Theatrist

Review: Wild Swans, Young Vic

Rating: 3/5

This review was written for Londonist.

Jung Chang’s bestselling 1991 memoir Wild Swans, tells the story of the lives of Jung Chang, her mother and her grandmother in the turbulence of 20th century China.

It remains banned in her homeland; though, as Jung Chang says, this only adds to its intrigue: “[P]eople, including people working for the state censors, have sought out the book to read.” Now, Chang’s book has been adapted by Alexandra Wood to make a compelling play – the first in the World Stages London season, celebrating the cultural diversity of the capital through theatre.

Jung Chang’s mother (played with bright-eyed enthusiasm by Ka-Ling Cheung) and her experiences under the Maoist regime are the focus of Wood’s adaptation. Married to Communist comrade Shou-Yu (a damn good Orion Lee), whose initial idealism gives way to disillusionment and rebellion, the pair suffer torment and detainment in labour camps at the hands of the Red Guards, and daughter Er-Hong (Jung Chang), in an emotional turn by Harry Potter actress Katie Leung, must overcome the taint of association and escape to Britain to follow her literary aspirations. The fascinating story of Chang’s grandmother, forced to be the concubine of a Chinese warlord at age 15, sadly takes a back seat – though understandably, given the lengthy book spans three generations – but Julyana Soelistyo plays the obstinate mother-in-law to perfection.

It’s imaginatively directed by Sacha Wares, with music, choreography, singing, evocative video projection and some mesmerizing puppetry all working together to make this a vivid, powerful piece – and an ingeniously versatile set by Miriam Buether adds enormously to the experience. It’s a bold, impressive production, a carnival for the senses, colourful, fast-moving, touching, with a fair bit of humour in places and full of nice little moments of stage trickery. It doesn’t quite plumb the depths of the personal, individual experience in Chang’s story, but it’s an ambitious undertaking and it’s terrific that this epic story of survival and bravery has finally been reworked for the stage.

Wild Swans runs until 13 May at the Young Vic, 66 The Cut, London, SE1 8LZ. Call 020 7922 2922 for tickets or book online.

Photo by Chris Nash

Review: After Miss Julie, Young Vic

Rating: 3/5

This review was written for Londonist.

Patrick Marber’s version of Strindberg 1888 classic Miss Julie transposes the action to 1945, on the evening of Labour’s landslide victory. In an English country mansion, the servants’ summer ball is taking place. The master of the house is out of town, and his daughter Julie has stayed behind with the servants. Cat, mice, etc.

This is the first of the Young Vic’s ‘green productions’ Classics for a New Climate, in which it attempts to reduce the amount of energy that goes into producing a show; recycling props and scenery, reducing paper usage and so on. So expect crude wooden blocks instead of tickets. Also expect the theatre to smell… kind of like a barn. We’re not sure whether that’s intended, but it is rather in keeping with the setting; the barn in which the ball is underway being visible through the windows of the servants’ kitchen, where the action takes place.

Here, kitchen maid Christine potters around doing her final chores of the day, while her fiance, John, the master’s chauffeur, dances the night away with Miss Julie. When Julie follows him down to the kitchen as he attempts to make his escape, poor Christine must watch and bite her lip as the shameless young mistress of the house seduces him in front of her. Of course, things get rather out of hand, and John and Julie must find a way out of their predicament before the house wakes up and His Lordship returns.

We’re not altogether sure some of the more melodramatic moments of the play really worked in this setting – some even elicited laughter from the audience. Yet, this laughter doesn’t get in the way. Natalie Dormer’s vivacious Julie is so truthful in her impulsiveness and volatility, she earns her extravagant outbursts. (‘Die with me, John! A suicide pact.’) So although we laugh, we still believe her. Dormer cuts a proud, vibrant figure on the stage, flouncing spectacularly, tossing her perfectly coiffed head and picking up her high-heeled feet with all the flair of a spirited show-pony. In contrast is Polly Frame’s moralistic, devout Christine. Exhausted and slumped, with her weary smile and her curl papers, she remains stoic and silent, though quietly disapproving, as Julie giggles coyly and flicks her handkerchief at John’s nose. Kieran Bew captures both the callous and the kind sides of John, who, when it comes down to it, is rather a spineless cad. Yet – and perhaps this is more in the writing than the acting – the two sides don’t always mesh well. It’s sometimes hard to find the justification for such swift and fickle changes in his character.

Though undoubtably talented, the actors might do well to remember where they are. The morning after their indiscretion, the pair return to the kitchen, where John proceeds to roar his head off and make no attempt to quieten Julie as she bawls hers off too, throwing chairs and drawers about the room, seemingly unconcerned that Christine is asleep just down the hall. This irritant aside, the production is nicely directed by Natalie Abrahami. She handles the frequent changes of pace and tone and exchanges of power in this battle of the sexes – and of the classes – with dexterity, making for compelling watching. A fine revival of Marber’s play.

