Saturday, October 18, 2008

Dubya and Dionysos

Lately, I've had Greek drama on the brain.

Tonight I went to see Oliver Stone's film W with an eye on current representations of Iraq and politics in film and theatre. I've seen a number of other shows on the topic: The Vertical Hour and Black Watch come to mind as recent examples on stage. As does Mark Ravenhill's epic cycle of short plays aptly titled Shoot/Get Treasure/Repeat

W, which emphasizes the Oedipal instincts behind Bush, Jr.'s rise to power is sort of a modern-day Oedipus story played as a tragicomedy. There are ha-ha moments of recognition, but mostly because Stone hones his actors in on the truths of their characters. Particularly fine - and notable to one who's viewing the film from a theatrical perspective - are sequences that bring Bush back to the empty ball field of the team he once owned. The crowd is gone, and the balls come flying; his reactions are the variable.

The cast of Hare's Stuff Happens at the Public Theater.

I was struck throughout the film by how many similarities there were between Stone's film and David Hare's 2004 play Stuff Happens. Hare's self-described "history play, which happens to centre on very recent history" also seeks to raise the characters to epic proportions. It's interesting to see how many similar behind-closed-doors moments Hare and Stone have chosen to focus on - particularly the scenes in the White House where the cabinet gathers to discuss politics and pray.

Anyway, I recommend both seeing Stone's film W and reading or seeing Hare's Stuff Happens. Together, they create an interesting dialogue about representations of politics in theatre and film.

After the movie, I finished reading Scotsman David Greig's adaptation of Euripides's The Bacchae as well. The adaptation, which was produced in associate with the National Theatre of Scotland starring Alan Cumming, keeps all of the characters and situations but develops a clarity and fluidity of language that more strict verse translations seem to lose along the way. It's not a modern adaptation per se, but it struck me as more irreverently funny than others like it. I recommend taking a look at Greig's script for a fresh take on The Bacchae, which is a fairly quick, fascinating play to discover.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Revisiting the classics via Robert Fagles

While this season's off to a tepid start, I have a worthy suggestion for weary theatergoers in search of a reinvigoration of sorts: why not revisit the classics?

In studying Greek drama for a current class I'm taken, I've been struck by how readable and enjoyable Greek plays can be, and I have a few suggestions for interested readers.

My professor, Roger Oliver, recommended to our class that we read Robert Fagles's translations of both Aeschylus's The Oresteia and Sophocles's The Theban Plays (concerning Oedipus), both published by Penguin Classics, and I found his fluid, poetic versions to be quick, satisfying reads.

To see the plays in action in New York is also currently possible! The Pearl Theatre Company is currently featuring The Oedipus Cycle, Sophocles's Theban Plays performed back-to-back (the running time is 3 hours). 

Upcoming at one of my current favorite theatre companies, Classic Stage Company, is An Oresteia, an amalgam of plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides chronicling the fall of the house of Atreus.

Oedipus is also currently receiving a Ralph Fiennes-led production at London's National Theatre that promises to be one of the hottest tickets across the pond as well.

Say what you will about Greek plays being stodgy and irrelevant, plays like Agamemnon, Antigone, and Oedipus the King hold underestimated riches for modern readers. Sometimes, as in the case of Oedipus, they even continue to pack 'em in thousands of years on.

Season thus far...

So far, so...

Well, it's been an interesting beginning of the season on Broadway this fall.

We've had [title of show], A Tale of Two Cities, Equus, The Seagull, 13, A Man For All Seasons, and To Be Or Not To Be.

So far there have been one standout musical ([tos]), several standout play revivals, and the mediocre 13 and To Be Or Not To Be. Still, we're waiting for that big runaway success, critical or otherwise (last season's August: Osage County). Will it come in the form of Billy Elliot? Shrek the Musical? 9 to 5? The answer remains to be seen.

Along the way, we've gotten several fine performances, including Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths in Equus; the ladies of The Seagull; and Frank Langella in A Man For All Seasons; but once again, we're still waiting on that knock-em-dead surefire Tony-winning performance that, in the past few seasons has come in the form of Christine Ebersole (Grey Gardens) and Patti LuPone (Gypsy).



I, for one, am excited, particularly following the tepidly titillating To Be Or Not To Be's opening night tonight, for the opening of All My Sons on Thursday. Though many have expressed their doubts surrounding director Simon McBurney's crafty production choices (underscoring, video projections, etc.), I'm a fan of his (shout out to A Disappearing Number at the Barbican in London) and can't wait to see what he's done with Arthur Miller's postwar drama.

Several recent announcements have spiced up the prospects for the post-holidays season.

Roundabout Theatre Company has just announced a January 12 benefit concert reading of Sondheim's A Little Night Music starring Natasha Richardson, Victor Garber, Christine Baranski, Laura Benanti, Marc Kudisch, and Vanessa Redgrave.

And Angela Lansbury has just been announced as Madame Arcati opposite previously announced Christine Ebersole and Rupert Everett in the upcoming Michael Blakemore-directed revival of Noel Coward's Blithe Spirit.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Reading "All My Sons"

Somehow, through my four years in high school and first three years of college, I missed -- for the most part -- the Arthur Miller boat. Besides for a few lessons on The Crucible, which I enjoyed at the time but which left little mark on my psyche, most of what I knew of Arthur Miller was the titles of his plays -- The Man Who Had All the Luck, All My Sons, After the Fall, A View From the Bridge, Death of a Salesman...

He'll probably come up in my History of Drama and Theatre II class next semester, but I'm not one to wait around to be taught about something; I like to go out and teach myself whenever possible. So with this aim in mind -- to familiarize myself with All My Sons in advance of the Broadway revival's opening -- I bought Arthur Miller: Collected Plays (1944-1961) with my Barnes and Noble membership discount and sat down to read the play.

Oh. My. God. Arthur Miller is a genius. What a compelling topic -- residual scandal over the blunders of an unlikely war profiteer! Mixed with all kinds of family intrigue! And some of the best goddamn dialogue I've ever read for the theatre. It's been a while since I read a play that was such a page-turner. It reminded me a bit of Shaw's Major Barbara and a little bit of O'Neill, only combining the best elements of each to make for a real theatrical home run.

If Katie Holmes can pull of the plum role of Ann, the rest of the cast seems absolutely spot-on. I say, be there or be square!

"Equus" -- a season of play revivals!

With the Broadway run of Equus opening Thursday, I'm struck by the number of play revivals we'll be seeing on Broadway this fall.

I count the following: Arthur Miller's All My Sons, David Mamet's American Buffalo and Speed-the-Plow, Peter Shaffer's Equus, Anton Chekhov's The Seagull, and Robert Bolt's A Man For All Seasons.

In winter and spring, those will be supplemented by Henrik Ibsen's Hedda Gabler and Friedrich von Schiller's Mary Stuart.

