PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Panic

Panic - Improbable Theatre Company

Unity Theatre, Liverpool

"What would happen if the Great God Pan died? All of the Nymphs would die too."

So mourns Phelim McDermott in Panic, the latest mind-bending offering from Improbable Theatre. A rambling exploration of love and sex, mythology and masculinity, Panic unfolds like a guided tour through the neuroses of modern man. In a shifting landscape of forests, cities and bedrooms, McDermott plays an ordinary guy with an unfortunate medical condition while Angela Clerkin, Lucy Foster and Matilda Leyser are the nubile nymphs who materialize as he transforms from a mild-mannered self-help addict into the lascivious God of Nature, Panic and Disorder.

In the bizarre world of Improbable Theatre, this somehow manages to make sense. The action swings between melodramatic clowning and solemn monologue, with a healthy dose of explicit shadow puppetry thrown in for good measure. McDermott is superbly diverse. His comical physicality during the transformation scene elicits shouts of laughter in a packed Unity Theatre, but the audience maintain their sympathy with his character despite being flipped through a procession of surreal scenarios. As Pan wrestles with his conflicting masculinity, McDermott and the Nymphs start to tell their own stories, balancing the play’s comic sexuality with everyday tales of love, fear and friendship.

These sections stand out for their engaging honesty, without which the play would be lost. In sections placed on the kitchen chair, as cabaret turns into a confessional, the lines between actor and character begin to blur. Within this intimate therapy session we are treated to some hauntingly beautiful monologues, most notably Lucy Foster’s entrancing cityscape of drunken encounters and magical musicians.

Julian Crouch and Phil Eddolls’ brown-paper set creates the perfect backdrop for the performance, taking on a life of its own as it is looped, hoisted and crumpled to represent the dreamlike landscapes. The inventive use of projections and lighting, by Lysander Aston and Colin Grenfell, create some of the most striking imagery in the performance, and would appear exceptional on a much bigger stage than the Unity.

Panic transfers to the Barbican in mid-April, and deserves to be a success. Through their funny, grotesque and visually stunning dreamscapes, Improbable live up to their reputation as one of the most innovative companies in Britain. Panic is undoubtedly peculiar, but completely engaging. When the frenetic pace subsides and Pan and the Nymphs collapse into a contented heap on the forest floor, I almost feel like I’ve been on a journey with them – although I have no idea where this journey has led to.

Amy Jane Clewes

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Billy Twinkle

Billy Twinkle - Requiem for a Golden Boy
Barbican, Silk Street Theatre

As Ronnie Burkett enters the stage and begins to manipulate and perform with his surrounding marionettes, an image of Burkett 'The Child' is conjured. Here is a boy so fascinated with his toys that he insists on playing without break until he is utterly tired and hungry. We see the young Burkett pulling strings and experimenting with creating gestures while simultaneously producing voice-overs; improvising dialogues; and developing scenarios in his puppet laden room. Then he grows up and, without hesitation, brings himself into the world of marionettes without appearing oversize. The idea of Burkett performing, or even talking, to another same size human being becomes an absurd reality.

After gaining international success with his 1994 production Tinka's New Dress, the Lethbridge-born Canadian puppeteer and his Theatre of Marionettes tours the world frequently, all the time accompanied by his Theatre of Marionettes. Last seen at London's Barbican in 2007 with sold-out performances of 10 Days on Earth, Burkett returns with his entourage, performing at Silk Street Theatre in the Guildhall School of Music and Drama - the first Bite show to be presented there.

The production is often dubbed 'quasi-autobiographical' and it is not difficult to draw parallels between lead character Billy Twinkle and Burkett himself: a successful, gay puppeteer, in his mid-life, mid-career, mid-life and so forth. This, however, is besides the point. Burkett has become a virtuoso of this recreated miniature world where any creation of characters, whether real or not, is an object to be emotionally animated and, more importantly, manipulated.

