On Monday 21st November, a short play of mine will be performed at Theatre503 on Battersea Park Road. Along with seven other writers, the work will be a response to the current production The Swallowing Dark, by Lizzie Nunnery. The director is Oliver Rose, of Rogue's Gallery.
Who deserves to have a Theatre named after them: the successful, or the daring? John Gielgud, Ivor Novello, Noel Coward, Stephen Sondheim, Laurence Olivier, David Garrick and Harold Pinter have all had the honour. Is there a case for including Terrence Rattigan among their number? It's over thirty years since his death and audiences still respond to his well-made plays full of unspoken and understated emotions.
A lot has happened to theatre in between, a fact acknowledged by the naming of the Harold Pinter Theatre, but there are many more people who dared, often against the odds, to invigorate and expand the possibilities of theatre: John Osborne, Joan Littlewood, Mike Leigh, Shelagh Delaney, Joe Orton, Caryl Churchill, Edward Bond, Arnold Wesker, Samuel Beckett and Peter Brook to name a few. Some of these names are still going strong and enjoy successful revivals too – why not name a theatre after them?
Content within the rule-bound four walls of a drawing room, Rattigan wasn't an innovative new force of theatre, but he knew a good story and had the talent for telling them successfully. I wouldn't call his work either radical or comforting, but it works and the stage is large enough to accommodate the commercial and the familiar with the fresh and the experimental – provided it works.
Only time can help to define those playwrights who are deserving of having the fitting memorial of having a theatre named after them, but this can also feel like an act of possession. Just as a part doesn't belong to an actor, so a theatre doesn't belong to any single artist, but to the team that works together to bring a text to life and to the audience who pay to come and see it. However, the name of Rattigan would feel more at home on a traditional, proscenium arch theatre in the West End than the name of Pinter, or the name of Peter Brook, who said 'I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage.'
The Royal Court Theatre, 23rd June 2011
This was my first experience of Arnold Wesker and against my expectations I enjoyed myself. The period and concerns of the play (Jewish East End Socialism between 1936 – 1956) weren't ones that had interested me much. How relevant could they be after 53 years? The U.S.S.R. may be history and the 21st century may belong (temporarily) to the contentedly consumerist West, but lost causes are always fascinating to look back on. It can be like looking back on our younger selves in middle age. How passionately naive we were, we think. How much we have changed in a few years of maturing. But the play carries a deeper resonance about belief in an ideal, in a cause that gives life impetus towards a vision. Sarah Khan (played by the excellent Samantha Spiro) is untouchably pure and unshakeable in her ideals of socialist brotherhood, which she dispenses along with endless cups of tea and cake. Sarah holds on, while her family sell-out, become disillusioned, physically weaken, or simply prefer to stay in watching their new televisions instead of wearing themselves out marching. We see that Sarah is on the wrong side of history, but for her to abandon her beliefs would be the same as giving up breathing.Today we are wary of such people, having seen what the fruits of their fervour can be, but we still half-admire them for a strength of conviction that is lacking in our more contented, inward looking selves.
Wesker extends his sympathy and understanding to all his characters. We can understand how Sarah's family succumbed to the passing of time, or to the needs of their own families. People grow. People change. That's life. But we also feel sympathy for Sarah. Life may be complicated, but how complicated does it really need to be? Things are not painted in black and white, but we all have moments when we feel they should be. Has belief made Sarah blindly obtuse, or stoical and clear-sighted? Does she deserve admiration, or pity? Like most things, the answer depends on who you ask.
Riverside Studios, 10th June 2011
You don't normally associate Alan Ayckbourn with ghost stories, but his typically crafty crafting makes for an effective thriller. Composing prodigy Julia Lukin ('Little Miss Mozart' to the tabloids) was found dead in her student flat at 19 of an 'accidental' overdose. Ten years later, her father Joe has bought up the property and turned it into her memorial, with Julia's attic room recreated as a heritage space. He brings her ex-boyfriend, Andy, along to see it, but his intentions soon become clear – he has always had doubts about the verdict of accidental death, all the more so now that he believes Julia is trying to contact him. Andy is sceptical, but Joe has brought in a psychic to help him answer the question that haunts and pains him; why did she die?