If last season was the season for musical revivals, with Gypsy, Sunday in the Park with George, and South Pacific each earning rave reviews and multiple Tony nominations, this seems to be the year producers are hoping to bank on audiences' familiarity with classic plays and penchant for star turns. Among those starring in play revivals are: Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths (Equus); John Lithgow, Dianne Wiest, Katie Holmes, and Patrick Wilson (All My Sons); Cedric the Entertainer, John Leguizamo, and Haley Joel Osment (American Buffalo); Jeremy Piven and Raul Esparza (Speed-the-Plow); Kristin Scott Thomas (The Seagull); and Frank Langella (A Man For All Seasons). Looking ahead, Mary Louise Parker's turn in Hedda Gabler looks particularly poised to create some buzz as well.

At the moment, as its opening night fast approaches, all eyes are turned to Equus. Is Daniel Radcliffe's penis worth paying $120 for? Is he a better actor on stage than he is in the middling Harry Potter adaptations? And how is Radcliffe's costar Richard Griffiths, making his first return to Broadway since his Tony-winning turn in The History Boys? The answers are all forthcoming in my review of the play, but I suspect that a visit of one's own will ultimately be the only way to assuage one's curiosity.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

"Mourning Becomes Electra"

I just this moment finished reading Eugene O'Neill's Mourning Becomes Electra. In my history of drama and theatre course, as we were reading Aeschylus's The Oresteia, my professor mentioned this play as a reinterpretation of Aeschylus worth noting. In the play, O'Neill updates Aeschylus, setting the events in post-Civil War New England.

Now that I've read it, I'm not sure what to think. It's a brilliant exercise in updating an ancient play for modern times, but I'm fast realizing O'Neill's flaws as a dramatic writer. The conceit of the play, the resemblance amongst characters within the Mannon family, relies on heavy amounts of stage direction. This would be totally intolerable to literary departments accepting scripts nowadays and has the averse affect of spelling out too much for a reader.

The speechifying is overwrought; the dialogue is too often either too pedestrian or too erudite. That said, the character of Christine Mannon (the Clytaemnestra character) is fascinating.

All in all, an interesting, flawed read. Apparently it's being revived off-Broadway this season. It'll be interesting to see if they can wade through the muck of O'Neill's melodrama and make this a compelling production.

And another play from the same book (Three Plays) is being revived on Broadway this season with Carla Gugino, Pablo Schreiber, and Brian Dennehy: Desire Under the Elms (awful title, no?)

New York theatre...

I'd like to start writing on this blog again. There was a time I wrote it in almost nonstop, but recently I've been much busier. Whilst in London, I was running about like a chicken with its head cut off, flitting from one theatre to the next. Now, in New York, I'm balancing classes with my internship at Roundabout Theatre Company and the steady stream of reviews I've been writing for musicOMH.com (my favorite of my obligations).

No matter, I'm determined that I will post here as often as I can. Because I'll be posting most of my lengthy thoughts about productions on musicOMH.com, I'll refrain from detailed reviews on here. Instead, I'll add little tidbits, recommend little things I've stumbled upon, etc. Most of it will be theatre-related; some of it will not be.

First up, as I was wandering through the BC/EFA Broadway Flea Market this year, I stumbled upon a recording done by Corin Redgrave of Oscar Wilde's De Profundis for $5. I read this book over the summer, an extended letter written by Wilde to his lover Lord Alfred "Bosie" Douglas during his term of imprisonment at Reading Gaol. The recording is wonderful. Also included is the "tea scene" from The Importance of Being Earnest, as performed by Vanessa Redgrave and Lynn Redgrave. I recommend reading the book. While the CD seems not to be readily available online, it's possible to find audio recordings of Corin Redgrave reading the letter, and they ought to be worth checking out. He's also performing the letter at the National Theatre again this autumn.

Tuesday, June 10, 2008

"Top Girls" on Broadway



When British playwright Caryl Churchill wrote Top Girls in 1982, during the age of Thatcherism and Reaganomics, I expect she must have known that the themes of her play would remain painfully relevant even into the next century. Manhattan Theatre Club's timely revival of Churchill's play comes just as former first lady Hillary Clinton winds down her epic attempt at becoming the first top girl in U.S. history, and it provides a complex and intelligent companion to the debate over the lingering sexism in society today. How much is it important that the leaders of tomorrow be women, the play asks, if those in question don't have women's best interests at heart? Can women be both happy and successful? And should they have to don pants and act like men to get where they want to be?

Read my review of Caryl Churchill's Top Girls on Broadway at musicOMH.com. 

Mark Ravenhill and "Boris Godunov"


Mark Ravenhill has certainly come a long way in the eleven years it's taken him to get from his first play, Shopping and Fucking, to his epic cycle, Shoot/Get Treasure/Repeat. In regards to the In-Yer-Face school into which he was siphoned - along with Sarah Kane, amongst others - early in his career, he denies any formal sense of a group at the time and replies, elusively, "I think it was kind of in the air everywhere." But he's never been out to shock. "With each play," he says, "you hope to surprise yourself and explore new stuff, and you're trying to listen to what's happening in the world and trying to put that in your play, and obviously the world doesn't stand still, so it constantly evolves."

Read my interview with in-yer-face playwright Mark Ravenhill at musicOMH.com, where I'm now a contributing writer.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

I'll Be the Devil, Tricycle Theatre, London

Rating: ***/5
Saturday, 1 March 2008.

It's not as bad as the hype. Leo Butler's new play set in 1762 Limerick is bloody fun at times, though it veers toward melodrama a bit too often.

Concerning family strife in Limerick, Ireland during the The Seven Years' War, when Irish Catholics were mistreated by their British Protestant occupiers and the Irish converts they took along the way, the play has a fairly simple premise. 

Catholic Maryanne, mother to Ellen and Dermot, has mothered children by Lieutenant Coyle, who's renounced his Catholic faith.

It's punctuated with brutality, shit, and gore, so it's not for the faint hearted. And I'm not sure it ultimately makes the strong statement it aims for, but I'll Be the Devil has its moments, and those curious about Irish history will certainly relish in what seems to me a fairly vivid portrayal of the times. 

Thursday, February 28, 2008

The Tempest, The Rose Theatre, Kingston

Rating: **/5
Thursday, 28 February 2008.

OK, give them credit for reexamining Shakespeare's The Tempest from an Islamic perspective. Interesting enough. Asian company Tara Arts has brought its radical new production to the Rose Theatre in Kingston, but I'm not sure it ought to have left the rehearsal hall.

Director Jatinder Verma has obviously put a lot of thought into this production, but what she gives us is not a considered result. Instead, she's experimented with a sparse -- underwhelming -- set and dangling ropes that, misused, make up the bulk of the properties. 

