Whatever happened to lunchtime theatre? Its disappearance has meant a lack of outlets for one-act plays on which writers can learn their craft. So I was delighted to go to the King's Head in Islington at lunchtime to see this two-hander by my Player-Playwrights colleague Paola Trimarco. What I also liked was being able to revise my opinion of a play about which I had been a bit lukewarm when it was peformed at an unstaged P-P reading a few weeks ago. Virginia Woolf, despatched by her long-suffering husband Leonard, finds herself on a TV makeover show, being coached by producer Jenny into changing her appearance and embracing 'girl power'. When Virginia mentions the word 'feminist', Jenny tells her: 'Promise me you will not use that word when the camera is on.' Jenny, being a typical member of what I call the Small Screen Party, hasn't a clue about Virginia Woolf's writings, being a graduate of TV reality shows such as Teenage Boys That Want Breasts. There are lots of jokes about television (a target as big as a barn door) but the real point of the play is to ask whatever happened to feminism -- a question familiar to anyone who reads the Guardian. Between the first scene and the second, Virginia gets her makeover. We see a dummy woman at the side of the stage being clipped, primped, bashed and sliced into shape. When VW comes back she's a tarty blonde in high heels, but she doesn't buy into girl power. In the meantime it appears that Jenny has got the sack. Virginia, told by Jenny that she will commit suicide by drowning, embraces her destiny as a feminist icon, but the play doesn't focus as much as I would have liked on Jenny and her possible journey. I think perhaps the play should have been more about her discovering Virginia than the other way round. Director Steve Harris has discovered the visual elements of the play and paced it beautifully, with lots of awkward pauses. Nicola Hollinshead as Virginia and Victoria Johnston as Jenny seem to come from different worlds and successfully embody the gulf between 1938 and 2008.
HESS
Verdict: Justice at Nuremburg?
Guildford - Mill Studio
Americans are reluctant to sign up to the new international court for war crimes. The tribunal at The Hague has seldom been free from controversy in its short life. The Lockerbie trial has been undermined by conspiracy theories and political expediency. What better time to examine the fate of Rudolf Hess, and his imprisonment for life at Nuremburg? Hess famously flew to Scotland to intercede with the British Goverment for a negotiated peace. He'd fought at the Battle of Ypres in the First World War and, despite being Chancellor Adolf Hitler's right-hand man, retained a grasp of humanity. He was also out of the war well before the Russians and Americans became combatants. Yet Russian and American judges were prominent among those who tried him at Nuremburg, and it was at Russia's absolute insistence that he was never freed. Hess was imprisoned with his idol Hitler prior to Government, it was to Hess that the later German leader dictated his biography Mein Kampf ('My Struggle'. The book has a rare density of prose, and it's fascinating to speculate how much more widely read it might have become if the ReichFuhrer had shared a cell with, say, Jilly Cooper). Hess adored him - in perhaps quite a childlike way. He was titled as Hitler's deputy, but regarded as a nominal figure. At Nuremburg he was acquitted of crimes against humanity - for which the penalty was death - and served over 40 years (till his reputed suicide) for waging war, and conspiring to wage it. Paul Croft gives a spell-binding performance as Hess. He addresses a journalist (unseen) in his cell and tells his life story, starting from his birth in Egypt, and the missing of his family, the aspect of captivity he finds most hurtful. He's a shrewd observer of modern Europe, and Britain in particular - noting for example its fascination with the Third Reich. He's a progressive taste in music - the Beatles are an unexpected favourite. And he's right up to date in his following of current affairs and political analysis. He can work up to a rant at what he regards as the unfairness of his extended sentence (shared by Churchill, who firmly committed himself in print in his disapproval of Hess's extended punishment). Croft gets deep into the characterisation of a remarkable and controversial man. Never an easy figure to classify - neither a hissable villain nor fitting the stereotype of the B-Movie 'Bad German' - Hess died before the reunification of Germany. What he'd think now of a Europe led from Berlin, the lime-trees replanted in Unter Den Linden, and new lamp-posts along the road from the Reichstag to designs by Hitler's architect Albert Speer, is academic - he's dead. Croft's fascinating portrayal opens a time capsule into a man - and an age - that now belongs to the last century. Original make-up design, Rebecca Flores and Andrew Lukas. Original production design, Fiona Hamilton. Performer, Paul Croft. Director, Steve Harris. Writer, Michael Burrell. Technicals, theatre staff. Producer, Andrew Lukas. Presented by Amrumer Productions in association with Casarotto Ramsay and Associates Ltd. END
John Park reviewed Fringe Report (c)
Frankie And Johnny
Eye Theatre
We first meet the two characters during an intimate moment at Frankie’s New York apartment. She and Johnny work together at a diner, getting together for what at first seems like just a one-night stand. He is brash, she appears withdrawn but a beautiful piece of classical music on the radio starts moving the night into some unexpected avenues. To say much more might spoil the sublime charm of this funny and very poignant production. It was one of those rare nights when everything came together perfectly; the play, the actors and the venue. Terrance McNally’s story is so full of subtlety, despite its sometimes-earthy dialogue, that we really get drawn into Frankie and Johnny’s lives. Louise Jackson and Neil Sheffield do an utterly superb job of portraying these characters, breathing life in the roles and (best of all) making us genuinely care about them. At times some of the lines seemed a little rushed but this just added realism. Also, Eye Theatre is a real jewel, giving the audience an intimacy between performers and audience that is so rare. DO go and see this production, it was one of THE most enjoyable nights I’ve ever had at a theatre.
