Smother love

Playwright Florian Zeller ("young, blessed with the floppy-haired good looks of a rock star” to quote the programme biog) is the golden boy of French contemporary writing. An “overnight star” as a novelist at 22, he was coaxed into theatre by Françoise Sagan and at only 36 already has a drawerful of international awards.  As a dramatist he acknowledges the influence of Pinter and an aim to unsettle his audience, both dominantly clear in The Mother now at Theatre Royal Bath Ustinov Studio until 20 June ~ a companion piece to The Father produced here last year with the same prestigious team of translator (Christopher Hampton) and director (Laurence Boswell).  Both plays represent an intense study of disturbed psychological mind-state, rather than the social role of the title: the father had dementia, and the mother is addicted to social drugs and suffering empty-nest syndrome.  In his professed intention to lead the audience into the character’s head and show reality through their eyes, Zeller is blessed to have Gina McKee in the title role.

She is simply superb, strangely empathetic even when irritating, cruel, obsessive and frankly deranged: her aura of exhausted beauty transforming a character who could seem, if were possible to whisper such a thought about a play by a giant, a tad clichéd.  The trio of family members she adores, loathes, needs, resents and suspects by turn are superbly well played too, but it’s this mesmeric performance that holds the story and the stage. Excellent design enhances the disturbing mood: a cold Hockneyesque set echoing the estranging couple's contact and disquieting music as the mother’s memory struggles into each new scenario. 
Quoting the programme again, Zeller has said his play was inspired by his own mother's sacrifices.  But it doesn't say what she thought about that.

As a confessional footnote, I wasn't one of those rapturously impressed by The Father last year, finding it ~ for the first time in my experience of the Ustinov ~ emotionally laboured and self-consciously 'prestigious'.  It went on to top the listings for Play of the Year. I mention this neither penitently nor defiantly but as the daughter of a theatre critic who wrote after the opening night of The Mousetrap in 1952, "I give it a week".  My father, I salute you.

Rose by Martin Sherman, on tour & at the Brewery this week, presents a searing critique of Jewish America and the effect it has had on modern Israel: “If that’s all gone isn’t that Hitler’s final victory?” asks Rose, finding her son and his stridently-converted wife consider the old Yiddish words embarrassing and allow them no place in their serious study of Hebrew. Rose is the flip side of the Jewish mother-in-law-joke coin, silenced by the certainties of the next generation. To her “There was always joy in not belonging – maybe God is a question like everything else.” Rose survived ghetto, prison camp and the 1947 Exodus, always longing for the promised land: now she questions Zionism, studies Buddha, and believes ‘knowledge is more important than pain’. Sadly, neither searing critique nor interesting characterisation arrive till Act 2, after an hour of hand-wringing bathos which precedes Rose’s arrival in America. But the packed audience, largely her contempories, were generous with their responses and clearly moved by the familiar saga of Jewish oppression. Despite the tragedies of Rose's multiple bereavements I found it hard to connect with the case-study approach of the first act: Only in the second act did this woman's loss of her dream homeland become suddenly real. Two hours is a lot of words for a monologue and it’s a rare actor who can not only memorise but also deliver so many lines as though afresh to each audience. Fiona York despite a rococo Jewish accent and as much arm movement as her static position would allow, didn’t quite manage that, and I whiled away long chunks of exposition musing on what could have been done to improve the set (removing it, I decided). Next time Red Kettle Theatre choose to explore oppression through theatre, I hope they choose a play from their native Ireland.

The Tempest was Shakespeare’s last play, written when Queen Elizabeth, patron & fan of his earthy dramas, had been succeeded by a king who adored the magic, music and myth of Italian masques. Shakespeare added emotion to this mix, and created his marvellous allegory of rage and resolution through the power of love. This Theatre Royal Bath production thrills with every element. From the moment Prospero conjures elemental chaos as catalyst for his own inner storm, to his final violent abdication of power, this suberb production charms, entertains, and terrifies by turn. Tim Piggott-Smith is awesome as Prospero, making every familiar word seem a fresh thought, and the passion between Iris Roberts’ irresistible Miranda and her Ferdinand (Mark Quartley) is convincing as well as delightful as they crawl like babes towards their shared love. There’s comedy to best stand-up standard from Mark Hadfield’s Trinculo and his drinking companions, and a feast of spectacle: Ariel, looking like a Swinging Sixties postcard model and straddling his every scene whether on stilts or winged like a monstrous angel, Caliban a reptilian Prodigy, the sprites bizarrely costumed like extras in Scrubs as they watch the action like road-crash rubber-neckers (and even more bizarrely as they put shoes on their fists and river-dance them) the exquisite puppet sequence as goddesses come to bless the Miranda’s future union… I could go on. Dazzling direction by Adrian Noble and a superb cast make this one of the best Shakespeare productions I’ve ever seen.

