Theatre

Stones in his Pockets
Rose Theatre Kingston & Theatre Royal Bath Feb 2019 Dress Rehearsal Stones In His Pockets by Marie Jones Director Lyndsay Posner Designer Peter McKintosh Lighting Howard Harrison Movement Mike Ashcroft Kevin Trainor as Charlie Conlon Owen Sharpe as Jake Quinn ©NOBBY CLARK +44(0)7941-515770 +44(0)20-7274-2105 nobby@nobbyclark.co.uk

02/04/19

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

A little rural town in County Kerry has been appropriated as the setting for a big Hollywood movie, and most of the locals have landed themselves roles as extras. They include Jake Quinn (Owen Sharpe) and Charlie Conlon (Kevin Trainor), two likely lads with plenty of time on their hands.

Charlie is, at first, perfectly content to take his forty pounds a day and all he can eat from the catering wagon, but Jake has somewhat loftier ambitions. He has written a screenplay of his own and intends to show it to everybody he meets in the vague hope of achieving some kind of success. When the film’s glamorous star, Caroline, unexpectedly flutters her eyelashes in Charlie’s direction, Jake inevitably hears the sound of opportunity knocking. But he has a lot to learn about the ways in which the film industry operates…

Stones in his Pockets by Marie Jones is a gentle and engaging comedy. First performed in Belfast in 1996, it went on to have a lengthy run in the West End and, later, on Broadway. This timely revival is beautifully performed by Sharpe and Trainor, who – as well as delivering the lead roles – also portray a whole host of incidental characters: there’s the film’s bombastic director; some of its stars (including the seductive Caroline); a muscle-bound security guard; various local inhabitants (one of whom is the only surviving extra from The Quiet Man); and even the doomed, drug addicted teenager, Sean Harkin, whose unexpected suicide gives the play its title and whose funeral arrangements threaten to throw the Hollywood production into disarray.

But this is really all about the performance. It’s a delight to watch the two actors snap so effortlessly into each successive role, using a whole array of poses and gestures to ensure we’re never in any doubt as to who is talking to who at any given moment. The resulting interplay provides plenty of laughs and, at key points, some moments of genuine poignancy.

This play examines how the film industry remodels reality to make it more palatable for the big screen, how it exploits bystanders, seducing and dazzling them them into providing whatever is necessary to achieve a satisfactory end product. And it also highlights the desires and dreams of ordinary people that are so rarely given the opportunity to bloom into some kind of reality.

Stones in his Pockets is a little gem that’s well worth your attention.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

(Can This Be) Home

28/03/19

Writer/performer/poet Kolbrùn Björt Sigfúsdóttir fully expected her extended examination of the Brexit conundrum to have reached some kind of a resolution by now – it is after all, the night before the UK is scheduled to leave the European union – but the slow separation lumbers inexorably on, with nobody any the wiser.

Icelandic by birth, Sigfúsdöttir has lived and worked in the UK for five years now and is understandably concerned about what’s going to happen to her ability to travel and work in Europe after Brexit has changed the rules. (Can This Be) Home is essentially a series of poems about what it means to be an immigrant, though it should be said, that she’s speaking from a fairly privileged point of view, something that she really only acknowledges in her final (and most successful) poem.

Her readings are counterpointed with short pieces by musician Tom Oakes, who plays a wooden flute and a stringed instrument that, to my untutored eye, looks like a lute crossed with a guitar. Tom features a nice line in anecdotal patter and his observation that it’s hard to write a protest song when you’re an instrumentalist gets the evening’s biggest laugh. His musical influences come from all over the world, but particularly from the Scandi-regions where he has often been based – so he too is waiting for the results of Brexit with some apprehension.

While Sigfúsdöttir recites her work, Oakes immerses himself in a book, and while Oakes tootles his flute, Sigfúsdöttir models house-shaped images from what appears to be a mixture of sand and putty. This pointed ignoring of each other’s efforts is obviously intentional but I would actually like to see them combining their respective talents to create a more cohesive whole. It’s also true to say that tonight, at the Traverse Theatre, the two performers are pretty much preaching to the converted. I doubt there’s a single person in the room who actively disagrees with what they are saying.