Some of the cast, including Robert Mountford as Prospero, shine in parts, but much of the company seems out of the loop, especially Caroline Kilpatrick as the fairy Ariel.

This Tempest, innately a play plagued by ambivalence and rocky patches, needs a unity of vision that it lacks in its current inception. Hopefully as the production tours it will improve, but I wouldn't hold out hope.

The Vortex, The Apollo Theatre, London

Rating: ***/5
Saturday, 23 February 2008.

Noel Coward's breakthrough play, The Vortex, is back in London, this time starring TV's Felicity Kendal in the central role of Florence Lancaster in a fairly by-the-books revival by Peter Hall. Though she hams it up at times, Kendal has a ferocious onstage demeanor and a raspy voice that helps her spit lines with an admirable sharpness.

The play centers around Florence, ever a failure in her adulterous love affairs, and her son Nicky Lancaster, newly addicted to cocaine. The two resent each other throughout, coming at the end of the play to a half-hearted promise of mutual redemption.

Dan Stevens as Nicky and Cressida Trew as Bunty Mainwaring, the object of his affection, bring youth and charm to the production, and Daniel Pirrie is churlishly charming as Tom Veryan, Florence's younger lover.

The first act contains all the nail-biting as we wait for the inevitable; the second act is the picking up of the pieces.

The sets are drab: unobtrusive and merely serviceable.

In the end, I found the production reasonably accomplished considering the triviality of it all. Weighty subjects are tossed around lightly -- one of Coward's biggest gifts. But the resolution, all treacle and no tenacity, is lacking in earnestness -- Coward's fault.

Forgive the actors; the lines are set in stone.

Blasted, Queens Hotel, Leeds

Rating: ***/5
Friday, 22 February 2008.

Stepping into the lobby of the Queens Hotel in Leeds last week, I and the rest of the audience of twelve who'd gathered together for a common purpose felt a strange combination of excitement and fear. We'd been forewarned to expect "scenes of nudity, violence, sexual violence, and defecation." But surely it can't be that extreme. We're here to see a play after all -- even if it is the infamous Blasted by Sarah Kane.

I inquire as to where we're meant to go. There's no signage anywhere, no indication that we're at a theatrical performance. "Room 807," I'm told by the porter on duty. "Just up the elevator, turn left, and then turn left again."

I and my fellow audience members reach the room, expecting to be greeted with detailed instructions. Instead, we drop our coats and bags off haphazardly in one of the suite's two main rooms. A phone rings moments later, and an attendant relays directions to us, supposedly from the hotel concierge. We're to wear a mask resembling a bedsheet, she tells us. And if we experience distress during the performance, we're to raise our hands.

Minutes later, actors burst into the hotel room, launching into Sarah Kane's landmark drama of cruelty. When Blasted, Kane's first play, opened at the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs in January 1995, it caused quite a ripple within the theatre community. Never before had such brutal violence, frank language, sexuality, and militaristic brutality come together to such potent effect. The unofficial movement she started, In-Yer-Face Theatre, would be carried on by Mark Ravenhill, Jez Butterworth, and others after her suicide in February 1999.

But it was Blasted that started it all, and this production, executed by young Leeds production company nineteen;twentynine understands the potency of Kane's drama. Directed by Felix Mortimer and featuring a rotating cast of actors for the week's four performances per day, the tone of the production is spot-on: the naturalistic hotel lighting, the blue glow from the bathroom, the sounds of gunfire rattling away in the background during the play's two devastating final scenes, the use of a flashlight for minimalist lighting later in the proceedings. It's all terribly well done.

The cast that I saw, Martin Wickham as Ian, Steph De Whalley as Cate, and Ash Layton as the Soldier, were all well-suited for their parts. Wickham magnificently captures the cruelty of a man stringing along a not-quite-all-there Cate, ultimately harming her beyond repair. And Ash Layton, displaying an angular grimace that could kill, shakes things up in the play's second and third parts in the role of the soldier. 

It's a clever concept, a site-specific Blasted, the kind of gleeful gimmick frequent theatergoers dream of. It could even be argued that the voyeuristic perspective of eavesdropping on these thoroughly flawed characters within their own environs seems absolutely fitting in showing an audience the full extent of their cruelty. But it's also sadly a result of the translation from stage to suite that someone forgot the elements of magical realism that Kane's included in the text.

This isn't just the tale of two ex-lovers in a hotel suite for the night. It's about the bursting in of modern warfare on private lives, embodied by the soldier's arrival, and the comparison that this draws between Ian's transgressions upon individuals and soldiers' upon humanity. Kane's writing gets a bit heavy-handed at times, but this is theatre intended to shock, and shock it does. Perhaps, however, a level of distance is required for the piece to have its fullest impact. Can we properly process this shift from reality to a more heightened form when we're so close to the actors and the action?

By the end of the play, the audience is plainly in shock. We're left peering with rapt anticipation into the bathroom, where the final moments of the play are unwisely placed outside the vantage points of most of the audience members.

There's obviously not much that could have been done in regards to setting. After all, the room can't be altered for a mere one-week run. But concessions could have been made for the presence of an audience. The removal of one of two out-of-place flatscreen TVs would have created more seating space for those audience members who really needed it. And more sensitivity to the physical inclusion of the piece's spectators would have created a more productive interaction between actor and audience. Along the way, the audience has been fighting for proper perspectives on the action, which uneasily shifts between the suite's two awkwardly divided rooms. Perhaps the hotel setting is ultimately just too cumbersome to contain such an ambitious project.

This is ultimately a production that delivers a mixed bag of results. On one hand, there's something to be said for a play so brutal being played out within feet -- or even inches -- of you. And the experience is certainly an unforgettable one, with acting and environmental elements that are accomplished. The anticlimax of the ending's awkward setting and the racing-back-and-forth nature of the experience, however, got in the way of what would have been more satisfying, if still inherently flawed, production from an enthusiastic company that shows promise for the future of daring regional English theatre.

Artefacts, The Bush Theatre, London

Rating: ****/5
Wednesday, 20 February 2008.

Mike Bartlett is one of England's newest playwriting talents. After the success of last year's My Child at the Royal Court, he's back with a new play at the Gate Theatre, Artefacts

Kelly is your typical London girl, a bit flaky and chronically addicted to her mobile phone. One day, she learns her father is Iraqi. He comes to visit her all of a sudden, bringing with him a strange artefact that will change her life in this transcontinental story that shifts between London and Baghdad. 

Bartlett is brave to tackle subjects he's probably never experienced first hand, and his use of Iraqi folklore and Arabic language within the play are extraordinary, bringing us momentarily closer to the experience of these Iraqi people and at the same time allowing us the necessary sense of estrangement.

Lizzy Watts as chatty Kelly and Peter Polycarpou as his sober father Ibrahim give excellent lead performances. 