It is typical of ghosts to reside in attics, but recreating Julia's attic bedroom as a shrine, down to her favourite teddy, adds an interesting angle. It is a dead place, but hauntingly lifelike in appearance. The door is ajar and though a brick wall has been built behind you grow to dread it being opened as things become more unnerving. The flickering lights, the riveting silences, the swelling tension and the sudden noises are all present, correct and effective, but the characters are not ghost story stereotypes. Richard O'Callaghan's Ken is comically down-to-earth about his psychic gift, while Christopher Timothy's Joe is sturdily matter-of-fact. Dominic Hecht's Andy tries to rationalise the situation, but only to protect Joe in his grief. Their ordinariness makes them believable, making their explanations for what is going on credible, leaving the state of things ambiguous and all the more spooky. Their ordinariness also gives the ghost story a solid emotional base. Each of the three men labours under the guilt of not having been there for her when they should have been, Joe most of all. Did the pride he feel in her talent (both a blessing and a curse to the young) smother her to the point of wanting to kill herself?
CAST: Joe: Christopher Timothy, Ken: Richard O'Callaghan, Andy: Dominic Hecht, Woman: Louise Kempton, Director: Andrew Hall
Tomorrow, a short ten minute play of mine will be performed at Theatre503 on Battersea Park Road. Along with three other writers, the work will be a response to the current production 'Sold', by Suzi Miller.
Menier Chocolate Factory, 6th June 2010
A trip to Mykonos sounds like small potatoes when we can jet off anywhere around the world for a weekend. Travel has transformed the way we see the world, but does having the world as our oyster make us feel empowered, or merely more at the mercy of strikes and Icelandic volcanoes? The eponymous heroine of 'Shirley Valentine' is trapped in a lifeless marriage and between the four magnolia walls of her kitchen. A trip to a Greek island helps to shed her burden of 'unused life' and rediscover the person she used to be. It's not demanding theatre, but neither is it a sentimental story about the fulfilment of dreams. Meera Syal is a delightfully engaging mix of longing and down-to-earth sense. Her experience as a comedian make her pitch perfect for the wise-cracking Shirley and she vividly peoples the stage with the other characters who are referred to, but never seen: no-bloody-good husband Joe, stuck-up neighbour Gillian, needy daughter Mallandra, hooker school friend Marjorie, brummie best friend Jane, happy-go-lucky son Brian and the handsome Costas. She is especially hilarious recounting the story of her son's botched Nativity Play, though she sometimes teeters on becoming Meera Syal the comedian instead of Shirley the housewife. 'Shirley Valentine' and 'Educating Rita' are sister pieces; while Rita blossoms in the libraries of the Open University, Shirley blooms in a sea "as deep as forever" and both gain a more fully realised sense of self. Travel may now be easier, University places more available and equality at home and at work on the rise, but both women remain relevant for their hunger and confidence in taking a solitary plunge into the unknown. 'Shirley Valentine' shares universal hopes and fears with heart and humour.
CAST: Shirley Valentine: Meera Syal, Director: Glen Walford
The National Theatre/ODEON Tunbridge Wells, 22nd April 2010
Alan Bennett’s play presents a group of actors and stage crew rehearsing a play about an imagined meeting between W. H. Auden and Benjamin Britten in 1973. They have not seen each other for over twenty years and while Auden lives in squalor, habitually satisfying his appetites for food and sex with routine punctuality, Britten has embarked upon his final opera; ‘Death in Venice‘. The subject is dangerously revelatory (an older man’s obsession with a beautiful youth) and while Britten is using his customary coded references on the matter, he comes to Auden for some encouragement. “The closer you can steer to yourself, the better it will be”, Auden declares. Writer Humphrey Carpenter is also waiting in the wings, gathering material for his biographies of both men, though when he arrives Auden assumes him to be the rent boy he ordered.
The stage has been stripped back to a hollow shell, scaffolding exposed. Erected centre stage is a smaller set depicting Auden’s cluttered rooms at Cambridge, a place for Auden to indulge his dirty habits of urinating in the sink. The layers in the set clarify the layers of the script; the writer and stage crew inhabit the outer rehearsal space, only joining the actors on set to fill in for absent parts. The actors move between set and rehearsal space, just as they slip in and out of character. There is no suspension of reality with curtain up and no return to reality with curtain down and so boundaries between fiction and truth are blurred.
