The Bee – Soho Theatre

The Bee, which opened in the Soho theatre in 2006, makes its return to London as part of a world tour that includes stop offs in Tokyo, New York and Hong Kong. Its blend of physical theatre that verges on clowning and blank verse will no doubt delight audiences craving a departure from the normal language of spoken theatre just as it will leave others bemusedly scratching their heads. Some quirky and innovative stage artifices from co-writer/director/actor and Japanese legend Hideki Noda keep the production interesting. Yet the highly stylized action sequences (set in the main to music) are not quite elegant enough in their execution to truly convince that this is artful dance rather than pantomime. One is left with impression that the play is merely a vehicle for experimental direction and as such the story fails to stir the emotions.

Set in Tokyo in 1974 Mr. Ido, a salaryman, returns home to find that an escaped convict, Ogoro, has taken his family hostage. Rather than wait for the inept police force to bring a messy resolution he takes matters into his own hands and retaliates by taking the convict’s own family hostage. So begins a brutal game of tit-for-tat whereby each captor rapes and maims their opposite’s wife and son. In dream like semi-balletic sequences set to Puccini’s Madame Butterfly Ido is trapped in a cycle of posting severed fingers to his enemy and in turn receiving Ogoro’s gruesome offerings. He fucks Ogoro’s wife, eats, washes and sleeps. He is at once horrified by the violence he is committing yet also empowered by the fact that he is no longer a victim.

The significance of the bee that torments Ido throughout the play is not especially clear. Perhaps it is a symbol of domestic annoyance reflecting the monotony of the life of a salaryman; perhaps Ido’s nagging conscience; perhaps nothing more than a dramatic conceit to show that Ido, like a bee that has stung, must die for his violence. The dream-like quality of the play reinforced the narration by Ido of the physical actions he is simultaneously taking, hints at themes beyond the simple hostage narrative. Yet if this is a comment on the role of women in Japanese society, or some more existential imperative to own one’s own actions, this is lost in the calamity of the production.

Each member of the cast plays a variety of characters. Kathryn Hunter, notable for being the first woman to have played King Lear, cuts a strange figure as Ido. Her raspy voice and RSC training lend a deranged yet lyrical quality to the text which is written in blank verse (with a slight overreliance on rhyming couplets). Hideki Noda appears as Ogoro’s wife and lends some credibility to the kabuki style set-pieces. Particularly impressive in terms of characterization is Glyn Pritchard who plays Ogoro’s much mutilated son as well as a raft of other parts.

Playful at times, funny and occasionally taut, the production is never slow. There are moments of directorial brilliance and I felt that the creative team achieved what they set out to achieve in blending various theatrical traditions of both the West and the Orient. However, this constant mish-mash of styles was overwhelming and a great deal of meaning and poignancy was lost in the on-stage cacophony.

Huis Clos (John-Paul Sartre), Trafalgar Studios

It is impossible to talk about Huis Clos without understanding that it is the product of the godfather of Existentialist thought, John-Paul Sartre, and is as much an example of that philosophy as it is a work of art. Yet whilst it is certainly a masterpiece of thought, it is a somewhat tortuous experience as a piece of theatre.  Little wonder considering that the crumbling hotel room the three protagonists find themselves locked in is in fact hell. Left to their own devices, this is an inferno free of fire, brimstone, and red hot pokers; the torture comes rather from the characters’ own struggle to come to terms with and accept responsibility for their lives on earth, and the power struggle, games of sexual dominance and judgements that they make on each other.

Paul Hart’s production is gritty, taut, frustrating at times, and hugely claustrophobic with the first row of audience seats actually within the bounds of the tiny stage. Whilst this makes for uncomfortable viewing it reflects beautifully the themes of the play, and the audience being physically part of the action reminds us that whilst this is a play about the afterlife, what is important is what it teaches us about this life.