The play is presented in the centre of a theatre-in-the-square setting, the space covered in Persian carpets spliced together and covered with glistening rubble. 

One hopes that the play, as it progressed, concluded with a message other than one that's almost apathetic toward our consumer culture, one where Kelly had taken more from this experience, but still it's a play that keeps its audience on its toes and provokes a conversation across cultural borders.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The Sea, Theatre Royal Haymarket, London

Rating: *****/5
Saturday, 16 February, 2008.

In The Sea I found an unusual pearl of a play. Written by Edward Bond, author of the 1960s Royal Court play Saved that caused so much controversy, The Sea is a tragicomedy richly layered in its writing and enhanced by grand performances.

Set on a coastal town in East Anglia, Mrs. Rafi (a snippy Dame Eileen Atkins) rules the town and its social scene, pitted against Hatch (David Haig) and his cronies, who believe aliens are taking over the town after a minor shipwreck leaves one of the town's sailors dead on the shores. The intrigue that follows, including a romance sparked between Rafi's niece Rose, formerly betrothed to the sailor, and his surviving friend Willy, is awash in mystery and philosophical musing. Interludes with Evens, a hermit living on the shoals, are full of rich dialogue. And David Burke as Evens is spot-on in his drunken earnestness.

It sounds like a weird premise for a play, but the quick pace of things combined with game performances makes things seem almost plausible. Plus, of course, plausibility isn't Bond's foremost aim.

Excellent projected waves keep the scenes hurtling into one another, the shoreline coasting forward and back allowing for smooth transitions between interiors and sparse outdoors scenes. 

Beneath the existential ruin of this little-known 1973 play, there's also a sparkling wit, and this cast does well to bring it out while keeping the seriousness that Bond intended. All in all, a spot-on production recommended to all with a love of serious drama.

Saturday, February 09, 2008

Speed-the-Plow, The Old Vic, London

Rating: ****/5
Saturday, 9 February 2008 (in previews).

David Mamet's plays hardly seem a natural fit for the London stage. His characters speak the language of American capitalism -- everything terse and tense, full of acidic sentences spat and interrupted and punctuated with profanity. But what's important to consider when evaluating the place of Mamet on this side of the pond is that maybe his plays don't merely encompass the jargon of American capitalism after all, but rather the universality of greed.

It is ex-pat American film actor and controversial artistic director of the Old Vic Kevin Spacey who has wisely revived Mamet's quick-witted and sharply observant Speed-the-Plow, taking on the role of Charlie Fox opposite fellow American Jeff Goldblum and allowing London audiences a fresh chance to evaluate this hypothesis for themselves.

It was Harold Pinter who originally championed Mamet's work to the National Theatre, where Speed-the-Plow had its London debut in 1989. Indeed Mamet seems to have much in common with Pinter's pared-down style. Speed-the-Plow is representative of drama at its most distilled: three characters, minimal scenery, and overlapping dialogue that cuts like a knife and is perfectly fitting for the wheeling-dealing nature of the film industry. Dripping with 1980s greed, it's a play that investigates the Hollywood studio system past its prime and its obsession with the proverbial bottom line. Bobby Gould, played by Jeff Goldblum, has recently become an upper-level studio exec, when colleague Charlie Fox, played by Spacey, brings him the opportunity of a lifetime -- a major film star willing to cross over from another studio to make a high-profile prison pic.

And it's when Spacey and Goldblum go head-to-head that the play feels most alive. These are two men who've known each other for years, Fox always a few steps behind Gould. All nervous energy, Spacey conveys the raw ambition of his character expertly. As his sits on the office couch, rubbing his hands, tongue waggling, the tension is palpable. And he's matched by lanky Jeff Goldblum, whose manic pacing practically transcends to dance as he puts a face to the images of weaselly studio execs of American film lore.

Where the plot thickens, and also where the production loses its steam, is with the entry of Gould's temporary secretary Karen, played by Laura Michelle Kelly. Karen, on a visit to Gould's house that's part of an office scheme, props up a novel about radiation and the apocalypse by an "Eastern sissy writer" recently submitted to Bobby for what he dubs a "courtesy read." This subsequently causes Gould a mental shake-up as he reexamines his age-old set of methods. It's up to Karen to spawn this shift. She must simultaneously emit the naivety of a fresh-faced secretary and the calculation of a woman with greater ambitions. Kelly manages to fulfill the former but is sorely lacking in the latter category. More hapless victim than vixen, Kelly's apathetic delivery of her portion of Mamet's script causes the play to sag in its middle section.

But things pick up again when Gould and Fox are up to their old tricks in the third and final scene and Karen is once again relegated to a supporting role, making it all the more obvious that male characters are Mamet's forte. Spacey and Goldblum seem to have Mamet in their blood, and their performances are unmissable. It's because of them that this production is undoubtedly deserving of attention. At a slight ninety minutes, any pacing problems therein are minor ones. Still, one wishes casting director Jim Carnahan, a consistent practitioner of celebrity casting, could have found someone with a bit more bite for the role of Karen.

Fast-paced direction from Matthew Warchus keeps the dialogue moving at a breakneck speed nonetheless, and bell-shaped office and bedroom sets from Rob Howell obliquely mimic the shape of the Old Vic auditorium, as if holding a mirror up to the audience. 

And that's exactly what this production does, allow us to see in ourselves the greed that, Mamet projects, is thrusting us collectively closer and closer to the apocalypse, whether it be literal or metaphorical. The title Speed-the-Plow, many may be wondering, comes from a traditional English song extolling the virtues of industry. "Industry produces wealth, God speed the plow" is the full original phrasing, a fittingly cross-cultural source material for a play that speaks to Britons and Americans alike. After all, Spacey and Goldblum have brought a bit of Hollywood to London with crackling lead performances, and, as one of Mamet's forerunners wrote in another capitalistic masterpiece, "attention must be paid."

Absurd Person Singular, The Garrick Theatre, London

Rating: ****/5
Thursday, 7 February 2008.

The holiday season is long gone, but -- lo and behold -- there's still reason to celebrate. Alan Ayckbourn is back in the west end with a revival of Absurd Person Singular, and it's riotous holiday fun.

Though most certainly a comedy, Absurd Person Singular is ultimately something more than that. Sure, there's a laugh a minute. But underneath the laughter is a swift kick in the pants that's sure to keep you in line.

The play focuses on three couples: Jane and Sidney, who are on their way up, Geoffrey and Eva, who are somewhere on the middle of the ladder, and bank manager Ronald and his wife Marion. As we watch them interact in their kitchens on a series of Christmas Eves, we watch the dynamics shift as new money comes into its own.

Jane Horrocks steals the show at times as rubber-gloves-wearing hausfrau Jane, and Lia Williams comes in a close second as suicidal Eva, but the ensemble work is what's truly worth applauding.
 
