Review: Antigone, National Theatre, 18th June 2012

The most compelling element of Antigone is the ethical conundrum it presents, does one sympathise with the noble king fulfilling his duty? Or to the loving sister protecting the honour of her brother who dies as an enemy of the state? That said, Polly Findlay’s mid 20th century setting of a country ripped apart by civil war seems a perfect sphere in which to capture the steadfast mutual destruction brother against brother, uncle against niece, each battling earnestly for what they see to be a just cause.

This in mind, the most frustrating element of Findlay’s production is the fact that Christopher Eccleston’s Creon is portrayed as a tyrant from the off, and, far from being the respected leader, is an individual who garners little fear or respect from his subjects who, in fact, generally slag him off at every available opportunity. 


Also grating were the frequent misogynist quips which, though faithful to the original context and an admittedly fascinating topic to explore, were played gratuitously for laughs, what could have been an effectively jarring depiction of unapologetically chauvinist society was instead reduced to “oh…women!” with only a sly wink at the audience missing in order to seal the deal. Here though, I’ll admit that it becomes difficult to assess whether criticism should be levelled at the belly laughs that erupted from the audience or at the performances that triggered these reactions…bit of a head f***, (forgive the eloquence). 

Overall thoughts. Acting; great. Set; Amazing (60s military bunker, suitably grim). Antigone? Not quite. Though dealing with a text that’s older than Jesus allows you to contort and interpret as you will, I’m not sure if I agree with the decision to glaze over the omnipotence of higher power and the concept of fate when approaching Greek tragedy. To summarise pretty crudely, the Gods are gonna get ya. Whether its possible for any modern production to encapsulate this, I don’t know, but it’ll be interesting to find out. 3/5.

Review: Little Bulb, 'Operation Greenfield', Battersea Arts Centre, 12th June 2012

The best sentence I can think of to summarise Little Bulb’s ‘Operation Greenfield’ is, ‘like an Okay Go video after fifty red bulls’ (1. Yes, that wasn’t a sentence. 2. If you’re not familiar, have a look at these…http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTAAsCNK7RA ,http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w ) 

Witty, energetic and bursting with primary colours, adolescent angst and forest fruit squash, ‘Operation Greenfield’ depicts the squirmingly awkward tale of a teenage Christian rock band and their ardent quest to win the annual Stokeley talent contest. The production is satisfyingly stuffed with an eclectic mix of slick choreography and live music provided by a cast that reveal an increasingly incredible scope of musical talent as the show progresses.

The only thing that left me frustrated was a tendency towards over imposing backing tracks, it would been great if they binned these and embraced more of those painful, socially bewildering silences. 90 minutes of intermittently hilarious and heartwarming cringeworthiness, packaged in a (literally) all singing all dancing production. If you want to buy tickets to Little Bulb’s next production, no queue jumping, or I’ll kick off. 5/5

Review: 'The Suit', Young Vic, 4th June 2012

Husband catches wife in bed with another man. Man swiftly does a runner in his pants. Husband takes revenge. How? By forcing his wife to treat her lover’s abandoned suit as an honoured live-in house guest. Of course.
Such is the promisingly odd premise at the core of Peter Brook’s ‘The Suit’. With clothing racks serving as buses, windows, doors, and furnishings implied merely by gesture, the performers relentlessly bound through a performance area which is typical of Brook’s ‘Empty Space’, weaving a tale of adultery and manipulation against a backdrop of a black community’s struggle against apartheid in 1950s South Africa.
Bluesy music is provided by onstage musicians who frequently take on minor, slapstick roles throughout. Brook’s choice of music reflects a clever observation of the parallel ethos between the spirit of blues and that of the marginalised black community in 1950s South Africa, a theme that is brought home most poignantly by a gut-wrenching monologue relating the grisly tale of a black musician who challenges this unjust regime. 
However, for a play that revolves around masochistic manipulation amid hideous tyrannical rule, a sense of danger is somehow evaded. Though making no hesitation towards confronting audience members; handing out shots and dragging them onstage, one always feels perfectly safe and unabashedly entertained, the latter which in hindsight, sits a little bit ill. The above mentioned monologue is really the only substantial allusion to the play’s context. Whilst I appreciate the benefits of not having a point shoved down your neck, the near relentless humour (musicians donning elaborate hats to become gushing female house guests for the near final scene) comes across as a little excessive and unnecessary. 
An exciting concept that unfortunately, though enigmatically and entertainingly performed, does not quite deliver. 3/5

Review: 'Hay Fever', Noel Coward Theatre, 28th May 2012

Howard Davies’ scatty, bohemian set much reflects the demeanor of Noel Coward’s monstrously melodramatic Bliss family, the unit at the centre of this 1924 script. Lindsay Duncan dominates as Judith Bliss, the matriarch, an actress past her prime with a voice so chocolatey you want to eat it; whilst Phoebe Waller-Bridge and Freddie Fox bulldoze the stage as the intermittently languishing and impassioned siblings Simon and Sorel.