Review: Snookered, Bush Theatre

Rating: 3/5

Cabbie-cum-playwright Ishy Din’s debut is the first in a trilogy about the experiences of British Pakistani men living in England. Neatly directed by Iqbal Khan, this short, snappy drama from Tamasha theatre company shoots through at 95 minutes without an interval.

It is the sixth anniversary of T’s death and, as is their custom, four of his old school friends meet up at a dingy snooker hall to mark the occasion with a piss-up and a night of pool. But as the shots are knocked back, secrets start to come out and friendships are pushed to their limits.

All four are ‘snookered’ in some way – trapped in the roles they play in their respective lives. Shaf (a super-macho Muzz Khan) is a taxi driver fettered to an arranged marriage with a fifth child on the way and will do whatever it takes for a way out, a way to make the big time. No matter how dangerous.

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Review: The House Of Bernarda Alba, Almeida Theatre

Review: Our New Girl, Bush Theatre

Rating 4/5

 This review was written for The Notebook.

“Sometimes we have to take care of things we’re frightened of. Sometimes we’re stuck with things we don’t like. How do you know you have what it takes?”

Our New Girl – or We Need To Talk About Daniel, as I like to call it – is the new play by Irish playwright Nancy Harris (No Romance, The Kreutzer Sonata, Love In A Glass Jar). The comparison might be a little flippant, but certainly the play shares a few themes with Lionel Shriver’s novel, recently made into a film by Lynne Ramsay: a mother whose maternal instincts fail to kick in, an occasionally demonic little shit of a child and dangerous factions in a household where the husband trusts his son before his wife. Charlotte Gwinner’s excellent production takes a provocative, brutally honest look at parenthood.

There will be some who will rail against Hazel (a tense and tight-faced Kate Fleetwood), the high-flying lawyer turned stressed-out mother who once absent-mindedly left her son in the supermarket when she got a call from an important client. Some people will agree with Annie, the young nanny who turns up unannounced on Hazel’s doorstep, who thinks Hazel is ‘not right in the head’. Others will empathise with this high-achieving woman struggling to cope with the pressures of motherhood, with little help from her predominantly absent cosmetic surgeon husband, Richard.

As the couple’s blank-eyed son Daniel, young Jude Willoughby gives a capable, still and focused performance. Called ‘mate’ and ‘big D’ by the dad he worships and caught between his warring parents, Daniel is far too grown-up for his eight years: he’s on first name terms with his mum and dad; he talks about ‘perineal tears’ and episiotomies, for God’s sake.

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Review: Lovesong, Lyric Hammersmith

Rating: 3.5/5

This review was originally written for Londonist

“This is the story of the end.”

But it is also the story of the beginning. As elderly couple Billy (Sam Cox) and Maggie (Siân Phillips) near the end of their 40-odd year marriage and face up to Maggie’s imminent death, memories of their younger selves (Edward Bennett as William, Leanne Rowe as Margaret) invade their home and paint a picture of the start of their married life together, with all its accompanying trials; jealous rows, disagreements over money, fertility problems and addiction, to name but a few.

Being a Frantic Assembly production, movement plays an important part in the storytelling. The past and the present are neatly interwoven, cleverly overlapping and intertwining: Maggie reaches into her wardrobe and, as she disappears inside, out spring William and Margaret to pick up where their elders left off; or Billy opens the fridge door and there stands Margaret, angelic against the refrigerator’s glow. Maggie and Billy are left gazing in wonderment as the younger versions of their spouses dance nimbly around them, cavorting lithely across the stage. But it’s the moments when the two generations interact that are the most poignant of all. Though the choreography comes over a teensy bit ‘drama school’ at first – lots of frantic writhing and basic contact work – it is deftly executed by the four actors and soon melts easily into the action, complementing the emotional nature of the story as it meanders towards its gently tragic finale.

Directed by Scott Graham and Steve Hoggett and written by Abi Morgan (she’s so hot right now), this is a tender, very human treatment of love, mortality and loss. Marriage isn’t easy, they say, but if this play tells us anything, it’s that it’s damn well worth the effort. It’s an ode to togetherness, a reminder that love is what makes life worth living. The pace is measured, the action simple, the performances subtle, but if it doesn’t catch at your heartstrings, there’s surely no hope for you, you callous beast.

Lovesong is on until 4 February at the Lyric Hammersmith, Lyric Square, King Street, London W6 0QL.  Click here to book tickets or call 0871 221 1729.

Production shot by Johan Persson, with Sam Cox as Billy and Siân Phillips as Maggie.

