Red Skies

The opening of a new Eastern Angles tour is always an event. But this show uniquely so – a closed-door premiere before the production is moth-balled till next year. A real privilege, but a pleasure tinged with sadness, to be part of a very small audience for this first and last night.

Arthur [Swallows and Amazons] Ransome married Trotsky’s secretary ? And played chess with Lenin ? George [Animal Farm] Orwell joined the Indian Police in Burma straight from school ? His villainous pig is called César in the French edition ?

Much more plausible, surely, to think that these two “strange bedfellows”, united by a love of fishing and the coast of East Anglia, should have crossed paths more than once.

That’s the premise of Ivan Cutting’s fascinating drama, set mostly in Southwold.

The young Eric Blair is discovered stowing away like Goldilocks in the cabin of the Selina King. In his pocket Coming Up for Air, and two ferryman pennies to see his late father across not Blyth but Styx. And thus begins a prickly relationship which endures through the war, follows the Ransomes to the lakes and Orwell to his end in a London sanatorium.

The two writers tie flies and talk angling – a powerful subtext links the sport with spying - “Will it fool the smartest fish in the brook ?” “None of us reveals our true colours; otherwise we’d be swallowed like the fly”. The catalyst for much of the ill-feeling between them is Evgenia, given a compelling characterization here by Sally Ann Burnett. She is deeply mistrustful of the “idle scalliwag”, who seems suspiciously interested in her former life with the Bolsheviks. But a curious empathy develops between them, and she finally shares the story of the diamond petticoat.

Philip Gill is a perfect embodiment of the author in the twilight of his career. Plus-fours, waders, just as you’d imagine this “cross between Worzel Gummidge and Bertie Wooster”. Cutting’s evocation of their unlikely, but clearly fond, relationship is convincingly written, and sympathetically performed here. But there are darker depths to him, too, secrets and lies …

As the younger writer, still with his name to make, hoping for tips on writing “as if for children”, Laurie Coldwell skilfully suggests the eventful path that brought him through Burma and the Spanish Civil War to Southwold Harbour. There’s an almost mystical feeling to some of the scenes the two men share.

Many characters remain tantalizingly out of sight: the much-maligned Harbourmaster, the literary lions at Orwell’s bedside, Reilly [Ace of Spies].

And then there’s the Girl in the Woods. Something of an obsession for Orwell [“some women call me George”], and not only on the page [we see, for example, Comstock’s condom setback from Keep the Aspidistra Flying]. They are all done, in fleeting flashback, by Freya Evans, who also gets a more substantial role in the closing pages, as the capable Sonia, who marries George and takes charge of his affairs up to his death, and beyond.

Ian Teague’s design places the new boat - “varnish barely dry” - on a floor of bright stylised waves, with the red-streaked sky of the title behind. And she ingeniously unpacks to form the jetty, the houses and the hospital as the narrative unfolds.

The traverse staging brings impact to scenes which might otherwise seem static, with Nicola Pollard’s fluent direction giving us a plethora of significant stage pictures as the actors react and regroup: the opening confrontation with the penknife, the midnight chat in the air raid, Ransome the “dried-up old duffer”, struggling with his autobiography, relaxing with his back to the water, Evgenia facing the two writers, the older couple closer in the uncomfortable surroundings of the clinic.

It’s quite a cerebral piece, with a lot of exposition. But these cracking characters - the famous men and their almost unknown women – hold our attention throughout the two hours, with their talk of secret agents, ailments, war and peace, escapes and betrayals, dystopia in 1984, utopia on Coniston ...

Philip Gill as Arthur Ransome - photo: Mike Kwasniak

THE LADYKILLERS OF HUMBER DOUCY LANE

THE LADYKILLERS OF HUMBER DOUCY LANE

Eastern Angles at The Sir John Mills Theatre

09.12.17

Another helping of seasonal jollity and surreal fun, this time from the pen of Harry Long. Not a spoof on the original, he insists. Perhaps an hommage.

Just as hilarious, and still recognizable, but with a very different feel, not least because the string quartet has now become a troupe of luvvies, putting on their Oscar Wilde as a front for some serious house-breaking. And, unlike their predecessors in the Ealing comedy, these jailbirds are really talented musicians.

Sean Turner’s set is one of the best we’ve seen at this address, with a staircase, and a perilously small upper floor for the little old lady’s easy chair. The upright piano doubles as the counter at the local nick, where weary coppers listen to Mrs Blaine’s imaginative accounts of wrongdoing on Ipswich’s “glorious boulevard”.

She’s wonderfully created by Emma Barclay, who thanks to some smart quick changes and a life-size cardboard alter ego, is also Cow Crusher, the brains of the gang. Todd Heppenstall is a menacing Left Eye, Alex Prescot the stage-struck Smithy – a touch of tap for his Chorus Line moment – as well as Mr Overlock, theatrical costumier. The depressing pessimist Kim, who finally finds love and a crystal chandelier, is played by Keshini Misha, and the strangely named Scar Feet – One Round in the original – is the excellent Daniel Copeland, last seen here, with Long, in Holy Mackerel.

Dominic Conway’s music includes On the Run, for the five convicts, the title number [“too charming to blame”], and a Les Miz tribute – One Job More – as they prepare for their last heist.