It's been a while since Ayckbourn has graced the west end, but he has reason to applaud this new production of one of his seminal works. The director -- Alan Strachan -- has taken an extremely sensitive approach, attempting not only to play for laughs but to play for some degree of emotional truth. And it pays off. Haul out your stockings again, because Absurd Person Singular may have to be a last minute stuffer.

The Importance of Being Earnest, The Vaudeville Theatre, London

Rating: ***/5
Thursday, 7 February 2008.

Those expecting a revolutionary new production of The Importance of Being Earnest ought to stop reading now, because it ain't happening. 

Oscar Wilde's comedy of manners, featuring some of the most frequently quoted lines of dialogue in the history of drama, is a piece that's performed perhaps all too frequently on English stages. And there is a list the size of a phonebook of grand dames who've taken time out of their film and TV schedules to tread the boards as Lady Bracknell, so what makes this production a cut above the rest?

Not much.

Penelope Keith, most known for her role on Britcom To the Manor Born, turns in a perfectly decent performance here as Lady Bracknell, subverting the tradition of hamming it up for her big line ("A handbag?") and providing the right comedic center for the ensemble cast.

The play, which has sometimes been seen as an allegory for repressed 19th century sexuality, is played entirely "straight," as it were, its references to "Bunburying" (see the play to find out) left as ambiguous as could be. Those who are looking for subtexts will find them, but director Peter Gill will leave it up to you, thank you very much.

Special mention ought to go to Rebecca Night, who is sweetly subversive as ingenue Cecily Cardew, and to Harry Hadden-Patton, with a perky upturned nose that's perfect for the role of John Worthing -- or is his name really John?

Though Daisy Haggard hams it up as Gwendolen Fairfax and mars a bit of the ensemble dynamic, for the most part the cast serves the play well and the play goes on without a hitch.

I hadn't seen Earnest before, so, to me, this production was worth seeing. A chance to see Wilde on stage -- though frequent enough -- is almost always rewarding at least for its comedy. And this troupe does a fine job with the material they're given. So, if you're not yet tired of Earnest, this one's an earnest bet. But otherwise, browse the boards -- maybe there's another writer waiting in the wings to succeed Wilde in wit and timing. You never know, eh?

The Hour We Knew Nothing Of Each Other, The National Theatre (Lyttelton), London

Rating: ***/5
Wednesday, 6 February 2008.

The Hour We Knew Nothing Of Each Other could hardly be defined as a play. By its very nature, it resists pigeonholes like "play" and "plot" with a staunch, experimental skew that's difficult for many mainstream theatergoers to accept.

Its "playwright," possibly better referred to as a "creator" or "formulator," is none other than Peter Handke. Revolutionizing experimental theatre with his 1966 piece, Offending the Audience, Handke's plays are more commonly critical -- rather than popular -- successes.

The inspiration from The Hour... comes from a specific afternoon of observation in Handke's life. His description of the experience, was for me, a key factor in my deriving a deeper understanding of the piece, and so I quote Handke below:

"The trigger for the play was an afternoon several years ago. I'd spent the entire day on a little square in Muggia near Trieste. I sat on the terrace of a cafe and watched life pass by. I got into a state of real observation, perhaps this was helped along a bit by the wine. Every little thing became significant (without being symbolic). The tiniest procedures seemed significant of the world. After three or four hours, a hearse drew up in front of a house, men entered and came out with a coffin, onlookers assembled and then dispersed, the hearse drove away. After that the hustle and bustle continued -- the milling of tourists, natives and workers. Those who came after this occurrence didn't know what had gone on before. But for me, who had seen it, everything that happened after the incident with the hearse seemed somewhat coloured by it. None of the people milling on the square knew anything of each other -- hence the title. But we, the onlookers see them as sculptures who sculpt each other through what goes on before and after. Only through what comes after does that which has gone on before gain contours; and what went on before sculpts what is to come.

And this quote from Handke serves to accurately describe, essentially, what The Hour... comprises. The sparse setting of the town square by Hildegard Bechtler, effectively lit by Jean Kalman, serves as an intersection point for 450 characters played by 27 actors with no dialogue. Some are everyday people; others are characters from myth or the past. And each is shaped by what has come before and shapes what is yet to come. 

Does all of this seem a bit artsy fartsy? Well, it is. And it's not a theatrical exercise that will appeal to all. Because of the quick, witty direction from James Macdonald, I came out of the experience having felt I'd grasped this spirit of connection and intersection that Handke set forth, but the piece's ending left me ultimately dissatisfied. 

If you're up for a night of avant-garde theatre in London and willing to look outside the box, try out The Hour We Knew Nothing Of Each Other and decide for yourself whether it's a load of bunk or the embodiment of a worthwhile musing on humanity.


The Homecoming, The Almeida Theatre, London


Danny Dyer, Nigel Lindsay, Kenneth Cranham, and Anthony O'Donnell in the Almeida production of Harold Pinter's The Homecoming.

Rating: ***/5
Friday, 1 February 2008.

Okay, I admit it. I don't know very much Pinter. So it's no wonder that I went into the production of one of Harold Pinter's most noted works, The Homecoming, with a relatively blank slate. 

I knew there was a production on in New York at the same time, starring Raul Esparza and Eve Best, but not much more than that.

So faced with this naturalistic production of a play about as far from naturalism in its dialogue as it's possible for a domestic drama to be, needless to say, I was confused. 

Set in North London, Teddy brings his new wife, Ruth, back to meet his family, including his father Max, played with vigor by Kenneth Cranham. They meet her with mixed and varied reactions. Ultimately, the thing's supposed to work out to some sort of daughter/mother/whore allegory, by which the character of Ruth is supposed to represent and reflect upon different manifestations of womanhood throughout humanity.

Maybe it was just me, but I didn't really get it.

I was out to drinks when a woman who did her PhD on Pinter and tried to explain his methods to me. "It's not meant to be analyzed," she said. "Just watch it, and make whatever of it you can at the time." 

I couldn't make much of it at the time; maybe others will. Fascinating? Yes. Satisfying? No. See for yourself.

Othello, The Donmar Warehouse, London

Ewan McGregor (standing) and Chiwetel Ejiofor in the Donmar Warehouse's astounding production of Othello.

Rating: *****/5
Tuesday, 29 January 2008.

Let's face it. Everyone wants to see Ewan McGregor. Some of them will pay hundreds -- even thousands -- of pounds sterling to get through the door. What everyone wants to know is simple. Is it worth it?

Yes. Resoundingly yes.

The plays is one of Shakespeare's finest. It has a simple plot and fewer characters than many of the Bard's more elaborate works. The plot is basically this: Iago, being the megalomaniac that he is, turns the Moor Othello against his wife, Desdemona.

