OUR CLASS, National Theatre, 24 Sep 2009

It's always very, very exciting to go see a play with Justin Salinger in it. I have mentioned many times in this blog, but he is one of the most exciting actors on stage in Britain, only rivalled in talent by the likes of Andrew Scott or Joe Millson. The experience seemed even more auspicious by the presence in the cast of Lee Ingleby, of whom I've been a fan for years (even putting up with the whole run of George Gently in all its glorious boredom).

But the subject matter of the play put me off a bit and like the Tyro Theatre Critic (formerly the Teenage Theatre Critic) I arrived at the National full of doubts and

In the summer of 1941 1600 Jews were burned to death in a barn in Jedwabne, a small town in Poland. The culprits of this massacre were not the invading Nazi forces but the very own residents of Jedwabne, neighbours and friends (and classmates) to the dead. This is the raw material Tadeusz Slobodzianek uses to construct his Our Class.

It's tricky to start with real events and real people. If those events are framed within the Holocaust the risk is even higher. And I don't mean the risk of offending, playwrights shouldn't be weighted down by that, by any kind of moral opinion on their material. For me the risk is going the other way. The kind of respect, awe, solemnity, carefulness this kind of even inspires can seriously handicap a story and the storyteller. It often results in a thin, washed down product.

Fortunately for most of its duration (it's not perfect, this is a flawed play) Our Class seems to just fly over the weight of those precautions. There is plenty of powerful writing (and powerful translation, thanks to Ryan Craig) in here. For a start it is a very theatrical experience. It's probably my favourite set design of the season so far (kudos to Bunny Christie and to the lighting job from Jon Clark) because it is sparse as it is evocative: played in the round, over dark wooden boards with a low step of aluminium at each side. The lack of detail design makes the experience even more vivid, and one laments that so many plays nowadays take a stubbornly realistic view on set and design, understimating theatre's capacity for the metaphorical. In Our Class the characters speak directly to the audience in many occassions and the scenes change from location to location without needing to stop for set changes, and one can have many locations and actions developing at the same time. The austerity of the production, in this case, is its strongest asset. It lets the writing show and the very excellent (and large, ten main characters) shine.

(on a shallower note I have to say that I had very lousy seats, up in the second circle of the Cottesloe, result of me being a cheap shot and snatching the 10 pound tickets at the last minute; I intend to see this production again at some point so I'll try to get better seats in the stalls and check how the set works from closer to the actors)

I was worried about the duration of the thing as well, but the three hours went swiftly by. The play is dynamic and engaging, even if the last scenes drag on a bit; the final fate of the characters (and their families) are ultimately less interesting than the build-up to the massacre and the inmediate consequences of it. My favourite part was still when the tensions between the Catholic and Jews in the class start to show in subtle, unexpected way. From childhood friendship the characters get together and separate and clash. Political and historical pressures break up this group that wasn't so solid to begin with, with tragic consequences.

The play shows a wonderful touch of detachment through it all. One of the main dangers with this kind of story is to fall into the trap of cheap sentimentality. But despite the horrible events if depicts Our Class remains refreshingly unsentimental most of the time. That was a relief.

There's always a degree of scepticsm when confronted with a large lead cast, because it's impossible that everbody can mesure up and there's nothing worse than an unbalanced cast. But in this case everybody is surprisingly adequate - all performances are equally sensitive and low key and skillful. Some of the acting I took longer to warm up to than the others. Paul Hickey, as Menachem, I had reservations about during the first third of the play but it grew on me big time and ended up being one of my favourites. Edward Hogg and Jason Watkins were expectedly brilliant. Amanda Hale (whom I had seen and liked in Crimp's The City and who was part of the soon to be released Bright Star, with Ben Whishaw) makes a wonderful turn as Rachelka, who marries a Catholic classmate to save her life and changes even her name to escape the atrocities.

Justin Salinger was the constant (and unknowing) commentary as the schoolboy who goes to America and writes (and recieves) letters, all optimism and naivete, a clever theatrical aside as a character ignorant of what his former friends are going through, their crimes and their sufferings. Of course Mister Salinger is as flawless and challenging as ever, though his part was not as lengthy as I might have wished.