The result is therefore a strangely muted affair. It would be very interesting to see this performed to a more partisan audience, one featuring people with an entirely different view of the Brexit situation. As it stands, this feels a little too comfortable, a little too lacking in fire and urgency.

3 stars

Philip Caveney

Velvet Petal

23/03/19

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Velvet Petal, choreographed by Fleur Darkin, is a compelling piece about identity and self-image, emergence and self-discovery. Performed by twelve dancers, it’s as much performance art as it is dance theatre, a series of thematically linked ideas and images, overlapping to create a sensation rather than a story.

Inspired by Robert Mapplethorpe’s photography, Patti Smith’s poetry and the migration of Monarch butterflies, the characters veer between languid and frenetic, assured and tentative. These are young people, in a bedroom or at a house party, trying poses and costumes,  selecting and rejecting a range of personae. Who are they, and how do they want to be seen?

They rarely work together (although when they do, moving mechanically, as if by rote, to a nightclub hit, it is singularly arresting). Instead, the stage is filled with micro-tales, vignettes of love and sex, of sadness and joy, with bystanders occupying the edges, watching or cuddling, or changing outfit for the seventh time. Sometimes, the lighting directs us to a key moment: two lovers slowly removing their clothes, hesitant, making themselves vulnerable; a young woman contorting herself to fit into a suit hanging on a rail, assuming an identity that seems uncomfortable, then summarily swept aside, despite all her effort. At other times, it’s hard to know where to look, there’s so much going on: one thing is certain, no two audience members will have seen exactly the same show.

The dancers’ physical control is extraordinary; for all its sensual punk-rebel attitude, this is a perfectly drilled piece, precise and disciplined. And the soundtrack, from Leonard Cohen to The Cure, is oddly powerful, mirroring and magnifying both anxiety and desire.

My inclination is towards more narrative art forms; I tend to favour story over concept. But when a production is as absorbing as Velvet Petal, I’ll take it exactly as it comes.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

 

The Taming of the Shrew

 

13/03/19

Pleasance Theatre, Edinburgh

I’ve never seen The Taming of the Shrew. I know the play, of course (I’ve even written essays about it), and I’ve been entertained by a number of intriguing reinterpretations in various forms: Kiss Me Kate, 10 Things I Hate About You, Vinegar Girl. But I’ve never seen it staged. Maybe because it’s arguably Shakespeare’s most contentious play – although The Merchant of Venice certainly has its issues too – and difficult to reconcile with modern sensibilities.

For those readers who need a quick reminder, the ‘shrew’ of the title is Kate, a wayward young woman, whose volatility deters any would-be beaux. Her father – based on some labyrinthine reasoning – imposes a bizarre rule: her sweet-natured sister, Bianca, cannot marry before Kate. But Bianca is a popular girl, and her suitors do not want to wait. Enter Petruchio, with a plan to break the older girl’s spirit. He bullies, half starves, gaslights and manipulates her into submission. In a modern play, this would be the midway point; we’d see Kate regain her equilibrium and Petruchio punished. But here, this is the denouement. It’s most uncomfortable.

And it’s not just the gender politics that make TTOTS problematic. The plot is convoluted and over-contrived, the humour weirdly at odds with the central relationship. It’s a tough call for any theatre company, let alone one so young as the EUSC.

But, under Tilly Botsford’s direction, this is a marked success. We’re never in any doubt that Petruchio (played with chilling self-righteousness by Michael Hajiantonis) is an awful man: he treats his servants with the same foul aggression as his wife. I applaud the decision to cast women as the servants too, emphasising the power of the patriarchal structure, and underscoring the theme of domestic violence.

Sally MacAlister is marvellous as Grumio. She clearly relishes the role, and imbues the much put-upon servant with humour and brio. Nathaniel Brimmer-Beller also stands out as Vincentio: he inhabits this small role with a natural ease that is very impressive.

Of course, Anna Swinton has the hardest job: she’s Kate, and it’s a tough part to play. Perhaps, in some earlier scenes, her body language could be less languid and more combative, but this is a small point. Because her often mute response to Pertuchio’s bullying is nuanced as well as unequivocal, and – in that final moment – when she delivers her speech about why a wife should submit to her husband – the desperation of this broken woman is heartbreaking to witness.