Will Keen plays Garcin, the wife beating pacifist with minute attention to detail, his twitching fingers speaking to his inner turmoil as well as his insistent line delivery. Michelle Fairley fairly gives probably the most nuanced performance of the evening as Ines, but then the lesbian, somewhat sadistic character painted by Sartre is definitely the most interesting. Nevertheless she gave a layered performance that showed the audience some sort of tenderness fluttering beneath her icy exterior. Fiona Glascott as socialite Estelle was convincing in being unable to come to terms with her earthy indiscretions and violence, but slipped slightly toward caricature at times, although one suspects that Sartre himself was prone to stereotype when writing her part.

The production is powerful, but ultimately many people may find it inaccessible. The most famous line from the play is “L’enfer, c’est les autres” which is translated as “Hell is other people”. The concept of “the other” has a specific meaning in Sartre’s thinking and personally I feel it would be better translated as “Hell is the others” to reflect the fact that Sartre was not advocating a life lived in isolation of other people, but rather that it is our challenge as human beings to own our actions in the face of the judgements of others. Whichever way you look at it however, a play with this as the central theme is never going to be easy viewing, and as such the challenging nature of this production should not put anyone off going to see this seminal piece of 20^th century art.

In Defence of Politicians (In Spite of Themselves)

Peter Riddell, Biteback 2011 (paperback) £9.99

 In Defence of Politicians is a punchy and spirited argument in favour not just of politicians, but of British representative politics from the pen of a man who has been observing our governments and parliaments for decades. Journalist turned public intellectual, Peter Ridell served as political commentator for The Times for nearly 20 years and as such has a unique vantage point from which to make his case. Part polemic, part memoir the volume is peppered with anecdotes such as his dealings with Rupert Murdoch (“the Sun King”) and the often “gruesome” press dinners given at party conferences. Additionally there are lengthy yet pertinent asides on, amongst other topics, the role of the media, the judiciary and a look at US style politics which should make this volume appeal to a broad audience. Well thought out, the tone of the text can tend toward argumentative rather than reasoned, yet this adds to the brisk pace of the book.

 Ridell claims that the widespread denigration of and lack of trust in politicians is at best “unhealthy” and at worst, symptomatic of a “democratic crisis”. The fiddling of expenses, sleaze, cash for questions and the controversies surrounding the Iraq war have degraded levels of respect and trust for those elected to represent the public’s interest both in government and in the Commons. The message of the book is that whilst there have been serious personal failings on the part of certain rogue politicians, we should not throw the baby out with the bathwater for two key reasons: Firstly the accusations leveled against our politicians are often inaccurate and generally exaggerated. British politics is in fact in a much better state of health than it has been for many years. Secondly, representative government is the best type of government, and politicians are inherent to such a system.

 Ridell argues that MPs, far from being the “supine” self-serving careerists they are made out to be, are in fact more rebellious than ever, and willing to stand up to their party for what they believe to be right for those they represent. Evidence abounds, from the backbench protests over Iraq, and the Royal Mail, to the constant and unreported modifying of Bills to receive broad party consent. Additionally, the system of Select Committees, greatly revised under Blair, now means that government is subject to independent scrutiny on a scale never before seen, and hence the power of the party Whips has been diminished. There does seem to be a compelling force in the argument that recent reform of the Lords and the processes of scrutiny of government have made politicians more accountable to their constituents. There is more to be done, but Ridell argues that not enough credit is given to how well our political system is functioning.

 More importantly however, politicians are central to the system of representative democracy, a system that Ridell argues passionately for maintaining. Whilst he is not of the view that efforts to give the electorate more “voice” in the periods between elections, he worries that attempts to further “de-politicise” decision making through the involvement of independent experts, or to devolve more decision making to community level groups will only lead to issue capture by unrepresentative non-governmental orgainisations, businesses, and the more politically active citizens. Elected representatives remain the best way for all interests to be taken into account in order to reach consensus by compromise. Yet, he argues, it is this mechanism of compromise that is the primary source of distrust in politicians as people have “inflated expectations” as to what can be achieved in the political arena. The electorate expects a social utopia and yet the job of MPs is “to mediate and reconcile our differing interests” meaning that not everyone will be happy all of the time. It is the failure of politicians to communicate their role sufficiently clearly in this regard that leads to distrust and malaise.