Traditionally Iago is the character receiving the most attention in the play. His maniacal schemes are what keep the audience guessing throughout. And McGregor is certainly fine in the role, showing us his wicked plotting primarily through the twinkle in his eye. 

But it's Chiwetel Ejiofor as Othello that towers over the rest of a very fine cast in giving a most memorable performance. Speaking in a grand African timbre and taking fine physical command of the stage, in the furrow of his brow we read the millions of sorrows he's gathered throughout his life like strung pearls to be retold to his love.

As Desdemona, Kelly Reilly disappoints. She's more wispy than one would want, and outmatched by Michelle Fairely in the role of her servant, Emilia, whose raspy voice commands in a way that Reilly can't. In a fine scene they have together, the intimate stage of the Donmar Warehouse is put to its most effective use. As Emilia disrobes Desdemona, preparing her for bed, Desdemona sings her premonitory willow song to haunting effect.

The production design overall is well done, by Donmar regular Christopher Oram. He's wisely turned the Donmar into a "space" rather than choosing to evoke too much sense of specific place. The wet stones that make up the walls and floor of the playing space dry up throughout the production, leaving us ever more transfixed. And brilliant lighting design pierces at all the right moments, particularly effective shining through decorative windows.

It's nice to see a production where the results match a star's promise. Sure, audiences will go wanting rapturously to catch a glimpse of Ewan McGregor, but, luckily, they'll be met with a production that has a galaxy, rather than just a star, to offer.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Statement of Regret, The National Theatre (Cottesloe), London

Don Warrington as Kwaku Mackenzie in Statement of Regret.

Rating: ****/5
Saturday, 26 January 2008.

Much like The Vertical Hour, this production in the National's intimate Cottesloe auditorium of the latest Kwame Kwei-Armah play, Statement of Regret, also directed by Jeremy Herrin, blends the personal and the political. Set in the offices of the IBPR, the Institute of Black Policy Research, the play's proceedings follow the institute's leader, Kwaku, his office staff, and their many concerns surrounding the black community in Britain, where Afro-Caribbeans and West Indians are often pitted against one another and resentments within the black community, as well as biases from the white community, are all far too common.

Kwaku, however, is not merely the leader of the IBPR. He is also the patriarch of his family, some of whom are employed in the office, including his wife, Lola; his son, Kwaku Jnr.; and his bastard child, Adrian. Family resentments blend with policy concerns in a way that seems far more seamless than those similar attempts that Hare takes on in The Vertical Hour

This top-flight cast, especially Don Warrington as Kwaku, deliver the goods in a powerful production directed by The Vertical Hour's Jeremy Herrin with functional sets by that production's designer, Mike Britton. Britton wisely gives us a realistic office setting, placing Kwaku's office ominously above the shared workspace of the others, and allows for the effective disintegration of their common space as the tensions build in the second act. Kudos as well to Chu Omambala in the role of Idrissa, a temperamental but respected member of the office community, who is one of the only intelligent gay black characters in a position of power I've seen on a professional stage in some time. His is a sensitive performance that manages to avoid stereotyping.

I've read reviews of the production that believe it brings up more issues than it can properly tackle, but I think that it tackles it's primary subject, one's heritage in juxtaposition with one's ideals and achievements, very well. Kwaku, who has been dealing poorly with the death of his father, is in constant need of guidance he can only receive through imagined conversations with his father, and his sons, in the wake of his slow and steady decline toward madness, are consequently deprived of their own father's love and council. 

It's a fascinating production that moves forward steadily, something with which to credit Herrin. By the end, you're haunted by the ghosts of the characters' pasts in a way that only the late great American August Wilson could have evoked as strongly. It's clear that Kwame Kwei-Armah, whose Elmina's Kitchen was the first play by a black author to transfer to the West End, is a talented new voice in British theatre. Hopefully he'll continue to provoke audiences in years to come in plays as fascinating as this one.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Women of Troy, The National Theatre (Lyttelton), London


Kate Duchene (second from left) and cast in the National's Women of Troy.

Rating: **/5
Friday, 25 January 2008.

I love being challenged by a piece of theatre possibly more than anything else in the world. To me, theatre has the potential certainly to entertain but most importantly to inform and to provoke. Since morality plays were in vogue in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries - and even earlier - drama has been a source of education. And director Katie Mitchell's latest production at the National Theatre, of a new translation of Women of Troy by Don Taylor, is certainly an interesting if flawed example of the power of theatre to develop in dynamic and thought-provoking new ways.

Favoring mood over plot, this production resets the action of the play from a realistic ancient Troy to an industrial holding bay, complete with a lift and a loading dock. Comments from the chorus, standard to Greek plays, are initiated by the simulated opening of the symbolic fourth wall between the players and the audience, signified by the sound of a door gliding open on mechanical tracks and a sudden concentration of light. This is a production that blends time periods liberally. Swing dancing abounds and pillars of sand spout from above. There is certainly no shortage of stage trickery. You get the picture, but what does it all add up to?

Dressed to the nines in evening gowns, the women of Troy in this production seem more like scorned lovers at a prom than prisoners of war, in limbo as they wait for their assignments as subordinates to the Greeks. Kate Duchene as Hecuba gives the evening's standout performance, full of ragged despair and hope beyond hope as the woman who may have borne the most casualties of all the women. Hers is a performance full of grief. Watching her claw at her dress compulsively, one can sense the profundity of her loss in the mere movement of her hands.

On the flip side of the acting spectrum, as Hecuba's daughter, Cassandra, actress Sinead Matthews performs rather less well, hurrying through dialogue in such a breathy demeanor so as to sacrifice meaning for movement. 

The physicality of the production as a whole, however, is impressive. Mitchell has obviously put much thought into the various elements of the play, particularly the integration of design and performance and the abbreviation of the text for her shorter, 80-minute production. She gives us many fascinating images to chew on, but one could chew on them for days on end perhaps without ever reaching any sort of satisfying conclusion. 

The final image given to us is one of neat resolutions, but what has come before has been so muddled that such a neat bow at the end seems almost inappropriate. Still I found myself wanting more guidance from Mitchell's directorial hand throughout. Mitchell seems dead set on creating theatre in a way that is distinctly her own, her marks on the text as clear to an audience as John Doyle's in one of his actor-musician productions of a Sondheim musical. But part of what makes the role of director so important in theatre is his or her ability to place a stamp on the production and, like a playwright, to assert a point of view. Mitchell's point of view seems to be heading in divergent directions. She presents us with a wide range of images, but leaves her audience to do its own sorting - compelling perhaps, but not fulfilling. With more consideration for text and less pure aestheticism, Mitchell could be a great theatrical director. For now, though, she seems instead a great visual artist.

The Lover/The Collection, The Comedy Theatre, London

Rating: ****/5
Thursday, 24 January 2008 (in previews).

