Hamlet. Arguably, the most famous play in theatrical history. Herald to some of the most memorable quotes, and the famously dark character of the ‘sweet prince’, a worthy rendition of ‘to be or not to be’ is a fame vehicle and honour that will put your name up there in the pantheon of Hamlet’s, inhabited by names like David Tennant, Kenneth Branagh, and Laurence Olivier.
Jude Law entered into the role an underdog, but easily proves himself more than a Hollywood name, inhabiting Hamlet’s tormented and sensitive soul, sprinkled with perfectly dry wit and a style all his own. Law’s body language is so fluid, and so sublime, he could successfully perform the first mimed version of Hamlet - it’s apparent from the start when the usual beginning is preceded by Grandage’s insertion of a kneeling, grieving, philosophising Hamlet - all these possibilities of emotion in one gesture, heavy on the shoulders of such a young prince. For Law’s Hamlet is somewhat boyish in it’s confusion and vulnerability that lies beneath the tantrum-like anger. His Hamlet looks almost made up in his mind already with his bared teeth and cruel sarcasm that fill his first scene; this has been criticised by some critics, but this understandable interpretation, in my admittedly ignorant opinion, must be one of the most feeling Hamlet’s performed. And what does the audience go to Hamlet for but to share his misery? The anger doesn’t command but simply adds another adrenaline inducing dimension despite the audience already being aware of the outcome. Hamlet is still as calculatingly mad but somehow human as he should be.
Law’s performance brings life to sick and dreary Denmark (an admirably simple set by Christopher Oram, who like Adam Cork’s average sound, and Neil Austin’s lighting - which is barely a decoration in a play so dark it begs no light - is practically resident at the Donmar) inhabited by otherwise mostly equally dreary performances. Claudius (Kevin R McNally) and Gertrude (Penelope Wilton) despite their rank are regrettably dull, and Peter Eyre plays the Ghost of Hamlet’s Father as amplified as he does the Player King. Gugu Mbatha-Raw is memorable only in her madness, for as sane as the others, she as dull as them too, and her brother Laertes played by Alex Waldman is ironically, vivaciously unfeeling in the matter of her death. It is Matt Ryan’s leather clad Horatio, and Ron Cook’s hilarious Polonius that are the only constantly well played parts.
This three hour version practically hurtles along, the cuts barely evident when you’re so spellbound by Hamlet - Grandage has brought out the psychological thrill of the play most commendably. He almost channels it’s main theme with actors donning black and only black, and almost has a timeless feel it’s costume style if it weren’t for Horatio’s jacket and Hamlet’s jeans, but this Hamlet is aimed more at new audiences, in keeping with the aim of the Donmar Season. I attended the free performance with Donmar’s Discovery Scheme (free tickets for under-26’s) and Grandage’s pride and enthusiasm over making theatre more acceptable was just as moving and respectable as the performace. Grandage has made Hamlet his own and ended the season on a relatively high note (but mostly thanks to Law‘s enchanting Hamlet).
Veronica Grubb
It’s the nineteenth century and Byron’s kicking off a scandal in our midst - oh no wait, it’s the twenty first and this is all ‘trivial’ banter between rivalling scholars. Well, Stoppard has flawlessly mastered crossing timelines without a Doctor Who style paradox causing the world to end (or at the very least, deserve a bad review). In the present day, scholars Hannah and Bernard are staying at the Coverly’s country house searching for evidence to support Bernard’s theory: Did Byron flee the country because he killed poet Ezra Chater? Meanwhile, we’re seeing the truth for ourselves, but something much more interesting is afoot in Thomasina Coverly’s ‘good, old, English algebra’ proof being ironically far ahead of it’s time.
So science and literature, classicism and romanticism, entropy and disorder, all entwined in the complications of human nature and knowledge are brought to loggerheads to concoct what is arguably Stoppard’s cleverest play yet, and still finds room for the unscrupulous wit we know and love. When we go to the theatre and see what we would call a good play, we’re often moved - it’s unbeknown to me to ever equally feel that you’re being educated as well, and enjoy it! (If only our teachers had weaved narrative into lessons, we might have listened more…) Septimus Hodge isn’t so much Thomasina Coverly’s tutor and charmer as much as the audience’s; the same could be said of modern mathematician Valentine (by name and reserved for Hannah - and perhaps pet tortoise Lighting - by nature). The simple genius of the play is how Leveaux highlights the importance of the academia in the narrative like as sort of an erotic fuel to those academic relationships, and engages us in every possible way.