Paul Monkhouse Diss Express
Frankie and Johnny
Frankie and Johnny begins with sexual climax, bypasses the problems of a ‘limp dick’ and concludes calmly and somewhat more romantically with Frankie and Johnny watching the sun rise over New York from the window of Frankie’s one-room apartment in the late eighties. Terrence McNally’s play follows the first date of a waitress and a cook, he certain that he is in love, she bowled over by his gentle but determined and - for her - unusual approach. He quotes Shakespeare, she has a fear of archaic words. She’s never married, he’s divorced with two boys. Neither is a spring chicken. Director Steve Harris has his two performers catch quite touchingly the sense of alienation that two souls alone in the Big Apple might feel. The American accents assumed by Louise Jackson as Frankie and Neil Sheffield as Johnny sound convincing to this inexpert ear. Thier journey to the beginnings of an understanding is not without humour or some genuinely affecting moments. Background music from the radio plays a prominent part in the action - too forcefully at times, when it was distracting and one was not able to hear all the dialogue. It was a pity that the fridge light didn’t work because an opportunity for some moody lighting in the kitchen was missed, although the working TV cast its eerie glow effectively. Eye seemed unperturbed by Brooklyn Heights slang and ready to warm to Johnny’s credo that “we gotta connect - or we die”.
Hugh Homan the Stage
A Cricket Match
Eye Theatre
Ayckbourn wrote that his 1982 Intimate Exchanges plays “were written for a cast of two. They could be performed by a larger cast but the end result would be less satisfying”. In A Cricket Match it is certainly true that much of the fun is in admiring Ayckbourn’s theatricality and wondering how it is going to be engineered so that Beverley Hatwell plays four roles and William Kenning three. It is fortunate that the craft of the piece was amusing because what the characters have to say seems very slight indeed. It is much to the credit of Hatwell and Kenning’s expertise that the evening passes so pleasantly, since the play is beginning to feel very dated. Celia, headmaster Toby’s wife and Miles, Toby’s best friend and chairman of the governors, have a brief, not very satisfactory affair, meet five years later to review what happened - end of play. Beverley Hatwell struggles with a couple of not very becoming wigs but suggests very succinctly the middle class, bored wife that Celia has become while enjoying the more brash and extrovert Rowena that is Miles’ wife. A brief interlude as the loopy maid Sylvie is delicious and Celia’s Mum Josephine makes a flying visit too. William Kenning catches exactly the bullying bluster of Toby, addressing various recalcitrant offstage boys and the sadness that comes with realising that booze can’t solve life’s problems. He’s endearingly awkward as the luckless Miles. He too enjoys the chance to go downmarket to the C1’s as Lionel Hepplewick, the young groundsman who’s seen Miles and Celia dining at the local hostelry.
Hugh Homan The Stage
A Cricket Match JANET CHAMBERS Eye Theatre Just the tonic needed to lift people out of the winter blues, this sparkling Ayckbourn comedy is the eighth inter-related play in the Intimate Exchange Series. The first-half action takes place in the garden of Toby, the headmaster in danger of losing his job and his wife, Celia. The garden shed provides a love nest for Celia, who embarks on a brief affair with Miles, chairman of the governors, who is attempting to save Toby's job. When the scene shifts to the cricket field, and the shed becomes the pavilion, the action increases. When Richard Mainwaring pulled out, William Kenning found himself with a hard act to follow – but he did it magnificently. Beverley Hatwell had to work even harder to fill four contrasting roles. The change between the dejected Celia, forever tweaking her hair and clothes, and the provocative and impish Rowena, the wife of Miles, was remarkable – not to mention her lesser roles as the maid Sylvy and Celia's mother Josephine. The play, which runs until Saturday, was directed by Steve Harris, with David Hermon as lighting designer and Emma-Jane Beniston stage manager.