Shamefully, I'd never seen a production of a play by eminent British playwright and recent Nobel winner Harold Pinter until attending a preview performance of the star-studded The Lover/The Collection at the West End's Comedy Theatre. Starring Richard Coyle, Gina McKee (Notting Hill), up-and-coming film actor Charlie Cox, and veteran Brit Timothy West, there is no shortage of acting chops on display.

The first play, The Lover, is one of those plays with a twist that carries its game on for a bit too long. But its leads, Richard Coyle and Gina McKee, do the best they can with the material, and they bring out the best in some great one-liners, peppering on a layer of sex appeal as well for added measure.

The Collection, a more ambitious play and far more successful play, focuses on the effects of infidelity on a young couple. McKee and Coyle are once again husband and wife (though their characters differ in some ways from their respective roles in The Lover), while Charlie Cox takes on the role of the lover and Timothy West that of the lover's hilariously stodgy older friend and flatmate.

The two plays display the wit and wordplay that are signature to Pinter's style, and these particular actors seem to be absolute perfection in their respective roles. Director Jamie Lloyd directs the production briskly amidst serviceable designs from Soutra Gilmour. Special note should be given to music and sound designers Ben and Max Ringham, who provide an appropriately jazzy vibes-and-bass-punctuated score. 

The moment where the production hits the most spot-on note comes at the end of The Collection. The final moment of the play, which could very easily have ended the evening on a decisive note, without the question mark thusly deserved, but instead Pinter leaves us with a menacing look on McKee's face that leaves an audience pondering the mysteries of love and relationships long after the close of the curtain, a feeling sadly missing from much of today's new plays.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Much Ado About Nothing, The National Theatre (Olivier), London


Simon Russell Beale as Benedick and Zoe Wanamaker as Beatrice are standouts in Much Ado About Nothing.

Rating: ****/5
Tuesday, 22 January 2008.

The Bard abounds in London this season, the West End alone having already played host to marvelous star-driven productions of Macbeth (with Patrick Stewart), King Lear (with Ian McKellen), and Othello (with Ewan McGregor and Chiwetel Ejiofor). Having written inarguably the most durable canon of English-speaking plays, Shakespeare and his ability to reach even the most modern of audiences with timeless characters and themes, is to be commended for achieveing a four-for-four score so far.

This latest Shakespeare production, on display in repertory at the National's intimately vast Olivier auditorium, relies less so on star power, employing instead the veteran talents of Simon Russell Beale and Zoe Wanamaker in the comic roles of Benedick and Beatrice respectively. Employing older actors in these two roles than are usually considered, Nicholas Hytner manages to keep the plot rolling along at a swift pace this fast and funny production.

The story, one full of misunderstandings and plenty of ribaldry, allows for Beale and Wanamaker to shine. With their beady eyes and perfect time, this plucky pair gets all of the biggest laughs. Still, the supporting cast, including Oliver Ford Davies as Leonato, Susannah Fielding as Hero, and Daniel Hawksford as Claudio, also get their chance to shine. Though the pair of young lovers have the challenge of animating rather typical romantic comedy roles, the two are lively enough to keep us interested in their rather predictable plot line. 

The fantastic rotating set, designed by Vicki Mortimer, is also to be commended for allowing the proceedings to shift from the intimacy of a private room to more public spaces seamlessly. Behind the revolving portion of the set, atmospheric evocations of the Sicilian setting remind us of the locations we're in.

Shakespeare plays are some of the most difficult to stage and to perform well, as evidenced by the great number of bad productions, but the London stage seems to be on a roll this season. It's the ability of the actors and director to step away from preconceived notions of Shakespeare plays as dusty texts, the stuff of what Peter Brook would call "the deadly theatre," and bringing a sense of immediacy to the proceedings that makes this and other recent Shakespeare productions so successful. Resetting the play is not necessary; the past is doomed to repeat itself. The challenge is to change with the times.

Monday, January 21, 2008

The Vertical Hour, The Royal Court Theatre, London


Anton Lesser and Indira Varma in David Hare's newest play The Vertical Hour.

Rating: ***/5
Monday, 21 January 2008.

When eminent British playwright David Hare's latest play, The Vertical Hour, opened on Broadway last season, it was an event: the first time he'd premiered a play in the United States before a London production. And certainly there was a reason for this choice; Hare's play is all about the interplay between Americans and the British, as much as his last play before this one, Stuff Happens

Nadia Blye (Indira Varma) is a former war correspondent, having spent time in Bosnia, Iraq, Israel, Palestine -- all of the hot spots of the Middle East. On holiday with her fiance Phillip (Tom Riley) in rural England to meet his father Oliver (Anton Lesser), a general practitioner escaping a murky past, Nadia's relationship is tested by ghosts from their pasts and her fiance's. The vertical hour of the play -- literally the time immediately following a crisis during which redemption is actually possible -- refers metaphorically to a night that Nadia and Oliver spend together late in the wee hours of the night, philosophizing and discussing their pasts together.

When I saw the play on Broadway, I respected the text immensely despite the less than adept performance of the production's Nadia Blye, Julianne Moore. Indira Varma proves a much more emotionally adept Nadia, packing the charm of Julia Roberts and the looks of Idina Menzel, but still I couldn't help but notice flaws in the writing I hadn't quite caught onto before. Hare's use of direct audience address periodically through the piece, for one, seems unnecessary in so long a play with so much time to place exposition within other scenes, and scenes involving Nadia's discourse with students seem heavy-handed in contrast to the more sensitive central scenes.

Another problem of the production, at least in comparison to its Broadway counterpart, is the performance of Anton Lesser as Oliver. While Bill Nighy played the roll as a jittery, imposing figure, Lesser is a much humbler, less physically daunting man, and I had a harder time believing him as a ladies' man as he's described in the text. Where Nighy oozes with lasciviousness, free love, and the concealment of secrets, Lesser seems much more a pent-up poetry-lover at heart.

The design of the production now on view at the Royal Court Theatre, by Mike Britton, is noticeably sparser than that on Broadway, where more literal sets were by Scott Pask, costumes were by Ann Roth, and lighting was by Brian MacDevitt. This production, directed by Jeremy Herrin, strips the play to its bare essentials. Its longest and most adept scenes, those set in the English countryside, feature hazy neon lighting on a sparse set that merely suggests the outdoors, a framed screen obscuring limbs of trees that hover overhead. Tables and chairs are enough to suggest most of the proceedings. Though I appreciated the more sumptuous design of the Broadway production, I'm not sure that the minimal approach isn't an improvement, leaving Hare's words to do the work in a production that, in the end, is so much about the text.

The play is one long sparring match after another, between Nadia and her students, between Nadia and her fiance, between Nadia and Oliver. If one isn't prepared for polemics and plenty of politics, this is not the play to choose for a night out. Going in with an open mind, however, there are plenty of interesting debates that arise to challenge an audience, no matter its political allegiances, in this fascinating play. Most importantly, is it betrayal to a cause to engage in discourse with the enemy in order to affect change or is it betrayal not to, a dilemma Nadia faces head-on when recounting to Oliver her visit to President Bush as a political advisor on the Middle East.