The ensemble is as faultless as the script delivering some truly memorable performances. Youngsters Jessie Cave as the child genius, and especially Hugh Mitchell hold their own next to an established cast that includes Neil Pearson and Samantha Bond as scholars, Hannah and Bernard. But it’s the rising stars that leave the impression, Stoppard’s son Ed as the frustrated Valentine Coverly (‘Brideshead regurgitated’) and Dan Stevens as sarky Septimus, who has a head for numbers as much as womanising - but underneath it all, whose heart rending revelation hits home with the audience most of all, and whose presence at Coverly is like a jigsaw of a map that must be pieced together for Bernard and Hannah to satisfy their theories (not to mention, he cuts a dashing figure).
Paul Anderson’s lighting is a subtle crowning glory on top of every element that Leveaux has managed to direct to perfection, which include a clean set by Betchler and Simon Baker’s simple score. Arcadia is the must see of the year, and the must read of the century. ‘Et in Arcadia ego.’ Even in Arcadia, there is death - think on it.
Veronica Grubb
Shakespeare’s Globe, where history really does come alive, has been thrust into the present for the first time with it’s commissioned musical ‘The Frontline’ by Che Walker.
Outside Camden tube station, Saturday night. Who hasn’t been there? Who doesn’t have shamefully familiar hazy stories framed by blinking lights and the lingering odours of alcohol and hot dogs. The audience is thrown into it with the death of smooth jazz and birth of rap, and evangelists singing and brandishing crosses as if us sinners have developed werewolf/vampire alter egos. Oddly enough, it sparkles with gems of comic genius within it’s blink and you’ll miss it, helter-skelter dialogue. The Frontline is a web intertwining stories, too many for them all to develop to a satisfactory climax, but all to be praised for their emotion, message and relevance within modern society. Che Walker perhaps has been a bit too ambitious, but it would spoil the show to lose any of it’s fabulous characters, so well written, the audience don’t fail to connect with each and every one of them.
Played by a faultless cast, the characters include prostitutes, two rival drug dealers (whose fight somehow manage to lovingly echo the matrix), Beth (Golda Roshevel) who replaced her drug addiction with one for Jesus, egomaniac Mordechai Thurrock (Trystan Gravelle) compulsively attempting to ‘entice’ an agent to see his play, cocky but impressionable teenager Elliot (Ashley Rolfe), and the link to the past, Ragdale (Paul Copley). And that’s just a few, this play has everything. It’s only fair to say that the whole ensemble give a stellar performance, but the beauty of complex, adorable Mordechai Thurrock, passionately played by rising star Trystan Gravelle is the ace in the pack.
The juggernaut pace the spinning dialogue creates propels you through the two and a half hours, and with the overlapping styles of music and dance, the turbulent atmosphere of the curb-crawlers of Camden comes alive. The need. The rush. The tragedy. The realisation that love can exist in the lowest of places, a place dealt that they seem hopelessly resigned to. Walker’s play, Fox’s music, Lamb’s intelligent choreography and Dunster’s glue has brought the Globe into the 21st century. Like the characters, The Frontline has it’s faults, but shamelessly exposes the beauty and cruelty of London which manages to pluck at the audience’s heartstrings like a grim musician.
Veronica Grubb
My opinion of Madame De Sade I could only call nondescript. It would be unfair to call it neither good nor bad, yet it left no impression, was almost too abstract in the point it was making, and sitting through the whole one hour forty minutes, I was struggling a little to stay awake.