 This is a powerful argument, but two things should be borne in mind. Firstly there is a large although strongly contested literature in political science (“a narcissistic world of academics writing for each other”) that moving decisions closer to the people they affect is a good means of ensuring efficiency and accountability. Thus Ridell’s assertions as to issue capture are not supported by conclusive evidence. Secondly, whilst it may be true that politicians are an inherent part of a representative democracy, it is not the case that the UK political style is part of such a system, and it may be that it is this style that breeds discontent in the electorate.

 For example, rather than being ill informed about the nature of democracy, voters may be disillusioned with parties that promise one thing in their manifestos only to do quite another once in power. Blair brought in tuition fees, the Con-Dems raised VAT contrary to noises made in the Tory campaign, and raised tuition fees further contrary to the Democratic manifesto. Cuts have been much deeper than promised. Ridell does recognise this problem but one suspects it is more crucial than he allows for. How can voters have trust politicians that consistently say one thing yet do another? Moreover when government is challenged on such policy it is de rigueur to pass blame to the previous government rather than argue coherently in defence of the policy.  

 Ridell concludes the book with a set of recommendations that although sensible, are aimed at tweaking the processes of government which one suspects will not inspire a huge shift in confidence in the population at large. More difficult would be to propose solutions to the prisoner type dilemma politicians and parties find themselves in whereby they are incentivized to say one thing to get into power, and to do quite another thing once it has been attained. It could be this, rather than inflated expectations, that is the most pertinent basis for the mistrust that exists between the British people and their politicians.

The Lion in Winter -  Theatre Royal Haymarket

“Every family has its ups and downs” quips Joanna Lumley’s character in James Goldman’s The Lion in Winter, and this fact is more or less the main theme of the play. Throw in a family trapped in doors at Christmas, three covetous sons, a mistress, a sexy French gay toyboy and healthy dose of intrigue, and you have pretty much got the gist of this Albee-Ayckbourn type hybrid. The added spice is that the year is 1183, the family is that of the Royal House of England, and the three sons, Richard, Geoffrey and John are coveting no less than Kingdom of their father Henry II, and the Aquataine lands of their mother Eleanor.

The script is one big anachronism, the setting “a Christmas Court” a fabrication, and given the lack of records, naturally the action is imputed from the little that we do know. This then is fiction. As such, it was a nice touch that director Trevor Nunn opened with a roll-up title sequence reminiscent of golden age cinema historical epics. This simple device, which allows us to accept the prolepsis of an on stage christmas tree, prompted the audience to be mindful that this is not a pure history play but rather a play which uses history. Since then it is unlikely to offer us deep historical insight, such a drama surely lives or dies by what the characters of an imagined yesterday can teach us about our lives today. It is here that the play, rather than the production became unstuck. The play, first performed in 1966 seems to be struggling for relevance.

What was left then is a rather hollow vehicle for some excellent performances, and Robert Lindsay and Joanna Lumley as Henry and Eleanor, do not disappoint. She a fading beauty had lost none of her vivaciousness or taste for scandal and treason; he an ageing king in full and disillusioned belief that he is in the prime of life and so struts and pontificates accordingly. The timing of course was impeccable between these two veterans, and this brought out many of the very funny moments in the text. A strong supporting cast, slick staging and great design help things along nicely, but sadly the positive elements are not sufficient to carry an engaged interest through to the final curtain.