Exeter Northcott has always had a reputation for punching above its weight for a small university theatre, and despite last year's financial quake their programme is impressive. SATTF took The Comedy of Errors there last month, and now Sell A Door have chosen this venue to open their national tour of the controversial rock musical Spring Awakening.

It's a passionate show in every sense, with an exuberant young cast and some strong erotic moments from the lead couple ~ Jonathan Eiø as Melchior and Victoria Serra as Wendla.
Based on a German play written in 1891, it was banned for over fifty years for its frank look at adolescent sexuality and the inadequacy - and hypocrisy - of available guidance. It’s Skins meets Cabaret, the press release enthuses but from the start it's more like West Side Story as the teens hang around a playground and a starry-eyed young girl sings alone. Wendla is no Maria anticipating passion though: what she's yearning for is the truth about babies, which her prim mother refuses to impart. Repression is just as bad for the boys, stuck with a sadistic Latin teacher and sexual confusions summed up by Melchior: ‘The entire world is fixated by penis and vagina – well, I am’.

Inevitably these rites of passage are more wounding than wonderful, and the action is strewn with casualties before the Capulet-crypt-like final scene. Abused children, pregnancy from ignorance, homophobia, school-induced suicide... wouldn't it be great to think, 120 years on since Frank Wedekind shocked society with these home truths, we'd have got all that sorted? And actually if I had one reservation it'd be that this moral fable relied too much on ciphers to represent social issues rather than developed characters.
Nevertheless an exciting production well worth the long drive from Frome.

Equally as shocking an indictment of 19th century social attitudes, this time about real lives, Brontë is at Bath Theatre Royal in a Shared Experience production directed by Nancy Meckler. Polly Teale's play digs deep into the psyches and secrets of this famous family, showing the bickering and loneliness as well as the vivid imaginations that created a crucible for their iconic writings - and the reason for brother Branwell's tragic failure too. "We should be grateful for our obscurity," Emily comments candidly, "nothing was expected of us." Invading the intense minutiae of their actual lives are the writers' alter-ego characters, passionate and wild, articulating their longings and violence. Brilliant scripting and powerful performances from all the cast especially Charlotte (Kristin Atherton) and Emily (Elizabeth Crarer) whose mutual love, like their antipathy, is always painfully lucent.

And my one reservation: the aggressive air-con system in the Main House. I noticed scarves appearing in the shivering stalls but wasn't sufficiently equipped myself, it being now May, to withstand the icy assault. So, go see Brontë! - but wear your thermal vest.
..

Hull Truck Theatre brought their current touring production Lady Chatterley's Lover to an optimistic Merlin audience on Wednesday. Sadly, despite the dark glamour of the programme image, this was more of a plot recital than a drama. (Picture by Peter Byrne.)
Everyone knows the basic story and this could have worked in favour of the adaptation, but it didn’t. There was obvious intention to address issues of class and gender struggles between the wars but the steady pace and stagey delivery made for an insipid performance and, devoid of Lawrence's exultation in cunt as vital to life, the story became a depressing case-study of matrimonial difficulties. The lovers' discreet fondlings lacked any erotic energy and seemed inspired by that much-parodied potter’s wheel scene in Ghost.
The set really didn’t help: a dense circle of country-household clutter was presumably designed to show how Connie was fettered by her status, but allowed no sense of the freedom of the woods or the elemental thrill of the rainstorm. Here, as in the adaptation itself, there seemed too much reliance on explanations rather than physical or emotional impact.

By contrast, Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell at Bath Theatre Royal featured classy acting, especially Robert Powell who brought charm and unexpected warmth to the title role of the misogynist alcoholic journalist whose column was famed for its frequent absence. Set in a superbly credible Soho pub early one morning, the play is a rambling monologue of reprehensible anecdotes and acid reflections. "Choked on his own vomit – what a disgusting phrase!" he muses, "when did you ever hear of anyone choking on someone else’s vomit?” Keith Waterhouse wrote his tribute in 1989, showing the cult of celebrity was obsessed with the degradation of idols long before Heat and circles of shame. There's contempt too for affluent county living, as 'Mr&Mrs Backbone-of-England' come in for hefty lampooning: cue prolonged laughter from all the Mr&Mrs Backbones-of-Bath massed in the stalls...

