There is a sadness behind the sitcom-like deadpan of Will Eno’s The Realistic Joneses that keeps its audience gripped while still holding it one step removed.
This sharp and starry revival of Peter Nichols’ taboo-busting fantasia A Day in the Death of Joe Egg is pretty magnificent.
Clever: There’s plenty of life and bundles of irony in the latest production of Marie Jones’ magnificent two-hander, Stones In His Pockets, now on a major UK tour.
There’s every reason why Josie Rourke should have chosen Measure for Measure to direct in her final season as the Donmar’s artistic director. Anyone with half an ear to public events in the arena of gender relations and abuse of power in the past two years would recognise its extraordinary pertinence.
In a year of revelations about the abuse of power and sexual misconduct, the timing couldn’t be better for Measure for Measure at the Donmar Warehouse, an intriguing tale of blackmail, morality and duty.
The York Realist at the Donmar Warehouse is a glorious show which creeps up on you slowly, naturally and beautifully. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend 130 minutes.
Nothing feels rushed in Robert Hastie’s wonderful new production of The Yor Realist at the Donmar Warehouse, allowing this beautifully sad production to really touch the heart. A modern classic and a Yorkshire Brief Encounter indeed.
A new West End production opened this week in one of the most prestigious theatres in London, the show was The Wind In The Willows. Previously touring, it’s now hit London for a limited run at the London Palladium.
The Wind in the Willows is a perfectly fun, family show. It’s not a theatrical masterpiece but it’s a cute, heartwarming fable that’s sweet enough for both children and adults to enjoy.
Well, to start at the end, I can’t remember a more personally `engaged’ ending than Simon Evans manufactures for the climax of Brecht’s 1940s political satire on the rise of Hitler in an American gangland setting.
A stunning new large-scale production, 42nd Street deservedly enjoyed a sold-out season at Théâtre du Châtelet, where it finished yesterday.
It may be in the English language but this production of 42nd Street is in a French theatre, the glorious Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris which, under Jean-Luc Choplin’s artistic directorship, has arguably entirely reshaped the Parisian relationship with musical theatre.
Dan Burton who plays Sawyer’s love interest Billy Lawlor is another of Mear’s regular ingénues, last seen in the West End’s Gypsy. Arguably the best of his generation in musical theatre dance, Burton has a grace in his movement that has to be seen to be believed alongside perfectly pitched, mellifluous vocals. Other Brits in the cast include Alexander Hanson, Ria Jones and Jenny Dale.
Revival of Alan Bennett’s classic double bill about the Cambridge Spies is resonant, but only takes off in the second half.
Peter McKintosh designs cold, skilful dictator chic: above a shining marble floor, the majestic Mittel-Europa chandelier dims to a blood-red aurora or to surveillance-camera pinpoints. A wide dark window looms beyond two silver-gilt audience chairs. We are in a Presidential Palace anywhere on the grim modern globe. The Leader himself is never seen; we watch, in fragmented, fugal snap-scenes, four women waiting for him through a long afternoon and evening. Outside, a denied revolution is brewing beyond the river as the despised “Northerners” take revenge.
On Saturday 5 September 2015, The 39 Steps will close after nine years at the West End’s Criterion Theatre. Based on John Buchan’s 1914 spy thriller The Thirty Nine Steps and adapted for the stage by Patrick Barlow (Desmond Oliver Dingle/The National Theatre of Brent), The 39 Steps is directed by Maria Aitken, with design by Peter McKintosh, lighting by Ian Scott, sound by Mic Pool, and movement by Toby Sedgwick.
Theatre Royal Haymarket, London
Written by Mary ChaseDirected by Lindsay Posner
Maureen Lipman and James Dreyfus
There are few shows in town more charming than Lindsay Posner’s re-working of this 1940’s all-American fable. Widowed Veta Simmons lodges with her daughter in the home of her wealthy brother Elwood P Dowd. Yet much is amiss, for as Simmons strives to keep up a genteel facade of normality, Dowd’s closest confidante is Harvey, an invisible giant rabbit and much of the play hinges upon the anguish that his behaviour causes to his loved ones.
This parable of the savant, who in today’s jargon would be classified as somewhere on the autistic spectrum and yet who sees his world with a clarity denied his fellows, has already been explored in Rain Man and Forrest Gump. Yet Chase’s Pulitzer Prize-winner preceded those modern classics by some decades and as her Harvey lifts the curtain on a petty-minded small town, so we see Dowd’s noble and chivalrous pursuit of all that is good in life, shine out as a beacon amongst his morally flawed peers, all signed up to the rat-race.
James Dreyfus is Dowd bringing a comic pathos to a beautifully created character. We laugh at the witty excellence of his performance though with a compassionate chuckle rather than the poking of cruel fun at a Bedlam lunatic. Dreyfus convinces us of his belief in Harvey and at the same time plays the straightest of bats as his (and the company’s) pinpoint timing sees the plot’s farcical elements unfold delightfully.
Opposite Dreyfus is Maureen Lipman’s Veta. Amongst the best actors of her generation, Lipman commands our sympathy as she strives to find a suitor for Myrtle Mae her grown daughter, whilst supporting her brother’s mental frailty. We feel her frustration at the difficulties she has to manage, yet at the finale we almost weep at the loving compassion she shows her sibling. Powerful stuff indeed, although glossing over the physical abuse Veta inadvertently suffers in the local sanitarium, as comedy rather than the ghastly brutality that it truly represents, is perhaps the script’s only flaw. It was to be another thirty years before Jack Nicholson’s Randle P. McMurphy in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest was to define how the cruelty of mental institutions should truly be portrayed.
Dreyfus and Lipman lead a marvellous troupe. Ingrid Oliver’s Myrtle Mae nails the awkward self-centredness of a girl on the cusp of womanhood, whilst Sally Scott’s psychiatric Nurse Kelly is a clever portrayal of cutely cognisant compassion. David Bamber is psychiatrist Dr Chumley, a medic who undergoes a Damascene conversion of his own with Bamber giving the complex role the comic mania it deserves. The play’s endgame sees Linal Haft, in a tiny role, play a cab driver whose revelatory monologue moves both hearts and minds. (And those eagle-eyed and over 40 may recall Haft’s Melvyn, the much put-upon son to Lipman’s Beattie in the BT 1980s ad campaign.)
Peter McKintosh’s set displays an ingenious elegance as interlocking revolves shift the action between home and clinic, whilst meticulous design in both costume and wigs set the time and tone perfectly.
Old fashioned for sure and with American accents that occasionally grate, the show is a curiosity of a production, but nonetheless bravo to the Birmingham Rep and its co-producers for having taken it on the road. When late into the second act, as Dowd reveals that during his lifetime he has known what it is to be “smart” as well as what it is to be profoundly pleasant, it is with a moving wisdom that he reports (and we feel chastened), that “being pleasant” is nicer. An allegory with the feel-good warmth of an adult fairy tale, Harvey makes for excellent theatre performed by a fabulous cast.
Runs until 2nd May 2015