte has mounted the stage, this flies upwards until all we can see is the mass of brown roots underneath. Three black walls are revealed that, combined with the ceiling, represent wonderfully the claustrophobia and earthiness so often associated with the Brontë sisters.

One nice touch is the use of a revolve to indicate more frantic activity, or at the start of act two the long slow coach journey to London, complete with theatrical coconut shells clip-clopping. The set has one more surprise at the end of the play when the back opens up to indicate that Charlotte and the other Brontes are nowadays known to the whole world.

The Other Other Brontë of the title is not the middle sister Emily, who wrote Wuthering Heights. Emily’s character isn’t explored so deeply as the other two but then she was the most keen to preserve her anonymity and she died young. So less is known about her. That doesn’t stop Adele James making a good fist of playing a middle sister who challenges the elder and defends the younger.

No, the other other Brontë is the youngest sister Anne who wrote the less well known Agnes Grey and The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall. Anne is played by Rhiannon Clements with an excellent combination of inner strength and outer submissiveness.

The play suggests Charlotte was jealous of Anne’s talent, that she stole the premise of Agnes Grey for her own novel Jane Eyre, and that Anne let her eldest sister walk all over her. Charlotte waivers between undermining her youngest sister and giving her love and support. In fact, this is the greatest joy of Underdog, the way in which many sisters close in age are both competitive and supportive. (This subject has become almost a theme at the National lately, with the great Till The Stars Come Down, The House of Bernarda Alba and Dancing At Lughnasa all featuring sisterly rivalry and solidarity.)

There is a scene, where Charlotte confident of her work but not of her looks, is welcomed into London’s literary grandees’ club (shown as a kind of disco- just one of many amusing anachronisms). On a high because her talent has been recognised, she shrugs off Anne’s concerns. But when she is insulted for her lack of femininity, she turns desperately to her sisters for reassurance.
By the way, the sisters’ ‘coarseness’, which at that time was how many perceived their writing and therefore the women themselves, is given substance in the play by their use of modern expressions and a huge amount of swearing, all to great comic effect.

Liberty-taking, laughter-inducing

Gemma Whelan in Underdog. Photo: Isha Shah

Here’s some of the historical background. Back in the first half of the 19^th century, women novelists were expected to write romances set in polite society. It was unacceptable to many critics that novels that involved class discrimination, male violence, substance abuse and more, as the Brontes’ did, could be written, or read, by women. Therefore, all three sisters submitted their first novels to publishers under male pseudonyms, something Charlotte and Anne were keen to give up, but which Emily clung to.
Charlotte outlived her younger sisters. After their deaths, she did stop a reprint of Anne’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, despite its success. She also seems to have been the most determined among the three to gain respect in literary society, and worked with Elizabeth Gaskell to this end.

Sarah Gordon uses these facts to support a thesis that Charlotte was ambitious and competitive, while the other two were not, and that Charlotte pushed her own work at their expense. The reality may be different, but let’s not let the facts get in the way of a good story. And it is a good story, full of comedy and a little pathos, and some interesting ideas.

The many other parts are played by a small group of men, including Nick Blakeley as a snooty Elizabeth Gaskell, Julian Moore-Cook as the slimy publisher George Smith and James Phoon as the the Brontes’ troubled alcoholic brother Branwell.

Underdog is primarily about three sisters, and 19^th century attitudes to women, but there is an undertow that questions how what we know or think we know about artists influences our appreciation of their art. However, apart from the boisterous relationship of the sisters, everything else is touched on lightly, and the main emphasis is on fun. Which it is.

Underdog can be seen at the National Theatre’s Dorfman studio until 25 May 2024 and then at Northern Stage in Newcastle Upon Tyne (7 to 22 June).
Paul was given a review ticket by the theatre

Watch this review on the YouTube channel Theatre Reviews With Paul Seven

July 9, 2019January 14, 2020

the end of history at Royal Court – review

Lesley Sharp and David Morrissey provide laughter and emotion in Jack Thorne’s family drama

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Production photo f the end of history at the Royal Court Theatre showing David Morrissey and Lesley Sharp — David Morrissey & Lesley Sharp in the end of history. Photo: Tristram Kenyon

It’s a world away from Jack Thorne and John Tiffany‘s last collaboration- Harry Potter And The Curse Child– but the end of history is another moving drama about parent child relationships.

The title may refer to a book by Francis Fukuyama which around 1990 declared that, with the fall of communism in eastern Europe, liberal democracy had triumphed and its flag would fly forever and a day.

It’s 1997 and we meet Sal and David, two lifetime left wing socialists who perhaps can longer expect radical change. A clue is they’re not happy that Blair, leader of their party, has become prime minister. It may even be significant that they came from hard Manchester and now live in soft Berkshire.

Their three kids are in their late teens and early twenties. The oldest Carl is bringing his new girlfriend Harriet to dinner. She is the daughter of a rich father who owns hotels and service stations. Sal is as fascinated by the privileged as she hates the liberals. She talks too much and in a very frank way. In fact Lesley Sharp’s unfiltered talking when she’s nervous is hilarious. ‘No talent when it comes to cooking, she says of herself, but when it comes to pissing off my children – immense talent – Olympian talent.’

Her children are indeed embarrassed by her but they expect to be. But it’s the red parents who seem red faced because their children are not turning out to be radical socialists. A bust up ensues.

We move on ten years. The parents, true to their socialist ideals, take a decision that makes their children feel they have been judged to have betrayed the cause. Leading to another bust up.