Danny and the Deep Blue Sea
Journeys
A well-mixed tale Danny and the Deep Blue Sea The Keep Theatre Company Journeys - Cardiff A new company. A new venue. A well proven play from a rising American Stage and Film writer/director. This exciting cocktail came splendidly up to expectations. We drank down draughts of angst and soul searching which left us, eventually with a warm and satisfying glow as, uncharacteristically, the well-mixed tale ended on a happy note, only just. Two raw unwanted inarticulate misfits, Danny and Roberta, happen to find themselves near one another in a seedy Bronx bar. Whilst the two actors, Angel Bell and Eleanor Brunsdon successfully recreate the atmosphere with convincing American accents, they are clearly the universal misfits from which many of us may only be a step away. Danny tattooed and scowling fidgets and constantly lights his cigarette, which he continues to do throughout the play even when his lighter has run out of fuel. Bell, who declares himself a ’method’ actor, seems to be working on two levels. He is totally convincing as the character Danny but also seems to be carrying his own internal friendly smile at the man he is portraying. Roberta sits nervously nearby munching pretzels. Eventually Danny, who doesn’t look as if he does food or speaking, with a great effort and an almost inarticulate mumble asks her for one. ‘Piss Off’ or words to that effect is her characteristic reply. That’s what he gets all the time, so he goes back to his cigarette. A few moments later she, perversely, offer him one. This he finds even harder to take and when she stands provocatively in front of him, does his head in! – He doesn’t do that stuff. As the violence and the shouting moves from one to the other we notice that there is something a little bit different about these two. The odd word of self-realisation slips out. Things begin to calm, Roberta lets herself dream, the dialogue softens, she reassures him. There is a mutual recognition. They spend a romantic, sort of, night together. He proposes marriage, she accepts. In the morning she wants to forget it all and throw him out. Danny has learned what being cared for, even momentarily, is like. They unload a lot of the baggage they have been carrying. Their story seems to end happily but no one can be sure. Not even Steve Harris who directed the play with a firm but sensitive hand. The actors made the audience feel the power of the hardness that passed between them and we were willing them to get it together. It was a real achievement for the two of them to be able to command such close attention in a space that has, for the moment too many, distractions. Journeys is offering itself as a café bar with a lot of cultural activities. It can make an exciting contribution to ‘arts’ for people on the east side of Cardiff but if it wishes to continue to present plays, even on a small scale, especially if they are as strong as this, it will need a bit of a rethink.
Reviewed by: Michael Kelligan
Inculpatus
Pentameters
Nine years ago an underage girl was banished from her Fenland village, leaving behind suspicions of a mass outbreak of paedophilia, resulting in broken homes, even murder. Now uninvited, she returns to the family home to rediscover a hotbed of spiteful gossip and sisterly jealousy, plus a posse of police in search of a small child reportedly snatched away by a prowling dark stranger. Meanwhile in her houseproud sister’s kitchen, a faulty fluorescent tube stands in for lightning flashes, accompanied by the thunderous static of police intercom. Kim Loe’s melodrama may be a long way from Starkadder country but it shares the dark improbable smack of Stella Gibbons’ cold comfort harm, as we watch an Irish oaf of a husband (Hamish Gray), nursing a bandaged left arm, injured in who knows what scene of rural nastiness, and an idiot girl running amok in a woodland thicket. Ciara Dooley and Sarah Strong have set up Fortress Productions chiefly as a showcase for their own talents and with the help of director Steve Harris they tackle this tricky work-in-progress head-on. Their scenes together as half-sisters in awkward, stand-off mode are the best thing about the evening, with telling support from Priscilla Gray playing the plot stirrer and Jeremy Gardiner as the village hunk. But Loe’s play employs unconvincing devices to get characters offstage and imposes severe technical demands, including breaking and clearing up fluorescent shards. ‘Inculpatus’ is Latin for ‘blameless’ but none of the characters can lay any real claim to innocence.
By John Thaxter The Stage