The opening sequence reveals his obsession for pulling the strings: a burlesque show girl undresses her minute figure through slight wrist movements, throwing away her fur shawl, dress, corset, and more, until she is almost naked. It is magically hilarious. Other ingenious acts include marionettes playing mini marionettes and marionettes drinking from straws.

Through his mastery performance with the marionettes and exceptional multi-tasking skills the story unfolds and characters come to live. There is no doubt why Burkett merges himself with the cast - to be part of that world where imagination equals possibility, a utopia for creators and people who are young at heart...All must be a truly exhilarating experience. Unfortunately the size of the space sometimes feels too large for such a piece. One wishes the show is instead in a tighter, more intimate environment where the marionettes can be viewed at a closer range, as they well deserve.

The almost two-hour performance is highly charged throughout. There is no need for an interval - it would be like disturbing a precious moment of a child at play. And Burkett's cure to mid-life crisis? Live your childhood dream.

Ingrid Hu

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: The Story of Vasco

The Story of Vasco
Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond

Unnerving and absurd, but strangely touching, The Story of Vasco is about as odd and unlikely as the circumstances of its recent discovery. Initially intended to form the libretto for an opera by Gordon Crosse, Hughes’ original text was put to one side after it was used only in part in the 1974 ENO production. Learning of this story, director Adam Barnard searched Hughes’ archives at Emory University, and found what was to become this mystical, earthy play.

Vasco teases its audience with the premise that idiocy can sometimes be the best way to outwit others. We suspend our disbelief and plunge all our faith into Vasco, the simple-minded barber, who is asked to complete a ‘top secret’ mission at which no one has ever succeeded.

As with much of Hughes’ work, the pervasive trickster figure of the crow dominates this production. The incessant cawing from cast members succeeds in grating on the audience's ears, while reflecting the morbid inevitability of war; ‘war must come and the crows must come’. The crow, like death, is unknowable and uncertain in his means, yet his appearance remains a certainity.

The entire production creates an otherworldly quality. The wistful peasant girl, Margeurite, played by Laura Rees, shows the beauty and wisdom of folkloric beliefs. Her ideas are able to retain their clarity whilst all around her, especially figures of authority, are tainted and scuppered. Props, too, are bizarre but effective. The placing of seven stuffed dogs on stage, reflect, with poignancy, the faith Caesar, a country man, places in the ruthless natural world.

Although the setting is generally rustic, some of the props have an unfinished quality that does not seem completely intentional. A few minor hiccups occur during the frantic costume changes, but, given that the play is only at the beginning of its run, hopefully these will be ironed out.
Other than this, the play is, on the whole, slick, and the poeticism of the dialogue is generally able to propel the slower points of the action. The complex but heavily stylised scene changes are particularly well engineered, their intricacies being almost as compelling to watch as the actual drama itself. The in-the-round arrangement of the Orange Tree means everything is seen and the choreography has to be complete even to the most minute action. A stand-out performance is presented by Michael Kirk, in the role of the Mayor a characterisation which is both elegant and sly with hints of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's Child-Catcher.

At times it is evident that aspects of the speech have been intended as part of a libretto rather than a straightforward play, for example the frequently repeated speech of the soldiers appearing as material for a refrain. However, this does not curb the overall effectiveness of Vasco and its ability to bewilder and startle its audience with the purity that can be found in the innocence of pursuing a dream to the bitter end.

Helena S. Rampley

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: The Overcoat

The Overcoat
Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith

The snappy slogan, “Get the coat, get the girl, change the world” promises an innovatively devised spectacle of the classic Gogol tale. And this is, in a sense, what you get in Gecko’s flashy piece of theatre, as we watch the lowly clerk Akkaki’s quest to win the affection of his heart’s desire— his co-worker Natalya—by trading in his tattered overcoat for a more dapper equivalent.