Richard Griffiths is wonderfully larger than life and breezily fresh as the slobbish Auden (there are echoes of his role as Hector in ‘The History Boys’) and Alex Jennings provides contrast as the troubled and primly fastidious Britten. These engaging portraits prove more interesting than the actor characters playing them, who come across as typically thin-skinned luvvies who irritate the author with their questions and need to be pacified by Stage Manager Kay (the divine Frances de la Tour). However, they do add meaning to the phrase ‘The Habit of Art’, for an actor must become a character by making their role a habit. The script is fascinating in its shifting and multi-faceted explorations of the creative impulse, the creative partnership, creative habits and the creative process, as well as providing a string of comic gems, but the ending suffers by the ‘pause for thought’ where the cerebral takes place over the dramatic as the actors and crew brood over their purpose.
Rather than going to London for the performance, I saw it broadcast live at the local cinema as part of NT Live. It’s a marvellous idea and it works brilliantly; the live experience enhanced with the close ups and zoom ins of cinema. By having the camera as your extra pair of eyes you are taken further into the action, which seems especially appropriate for a play that removes the line between art and real life.
CAST: Fitz/W.H. Auden: Richard Griffiths, Henry/Benjamin Britten: Alex Jennings, Donald/Humphrey Carpenter: Adrian Scarborough, Tim/Stuart: Stephen Wight, Neil: Elliot Levey, Kay: Frances de la Tour, George: John Heffernan, Joan: Barbara Kirby, Matt: Danny Burns, Ralph: Martin Chamberlain, Tom: Tom Attwood, Director: Nicholas Hytner
Above the Stag Theatre, 10th March 2010
E. M. Forster’s eponymous hero is a secret outlaw of society, due to his homosexuality. Faced with having to give to the world what it expects of him, he finds instead the courage to stay true to his feelings and is gifted with a happy ending, liberated from the stifling society he was born into. It is this unexpected happiness resulting from rebellion that makes ‘Maurice‘ a classic.
How do you adapt a classic for the stage? In this case it is with reverence; the first half of the show is a plodding processional of scenes that feel as though the book is just being acted out, instead of having been properly dramatised. The adaptation improves in the second half, with the characters being used more imaginatively and the happy ending treated with greater theatricality. A stark white set and few props focuses the production on the actors; Adam Lilley does justice to the title role, showing a fresh faced vulnerability that grows into confident resolve by the end. Rob Stott hides Clive’s uncertainty behind a jovial mask and Stevie Raine has great physical presence as Scudder; the embodiment of Maurice’s greenwood dreams. There are no weak performances, but the cast seems un-necessarily large at times, with some actors appearing for one small scene and disappearing for the rest of the evening. It’s another example of how, despite the efforts of the production, the adaptation is ultimately too faithful for its own good.
CAST: Maurice: Adam Lilley, Clive: Rob Stott, Scudder: Stevie Raine, Risley: Gavin Dobson, Lasker Jones: Jonathan Hansler, Dean: Alec Gray, Ada: Persia Lawson, Anne: Laura Armstrong, Dr. Barry: Gil Sutherland, Mrs Hall: Leanne Masterton, Director: Tim McArthur
The Tricycle Theatre, 18th February 2010
Based upon a real visit that the great Garbo made to Donegal, McGuinness imagines the actress staying with fictional artist Matthew Dover at a house that he bought from the Hennessy family, who are now his servants. Paulie, her sister-in-law Sylvia and her niece Colette manage the house, while her brother James is the chauffeur. There is also Harry, a cockney ex-boxer who is Matthew’s gardener, model and lover. Meanwhile, Colette is awaiting exam results that could send her to study medicine in Dublin on a scholarship, an event symbolic of the wider changes waiting to burst in on closed and conservative Ireland. The set has a rustic domesticity about it, crumbling fragments of a grand old house stand amid dry grass, with a forest of trees visible through the sky blue translucent walls.