Not beleaguered by the negative reviews that have cast a shadow on the radiant Donmar West End series success, I went not only optimistically but excited - a show set in Paris in the run up to revolution, about some blackly twisted Casanova? Perfect for me. I'd think. The Marquis De Sade is never present on stage, the play is told from the point of view of the women in his life all struggling to understand (or imprison) his seemingly ungodly motives. This reflects the likewise people who have damned or struggled to find the philosophies of freedom and serving self indulgence within his sadomasochistic writing. The recountance means the story is told as if the characters are reading from a book which isn't what makes theatre. Yukio Mishima's language is vivid, colourful, impressionistic. It paints the action in your head so clearly, however it's always niggling at the back of your mind that such dialogue is only in stories, and people, not even back then, spoke like they do in Madame De Sade. Moreover it's message is lost within the web of eloquence leaving the audience bamboozled more than enlightened.
Even the unfaultable Michael Grandage couldn't make this a piece of brilliant theatre. He prefers to let the outstanding writing stand on it's own which just isn't enough. What Mishima has written is not a piece of theatre, it's an attempt at originality in it's format but it fails. Grandage decides to aid the subliminality of the script (although Marquis De Sade was blunt, not subtle) through the use of visual and sound effects. Unimpressive nothing moments. There is only one moment where this works to enhance the visualisation, otherwise, the lucrative projections and echo effects are only noticeable as welcome detractions from the endless narrative. This production seems to have a curse on bringing out the worst in the best names; Adam Cork, the man in demand for sound design all across the West End, produced sound fills between the Acts that detracted from the time period and generally added nothing. Perhaps he should concentrate on quality rather than quantity in his workload. Neither would I praise Christopher Oram's design, there was one set throughout that didn't age and it's old quality was pointless except for perhaps attempting to mirror old attitudes in a time of revolution. Still, surely a woman so keen to preserve reputation would surely preserve a good looking home? Neil Austin's lighting manages to use colour to age with the progression of the story, which is much better than somebody coming on in the short time they have to change to sketch some wrinkles on.
It feels like blasphemy to say it, but the cast does not give out the outstanding performance inevitably expected of them. No one gives a bad performance, they all work with Mishima's script as well as they can...but their performances in no way save the show. I heard many praise Rosamund Pike's talent in the monologue towards the closing of the show and agree that she has incredible breath control, but like the other monologues, I'm not compelled but my mind drifts off. She and everyone else's dialogue becomes long winded. Judi hasn't got an interesting part, the person who leaves the biggest impression (for character more than ability) is Frances Barber as the brash and brassy Comtess De Saint-Ford.
I'm sure that the absence of the culprit being discussed adds a necessary element of the unknown, but betraying that for something occuring in the present, especially from a character so intriguing might have recussitated the long lost audience. There are many, MANY ways an idea with such potential could have been salvage, it's almost ironic that Mishima destroyed it himself with his own beautiful words. He created a work of art to be read, not staged. If the Donmar had thought everything they touched would turn to gold, then this ball and chain will hopefully drag them back down to earth and Hamlet will be a SIGNIFICANT improvement.
***
EGBDF – if you’re musical you’ll understand the humour already there. It’s a typically Stoppard witty play but beneath that lies an emotive story. Set within a mental institution in the middle of communist Russia it tells the stories of Alexander, a rigid dissident whose ‘opinions are his symptoms’ and his ward (meaning cell) mate Ivanov who is oblivious to this world because in his head Ivanov thinks he is surrounded by an orchestra.
The SouthBank Sinfonia takes to the stage to perform Andre Previn’s brilliantly emotive score. The music can be somewhat distracting at first, but this puts the audience in Ivanov’s mindset who cannot concentrate since the make believe orchestra is constantly tormenting him. The actors and orchestra work seamlessly together, the orchestra dominating the stage making the space for their cell effectively cramped.
Directors Felix Barrett and Tom Morris have incorporated the cleverest techniques into EGBDF to great effect and a somewhat abstract feel to great effect. The crosscutting shows the worlds in and out of the institution, as well as the difference between living in Ivanov and Alexander’s heads. And there was a somewhat random dance displaying the cruelty of the KGB, actually an innovative contrast of beauty to the subject matter.
Joseph Millson gives a brilliant performance as Alexander, the audience willing him to tell a lie so he can return to his traumatised son Sacha. Dan Stevens, the violin playing Doctor deliver his one liners with great finesse and Toby Jones is flawless in the great challenge of a man with his intriguing illness. He talks about his orchestra with a deadly seriousness and love, yet interspersed with the pain the fantasy is causing him.