In an impressive piece of stagecraft, Akkaki is sucked through his bed into a dream world and with the contrast between the sterile office environment and the ethereal glow of Akkaki’s imaginary realm, the boundaries between reality and fantasy slowly become conflated. This is at once one of the production's greatest strengths and one of its greatest weaknesses: the fantastical elements negate the need to stick to any strict plotline - and yet in spite of the evident visual splendour of the piece - the audience is bombarded with almost too many images and sounds to make much sense of anything.

This is not to say that it is not an effective piece of theatre. Amit Lahav, who directs the production and acts as the play’s protagonist Akkaki, offers some delightful comic touches. The eclectic mélange of languages uttered by the cast members is used ostensibly as a theatrical device that aims to disengage the audience from the plot and instead focus its attention on the physicality of the action unfolding. Unfortunately, as a linguist the overall effect comes across as both cacophonous and rather distracting. However, for the audience at large it does succeed insofar as it forces one to disregard the dialogue altogether and become absorbed in the actors’ bizarre antics.

The real stars of the show are undoubtedly set designer Ti Green and lighting designer James Farncombe. Their use of furniture, props, lighting and shadows cannot be faulted and together create the atmosphere upon which this production so strongly relies. Although, at times Dave Price’s musical choices suggest a wish to 'foreignise' the production, the music is intimately connected with the kinetic energy of the characters and, in turn, helps maintain any sense of continuity and momentum.

This is an entertaining albeit perplexing piece of theatre that departs from Gogol’s original text to locate itself in a land of fantasy and dreams. To its credit, if anything, Gecko’s version challenges the common misconception that Russian literature is lengthy and turgid and visually rejuvenates Gogol’s satire for a modern audience.

Ruth Collins

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Dying City / Disco Pigs

Dying City // Disco Pigs
Karamel Club, Wood Green

Drama school productions are often slated as amateur, lackluster re-creations of tedious plays. Mountview’s post-graduate director’s season, however, proves an exception to the rule, providing us with an opportunity to see 2 hugely differing, 'love them or hate them' pieces designed, if nothing else, to provoke a reaction.

Beginning the night's proceedings is Christopher Shinn's Dying City, a slow-burning meditation on what reamins unsaid even in the closest of relationships. Shinn manages to overcome an unpromising premise - the identical twin of a soldier killed in Iraq turns up on his widow’s doorstep to reminisce about the man they both loved - largely through the quality of his dialogue. The genuine back and forth exchanges in conversations turns what has the potential of being a series of clichéd revelations, into an absorbing drip feed of information.

This production invites us into the heart of Kelly’s apartment and, despite a lackluster set and frankly bizarre lighting design, we become the proverbial fly on the wall, a sensation enhanced by the excellent sound design. From the hyper-realistic traffic sounds to the low babble of trash tv, it is pitched perfectly, never threatening to distract the audiences’ attention or impinge on the audibility of the text.

However, it is the quality of the acting throughout the play that stands out. Craig in particular excels in the transitions between brothers without having to rely too heavily on the camp vs macho divide. Using the ancient arts of an actor’s physicality and voice, he needs neither gimmicks nor costume to ensure the audience is clear on which brother is which. Alexandra Metaxa easily matches the standard set, but both falter slighter at the revelatory moments which bring about the plays climax. The handling of these moments throw into question Alexandra Carey’s otherwise solid direction, as the overly emotional outbursts fail to correlate with the subdued sentiment of the ending, and the intended dawning suspicion of the characters having always known more than they profess, is felt by the audience amid some confusion.

The next offering, Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs couldn’t be more different. A frenetic opening catapults us in at the deep end, an opening made even more so by an outburst of broad Irish accents and dialects. Karen Collins, playing Runt, and Anthony Kinahan as Pig, deal admirably with both language & accent, and despite both slipping slightly on occasion, it is only in Cork itself that either would be noticed.