The play revolves around an unintentionally overcrowded evening in the family’s country home. Pinter pauses and squirming expressions abound, the effect is much one of that slightly sadistic glow you get when you gleefully observe someone trapped in a corner with ‘that guest’ at a party, think Abigail’s party with quadruple the Beverlys. 

Despite its 88 year old script, the production avoids feeling dated, partly because neither Sorel or  Simon would look too out of place if they decided to bust over to Shoreditch mid-performance. Most compelling though is Davies’ marvellous awareness of the thin line between humour and desperation, one which he uses to bring out the excruciatingly painful atmosphere of this evening from hell wherein every one of the Bliss’ guests finds themselves amorously propositioned by one or another of their hyped up, histrionic hosts. Refreshingly unlike many of its contemporaries, the performance gets the laughs without once relying on pantomimesque winks at the audience. A refreshingly relevant revival. Get on it. 4/5

Review: '18 Plays, 6 Nights, 1 Stage', LOST Theatre, 30th May 2012

Each year, LOST theatre present their One Act Festival which seeks to promote young writers. It’s on until tomorrow, I’d definitely recommend cruising down to Stockwell if you can, new writing and a fantastically cheap bar, it's win win.

As a new-ish writer myself, I found myself in a bit of an emotional quandary whilst approaching these reviews, the last thing I want to do is to cast my opinion and send someone spiralling into a pit of self-deprecating despair (though in this instance the writer would certainly be giving my opinion far more credit than it’s due). Yet similarly, I know that whilst criticism is a god-awful at times to receive, it’s significantly more useful than vacant praise. That being said, if anyone involved in any of the three pieces reads these reviews and vehemently disagrees/fancies a fight, please get in touch so that we can chat it out. Cheers!

‘Fallen’ by Ella Greenhill
Focusing on the topic of post-traumatic stress syndrome, Greenhill’s script interweaves the stories of a middle aged woman coping in the aftermath of a stillbirth and the more ambiguous tale of a girl recovering from an unspecified incident. As the play progresses, it becomes intriguingly unclear whether the characters in life of the latter exist beyond her own perception. An ambitious topic with imaginative locations, (putting characters on a big wheel? I’m a big fan) though at times the dialogue feels clunky and unnatural. The performances also rely a little too much on the cliched stock gestures of those portraying ‘mental illness’, something which seems counterproductive to the serious issue at the core of Greenhill’s writing.

‘The Workers Last Tango’ by Alex Steedman
Steedman’s two hander opens with a man, alone, switching the radio to Justin Bieber and busting out some strong moves (disregarding the choice of music…we’ve all done it). Yes it’s simple, but it’s funny. Largely performed in mime, ‘Last Tango’ shows us the slapstick conflict between a worker and a gruff curmudgeonly cleaner. Imaginatively diverting into the surreal, (including a spontaneous Tekken-style showdown complete with hard trance soundtrack, marvellous) Steedman’s work demonstrates strong self-confidence and a willingness to experiment. However, alarm bells which sounded from the preface ‘written, directed and starring Alex Steedman’ were somewhat justified. At times the piece came across as a little self-indulgent, a classic example of matey banter highjacking artistic merit and ultimately, a consideration of purpose. The piece would benefit from both a little objective criticism in the rehearsal process and hefty cuts, by the end it feels like a two minute sketch that outgrows itself. There’s potential there, but this would have benefited from a mid-rehearsal poke in the ribs.

‘Belief Beyond Hope’ by Stewart Schiller & Zoe Michel
‘Can a sane man love a seal?’ I assumed I’d misread the blurb…nope. Quirky and certainly different, the endearing relationship between the straight edge optimistic protagonist and his perpetually doped-off-his-face roommate is perhaps the most enjoyable element of this offbeat piece, though the script’s constant referencing to weed (‘come on, let’s get you stoned’) seems a little excessive and unnecessary for a performance that doesn’t seem to be making an established comment on recreational drug use.
Physically, the characters conduct themselves frustratingly monotonously, though perfectly in keeping with the aggressively excitable protagonist and conceivably his love interest, I find it hard to reason why somebody baked off his face would be jumping around, constantly waiting by the door in eager anticipation of his roommate. The piece becomes visually very flat, it would have been fantastic if the physical realisation of the piece delivered more justice to the offbeat, eccentric dialogue. Interesting script, but direction that veers a little too much towards the safe side.