La Soiree
Roundhouse Theatre
 
Modern day circus, contemporary variety, and gender bending acrobats combine with a gargantuan opera singing drag queen, an improvisatory comedienne and even a Freddy Mercury tribute master of ceremonies. The drinks flow freely, the audience are sniffed, slapped, cajoled on stage and even encouraged to ride atop a unicycle. That’s right, the La Soiree “family” have once again taken over Camden’s Roundhouse for a night of death defying feats, clowning for the 21st century, humour and music. Circus, often associated (although considerably less so with each passing year) with fatigued animals and screaming children, has been dragged kicking and screaming back to relevance by these world class performers. Whilst Cirque de Soleil has obviously refined the art form and brought circus to a much wider audience, the La Soriee experience is more visceral, darkly comic and adult in the blurred line some of the performers tread between mainstream and queer culture. 

I went on a rainy Thursday, deadline blues hurting bad, a slight hangover, and very much needing this term to be over. I left full of the joy of life. Yes La Soiree is one of those transformative pieces of performance. By the end the crowd are on their feet cheering along to “We are the Champion” whilst a unicyling, juggling, over-sexed Italian Freddy Mercury  fanatic MC crowd surfs around the arena. A word of warning though; seating is not reserved, and whilst like us you will be tempted to go straight to the front row, bear in mind that you will be prime territory for some heavy audience participation. The hilarious clown Mooky, dragged one man on stage, and by virtue of the fact that she had taped lines for him to read to various of her body parts, they performed a whole scene together. Another victim rode on Mario’s shoulders on a unicycle, and the vintage roller-skating act span another front row girl at high speeds around the stage. However, if you are front row you will see every sinew of the gravity defying, taut pole dancing English Gents. You will be genuinely afraid that the inept clown Nate Cooper will sever your nose as he juggles with knives in drag with 10 inch heels on a pogo stick.  You will see every pound of the massive glitter lycra clad La Gateau Chocolat who has a baritone to match his stature.  Even if you don’t make it to the front of the house, be assured that no matter where you are at in the theatre, La Soiree will not fail to entertain. A must!

Comedy of Errors – National Theatre

Laughing out loud is not something that generally occurs at a performance of a Shakespeare comedy. Well, it may happen, but generally this is because the intellectual funny bone has been stroked which leads to the emission of a sort of stifled guffaw. Not in this production of Comedy of Errors. Director Dominic Cooke has unlocked every ounce of humour Shakespeare’s early comedy contains, and the result is genuinely funny. Sometimes this determined comedy mining goes too far, and whilst slapstick was surely envisioned by The Bard, some of the routine elicits a cringe.
 
The production is very busy, and whilst this works to invoke the madness city of living, it could have perhaps been toned down at certain key points such as when Egeon describes how his baby twin sons and their twin servants were separated at birth in an accident at sea. Rather than the action of this event actually being played out on Bunny Christie’s extensive staging the power of the text should have been allowed to speak.
 
The real drama begins when these two sets of twins are let loose in the same city. Cue endless errors, seductions and confusion based on multiple levels of mistaken identity. The biggest star of the show is undoubtedly Lenny Henry, and whilst his is not the best performance of the night, who better to tease out the comedy than a comedian? Claudie Blakely and Michelle Terry are brilliantly cast as the wife and sister in law of on of the twins. Hair extensions, shiny handbags and estuary accents make them probably the most endearing and hilarious characters. These novel characterisations also add a whole new level of comedy to the production; there is something deeply funny about hearing Shakespeare being screeched in Essex meter.
 
The maddening urban sprawl is created to be more or less complete and replete with users, whores, drag queens, effete jewellers, slimy loan sharks, neon lights and disreputable establishments. In this dream like setting the principal characters have lost the only thing that could keep one sane in such a setting: their identities. Thus hilarious farce needs to balanced with an undercurrent of genuine concern on behalf of the protagonists. This balance is well struck by Cooke and in the final scene, where all is revealed and reconciliations made, he takes a much calmer approach, leaving Shakespeare’s text to shine out to very moving effect.

