Dramatic dysfunctions & other distractions

The main feature, culturally, this week is The Fever Syndrome at Hampstead Theatre, the tale of a family gathered to celebrate their father's lifetime award for scientific success. Time Out gave only 2 stars to this 'overwrought and underwhelming drama' by Alexis Zegerman but I'd already booked for a matinee as a talisman of hope back in those dire cold days in February, and bought my Berry Bus ticket too, so to London it was.  A sunny walk through Regent's Park and a strong performance by Robert Lindsay as the patriarch both rewarded me, but the review did have a point: the actors were excellent but all seven characters are in personal crisis so there's little variety in emotional tone. 

Some  directorial decisions made by Roxana Silbert seemed added specifically to vary this unrelenting solidity by adding odd behaviours under stress, but the main attraction remained Lizzie Clachan's inspired set design: the entire house sliced through the middle to reveal everyone's activity at all times.

But the story is long, overly intellectual, and unrelentingly sad. And there's a child ghost, a further distraction to confirm that you can't throw everything in the larder into a bowl and expect it to make a good pudding. Here's the set viewed from my seat, and below is a moment from my walk through the park & up Primrose Hill, from Baker Street to Swiss Cottage - the best enjoyment of the day.

To Shakespeare now, so steady yourself for another rocky ride:

If you decide to update Shakespeare's Henry V, as Donmar Warehouse has, it's probably a good idea, at this point in time, to find some new angle on the brazenly patriotic theme of English courage in invading other lands. This National Theatre Live production directed by Max Webster was streamed to participating venues - including Merlin Theatre - on Thursday and a small audience watched Kit Harrington take the role of the king, showing him as monotonously brutal from his puking party days to his aggressive invasion of France as soon as he was crowned.

It may have been awesome for the live audience in London, inches away from full-on action with flashing lights and impressive props as well as intense emotion and manic energy, but it was exhausting to watch on screen. Long sequences of subtitles were required for scenes in which the script had been translated into French, presumably for historical verisimilitude although, with a multi-national mixed-gender cast, that aspect inevitably remained evasive. I don't know the bard's view of Henry as a king but in this production he's a deeply unpleasant character: a war-monger and a bully, with a compulsion to dominate everyone around. It was a very long 3½ hours.

Art now, made in Frome & small but perfect. Dan Morley, renowned for his superb paintings of tiny items like feathers and keys, has taken his observation of detail in a different way. Jonathan Meades in Museum without Walls wrote of 'the glory of decay, decrepitude's pattern-making, entropy's sublimity' in our inconspicuous hinterlands, and Dan's new exhibition at the WHY Gallery, Unseen, explores this concept in a fascinating way with a list of the locations of the small gems photographed & then meticulously painted. This irresistible exhibition runs till 4th June - strongly recommended: you may look at these 'unseen landscapes' (as Robert Macfarlane in Landmarks calls them) in a different way in future, and perhaps record some yourself: here's an exquisite detail of graffiti near the river painted by Dan.  Inspired by these tiny images, Eleanor Talbot & I photographed some urban 'edgelands' in Apple Alley and then went, via HydeAway secret cocktail bar, to Home.in.Frome for a superb Spanish tapas board & fizz.

And on to music: Bar Lotte, always offering excellent sound on a Wednesday night, this week gave us The Country Boys who luckily turned out to be more Postmodern Jukebox than Worzels, with funky jazz numbers and sensational skills on guitar & vocals (Joseph Trudgeon), bass & harmonica (Bill Frampton) and keyboard (Dan Somers). They're not a regular line-up, but let's hope they visit again.

Ending with a blast of nature: the Easter blossoming from the Judas tree in Frome's Victoria Park, allegedly so named because that disciple hanged himself in penitence from one of this species. A gentler theory suggests the name derives from Arbre de Judée, as these trees are abundant in Judea. Yet another name is the Love Tree. It doesn't have the fairytale-ballgown-style coverage of many other flowering trees in Frome, or the majesty of splendid veterans, but it's a favourite of mine because the pinky-red blossom bursts from the bark without waiting for foliage.  

And when the wild garlic blooms, it's time to head for the woods... this one is by Berkley, just beyond the town, every yard of it thick with wood anemones and the dense blue haze of bluebells... thanks David Goodman for being my guide to this paradise.