This EUSC production shows then that it is perfectly possible to deliver this controversial play exactly as it stands, without compromising our changed values. A difficult undertaking, but most worthwhile.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

 

The Funeral Director

08/03/19

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

A fascinating conundrum lies at the heart of Iman Qureshi’s The Funeral Director. How far should people allow their chosen religion to dictate their actions… particularly when that religion instructs them to go against anti-discrimination laws?

Ayesha (Aryana Ramkhalwon) and her husband, Zeyd (Assad Zaman) are the Pakistani proprietors of a Muslim funeral parlour in the north of England. The business has been inherited from Ayesha’s mother and the young couple are struggling to keep the place solvent, whilst putting their personal ambitions on the back burner. Their five year marriage is clearly struggling, something that Zeyd tries to overcome with a disastrous choice of a present for his wife’s birthday.

But the normal order of business is rudely disputed when a distraught young man, Tom (Edward Stone), calls to the parlour, looking to arrange the burial of his recently deceased Muslim boyfriend. Ayesha and Zeyd feel they have to turn him away, since homosexuality is expressly forbidden by their religion. To go along with Tom’s wishes will doubtless be badly received by the Pakistani community which they serve – and would likely affect their already struggling business. Soon after, Ayesha reconnects with childhood friend, Janie (Francesca Zoutewelle), a barrister who has returned from London to care for her invalid mother. It’s clear from the outset Ayesha and Janie have some unfinished business – and, just to make things even more tricky, Janie’s new occupation may come in very useful when Tom decides to sue the funeral parlour for sexual orientation discrimination.

This is a nicely nuanced piece that inevitably recalls the recent case of the Northern Irish bakers who refused to create a cake bearing a pro-gay message – and, just as in that situation, the arguments for and against their decision are incredibly complicated. What’s particularly impressive about this play is that it steadfastly refuses to opt for straightforward answers. It soon becomes apparent that Ayesha’s original opposition to Tom’s request is not for the obvious reasons. I also love the fact Qureshi refuses to turn Zeyd into a stereotype: he’s kind, supportive and ready to try anything to put matters right.

There are some nice performances here and a genuinely moving conclusion, where Ayesha finally gains the courage to confront the obstacle that has been afflicting her marriage for so long. This is a play that will have you discussing its central premise for hours after you’ve left the theatre.

4.1 stars

Philip Caveney

The Dark Carnival

06/03/19

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

The Dark Carnival is all about death. If that sounds a bit off-putting, let me add that it somehow contrives to be a great big warm hug of a production (all about death). It’s brilliantly written by Matthew Lenton and gloriously performed by a fourteen-strong cast. Throw in the excellent Kurt Weill-ish songs of the charismatic Biff Smith, plus the music of urban folk band A New International and you have something that is as close to unique as it’s possible to be in a contemporary theatre. Oh, did I mention that the witty script is delivered entirely in verse? Well, it is – and that’s quite a feat all on its own.

The action mostly takes place below ground in Dickinson’s Brae cemetery, Glasgow, where many of the inhabitants enter and exit from their respective coffins, but there’s also a raised proscenium arch which gives occasional glimpses into what’s happening above the soil. It even offers tantalising glimpses of the doorway to heaven, though – due to austerity – that door is now kept well and truly locked, guarded by a fag-smoking, wine-imbibing angel (Natalie McCleary), intent on keeping out the riff-raff.  There’s a clever socialist edge to the narrative and I love the observation that the only deceased who have any hope of lingering in the memories of the living are those that have statues and shrines devoted to them.

We are greeted first by a narrator (Elicia Daly), who has some delightful interplay with members of the audience – Fraser, I’m sure she was exaggerating your exploits! – before introducing us to the other characters. There’s Mrs Eugenia Mark (Ann Louise Ross), a whisky-swilling Victorian lady; Major Montgomery Toast (Harry Ward), who has traded his military exploits for an electric guitar; and there’s the restless John (Malcolm Cumming), who still has unfinished business above ground. We are also introduced to tragic new member of the Necropolitans, Little Annie (Olivia Barrowclough, who uncannily inhabits the persona of a bewildered young child with total conviction).