As Pig and Runt bring us through their lives from birth to 17, the pace and physicality never slows. Collins presents us a Runt with a certain level of niceness that at first jars slightly, but progessively makes her flip side all the more terrifying, while her yearning for a different life more profound. Meanwhile, Kinahan’s Pig is a frightening creation, his childlike aspect further added to by a fine delivery of Walsh’s childlike grammar. He manages to avoid creating a one dimensional lunatic, but at times describes graphically what he’d like to do to Runt sexually with a touching eloquence you’d not expect reading the words off a page.

The production wisely keeps things minimal, with a bare stage, single costumes, and a simple but effective lighting design allowing the space to be dominated by the language & actors. The latter's physicality rises to meet the barren stage, and the only technical quibble is an inauthentic soundtrack to scenes set in a rave. Whether this was an attempt to update a 90's phenomenon is unclear, but either way, while being rather nondescript, neither does it take from the production.

What is never in doubt is director Guy Unsworth’s handle on the tone of the play. He offsets the darkness with just the right level of humour, keeps word speed at about 80% of reality to give a British audience some hope of keeping up, and rightly refuses to answer the question of who the victim of the piece truly is. However despite the brave choice of play I cannot help but question how much an audience unfamiliar with Cork would actually understand.

Sarah O'Connor

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Over There

Over There
Royal Court, Jerwood Theatre Downstairs

Over There, latest offering from in-yer-face veteran Mark Ravenhill, stuns the watching audience with a remarkable combination of the grotesque with the sensitive. Identical twin brothers Karl and Franz - played by real-life twins Luke and Harry Treadaway - have been brought up either side of the Berlin Wall. Reunited as adults, they discover the existence of both a telepathic communication which binds them together, and ingrained East/West ideologies which severs them apart.

Framing the play is a simple and clean, at least at first, set which still manages to be visually intriguing. With the wings sealed off, a feeling of enclosure and claustrophobia is created, with an immediately invasive attitude towards the audience, as the actors entered through the auditorium. Johannes Schutz's design transforms the Royal Court space into something more in keeping with the Tate Modern than the Sloane Square theatre The multiple layers of meaning are clearly evident in the construction of the dominant feature: a wall made entirely from coloured food packaging. The imposing nature of this structure relays a sense of the trade and consumerism that divides the brothers from one another; a barrier that is insubstantial and easily movable, but still rigid and ever present.

Once again, Ravenhill shows his incredible knack of creating powerful symbols before juxtaposing them with one another in order to create a powerful effect. He daringly brings together the ideas of cancer and sex, showing the hollow necessity of the latter. West Germany and its materialist values - 'it's the world you've got to shop in' - are shown, almost sickeningly, when Franz consumes East Germany, in the form of Karl's blood. A stunning script and highly accomplished stagecraft here combine to make a play that is simultaneously disgusting and delightful.

The Treadaway twins work seamlessly together, with clearly defined characters showing the skill of both actors as individuals - not just as a functional part of gimmicky duo. A striking set, versatile costumes, and understated but effective music add to this remarkably compelling new play. As Over There now moves to Berlin, it will be interesting to see what Germany makes of this explicit English play about its past.

Helena S. Rampley

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: A Miracle

A Miracle
Royal Court Jerwood Theatre Upstairs

Set in the “flatness that consumes us” of rural Suffolk, A Miracle offers a telling portrayal of life in a small town. Molly Davies’ first full length play follows the relationship of Gary and Amy - the former on sick leave from a stint in the army, whilst Amy has been at home giving birth to an unwanted child, and now finds herself working in a chicken nugget factory. Despite the somewhat gloomy premise, the two central characters are united through their hope for a better life, even if striving for this causes destruction elsewhere.

Davies’ fierce vernacular is simultaneously witty and touching, whilst Patrick Burnier’s gritty design, complete with earth-laden floor, leaves you wondering why you’d never realized before how barn-like the Jerwood Theatre Upstairs really is. Both elements combine to create an honest and intoxicating sense of place, and underpin Davies’ examination of the hold it has over the characters that inhabit it.