Review: Haunted Child, Royal Court

Rating: 3/5

This review was originally written for The Notebook

Thomas is scared. He’s been hearing voices in the middle of the night and seeing things: visions of his father, who disappeared weeks ago without a word. His mother dismisses them as dreams and fantasies generated by a young mind in turmoil, but when it turns out her husband has in fact been hiding in the loft – dirty, dishevelled and mysteriously missing his teeth – a bewildered Julie tries her best to understand his motives.

It transpires that Douglas – on the brink of a nervous breakdown from the strain of his father’s death and the birth of his son – has been busy having his mind opened by a suspect spiritual leader in an abandoned office block in Acton. The new Douglas lives off bananas and boiled eggs, quaffs litres of salt water just to throw it up again (‘helps align the brainwaves’) and babbles on about renunciation, ‘eliminating the ego’ and learning ‘detachment’. Oh yeah, and he needs a tithe. That’s right, a tithe. They won’t let him return without a tithe. So he needs to sell the house. BUT IT ISN’T A CULT.

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Review: Reasons To Be Pretty, Almeida

Rating: 4/5

This review was originally written for Londonist.

Reasons To Be Pretty is the final instalment of a trilogy from Neil LaBute – following The Shape Of Things(2001) and Fat Pig (2004) – that concerns society’s obsession with physical appearance.

A furious opening kicks Michael Attenborough’s production straight into gear. A young woman is screaming at her boyfriend with a ferocity that suggests she has just caught him slapping her puppy across the face. But he is not the pet-abuser here, and her rage signals that the lives of his goldfish are in immediate danger.

The trouble starts when 20-something Greg tells his best friend, Kent, that, though his girlfriend’s face is just “regular” – compared to that of the new girl at work – he wouldn’t trade her for a million bucks. A compliment, he thinks. Hm… Well, Kent’s wife, Carly, doesn’t think so; she overhears and repeats his comment to said girlfriend, Steph, who chooses to focus, not surprisingly, on the first part. And that is the end of THAT four-year relationship.

Meanwhile, Kent, a misogynistic bully, philosophizes with real insight and sensitivity on the female form: “Beautiful women are like athletes: couple of years and then the knees go.” Luckily, the aforementioned new girl at work – whom he is gleefully screwing behind his pregnant wife’s back – is just 23, so, you know, “only starting to fade a bit”.

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Preview: The Sisters: Return To The Isle Of Queef!

This preview was originally written for Londonist

I last saw emerging comedy troupe The Feral Pigeons at Islington’s Hope & Anchor in June and, having performed at Latitude in the interim, they now bring their debut show – with a brand new ending – to the Leicester Square Theatre.

If you’re clean-minded/stubbornly British enough not to be familiar with the term ‘queef’, urban dictionary that shit up and you’ll get a rough idea of what kind of evening is in store. Subtle, this show is not. Absolutely bloody hilarious, it most emphatically IS.

Twin sisters, Evelyn (Jasmine Jones) and Prudence (Benedict Hopper) Petticoat, spend their days spreading joy and la-ha-haughter on the magical Isle of Queef. But their innocence – not to mention their lives – is threatened when they’re whisked away via the medium of conceptual dance (how else?) to dirty, horrid London, with the murderous Queen Madame M’zelle (Gabriella Best) in hot pursuit.

If you’ve seen The Feral Pigeons before, you’ll know what to expect: a riotous hour of mock panto-style overacting, inspired characters and deliciously catchy Gilbert and Sullivan-esque songs (if you don’t leave the theatre with an earworm of “Is It Necrophilia If It’s Just A Kiss?”, I’ll eat our best fur deerstalker). If you haven’t, well, this baby’s only on for one night (Tuesday 22 November), so booking is advisable – it isn’t one to be missed.

A triumph of pure fun and silliness. Your face will hurt from laughing.

The Sisters: Return To The Isle Of Queef! is on at Leicester Square Theatre, 6 Leicester Place, London WC2H 7BX at 7pm on Tuesday 22 November. Tickets £7.50. Book online or call 0844 873 3433.

Production image: India Roper-Evans Photography

Review: Mixed Marriage, Finborough Theatre

Rating: 2/5

This review was originally written for The Notebook.

“No son of mine will marry a Catholic,” proclaims John, the obdurate old patriarch of the Protestant Rainey family, at the beginning of this century-old play. So… can you guess what’s going to happen? Yes, so can I. (The clue’s in the title.)

Sam Yates directs St John Ervine’s 1911 drama at the Finborough in its first London performance in 90 years. A skilled orator and a respected man in Belfast, John Rainey is persuaded to put his reservations about mixing with Catholics to one side in order to join forces in the factory strikes. That is, until he discovers that his eldest son plans to marry a young Catholic girl. Willing to mix in the public domain in the pursuance of a common cause, that of the working man, John is less willing to put prejudice aside within the walls of his own home, and – inevitably – catastrophe ensues.

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