Three dramas and a funky band

American author Patricia Highsmith was by all accounts a weird woman: rude and racist, she self-identified with her most well-known character, psychopathic killer Tom Ripley, and believed that murder, by gaining for a moment the absolute attention of the victim, was a way of making love. She spent her final years in Switzerland. A foul-mouthed alcoholic misanthropist can be savagely funny in small doses, as Father Jack proved, but the unrelenting tirade of vitriolic abuse is almost monotonous in Joanna Murray-Smith's 2014 play Switzerland, currently revived at Theatre Royal Bath Ustinov Studio. What saves the story from being merely unpleasant is the increasing suspense as her visitor's persona subtly, mysteriously, shifts, and what makes the production impressive is the superlative acting of Phyllis Logan as the rancid writer and Calum Finlay as the young man who arrives to plead for one more Ripley story, and to bring her a knife... Chekhov famously said if you show a gun in the first act someone has to fire it before the end: there's a huge armoury on this set from the start, but it's the hunting knife with its ‘polished mirror steel & thin tapered edge’ which is significant from the moment of reveal...  I can't say more without spoilers, except that designer William Dudley and director Lucy Bailey have combined to create an impressive production of a thought-provoking play. On till 1st September.
From Switzerland to Donegal: Aristocrats at the Donmar in Covent Garden, the highlight in a reunion with my friend & Derry flat-mate for two years shortly before the last troubles. Brian Friel's play charts the final days in the big house of a once-wealthy family, their grandeur now all gone, all with troubled lives, social conflicts, and secret griefs… Yes, it did feel pretty much like the secret love-child of The Cherry Orchard and it's not Friel at his best - there’s some over-egged speeches and the late-arriving motif of a hidden child is unnecessary as well as unresolved - but it’s brilliantly acted: David Dawson is mesmeric as Casimir, the fey, fantasising, brother, and Emmet Kirwan is strong as Eamon, the village lad who managed to marry one of the daughters of the ‘big house’ and now seems unsure why… Also excellent is patient Willie (David Ganly) - the Lopakhin in this infertile orchard - and there’s a brief but unforgettable glimpse of the once-powerful father. What distances us from the intimacy of these lives is the meta-theatrical approach that director Lyndsey Turner has chosen, with stage directions intoned to introduce each section and characters miming briefly before settling down still in view to wait their cue like subs on a bench. The non-naturalistic approach goes to extreme in Es Devlin’s design which I found distracting, particularly when the emotional final act was literally upstaged by the scenery - a massive faux-19th Century rural backdrop symbolising past splendour - and lugging a dolls house around the bleak stage to illustrate items mentioned in the script was overly contrived and a bit naff. But apart from that, an entertaining show.

The Price in Arthur Miller's play of that name might appear to relate to the $11,000 that old Mr Solomon offers Victor for the hoarded contents of his father's house, but of course it's more than that - it's the cost of a family trauma which grew from the 'Great Depression' - and obliquely the ongoing effect of that on the entire American nation. Onstage action follows the meeting of two brothers after long separation, both returning to their childhood home now scheduled for demolition to pick over memories and grievances: the current revival at Theatre Royal Bath, directed by Jonathan Church, benefits a lot from David Suchet as the old dealer, who brings a jaunty spark to this otherwise downbeat story.  Both the brothers - Brendan Coyle and Adrian Lukis - are impressive as defensive, damaged, men vying with each other as to who paid the higher price for their father's hoarding, although glamorous Esther is less convincing as Victor's wife and seems sometimes to have wandered in from another show.  Simon Higlett's massive set literally looms over the action, graphically depicting the claustrophobic clutter of the past still overshadowing these lives. Victor when alone interacts in moments of moving tenderness with the props of his past - his fencing kit, a harp, his brother's oar, but for me the dominating symbolism of furniture cluttering their lives detracts from the development and the reveal of other, subtler, aspects. On till 25 August.

Ending this post now in Bruton, where Hauser & Wirth host free summer parties in their Radić Pavilion throughout August: last Sunday's featured Frome's amazing Captain Cactus and the Screaming Harlots, irresistible whatever the song - I think this one is Kirsty MacColl's tale of the guy down the chip shop who swears he's Elvis... but it could be any from their 'whirlwind of folk blues & Americana-groove with harmonies and tales of whiskey, woe, zombies, and love.'