The first ever Merlin New Playwriting Competition reached a triumphant conclusion with the presentation of the winning plays as fully-directed rehearsed readings on stage last Thursday. Members of Frome Drama Club played all parts in the five winning plays and did full justice to styles and subjects ranging from a very-American modern tragedy to a very-English 19th Century comedy. Sets were minimal, but effective lighting and imaginative direction from Claudia Pepler combined with a varied programme of superb writing and strong acting to create a fantastic theatrical evening.
The quality of entries was clear from the start with Silent Columbine by Bristol student Hannah Williams-Walton, a brilliant script and a powerfully convincing psychological study of the two boys who massacred thirteen people in 1999. Patrice Gerrard, also in the younger category, evoked a ‘waiting-for-Godot’ atmosphere in One Long Interval as a restless teenager waits with his father in hospital for news of his younger brother. A clever and succinct script with compassionate insight into family dynamics as well as some very funny moments.
From the over-25 category, The Zapper by Frome writer Brenda Bannister took an initially realistic situation – a let’s-be-civil discussion about divorce – to create an admirably crisp and witty script with a satisfying conclusion. In a change of mood again, Heartsink by Geraldine Lindley from Bath dealt with the difficult topic of Munchausen’s syndrome. The final play of the night The Fearful Adventure of the Fishing Excursion was a diverting duologue set in a Victorian bedroom and involving extreme storytelling Lemony Snickett might envy. Playwright Jonathan Collings found his ideas in a collection of Victorian tall tales and wove them together with preposterous charm to create a highly individual finale.
After the performances, audience members joined writers and cast in the foyer for an informal feedback session and a chance to express their appreciation and enjoyment. Merlin director Claudia Pepler, who had the initial idea of a New Playwriting competition as well as overseeing the project and selecting the winners, intends to make this an annual event. “Next time we'll aim for full production,” she said “The whole process has been brilliant.”

As I'd recently interviewed Danny Moar, the very personable director of Bath Theatre Royal, and heard all about his commissioning policy for the Main House, I was keen to see the high-profile production picked to launch their autumn season after the grand refurbishment. Sheridan’s The Rivals boasts three huge names: director Peter Hall and national telly-treasures Penelope Keith and Peter Bowles. Yes, folks, it could have been dire, despite – or because of – a full house audience rattling their jewellery in appreciation. But it wasn’t. (I’ll rephrase this for the review btw). Much credit goes to the stunningly simple set evoking 18th Century Bath merely by a sweeping crescent, mellow lighting and minimal props, and to the fabulous costumes in lavish fabrics and gorgeous muted tones. An A-list cast helped too. Penelope Keith as Mrs Malaprop did full justice to the linguistic absurdities which have immortalised her character but it was left mainly to the men to carry the energy of the story and convey the comedy, both satirical and slapdash. Tony Gardner as melancholic Faulkland was particularly charismatic, though Gerard Murphy’s Lucius O’Trigger seemed awkward in his role of Irish firebrand, perhaps prevented by 21st Century PC to fully inhabit the potential humour of the role. With a running time of nearly 3 hours, the production needed the lift of its unscripted witty additions: like the whores who whisked Jack away as soon as he’d finished wooing silly Lydia, and his Tom Cruise style passionate bouncing on the sofa. The overt theme of Sheridan’s play is rivalry in love, but a modern, reality-TV-aware, audience will find more fascination in the lewd hypocrisy of an era of class extremes - and the recognition that not much has changed. Stilted direction tended to present the action a series of tableaux, but this only enhanced the underlying self-seeking and isolation of these richly indulged socialites. Funny, yes, but a comedy of cruelty rather than of manners.

Thursday saw the Merlin re-launch: new season, new programme, new direction. New director Claudia Berry talked about the new initiatives at Frome's community theatre, including the innovative concept of Poetry Platter - a kind of faux-site-specific intimate theatre, with the stage transformed into a continental-style café so the tapas-nibbling audience are participants too, while entertained by six very different - all excellent - local poets. Do book at: Merlin to experience and enjoy a highly unusual night.

And finally... don't you love the way these old words come back into fashion? Kindle, dwindled from its firelighting origin to a metaphorical cliche, has returned triumphant: Kindle books now outsell hardcovers at the ratio of 180 to 100, Amazon reports, and are predicted to outnumber and outsell paperbacks next year.
Well, anything that rekindles public interest in reading....
..

"Just Write" was the title of Alison's workshop in Frome Library, and two dozen people squeezed around the table to follow her injunction: No procrastination, no excuses - and not much elbow room, but a highly successful session.


There's something about the Bath Theatre Royal that always makes me feel like a footballer in the wrong terrace... or perhaps at the wrong game entirely. Lacrosse, maybe.
My Wonderful Day is Alan Ayckbourn's 73rd play and his trophy shelf groans with past awards; the acting was impeccable and the lighting was memorable, cleverer than anything in the script in fact. The characters comprised a philandering TV presenter, his dippy blonde mistress, angry wife, hanger-on chum, loquacious cleaner and her daughter Winnie. And before you take that short step to the conclusion they're all last-century clichés let me tell you that 9 year old Winnie is a biddable child who prefers writing to watching television and speaks French all day on maternal demand, a device necessary for the plot: that Winnie unobserved can chronicle various previous and present infidelities in her notebook. Ayesha Antoine - unbelievably 20 years older than her role - is brilliant as the child who follows every nuance of the adult action with eyes like sucked gobstoppers, but despite rapturous reviews of this play off Broadway, in the chilly stalls of Theatre Royal Bath it was a long two hours.


And now I'm bailing out on February - UK February anyway: on Friday I'm off to Chiang Mai. My host, Dr Stephen Whitehead, tells me not to pack any woollies for my stay.. I'll be thinking of you all, speak later....