But whilst the dialogue crackles along, A Miracle’s structure falters, with its short yet cumbersome scenes slowing the pace and the myriad of ideas diluting the focus. We see Gary by turns, suffering from post-traumatic stress, dabbling in drug use and hitting his girlfriend; episodes that offer no answers or consequences. As a whole, Gary’s character seems at odds with the play’s quieter themes of family and rural life. His status as a soldier is topical but not urgent, and whilst his role as an outsider in the place he comes from contrasts with Amy’s home body character, his job, and the baggage that goes with it, adds little to the play.

Lyndsey Turner’s excellent direction holds the piece together, and is buoyed by some admirable performances, not least from Kate O'Flynn’s Amy, who is complete with the undernourished look of someone who works in a nugget factory. But though the place the play creates resonates, A Miracle offers its audience little else.

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Eonnagata

Eonnagata

Sadler's Wells Theatre

With Eonnagata we are presented a showcase of three great performers. Like a trio of musicians, who have to slowly tune their individual instruments to see what works best, they create three distinct impressions of the performance with the ability to leave the audience utterly bedazzled. But despite the grand scale of the production, it is the personal touches that make it worth seeing. Light, delicate touches that show personal commitments to real theatre making.

Robert Lepage has made a name for himself through the ingenious story-telling techniques he adopts employing a diverse spectrum of text, body language and stagecraft. Add to this the stunning physical vocabulary of Russell Maliphant and Sylvie Guillem, as displayed in their award winning Push, and the stage becomes a wash with bright colours and flowing bodies.

Alexander McQueen’s costumes, both technically perfect and visually astonishing, add weight to the evening’s proceedings. These costumes help set out the identities of each character, and these identities are shaped by what they physically wear and the way it moves in time with each dancer’s body. The costumes become almost an added limb of the dancer’s body.
Here is a performance providing a feast for the senses refusing to operate a simply visual level but seeking to draw each and every audience member in deeper.

Rather than exist as a secondary element, the lighting design of Eonnagata, created by Michael Hulls, is strongly pronounced, making statements and directing both the action and our reaction to the show. In single, magical moments the objects and lighting combine to transform the space step by step in front of the audience. Likewise, Jean-Sebastien Cote’s soundscape accents the movements of the dancers and gently coaxes characters into subtle, intimate and less physical moments that prevent the performance from becoming a sensory overload.

However, a large question mark hangs over the role of text in this performance. At times words appear as a guiding narrative to be adhered to and understood. At others, they become mere decoration, superimposed and over taken by all else happening on stage. The strong accents, soft voices and loud music means that it is often difficult to make out what is being spoken and it is worth considering what number of the audience can actually understand the uttered words. Or do people feel awakened from morbid routines and free from thoughts generated by words, with an urge to move and experience the surroundings in a different perspective?

Here there is no real conflict between text and the physical or visual theatre. The latter reigns supreme. The three artists display the personalised theatre they have created and it is their physical presence that both creates the piece and makes it irreplaceable.

Ingrid Hu

FEATURE: Would the real sit-com please stand up...

By Joanna Hawkins

Theatre, with its tradition of live storytelling spanning the centuries, has the power to inform, entertain and fulfil a social need for coming together - all this with little tubs of extortionately priced ice cream thrown in for good measure. “Sounds fantastic,” you say? Well you’d be right. However, there is a lot more to theatre than this heady mix of jamborees and chilled snacks, with comedians and actors merging their skills to create some truly wonderful and life-affirming performances.