There's no accounting for who will enjoy this production. It's not the best play ever written, and it certainly won't go down in history as such, but Varma's performance and Hare's interesting political dialogue make for what is at the very least an engaging night of theatre.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

"Happy Days" are here again.

Well, after a relatively restful winter break, it's finally back to London for me and my theatre illness. I think I really do have some sort of theatre addiction, but it's definitely not something I'd like to kick any time soon.

Over the winter break, I took two brief trips to New York City to remind myself of how much I love the New York theatre scene. I'm not sure which I love better for theatre: New York or London. But either way, I do have a sentimental attachment to New York, and it was nice to have gotten the chance to visit and to take in two shows, one on Broadway and one off. 

August: Osage County, a new play by Tracy Letts, the author of the play-turned-film Bug, is a production that started at the Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago, a theatre known for its ensemble acting. Transfering the play, a property without known actors or a well-known source material, to Broadway was risky, but, because critics have heralded the play, it looks as if its limited run at the Imperial Theatre (a large theatre to fill), will pay off. Personally, I felt that the play, which has been compared to O'Neill's family dramas, was a bit lighter on substance than I would have liked. Its ending packed a wallop and its hard-working cast made it compelling, but the sharp dialogue felt more showy than genuine to me. It's a play sure to be a contender once the time comes for Pulitzer selection and one that's shown up on plenty of critics' top ten lists, but I still think I'll be rooting for the underdogs instead.

The other play I saw in New York this winter break, a production of Samuel Beckett's 1960 play Happy Days, struck my fancy far more. Starring Fiona Shaw and directed by renowned British director Deborah Warner, the production is on tour from the National Theatre in London, a theatre I've come to know and love over the past few months. In New York, it played at Brooklyn Academy of Music in the Harvey Rose Theatre, a space bearing many similarities in its style to Peter Brook's Theatre des Bouffes du Nord in Paris, a theatre that felt to me incredibly lived-in and full of life.

Fiona Shaw gave one of the most thrilling performances I've ever seen in the piece, which focuses on ever-sunny Winnie, buried up to her waist (and later her neck) in sand, and her compulsion for filling the hours between "the bell for waking and the bell for sleeping." It's not a very mainstream play, but at the same time its humor abounds and makes the piece far more accessible than it would seem at first glance. Most importantly the play reflects the truth of its audience's day-to-day routines, so that by the time we've laughed our way through the 100-minute production we realize we've not only been laughing at Winnie, we've also been laughing at ourselves.

This semester is already off to an impressive start!

On Friday night, I went back to the National to see Present Laughter, a production of a 1942 Noel Coward play that was far more remarkably funny than I ever could have expected, having not previously known the joys of Coward. Starring Alex Jennings (most known for playing Prince Charles in The Queen), the production, which features lavish sets, played around with acting types of its time to hilarious effect. For a production that lasted three hours, there wasn't a dull moment in evidence, thanks to the brisk production of Howard Davies's production.

Sitting in my seat at intermission, I couldn't help but think how much I've genuinely come to love the National Theatre, having seen an array of plays in its three variously sized auditoriums (Chatroom/Citizenship; The Emperor Jones; Rafta, Rafta...War Horse; The Women of Troy; and Present Laughter, with Much Ado About Nothing, Major Barbara, and Statement of Regret soon to come). They really do a great variety of modern and classic works and with consistently sumptuous acting. We really need a national theatre in the U.S., a place where great writers, actors, and directors want to work, and a place where government arts funding is bestowed generously without checks on the productions' content.

On Saturday, I made the long trek out to the Watermill Theatre in the little village of Bagnor out near Newbury, England, in order to see the new John Doyle-directed production of Merrily We Roll Along. It was certainly a good thing I left plenty of time before the show to get there, because, even after the hour-long train ride to Newbury and the twenty-minute bus ride to the Hare and Hounds Inn, there was still a half-hour rural hike by foot into the village before I was finally at the theatre. Savoring a much-needed glass of wine before the show, a nice couple (Tony and Jean) offered me a much-valued ride back to the train station after the show. The trip out of London really served to show how nice the English people are. People were very helpful at the bus station and very friendly at the theatre. 

As for the show, I was very much anticipating the production because of the recent Broadway productions of Sweeney Todd and Company that I'd seen, also directed by John Doyle and featuring Stephen Sondheim-penned scores. John Doyle, who frequently makes use of the actor-musician tradition in his productions, is really a very deft director of musical theatre. Some would say his actor-musician technique has worn out its welcome, but I think it really adds opportunities for introspection in regards to plot and character. Why does a particular character play a particular instrument? How do the characters and their instrumentations come together? It's not haphazard in a Doyle production, or, at the very least, an audience is left to read additional levels into the text. 

I'd been wanting to go to the Watermill Theatre for years now, and the production certainly wasn't a letdown. It's a show I've seen several times before in college productions, and one that I love even more every new time I see it. Focusing on a group of friends, starting with their disappointing midlife crises and commencing with their optimistic beginnings (running backward in time), Sondheim and book writer George Furth, have really created a deft portrait of the loss of innocence. In his production, Doyle added additional layers to the piece by including filmic production elements, including an ominous and centrally-placed film projector, on which new rolls of film are fitted to unwind during each successive new scene. Characters throughout the piece are also left to unspool rolls of film symbolically, a touch that could have seemed more tedious but which I appreciated within the context of this production, which overall succeeded in stripping away the material to its bare essentials. 

What I was most thankful for was the retaining of the brass elements within the show's orchestrations. What left me most cold about the recent revival of Company was its lack of brass. Company and Merrily are Sondheim's two most brass-heavy scores, owing to the New York hustle and bustle evident within both pieces. Without the brass, Company felt entirely too cold, but this Merrily is full of blood and verve and life. Doyle manages to be inventive and faithful at once, and it's really added up to a satisfying production that I hope will transfer to bigger houses in London and/or New York to reach larger audiences. The lucky few who travel out to the Watermill to see it in its original incarnation will most certainly not be disappointed. I know I wasn't.

And so my spring in London is off with a bang! This week, I'm looking forward to the London premiere of David Hare's The Vertical Hour at the Royal Court which I admired during its stint on Broadway in late 2006, and the production of Much Ado About Nothing starring Zoe Wanamaker and Simon Russell Beale at the National Theatre. Next weekend will also be interesting, including a return visit to The Women of Troy at the National and a first trip to Statement of Regret in the smaller Cottesloe Theatre at the National. Next Sunday I'm also taking in Cat Power's concert at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. It's a busy week! I'll be back to report more in the near future!