Burlesque – Jermyn Street Theatre

This is a masterclass on how to put on a musical on a stage the size of a postage stamp. However. what the stage lacks in substance is more than made up for in the text of this new musical by Adam Meggido (more at home with full scale musical improvisations) and Roy Smiles. The hugely intimate setting of the Jermyn Street Theatre definitely works with this musical in that singing voices that are rough around the edges do not jar but rather add to what is a visceral experience.

The setting is The Palace, a 1950s burlesque theatre who’s sun is setting and is in financial dire straights. After Crazy For You (struggling theatre) and Moulin Rouge (burlesque writ large) one might legitimately wonder what more could possibly be said about crumbling theatres and strippers. And in many ways this is very familiar musical territory; there is the weary, lascivious impresario Freddie Le Roy (Linal Haft – who is actually credited with appearing in Moulin Rouge), the comforting mama/madame of the house Lula (Buster Skeggs), and a trio of sexy strippers. What sets this story apart is the backdrop the McCarthy communist witch-hunts which has seen a comedy duo fall from the high cabaret scene to the low wit of The Palace due to one half of the act, Johnny Reno (Jon-Paul Hevey) being outed as a communist sympathiser. In turn his permanently drunk Irish stage partner Rags Ryan (Chris Holland) who is secretly in love with Johnny, becomes tainted with the same brush. Johnny must choose between fingering his friend in order to clear his own name, or taking a stand against The Man. Thus themes of fear, neglect, homosexuality and the nature of friendship make this much more than a knee slapping romp through theatre land.

Musically, the show is a bit hit and miss. The opening number is promising in its Gershwinesque instrumentation, but this thought is not carried through to every number. The musical style of numbers like “One of These Days” slips into something we might simply call, “Wicked”. The big numbers are good fun however, and the comedy songs like “Ladies Like a Novelist” and “Love’s The Same All Over The World” with their Flanders and Swan like lyrics are highly entertaining. What makes the show particularly appealing is that there is a great sense that this is not forced fun, rather that the cast are genuinely having a ball.

There was so much to like in the performances that it would be hard to mention them all in one review. I adored Lula’s Marianne Faithful-like low growl, and Saul’s (Jeremiah Harris-Ward) velvety tenor. The big success of the night though was the central duo of Rag and Johnny. Their closing numbers are very powerful indeed, and the chemistry between them is both touching and highly comedic. In truth though, this is an ensemble piece, and it is carried wonderfully by the whole cast backed by an innovative and creative use of a teeny weeny space. This is a new musical and it could definitely do with some polish, that being said there is certainly something to be said for catching now while it is still raw and gutsy!

Peanut Factory

Bream Street

Wick Sunset

The programme printed for The Veil, a new play written and directed by Conor McPherson that opened at The National Theatre last week, contains two heavy-weight essays about German Idealism and the colonial history of Ireland in the 1820s. One suspects that either of these themes would be a sufficient basis for a work of drama, so to have them both running alongside a ghost story, a love story and family drama meant that no theme was ever explored to satisfaction, and one was left wondering exactly what sort of a play this was supposed to be. It felt like gothic horror-cum-melodrama-cum-farce-cum-comedy-cum historical drama. The mish-mash of ideas and genres certainly made for an entertaining and at times very funny night, but it was not always clear that what the audience found mirthful was in fact intended to be so, and ultimately one was left wanting more.

 The setting, the grand but dilapidated Irish home of an aristocratic English family, was gloriously recreated on the Lyttelton stage. At the centre of the story is Hannah (Emily Taaffe), the daughter of the Lady of the house, a troubled young girl who believes she sees and hears the spirit of her father who she witnessed hang himself in the drawing room. The ebullient and slightly manic defrocked priest and family friend Reverend Berkley (Jim Norton), has travelled to the house with his companion, a drug addicted waif and mystic philosopher Audelle (Adrian Schiller) for the purpose of escorting the girl to England. However, before embarking on their journey they encourage her to release the echoes of the past and to explore their own uncertain futures by holding séances which have catastrophic effects for the household and farther afield. This is all set against a background of stand offs between the landowner and her tenants, and a tale of unrequited love between the lady of the house and her violent and drunk estate manager Mr. Fingle (Peter McDonald).