The most noted of these performers is Daniel Kitson, known to comedy lovers worldwide for his quick wit and acidic put downs, coupled with a joyous whimsy and idyllic sentimentality, the latter of these performance styles on display in his most recent storytelling show 66a Church Road: A Lament, Made of Memories and Kept in Suitcases. The show is an ode to relationships, to love and loss, and, most importantly, to memories. But rather than an account of a past lover, Kitson here reminiscing of his old gaff in Crystal Palace. The house is the site where memories collide with love, real love, the kind of love you set aside for the best times you share with friends eating ice cream, running into the sea, or getting giddy on fizzy pop at the fair – or perhaps all three, if you’re particularly awesome. This is straight forward storytelling in all its glory, the only extraneous theatrical device being pre-recordings of Kitsons’ voice set to gentle guitar, cementing the soft, whimsical tone that provides the backdrop to all his storytelling shows. For all who love the art of storytelling see Kitson before its too late.

Yet storytelling is not the only example of performance in comedy theatre as proven by the large number of sketch groups producing small stories for live performance. The theatricality of groups such as We Are Klang, Pappy’s Fun Club, Four Sad Faces and The Penny Dreadfuls provide a real sense of fun and energy for performers and audience alike, a point noted by Pappy’s Fun Club recent full length show entitled Funergy. An atmosphere is evoked that is extremely difficult to transfer to television, as avid viewers of C4’S Comedy Lab can testify.

Clearly, the stage can still hold its own against the lure of the living room. Come to a live sketch performance and experience the sheer joy of group a sing-along with Pappy’s, be astounded at the true size of We Are Klang’s gargantuan Greg Davies and leave with joy in your heart and a stupid smile all over your happy face.

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: The Caravan

The centre of Sloane Square usually finds itself playing host to young couples on romantic walks, small school uniform attired boys throwing paper aeroplanes at each other, or bustling shoppers darting to grab a quick bite to eat on their way home. However, since the 10th February a small and quite dingy looking caravan has moved in and claimed a piece of the Square for its own. Is this squatters rights gone mad? No, its simply the latest off-site production offered by the Royal Court.

Aiming to draw attention to the crisis seen in the summer of 2007 when heavy rains and flooding drove over 48,000 people from their homes, Look Left Look Right have not settled at a mere realistic portrayal of the events. Instead, they have created a hyper-real environment where audience members can experience the misery of being cooped up in a caravan for themselves. From the meeting point in the theatre's restaurant the emphasis is on the authentic, be it the paper clippings available for our perusal, the clutched, scalding cup of tea in a paper cup which had just been offered to us or the damp, stifling air inside the caravan itself.

The entire text of the performance, which had been created through a series of interviews with real life victims, is presented to the small audience of just eight not as a lecture or a news broadcast, but rather as an intimate chat. And it is this intimacy which makes the production so deeply moving and harrowing.

The confined space of the caravan means that you have no escape. You are forced to press up next to your neighbours engaging in some body contact and, more importantly, you are forced to look the 'performers' in the eye and listen as they tell you of their ordeal. There is no room to drift off into the darkness here, you are on display as much as the actors and it is this sensation which makes you stand up and pay attention.

But while the space forces you to be receptive to what is taking place, the performance would ultimately fail had it not been for the tremendous ability of the cast of five. As they sit amongst you and invite you to experience a part of their lives you instantly warm to them, care for them and want to know about them. You are engaged on every level and as they offer you biscuits, and as you eagerly accept them, you realise the truth behind the headlines. Here we see the individuals who were affected by the events, individuals that up until now have been lost in the sea of statistics. This is verbatim theatre at its most effective, and it is truly thrilling.

Phil Burt

What's in a name?

The instant connections you make with the name Forsythe says a great deal about you. For some, they think instantly of the John Galsworthy novels and revert to a time of 1920s prejudices against 'new' money families. For others, it is the internationally renowned American dancer/choreographer William Forsythe who springs to mind. And finally for an incredibly large number of Brits, it is the elongated perma-tanned chin of Brucie Baby as his cracked, aged face gets a little too up close and personal with the continual string of dolly-birds at his side. Well, contestants in groups numbers one and three can stop reading now. Here we are talking about dance, and dance that is a far cry from the floating feathers and industrial strength make up of Strictly Come Dancing.