Michelle Fairley creates a dynamic and strong-willed woman in Paulie, who has a no-nonsense managerial style to cover her secret desires. Caroline Lagerfelt’s Garbo exudes chic and elegance, but is mostly disagreeably imperious towards her hosts until even Matthew dismisses her as an infuriating vampire. It is when she is with Paulie, with whom she shares a sharp humour, a liking for being in control and a penchant for straight talking, that her vulnerability comes through with discussion about her family. Both women appear uninhibited, but might share the secret inhibitions of forbidden attraction. Tom McKay is ruggedly handsome as Harry, Lisa Diveney is fresh and defiant as the rebellious Colette, while Angeline Ball and Owen McDonnell revel in trading marriage insults with each other.
Garbo’s wanting to be left alone means that she will cause no popular earthquake in Donegal, but her strange and exotic presence causes hidden problems to erupt into the open between her hosts, with their desires threatening to tear them apart in scene that are full of dramatic pain. Garbo also helps strengthen Colette’s convictions and realise her dreams with a refreshing lack of patronising sentiment, but her actual role in the proceedings is difficult to define. She never gets fully involved with the stories of her hosts, so they never interlock, leaving the play disjointed. But, of course, that’s Garbo for you.
CAST: Colette Hennessy: Lisa Diveney, Paulie Hennessy: Michelle Fairley, Sylvia Hennessy: Angeline Ball, Harry Caulfield: Tom McKay, James Hennessy: Owen McDonnell, Matthew Dover: Daniel Gerroll, Greta Garbo: Caroline Lagerfelt, Director: Nicolas Kent
The Bush Theatre, 2nd January 2010
Comedian Stefan Golaszewski composed and performs two hour-long monologues; the first (Stefan Golaszewski Speaks About A Girl He Once Loved) shows him at eighteen in 1999, recounting how he fell in love with a beautiful girl he randomly met in a pub. The second (Stefan Golaszewski Is a Widower) imagines him in 2056, looking back on his relationship with his recently deceased wife.
The first monologue introduces him as being a dickhead amongst friends, when his dream girl suddenly enters. Her presence is magically suggested by a door opening, pink light spilling in, music playing, Golaszewski’s struck dumb reaction and by his spraying some of her perfume at the audience. The events that follow are spot on in identifying the awkwardness of meeting, the joy of discovering common interests, the teenage fear of seeming weird, the nervousness of losing such a big chance, the worry that feelings aren’t reciprocated and the effort to come over as naturally funny (especially in a txt message). Like Romeo, falling in love has transformed Golaszewski, but he is also forced to confront loss at the same time. The minimal set allows us to focus on the performer and there is an ingenious use of props; when he discovers that the girl’s name is Betty, her name spontaneously lights up on a pink neon sign.
Whereas the first monologue is characterised by youthful and energised music, the second is preceded by the melancholy and elegiac sound of a piano. The stage floor is covered in white, suggesting the winter of life. Golaszewski sensibly avoids dressing up as ‘old’ and his feelings are as vibrant as before, but his speech is more measured, poetic and mature. In between hinting at his life and career, he recounts how well his marriage to his wife began as a carefree and contained paradise that no one else could match. Again, Love has turned the ordinary into the comically and endearingly extraordinary. One of the most powerful moments comes when he shows off his son’s baby clothes preserved in plastic folders, which seems normal for a proud parent, but when he discloses that his son never grew up to wear anything else the moment is suddenly tragic. In each monologue, Golaszewski displays an intensity of feeling that is never fully matched and so his only reward is disappointment and betrayal. His love streams at us fiercely at an unvarying pitch and seems too uncomplicated for the complexities and change of life, thus making him come across as an idealist and as immature. As well as Romeo, he is like Othello; loving “not wisely, but too well.”
In one-man shows the pressure is on the performer and there is the danger that the material will be overstretched, or that the performance run out of steam, but Golaszewski brims over with energy and unabashed confidence. He delivers with fluency and a great sense of timing, knowing when to slow down and when to speed up, unleashing his thoughts in a torrent of words, in order to present a rich and convincing portrait of a man in love.
CAST: Stefan Golaszewski: Himself, Director: Phillip Breen