Every Good Boy Deserves Favour is a beautifully deep play, lightened but not tainted by Stoppard’s fabulous humour.
Veronica Grubb
****
The audience is plunged into silence with a crack of thunder and driven music accompanying Walker’s (James McAvoy) dramatic entrance. Broody Walker slams open the door of his depressing loft, light spilling on the floor. He shines a torch light into the audience and contagious yet dark laughter rips from his throat. You just know it’s going to be a good show.
Three Days of Rain can be summarised as 2 siblings and their childhood friend discussing their inheritance, followed by showing how their parents met 30 years ago. My preconception was that it was going to be a boring play. Not. A. Chance! Richard Greenberg creates original characters, puts them in an intriguing, revealing story and manipulates the audience with his vivid language from raucous laughter to gasps - an ability echoing Chekov's.
The only thing that trumps the writing is the performances given by the cast. Household name James McAvoy lives up to expectations with his performance as the changeable Walker, then gives a completely contrasting performance as his father Ned, a stuttering mouse of a man besotted with brash southerner Lina (Lyndsey Marshal). Lyndsey is better as Lina than Nan, Walker’s sister, and although it’s understandable that it’s hard to make someone so normal, interesting, it’s a challenge she was given to rise to and frankly, fails. Onstage with McAvoy and Harman she is completely outshone. Nigel Harman as both animated Pip, and his father ambitious Theo, equals McAvoy in his energy and complete believability as the characters, so that the audience can easily comprehend why Nan used to date him (because they want to themselves!)Soutra Gilmore’s loft looks so dilapidated and neglected it’s hard to believe it’s the same loft when we’re thrown into the warm, swinging 60’s of Act Two. Ben and Max Ringham’s compositions become an essential part of the play, enhancing the atmosphere of the scenes. A particularly good element being the ‘60’s’ music playing throughout the interval to lull the audience into the decade so you’re already there when Act Two begins. Jamie Lloyd’s direction is very good, but he could have brought out even more in the characters (especially Marshall’s). The production feels as if it is lacking something you just can't pinpoint. However, the forever changing mood and pace he creates is exquisite.
With the calibre of the plays I’m seeing, I’m beginning to doubt the boundless praise I gave Ivanov...I'd prefer to think the talent of the West End is boundless.Veronica Grubb
*****
How do you Michael Morpurgo's story told through a horses eyes to the stage? Somehow, the national has managed it with flawless succcess.
War Horse tells the journey of 'Joey' from being a foal until he is sold at auction to the Naracott's, simply because Billy Naracott, renowned drunkard wishes to best his brother Arthur. Albert, Billy's son (Kit Harington) is given the task of bringing Joey up and the pair become inseperable friends - until Joey is sold by Arthur's father to go to war. However, on the news that Major Nicholls, the soldier who buys Joey, has died, Albert also joins the war effort in hope of reuniting with Joey who has been taken in by the German Hauptmann Friedrich Muller. This is a heartfelt story full of emotion, telling the tale of the forgotten heroes in the war - the horses. Attaining the audiences unquestionable belief in the animals through dexterous use of puppetry.Kit Harington shines as the star of the show as Albert in his first stage role since graduating from Central School of Speech and Drama, and Patrick O'Kane as Hauptmann Friedrich Muller is brilliant. Folk musician Tim Van Eyken is also hauntingly good as the Song Man. Rae Smith's stage design (of which the drawings are available in a free exhibition at the National) are to be very highly commended. A streak across the height of the stage acts as the background of the scene, displaying Major Nicholls drawings of Joey or wherever they are, becoming increasingly less detailed as the reach war ground. Equally good are Marianne Elliot and Tom Morris' direction, and Adrian Sutton's music.But arguably the best performances are given by horse puppeteers and their ability to make them appear real. War Horse is an innovative production not to be missed!Veronica Grubb
Hamlet. Arguably, the most famous play in theatrical history. Herald to some of the most memorable quotes, and the famously dark character of the ‘sweet prince’, a worthy rendition of ‘to be or not to be’ is a fame vehicle and honour that will put your name up there in the pantheon of Hamlet’s, inhabited by names like David Tennant, Kenneth Branagh, and Laurence Olivier.