William Forsythe will be once again taking over the boards at Sadler's Wells this spring with the Focus on Forsythe season celebrating this seminal choreographer's work transforming and redefining classical ballet into a 21st century form of artistic expression. The season will include the centrepiece of the series Decreation, performed at the theatre on Roseberry Avenue and You Made Me A Monster which places performer and audience member on the stage together. As well as the in-house productions, Sadler's Wells have commissioned a series of off-site installations which will hopefully introduce Forsythe's work to a new and diverse audience who are normally put off by the word 'dance'. And, for an added bonus most of these are totally gratis. In your face, Maggie.

Check out the Sadler's Wells website for full listings of the season HERE. And lets wake England up to the fact that dance does not have to be connected to Tess Daly's coat hanger smile and demon like twitching eyes.

Space....The Forgotten Frontier?

Space. Its bloody big isn't it. No, we're not talking about that big vacuous arena passed the clouds that at one time found itself playing host to Will Smith and rubber-faced Goldblum. We're talking about the space all around us, the city space, the building space, the occupied and the unoccupied space. Or, more specifically, we are talking about the places that call themselves 'theatre space'. Are we on the same page now?

There is no getting away from the importance of the space in which a production is placed. Both physically and socially it can influence change the shape of the piece, restrictions that are put in place - ie an actor can only walk as far as the stage allows him unless he's planning on doing a David Blaine and floating off into the distance - and how the staging and set design. So why does it relatively go unnoticed when we talk about theatre. We can go on for hours about how much we like/dislike something without once mentioning the theatre and auditorium we have been sat in. Talk about missing the elephant in the room.

It this forgetfulness when it comes to the blatantly obvious that makes work in alternative space so fascinating. Forget the fact that it takes people out of their comfort zone or makes one feel (physically) uncomfortable - I, of course, mean only forget these for a second, they are still very very important - it actually makes people sit up and take notice of where they are and what is around them. And so, to a tiny caravan in the middle of Sloane Square. Anyone for a biscuit?

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Every Good Boy Deserves Favour

Every Good Boy Deserves Favour
The National


While Felix Barrett has been known to flirt with traditional texts (from Shakespeare’s The Tempest and Midsummer Night’s Dream to the concoctions of Edgar Alan Poe) when it comes to space he is anything but conventional. Rather, he prefers to commandeer Victorian schools (Sleep No More), disused factories (The Firebird Ball) and nonchalant music festivals (Woyzeck). And so, to the vacuous expanse of The National’s Olivier theatre for his interpretation of Tom Stoppard’s Every Good Boy Deserves Favour. Seemingly, Barrett has stepped back into the world of conformist theatre however, with a 20 strong orchestra festooning the large circular stage, all is clearly not what it seems.

Fiddlers, brass players and percussionists infest the acting space, not stoic and statue-like, but taking up the role of a mass ensemble reacting to the live action unfolding around them. Flitting between interaction with Toby Jones’ Ivanov – a man committed to a Russian mental institution for believing that he is the conductor of this orchestra – and appearing invisible while soundtracking the performance with Andre Previn’s ever-peaking score, we start to question who is actually ‘mad’ in this shrouded comedy. This is of course the point, and a theory extended in our direction – ‘sane’ bodies who can see and hear the parps of trombones and booms of tom drums.

Jones himself delivers the performance of the evening; his comical timing impeccably placed next to the rather poe-faced Alexander, portrayed intensely by Joseph Millson, and justifiably so as a character sharing a ‘ward’ with Ivanov, having been subjected to brutal tortures on account of his political views alone.