There’s so much here to enjoy that I find myself increasingly dazzled by the scale and ambition of the piece, which has been drilled to perfection. The design, the lighting, the sound: it’s all spot on. The creators describe it as a ‘music and theatre spectacle’ and I’d say that pretty much hits the coffin nail on the skull. Suffice to say that my attention doesn’t wander for a moment and I leave the theatre humming the final song.

On the night we attend, The Traverse is pretty rammed but, if there are still tickets to be had, grab them now before the carnival moves on in the direction of Dundee.

Don’t miss this. It’s a spirited production in every sense of the word.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

 

 

 

In Other Words

01/03/19

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

‘A play about dementia set to the music of Frank Sinatra.’

On paper, it doesn’t sound like the most appealing proposition, does it? But this clever piece, written by Matthew Seager, is an affecting study of the ways in which dementia, that most insidious of illnesses, can gradually overtake someone’s life. It also examines the pressures placed upon partners, who increasingly find themselves becoming carers. I have some personal experience here, because the last ten years of my mother’s life were affected by Alzheimer’s – and watching the way Arthur (Seager) and Jane (Angela Hardie)’s close and  loving relationship is gradually destroyed by the inexorable onset of dementia is, of course, tragic and compelling.

We first encounter the couple at their clumsy introduction in a bar, back when they were young and carefree – and we watch their first tentative dance to the titular Sinatra song, the one that is destined to become a touchstone in their lives – but, almost immediately, we slip forward to their harrowing present as Arthur deteriorates before our eyes, transforming into a mute, quivering figure in a chair, the unpalatable reality signalled by a flickering standard lamp and ominous, echoing sound effects. The performances from the two leads are exemplary, and the simple but effective staging works well, snapping me backwards and forwards in time without ever confusing me. It’s poignant to see present day Arthur suddenly transform to his younger, more vital self.

If there’s anything missing from the story, it’s a look into the the characters’ external lives. We learn very little about what they do outside of their relationship. Where, for instance, do they work? What are their interests (other than the music of Mr Sinatra)?And there’s only one brief scene that has a passing reference to any friends they might have. Perhaps Seager wants to concentrate all his attention on the couple’s mutual dependency, but it’s harder to mourn what’s been lost when we haven’t been shown a full picture of it. I’m also a little unsure of how old Arthur is supposed to be when he first begins to exhibit signs of the illness.

But there’s no doubting the sincerity of the story or the fact that it tackles a very important subject with sensitivity and understanding. Seager first became interested in the idea when he worked alongside people with dementia and noticed how regular exposure to music served to calm their mounting terrors. I also know from personal experience that people in the grip of dementia can be perfectly lucid about events that happened decades earlier, but have no memory of what happened minutes ago – a condition that is expertly conveyed here. I cry quite a lot during this performance as it evokes personal memories.

After this brief showing at the Traverse, In Other Words moves on to The Tron Theatre in Glasgow. See it if you can and be prepared to weep.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Ghost: The Musical

26/02/19

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

I’m not fully on board the make-a-musical-out-of-an-old-movie-and-play-on-people’s-nostalgia train, but I like to keep an open mind: absolutes are rarely helpful, and a pleasant surprise is a welcome thing. But, sadly, Ghost The Musical only confirms my prejudice. It feels like a copy, like something filmic shoehorned into awkward theatricality.

It’s not awful. As far as sentimental love stories go, it hits the mark. The plot (by Bruce Joel Rubin, who wrote the original film script as well as the book for this version) is – if a little mawkish – at least quirky and fun. Molly (Rebekah Lowings) and Sam (Niall Sheehy) are a young couple, who’ve just bought their first apartment – a do-er upper in Brooklyn – and are looking forward to a shared future. However, Sam discovers some irregularities in his accounts at work and, before he can figure out what’s going on, he’s killed in a seemingly random attack. His ghost, unsettled, can’t leave until the situation is resolved, and there are things he needs to tell Molly. So he commandeers some help from convicted fraudster and reluctant medium, Oda Mae (Jacqui Dubois), and sets out to put matters right.

There are some excellent set pieces here. Particular standouts for me are the sequences set on the New York subway, where Sam enlists the help of the Subway Ghost (Lovonne Richards). These scenes are technically impressive, and Richards’ performance is genuinely intimidating, far scarier than the rather insipid moments where the dead baddies are dragged to hell. I also like every scene that features Oda Mae. Dubois is a charismatic force, and she’s lucky, because she has the funniest jokes and the best songs. It’s a gift of a part, and Dubois makes the most of it.

