, , , , , ,

Review – Dunsinane, RSC/Hampstead

In london, review, theatre on March 7, 2010 at 11:29 pm

Say what you want about the RSC, but there’s no arguing that they’re not solid. Everybody faces the audiences, speaks clearly and convincingly, none of the actors are complete duffers, they all wears costumes that don’t look daft and the sword fights are well rehearsed. It’s the sort of thing you want from a quasi-government funded national institution, a modern day Third Programme: terribly sensible people turning out terribly well done material. Reliable, professional, worthy and uncontroversial: the RNLI.

Dunsinane, a new commission by David Greig, is all of these things. Nice set, live music, good costumes, snow in the final scene, convincing sword fights and a well done but completely pointless dance half way though (“I don’t care if it makes sense for them all to dance! We’ve got a choreographer on staff in Stratford we need to justify to the Arts Council! I want dancing in every single production we do!”)

What really marks Dunsinane out, however, is not the unsurprising strength of the production from this, the most consistent of British companies, but the strength of the text. David Greig plays wonderfully with the story of Macbeth to craft a tale which is both compelling in its own right and a prescient allegory for modern conflict. An English army sweeps into Scotland to depose Macbeth the tyrant and establish Malcolm, the rightful king, on the throne. The war is quickly won, but victory cannot be achieved – and the weary English cannot go home – without a plan to also win the peace, something which they are painfully ill-equipped to do without an understanding of the complex tribal rivalries, ancient grudges and finely balanced truces which really govern the country. The metaphors with Britain’s current conflicts are clear, but the real strength in Greig’s text is that he manages to bring these out without ever stretching them or shoe-horning them into a modern context. The allegory is clear, intelligent and deftly drawn, never veering into obviousness or tastelessness.

The performance are universally solid, as one would expect from this company. But some go beyond this, hinting at the truly superb. Jonny Phillips is exceptional as English Commander Siward, embodying both quiet integrity and nobility, without ever hinting at stiffness, and the weariness of a man shaping a world he doesn’t quite understand. Brian Ferguson (who I must confess I had mistaken for Jonathan Slinger doing a brilliant Scots accent until I read the cast list) is enigmatic and strangely comic as Malcolm, never truly letting on whether his weakness is calculated or genuine. Sam Swann offers an accomplished performance, capturing the bravura and confusion of a young soldier without ever reverting to stereotype or parody.

The Blonde – who would now like to be known as Legally Blonde following a career development and a trip to the Savoy Theatre a few weeks ago – and I were divided on Siobham Redmond, playing Gruach (Lady Macbeth to you Shakespeare scholars out there). She thought that Ms Redmond brought to the role a power, strength and perseverance of character which was admirable and compelling to watch; I was less convinced, being slightly bored by her scenes and unconvinced by her proto-romance with the otherwise very convincing Siward.

It’s perhaps unfortunate for the RSC that they are so unfailingly competent. There are many well funded national institutions, mentioning no names, who regularly fail to present theatre which is even professional, far less compelling and perhaps these failures make their successes, when they come, slightly sweeter.

But work like Dunsinane – a superbly interesting and well-executed script, supported by excellent acting in a faultless production (although Legally Blonde thought the stage was a little small) – is exactly what the RSC should be striving for.

Comment »


Review – Really Old, Like Forty Five, National Theatre

In london, review, theatre on February 28, 2010 at 6:10 pm

Really Old, Like Forty Five is a play about ageing and our society’s response to it. It’s also about youth. And family relationships. And ruthless corporate capitalism. And robots.

I’m all for wide ranging themes in theatre.  Angels in America is the best kind of example of a sweeping, bold, brave and expansive examination of a society.  Really Old is the best kind of example of a complete thematic mess.  It can’t decide whether it wants to be Iris, The Power of Yes, August: Osage County or D.A.R.Y.L. It manages to be none of these, but instead manages to be bland, confused (my theatre companion’s theory was that watching it was supposed to actually replicate what it’s like to get Alzheimers) and utterly uninsightful.