One might have wished, as well, that Lee Ingleby, who was absolutely perfect as the cruel and unforgivable Zygmunt, would be given a part outside his comfort zone - we have seen him play one too many degenerate and mean bastards (The Street, Life on Mars, Borstal Boy). Hopefully next time we'll see him do a likable hero in a comedy, like he did, charmingly so, in BBC's Rapunzel.

Bottom line, Our Class is a very good and enjoyable piece of theatre played by a group of terribly talented actors. It tackles very big issues without being sentimental or patronizing, and it casts a suspicious light on our very notion of history, our certainties about it.

Thoroughly recommended to any kind of audience.

As a curious aside, I spotted Harry Lloyd in the audience, whom weeks ago I had seen triumph at the Arcola in Ghosts. There was some chatting about his performance in The Sea last year and he told me he was going to be in The Little Dog Laughed next year. That's excellent news as we love us some Harry Lloyd in theatre any time. He is one of our favourites.



Reviews:
The Guardian.
The Telegraph.
The Evening Standard.
The Independent.
musicOMH.

who's afraid of new writing?

Interesting entry about new writing over at Karl Miller's blog.

Though I do share most of the concerns about the tropes and cliches pointed at there (some of them I'm afraid I have committed myself) and while I do agree to a certain extent with the affirmation "most new plays suck" I think that's even a stronger case to help out and nurture the new writers.

Because once in a while, among all those sucky plays, you get something like "You Can See The Hills" or "The Pride".

COMEDY: Simon Amstell, Soho Theatre, 6 Agust 2009

Work in progress. Fascinating piece of confessional comedy. Not as linguistically inventive as Dylan Moran or well-observed as Ricky Gervais but candid and sympathetic (& sometimes just pathetic). One to keep our eyes on.

All's Well That Ends Well, National Theatre, June 2009

If earlier this year I thought that RSC's Taming of The Shrew as seen in the Novello Theatre was at fault of trying to hard to offer a radical version of the play and in the process losing its soul and coming up with a repulsive, hard-to-watch reading of the story, I think Marianne Elliot's version of All's Well That Ends Well goes too much the other way and comes across as too bland.

It feels as if much of the effort went into the over-cute set design and little into the actual exploration of the text. It's not an easy play, sure enough. It's uneven and at parts weak and complex. But it can be done. Years ago I saw a perfectly decent version of it, directed by Greg Doran with Judi Dench and Guy Henry. I did appreciate the beauty of the decoration and animations and I liked the fairytale high concept of the NT production but this theme was not in any way reflected in the acting.

Michelle Terry, who was so brilliant in the Bush's 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover seemed unenergetic as Helena. We try to sympathize with her but her blandness makes it hard. She is a charismatic actress so Helena's weakness is all the more dissapointing, at least for me. She would be likeable enough if the rest of the cast could have been a little bit stronger as well. But George Rainsford was an insipid Bertram - it's hard enough to feel any pity for this character as it is in the text but add it a half-heartedly performance and the result is disastrous. But the worst dissapointment of all was Parolles, a role I love dearly and I remember Guy Henry being absolutely excellent in, but in this case I felt Conleth Hill was absolutely destroying the part. Mostly because he was not charming. Parolles is a sleazy, selfish ass but as with many of this type of characters in Shakespeare, he is terribly charming, appealing. None of his appeal was present in the National Theatre's version.

The National Theatre is always a hit and miss business, with more miss than hits, to be honest, at least in the Oliver and Lyttleton stages (the Cottesloe usually offers more interesting productions) but All's Well That Ends Well is possibly my least liked play of all those I've seen in this venue.

You can check what other people have thought about it:

The Guardian Review.
The Times Review.
The Independent Review.

Dimetos, Donmar, 28 March 2009

Sometimes I don't understand critics.

Well, I normally understand them even if I don't agree with them, but I would have thought that somebody out there would feel the same I did seeing Athol Fugard's Dimetos at the Donmar Warehouse. I've been quite baffled by audiences' and critics' responses lately, after the lukewarm response to Three Days of Rain and I know Dimetos is a difficult play but I had guessed it would be a love-it/hate-it kind of deal. The Telegraph review has cheered me up, at least, but I'd had love to see more people sharing the wild love I have for this play.