All the children are much more their own people now. In fact, one of the joys of this play is how the children mature but are recognisably the same characters. Kate O’Flynn is the hard-edged Polly with a surly bottom lip like a snow plough. Always the best at winning arguments, she has become a cynical corporate lawyer. The less confident Carl, played by Sam Swainsbury, is married to Harriet (Zoe Ball), but not that happily. He has joined the family business. The highly strung youngest Tom, played by Laurie Davidson, remains a misfit with an inferiority complex and is yet to find his way. None of the children have the certainties that characterise their parents.

Production shot from the end of history at the Royal Court Theatre in London — the end of history Photo: Tristram Kenyon

By the end of act two, having experienced a wonderfully funny performance from Lesley Sharp as the mother, I was wondering why an actor of the quality of David Morrissey had been employed to provide a fairly standard dour northern dad. Then came the third act, ten more years on, and he delivered the most moving emotional monologue that explained so much of what formed the parents’ characters and relationship. ‘I thought she was astonishing, she thought I’d do,’ he says.

And the children at something like the halfway stage in their lives see their parents with a new perspective. Not the familiar ‘we just wanted you to be happy’ but something more appropriate to their intellectual rigour.

I don’t want to make this sound too political or philosophical because it is ultimately the story of a family, a believable family. They are loving but they’re not tactile and they’re not sentimental- and neither is Jack Thorne’s script. His dialogue conveys the relaxed banter and the rows of people who love and know one another. The children’s attachment to their parents and its effect on their lives is tangible.

John Tiffany directs with precision. The beautiful design by Grace Smart presents us with a simple family kitchen but with holes in the walls, perhaps suggesting the uncertainties of their lives.

A word of warning. In the middle of one argument, Sal says, ‘I’m going to the toilet. It’s an a political act.’ This is a particularly cruel thing to say in front of an audience who have to sit with their legs crossed through one hour fifty minutes without an interval.

the end of history can be seen at The Royal Court Theatre until 10 August 2019. Click here for tickets.

Watch the YouTube review of end of history on the One Minute Theatre Reviews channel

June 5, 2018October 19, 2018

Orlando Bloom in Killer Joe – review

Orlando Bloom triumphs in Killer Joe at Trafalgar Studio 1

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Click here to watch review on One Minute Theatre reviews on YouTube

Photo of Orlando Bloom in Killer Joe at Trafalgar Studios. Photo by Marc Brenner — Orlando Bloom in Killer Joe at Trafalgar Studios. Photo: Marc Brenner

This is the sort of night at the theatre I live for. Killer Joe was written by Tracy Letts, an actor who understands how theatre works and how to create great roles.

Despite all the sex and violence in the play, it is a moral tale. It’s reminiscent of Jacobean revenge tragedy with a nod to the claustrophobic overheated southern dramas of Tennessee Williams. In this case the claustrophobic set by Grace Smart is a convincing, trashy mobile home in a Texan trailer park. The intimate ‘cockpit’ of Traflagar Studio One really helps the oppressive atmosphere.

The literal trailer trash is very detailed and adds to the play’s recreation of the trailer trash lifestyle with its automatic switching on of Prozac television and Fast food diet. (One use of a fried chicken leg may have a permanent effect on how you view a bucket meal.)

Photo of Orlando Bloom and Sohie Cookson in Killer Joe. Photo by Marc Brenner — Orlando Bloom and Sohie Cookson in Killer Joe. Photo: Marc Brenner

The Smith family who live there are poor and ignorant which adds a layer of welcome humour but they could be anyone led by greed and a total lack of morality. They want someone close to them killed so they hire a hitman. Inevitably things go wrong and there are plenty of twists along the way.

In a series of scenes of sexual abuse which are uncomfortable to watch and shocking violence which is extraordinarily well done, we see what can happen when people are not controlled by morality or law.

Orlando Bloom is a revelation as a the smooth talking cold eyed sociopathic Joe. His sinister alpha male dominates the evening but each character is far more subtle than stereotypical trailer trash and every member of the superb cast seizes the opportunity to show a wide range of emotion.

Sophie Cookson is brilliant at walking the tightrope between being frightened of Joe’s sexual advances and, because she is used to being controlled, willing.

Photo of Adam Gillen and Steffan Rhodri in Killer Joe. Photo by Marc Brenner — Adam Gillen and Steffan Rhodri in Killer Joe. Photo: Marc Brenner

Steffan Rhodri as her father Ansel is a subtle mixture of bravado, cowardice, fear and excitement.

Her frantic, gullible brother Chris is the kind of person who always has a plan and the plan is never thought through. He’s a person adrift in a world he doesn’t really understand and that seems to be against him. He recognises feelings of love and regret but doesn’t know how to handle them. Adam Gillen conveys this with jerky body movements and looks of wide-eyed wonder as he realises what’s going on.

When we first meet her, she is confident, sassy which makes her downfall is all the more shocking.

Killer Joe is a unique theatrical experience. For example, there is no substitute for seeing someone hit in the face actually in front of you. The graphic fights directed by Jonathan Holby are incredibly well done.

Director Simon Evans keeps what could easily be an over the top grand guignol production under control right up to a beautifully choreographed violent finish.

The warnings about this production are many and it certainly is not for the faint hearted. On the matter of nudity, there are three instances. At the beginning, in one of the many humorous moments in the play, Sharla answers the door to her stepson Chris wearing only a top. Her pubic hair is clearly visible. When Chris complains, she responds by saying ‘I didn’t know who it was’.

Another occasion is a glimpse of Orlando Bloom’s bottom. By far the most shocking is a moment when Dottie is told to undress by Joe. He has his back to her but she is facing us the audience. It’s an unnerving moment which makes us feel complicit in this abuse, just as the Smiths have become responsible for much more than they bargained for in hiring this monster.

Finally a word about the excellent use of music by Edward Lewis, both his own unobstrusive mood creating music and his sinister use of known pop songs.