Lowings and Sheehy are also competent performers, both engaging and sympathetic. And Sergio Pasquariello does a decent turn as Carl, the heavily-signposted villain (honestly, this isn’t a spoiler; there’s never anybody else in the frame). But the songs (by Dave Stewart and Glen Ballard) aren’t really memorable, and the whole thing just feels a bit drama-by-numbers for my taste.

Look, if you loved the movie, you’ll probably like this. It’ll set off all those feelgood  tingles, and you’ll have a lovely time. Just don’t go expecting anything more.

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

Ulster American

21/02/19

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We missed Ulster American at the Fringe last year, but we couldn’t miss the buzz surrounding David Ireland’s latest play: the high praise and the damning criticism, the controversy, the hype. So we’re delighted that it’s back at the Traverse for a ten-day run. Now we can see for ourselves precisely what the fuss was all about.

Right from the start. we know we’re in the ‘high praise’ camp. Darrell D’Silva swaggers into action as Jay, an alpha-male Hollywood star, expecting deference and devotion, used to being fêted but in denial about his privilege. He’s visiting Leigh (Robert Jack), a mild-mannered London theatre director, who’s clearly desperate to please the celebrity who’ll ensure his latest project is a sell-out. As they await the arrival of Ruth (Lucianne McEvoy), the Northern Irish playwright in whose drama Jay will take the lead, the two men make conversation, with Jay predictably dominating proceedings. His intense, naval-gazing prattle discomfits Leigh, and the scene is genuinely hilarious – as well as shocking.

The humour here derives mainly from Jay’s lack of self-awareness, and from Leigh’s awkward attempts to disagree without offending him. Jay’s a self-proclaimed nice guy; he loves women. He refuses to see how reductive his hypothetical rape questions might be, and Leigh is no better, colluding as he eventually does. I find myself perplexed by critics who’ve condemned the piece for joking about rape. I’m a feminist; I’m primed to bristle. But the joke is never about rape. It’s about two deluded men and their blind spots, about their tone-deaf ignorance. Jay’s forcefulness juxtaposed with Leigh’s nervy twitching is a fascinating dynamic, and the performances heighten these characteristics to great effect.

When Ruth arrives, their hubris is further exposed. Her play – which both men claim to love – is about the Troubles in Northern Ireland, and its protagonist is a Unionist terrorist. American Jay, despite identifying as an Irish-Catholic, has never actually been to Ireland, and is having trouble grasping the basic details. What does Ulster mean, exactly? And what’s a Fenian? It soon becomes clear that he has accepted the part without understanding it, and that he’s not at all happy about the themes that Ruth reveals.

From here, mayhem ensues, as the three pursue their own disparate agenda. Ruth and Jay are at loggerheads, while Leigh is stuck in the middle, tying himself in knots to appease them both, and failing miserably. He claims he’s a feminist, that women’s voices need to be heard, but misses the disconnect between these assertions and his constant interruptions and shushing of Ruth; his mansplaining, “What she really means is…”; his rebuttal of her declaration that she’s British (“She’s not.”).

Still, neither man is wholly repugnant: Jay, despite his bombast and bluster, is well-meaning really; Leigh is weak and obsequious, but he’s not unlikeable. Nor is Ruth a stainless heroine; she’s more than capable of using the situation to further her own ends. But she is the only one with a clear sense of who she is – and it’s she who drives the play to its shocking conclusion. McEvoy portrays her as a force to be reckoned with, all jaw-clenched determination and self-assurance. It’s a remarkable performance.

This is a visceral, explosive piece of drama, reminiscent of early Martin McDonagh with its bloody violence and dark humour, and the direction (by Gareth Nicholls) is flawless. The fights (choreographed by EmmaClaire Brightlyn) are the most horribly convincing I’ve ever seen, forcing me to watch through my fingers, and gasp in revulsion. (I see this as a positive.) All three actors are compelling in their roles; the tension between them is palpable.

We leave the theatre talking about the issues raised, and we’re still discussing them  hours later. This is riveting stuff and an important addition to the #metoo dialogue.

5 stars

Susan Singfield