I came out of the theatre totally transformed by the experience - by the writing and the acting. I had seen Jonathan Pryce in theatre before but it was in Dimetos when I was blown away by his talent. He is miles from almost everyone in this business. I can only remember being this impressed with a performance in theatre on only two other occasions: Elling and Statfford Castle's Hamlet.

This play is something I find difficult to talk about and will find difficult for some time. I had only heard of Athol Fugard and knew of his reputation, but had not seen or read any of his plays. But I came out of the play wanting to know more, to read more. Sadly, even if yes, Fugard is a brilliant writer and I enjoyed reading Boesman and Lena and Siswe Bansi is Dead I found there none of the poetry and pain that made Dimetos such a remarkable experience at the Donmar.

Dimetos seems to be something different altogether, even for the author. Its lack of succesful must have been painful. Specially because it feels profoundly personal, I don't know if in the themes but at least in style. On paper, it shouldn't work. You take the play by its elements, its language and theatrical techniques and you would expect a dense, heavy, pedantic play. And maybe it is dense, but the potry within it gives it such wings. It is suspended, like Lydia at the beginning of the play, in a moment of grace. It is full of darkness and yet you come out of it oddly exilarated. It is not pedantic it celebrates theatre and language. We do not care about the allegory it might hold, we care about what's on stage. Flesh and blood.

The cast is not only flawless but more than that, they are inspiring and challenging in every way. Jonathan Pryce takes the stage and makes it his own in a way I have seldom seen before. He manages to be powerful and subtle at the same time. The young Holliday Grainger was also a huge, pleasing surprise.

My very deep review of the whole thing would be: Wow.

The Independent review.
The Guardian review.
The Telegraph review.

READING: The Uncertainty Of The Situation, Royal Court, 11 March 2009

The leaflet says:

Dumped by his girlfriend and abandoned by his friends, Jan finds himself on the streets, a witness to the extraordinary, terrible events unfolding in the city around him - events for which he starts to consider himself responsible.

Another rehearsed reading for the German season that would deserve a full production, if only for its wide appeal - I have no trouble imagining it a hit with young and non-theatrical audiences; it is a confident play, funny and fast and defying, if a bit hollow, and a bit too reminescent of Fight Club hipter cynism.

Directed by Lindsay Turner and with a cast that could hardly be paid if this were a proper production, this play by Philipp Loehle was a most entertaining occassion. Nothing life-changing in the writing, though, although it's always a special occassion to see Andrew Scott on stage, of whom one cannot say enough good things. It was his peculiar charm and energy (he is an amazing lead) that drove the play forward swiftly. Sam West and Katherine Parkinson were also delightful in the supporting cast.

READING: The Bankrupt Man, Soho Theatre, 06 March 2009

I don't go nearly often enough to the Soho Theatre - for a place I love so dearly: it gave me Andrea Riseborough in a wonderful black comedy and it gave me White Boy and I will always remember how enjoyable and useful their writing workshop was.

So it's always a nice time when I go. More so if it's to see Andrew Scott, Gina McKee and Nicholas Tennant acting. Such cast would be difficult to gather in a proper production so it's a treat to see them in a rehearsed reading of David Lescot's play (translated by Christopher Cambell). The reading is part of a season of collaboration between the National Theatre Studio and the French Embassy.

The Bankrupt Man deals with the spiralling down life of a common man, portrayed with sympathy and warmth by Tennant, haunted by debt and a failed marriage. Gina McKee was wonderfully impervious as the ex-wife and Andrew Scott showed his seemingly limitless range with the sinister and hilarious character of a debt collector. While the play wasn't perfect (it was a bit prosaic and dragged on in parts) it was engaging and one could see how it would be a hit with audiences of almost any kind. The best of it, for me, was the slightly surreal turn it took at times (regarding Andrew Scott's character, specially), I left yearning for more.

In short another chance to check out UK's most promising stage actor, Andrew Scott, and enjoy an entertaining play very much of its time.