THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS

Royal Opera House at the Duchess Theatre

25.01.14

Covent Garden's Christmas treat transferred to the West End [a first, this, I think] and starring the inimitable Tony Robinson [in his first stage role in ages]. As last year down in the LinburyStudio, it is a magical production combining dance, music and narration.

The avuncular Robinson, as magician/author Kenneth Grahame, seems very much at home in his attic study, gesturing with his wand/pen as he sketches the characters.

Robinson's is an engaging performance, sharing the dream with his young audience; the final envoi is particularly moving.

All the other characters make their mark – Will Kemp is still Ratty, the boat-man, Cris Penfold's Toad is green with envy when he sees his first motor car, and there's a lovely Jailor's Daughter from Ewan Wardrop, hoofing it to folk tunes from A Shropshire Lad.

Like all of Martin Ward's evocative music, this is skilfully adapted from the oeuvre of George Butterworth, whose work is so redolent of the Edwardian world Grahame conjures up.

The poetical narration, by former Laureate Andrew Motion, is sometimes wordy, occasional clunky, but at its best – aping Auden for the train, say, or reaching out to the child in us all at the end – it is a superb gloss on a familiar much-loved story.

So let them rise again! Let time roll back 
And sunlight, not this graveyard-attic-light, 
But silken early sunlight ripple down! 
Let Mole peep from his burrow 
At the sudden brazenness, and Otter 
And the whole quick rabbit-clan! 
Let Ratty paddle into view, and let 
His river-currents play at fast and loose! 
Let Toad Hall stand there on its eminence! 
Yes let all this return! Return, and live 
As new and easy as the warming wind 
Which - listen! - strikes the willow-wands and draws 
A shower of music from their silver strings. 

OUR BOYS

OUR BOYS

understudy run at the Duchess Theatre

20.11.12

These are the heroes who still rely on our help, twenty years after Jonathan Lewis wrote his angry, funny drama.

It's actually set in the 80s, in the joyless, drab surroundings of Bay 4 in a military hospital in Woolwich.

We get to know very little of these men as soldiers, so we can only guess what they are like in the field. In the ward, they are excellent wind-up merchants, whose resentment at being saddled with a "Rupert" – an officer – in one of their beds is tempered by the endless fun to be had at his expense.

As the drama unfolds, we delve deeper into these assorted characters, and share their frustrations, their fears and their laughs in the enforced intimacy of the hospital. We see no women – Hatchet-Face a formidable off-stage presence only – and no staff, except the orderlies who come on for the scene changes. This gives a palpable sense of isolation from the world, made worse in hindsight by the lack of mobile phones and the internet. Contact magazines …

Jolyon Coy is excellent as the outsider – unsure of himself, of his vocation, desperate to fit in as a man, not just an officer. They will keep calling him Sir, despite the joshing and the obvious dislike of all he stands for.

Lewis Reeves gives a brilliantly touching performance as Ian, who is the most obviously affected by his injuries, but who, predictably perhaps, makes the most complete recovery. Mick, superbly slow on the uptake, was Matthew Lewis.

Of the understudies we saw, I was particularly impressed with Matthew Forsythe's angry Ulsterman Keith; Edward Grace was very convincing, too, as Parry, deprived of his toes and a chance to join the paras. The play ends with a heartrending speech from the outwardly confident Joe [understudy Sam Nicholl], who survived the Hyde Park bombing with just a finger missing, but who will bear deeper scars for the rest of his life.

Lewis saw a military hospital from the inside, and the piece burns with authenticity, both in the banter and in the blazing anger. These men, we feel, will never recover from their experience of warfare, and the Army, a family to them, and the real villain here.

This impressive revival runs at the Duchess till December 15. Various deals available; well worth a look.

IBSEN'S GHOSTS

Duchess Theatre

22.02.10

Rain on the windows of the Alving house – a coldly elegant anteroom, conservatory behind. Little hint of the fjords beyond, and a feeble fire at the orphanage.

Captain Alving's ill-fated memorial takes centre stage, though, in the form of a detailed scale model, sitting between Mrs Alving and Pastor Manders in the opening scene.

She was Lesley Sharp, an intense, haunted performance, but often with a wry, weary smile. He was Iain Glen, also making his début as a director here. A strong presence, almost Paisleyan in his religious ranting, except that the accent was hard to pin down, and he did rather too much striding and prowling.

Excellent support from the two youngsters: Jessica Raine as the maid, and Harry Treadaway as the doomed bohemian who returns to the family home, his mind broken by the sins of his father.

Malcolm Storry was a fine Engstrand, the manipulative artisan who flatters, cajoles and threatens to manipulate the Pastor and the girl who called him father.

Ibsen's tragedy leaves the truth half-spoken, Oswald's end unclear. Frank McGuinness, now as well known for his versions of the classics as for his own work [Someone Who'll Watch Over Me] uses a modern vernacular, with hints of poetry, and of anachronism. Sharp, at any rate, manages to make her lines sound natural and spontaneous, until finally words fail her, and she sinks to the floor with a bestial moan.

Glen's is a worthy revival of a play which speaks differently to each successive generation, though not I think an historic production: Glen is too shallow, and Sharp, though a fine actress, lacks the tragic depth that Dench or Ashcroft could bring to the role.