It’s difficult to overstate what a clunking, pointless and frustrating production this is.  The dialogue zips along with all the pace and zing of an electric mobility scooter and the performances are, without a single exception, just terribly, terribly weak.

A typical extract from the script, indicative of the wit with which this production conducts itself:

Three women, two old one young, enter and look at a large turtle.  The premise of the following scene is that the turtle is alive but no efforts should be made to make the turtle appear in the least lifelike.  If possible, it should be highly varnished and incredibly, incredibly unrealistic.

A note on the performances: at no time should the actors engage with each other.  If possible, all should face blankly towards the audience and disclaim boomingly into the auditorium in – if possible – monotone voices.

Young Woman: I wonder what it’s like to be an old turtle.

Old Woman 1: I’ll tel you what it’s like to be an old turtle

Pause for laughter.

Or another example of the kind of comedy corkers you can expect:

Old Woman 1: What would you think if it was a rabbit?

Young Woman: What?

Old Woman 1: A rabbit.

Young Woman: Do you mean robot?

Old Woman 1: Yes, I mean robot.

Old Woman 2: Well you said rabbit.

Pause for laughter.

That’s not to say there aren’t any good bits. At one point, shortly before the interval, one of the characters stares at the audience and says “Why is my mum in that computer game?”  Which is a curious question to ask because, frankly, it really wasn’t at all clear why, on earth, the playwright had decided to put her mum in a computer game. And really, if anyone’s going to know, it’s probably one of the characters in this complete shambles of a play rather than any of the poor confused people watching it.

We were sincerely hoping that, post interval and glass of wine, things might pick up as the robots (yes, there are robots – it’s all to do with the dehumanised nature of our institutionalised approach to healthcare and our ageing population, you see) threw off their shackles and waged war against their human overlords.  My prediction – that the old women would be forced to barricade themselves in their homes in order to defeat a time-travelling assassin from the future hell bent on destroying the children who would one-day become the leaders of the resistance – sadly didn’t come true; but my companion’s prediction – that someone’s face would fall off – remarkably turned out to be the way in which the playwright decided to pursue the drama.

In the end, with a script as weak as this, Really Old was never going to be anything except Really Poor, but the National didn’t help themselves with this lifeless, flat and poorly acted production.

Comment »

Dear Vic

In Uncategorized on January 20, 2010 at 8:45 pm

Dear Vic,

Thanks for writing again. I do appreciate it. But I think we both know that we need to talk about us.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate your friendship. It’s really not. It’s just that you only seem to write to me when you want something, like money or for me to come and see a play you’re involved in. Frankly, I put up with enough of that at university.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get personal, but your latest letter us a perfect example. Asking if I want to “renew” our friendship for 2010 at a cost of £30 makes me feel a little like you’re using me. I also don’t appreciate the rigid labels you insist on applying to everything: £150 to be a “good friend” seems unreasonable given how good a friend I’ve been to you (I came to see The Investigation, for heavens sake!) and a £1200 fee to be your best friend just feels like you’re being mercenary.

I know that I haven’t been a perfect friend. I didn’t come to see Kursk and I was a little rude behind your back about The Girlfriend Experience. I’m also not proud of some of the circumstances around how we started our friendship: I was on the rebound following a really messy friendship which left me really vulnerable (did you see Speed the Plow?), but any sort of accusation that you were just a “younger model” are absolutely false and the fact that you both have similar names is pure coincidence.

But I’m sure you’ll admit that there are mistakes on your side as well. I think we both know that you’re not proud of what you did on Annie Get Your Gun. You never send anything on my birthday. And any time I write to you asking to borrow some money you just ignore me or fob me off with “the Arts Council doesn’t allow us to make loans or gifts to audience members”. And I thought we were friends.

Look, I’m not saying that we should be enemies or that we shouldn’t see each other any more. I just think we need some space to consider what it is that we both want from this friendship.

All the best,

-ST

Comment »