 Performances are strong throughout, although Fenella Woolgar who plays Lady Lambocke is rather too wet for the stern mother and landowner who marries off her daughter for money and does not pay her staff yet balks at her tenants being unable to pay their rent due to crop failure. Jim Norton, who perfectly embodies the near mad yet frightfully jovial Berkley tends at times to overacting which keeps the pace very fresh but adds an unwelcome touch of the ridiculous to the supernatural centerpieces of the play. Caoilfhionn Dunne plays Clare Wallace a housemaid with great sensitivity, and she stole perhaps the most moving moment when asked to perform a sad Irish melody for the assembled household.

 Ultimately this is a play about emancipation; freedom from overbearing family, freedom from an oppressive class system, and freedom from the demons that haunt the characters. Whilst certainly captivating, unfortunately the text suffers from overextension, and that is reflected in the direction which leads to an uneven patchwork dramatic styles that cries out for some simplification and unification.

 The Veil runs at The National Theatre until Sunday 11. Student standby tickets are available on the day for £10.

The new play by Mike Bartlett, 13, is not clear-cut protest theatre. Although the central theme is certainly public protest, there is an ambivalence in the message that gives only  wavering support for the youth-driven, social network fuelled, revolutionary movement that is pitted against the politically entrenched and dominant neo-liberal Conservative government. Yet, it is this ambivalence that makes the play work as more than a foolhardy attack on capitalism, and also makes it pertinently real. For while one may sympathise with those currently occupying Wall Street or Finsbury Square, and share in a sense of ill-defined disquiet directed toward bankers, banks, government, business or any other maligned public bodies, it is difficult to identify any one thing to particularly support.

 Set in a dark dreamlike landscape of London, we meet a host of characters seemingly related only in their anger or dispossession: Sarah and Amir are protesting the student fees, Holly is a lonely student seeking answers at an Alpha course, and perhaps most endearingly, Edith (Helen Ryan) is a Rihanna-singing old lady furious enough with the bank charges levied on her account that she pushes a shopping trolley through her branch’s window. Like the Britain we know today, the voices of these people and their anger is lost in the cacophony of people shouting in different directions and for different causes. Unlike our present reality, a mysterious political entrepreneur called John Trystan (Gravelle) returns from an unexplained period of absence to unite those voices setting the stage for a large and focused debate between him and the Prime Minister, Ruth (Geraldine James) that runs along fairly well trodden left-right rivalries.

 There is a huge amount of drama here; each of the opening scenes is at most a couple of minutes long, perhaps echoing the short-termism of the YouTube generation’s attention span. As a dramatic style it takes some getting used to, but the energy builds through the first act to a fever pitch, recreating the adrenaline rush that comes from subversion or protest. This is complemented by the sparse yet meaningful production of director Thea Sharrock, which makes powerful use of a dark and menacing black mainframe-like cube around which the action is based.

 The grassroots movement with John as its leader gets sufficient traction through social media and public performances to gain him access to a prime minister on the brink of declaring war on Iran. However, in a series of twists and turns the social media and technological spread of information that John believes to be the lynchpin behind modern social change turn on him and upset things. Much was made in the media of the role of Facebook and Twitter in the Arab Spring, but what Bartlett is saying here is that such media cannot but reinforce old fashioned anger and organisation. While it is so simple to “like” a social cause, or repost it as your status, it is much harder to get people out on the streets to scream for change. As John learns, governments have a finger in the online world, and as such over-reliance on protest through the internet also provides governments with an opportunity to control and manipulate the act of social coming together.

 While the debate in the second act felt a little forced, and Geraldine James a little too icy even for a Tory woman, 13 is a riveting play. Bartlett has captured many of the subtleties and contradictions of modern Britain and public protest in a time when the debate is far too often framed in over-simplistic terms.