It’s a corrupt, tightrope-treading society that Every Good Boy… transports us to. So, not a jolly in its entirety, but thanks to Jones’ pantomime nutcase, quaffs are a plenty from the sometimes stuffy National crowd. Gags of repeated probes from a loopy Ivanov pull us one way in jest; stretching, emotional monologues from Alexander yank us the other with realisation that freedom of speech hasn’t always been as widespread as it is today. And Millson delivers these heavy blows to great effect – whiffing of method-acting intensity against his co-star’s lovable fool.

But perhaps Jones’ is too much the lovable fool: not for our enjoyment of his character to wane, but more so for his mental-health-problems-are-ultimately-very-serious-indeed sequence to appear believable as his collapses atop his psychiatrist’s desk. Too much laughter has been had for us by that point, however much the orchestra build their sinister soundtrack while cellists are dragged from their seats by horn blowers, beaten and raped by co-musicians whom by now have taken on the roles of the vicious guards of Russian mental institutes nationwide.

The circular stage spins as time passes, allowing all present in the auditorium the chance to face the ‘patients’’ beds and psychiatrist’s office in turn. As we arrive back to where we started, after a full 360 degrees, we’ve just enough time to realise that the obnoxious 10-year-old son of Alexander was in fact portrayed by 22-year-old Bryony Hannah – and therefore a stunning piece of acting that was in no way as annoying at the character’s whiney voice had us believing – and that Dan Stevens’ psychiatrist is really the unsung hero of evening, comically as brilliant as Jones.

But saying that, perhaps the unsung hero is really Felix Barrett himself. Stoppard’s script has been as lorded as ever amidst gabbles of this production, as has Previn’s excellent score. Barrett, on the other hand, has rarely been mentioned, despite taking the traditional and bravely co-producing a grippingly original piece, a far leap from his comfort zone. Surely this good boy deserves a bit of favour.

Stuart Stubbs

PERFORMANCE REVIEW: Shun-Kin

Shun-Kin - Complicite/Simon McBurney

Barbican Theatre 14th February 2009

Its hard to get a moments peace in London. When we're not sat in front of a computer screen listening to our neighbour whine on about their weekend of boozing, we're at home watching the TV or trying to ignore the never ending drone of passing traffic. Maybe the capital is afraid to be quiet for a second in case we realise something about ourselves it doesn't want us to? Instead we are force fed noise pollution down and bombarded with bright colourful moving images to distract and entertain us.

Complicite's latest offering Shun-Kin, performing at the Barbican theatre until 21st February, reminds us of this sad fact. The tale, based on the writings of influential twentieth century Japanese writer Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, follows the blind, beautiful yet deeply spoilt Shun-Kin and her devoted servant Sasuke examining the complex relationship of the two - a relationship full of power, domination, darkness and light. The more Sasuke meets every whim and shrill cry of his sadistic mistress, the more demanding and violent she is, leading to some awkward shuffling in the auditorium and some rather prudish reviews by the more sensitive critics. The thin line that divides love from hate and pleasure from pain is here highlighted, crossed and questioned.

Simon McBurney's mastery over the visual image seems destined to touch on the subtle beauty of Japanese theatre. Scenes do not end but smoothly merge into one another lulling the audience into an almost hypnotic state. This is, of course, not to say it is easy watching. The violence of both Shun-Kin's physical actions and her voice make it, at times, unbearable. But we are transported to another world and another time where the reliance on technology is absent and the hedonistic, selfish existence of the modern age is replaced with a selfless commitment to duty. Highlighting this point beautifully, members of Tokyo's Setagya Public Theatre create representation of birds, trees, doors and even Shun-Kin who, for the most part, is a skillfully manipulated marionette.


It is not until the climax of the performance, with the death of Shun-Kin and, years later, her still dedicated servant, that there is a final, definite transition from darkness to the light. But this move to the light comes as a warning. Because as we leave the darkness of 19th century Japan and enter the light of contemporary culture, complete with its flashing neon and constant buzzing noise, we also leave behind the ability to see and to hear clearly. An ability we may never get back.

Lily Eckoff