Veteran of the barricades Michael Ball is the subject of an often saucy running gag, Binkie’s friend Gladys makes a last minute cameo appearance on lead guitar, Michael Fish the pet penguin descends in his cage from the flies. There’s an inspired use of Lapsang Souchong, a very nice effect with vintage footlights and some stage curtains, and, as an Act Two warm-up, a chance for the capacity crowd to have their moment of fame in some innovative digital audience participation.

Not perhaps the finest “Yeasty Mangles” vintage, but in Laura Keefe’s fast-paced production, a warming feel-good tipple, enhanced of course by the traditional hot punch and mince pies in the interval.

From Gatacre Road the show travels to Woodbridge in January, and is finally re-located to Orton Brimbles for its Peterborough run.

production photograph: Mike Kwasniak

THE STRANGE UNDOING OF PRUDENCIA HART

THE STRANGE UNDOING OF PRUDENCIA HART

Eastern Angles at the Public Hall, Witham
31.03.2017



Eastern Angles are venturing further afield again. Last year's Cornish excursion was something of a disappointment, but this Scottish piece is a much more satisfying entertainment.
It has all the elements of an Eastern Angles production: a small company of actor-musicians, and a story firmly rooted in the region. Which in this case is the Scottish borders. A Kelso pub hosts a folk night, with four musicians – fiddles and guitars – warming us up with Rabbie Burns. Then the lights go down, and the story-telling starts, with the four performers changing character and swapping rhyming couplets, with some deliciously ingenious rhymes. The ballad form is central here. Our heroine [Hanna Howie] is an academic, specialising in “folk studies” and “the topography of Hell” - not so much Dante as Dennis Wheatley.
There's fun to be had as she speaks at a pretentious conference. Her nemesis, Colin [Robin Hemmings] first appears on his motor-bike, brilliantly brought to life with lights, a helmet and a noisy kazoo. Then it's off to the pub, the Devil's ceilidh, a snow-bound lock-in on Midwinter Eve, an encounter with a woman [Elspeth Turner] and her children under a sodium street-lamp, and Prudencia's first meeting with Nick [Simon Donaldson] from Goodman's Field, who has a warm fire waiting for her …
After a cliff-hanging interval the darker second half is mostly a two hander, set in Nick's B&B, where Prudencia spends an eternity cataloguing his library and watching the weeds grow in the Asda car park outside. The other two actors providing the atmospheric underscore.
There is a happy ending, though; redemption in rhyme, love requited, the damsel rescued by Colin, who's been holding a torch for her all along.
David Greig's piece is certainly strange, veering from satire to suspense to sentiment. Despite the occasional longueur – the grotesque karaoke - Hal Chambers' direction keeps us enthralled: the puppet children, the dream dance, the many mutations of tug-of-war Prudencia.
The original National Theatre of Scotland production was designed to be performed in pubs. The folk club intimacy was sometimes hard to re-create in the Public Hall, despite their excellent bar and some cabaret-style tables. But the music is excellent - not just folk, but Katy Perry for the karaoke, the Devil's Kylie [“Can't Get You Out Of My Head”] for the finale.

The production tours round the region's village halls until the end of May; if I could choose, I'd probably plump for Isaac's on the Quay back in Ipswich, a genuine music venue with just the right ambience.

production photograph by Mike Kwasniak

STOAT HALL

STOAT HALL

Eastern Angles at the Sir John Mills Theatre, Ipswich

10.12.2016

for The Reviews Hub

Toad Hall? Wolf Hall? The inspiration behind this bit of harmless fun is mostly Mantel – a Tudor rose projected onto the boards, Thomas Crudwell given a brief mention - but the Bard is in the mix too, together with Adele and Geoffrey Chaucer.
Fans of Eastern Angles' alternative Christmas entertainment will rejoice at the return of Mrs Giblets the dog, and thrice rejoice at the return of writing team Julian Harries and Pat Whymark. Pat also directs and acts as Musical Director.
The prologue owes a good deal to Shakespeare. The audience is divided into Suffolk and Norfolk – the traverse staging one of many challenges in this friendly but cramped auditorium.
“You there! Explain the plot!” The gauntlet thrown in jest to one of the cleverer, cheekier members of the audience. She can't, and there are no spoilers here, but the action begins with Sir Roger de Polfrey (excellently done by Ipswich Christmas veteran Richard Mainwaring) bemoaning the state of his stately pile – he's got damp in his front elevation, and even the king has heard word of his enormous crack. The jolly opening number has the various cowboy contractors sporting hammer, awl and ball-cock. A reluctant pretender to the throne, Roger has two daughters and a fool called Perch. There are but five actors, but the list of characters is long and eclectic: Gerald the Happy Herald, Sir John Dum-di-Dee, alchemist of choice, Agnes, ancient granny and Chaucerian, Tom Foolery,  Ant and Dec, body snatchers, Mr Softee, a further fool. A fine bestiary too, including a fox, a bluebird, a rabbit, and legendary devil dog Black Shuck. The audience stands in for the stoats, although there are stuffed stoats on the headgear of the secret society meeting in the crypt. No cuddly stoats on sale in the foyer, either, surely a merchandise opportunity missed.
Mrs Giblets, who plays Goblet the dog, surviving the vivisection table and bringing a wonderfully surreal touch to the final pages, did appear in the foyer at the end, a fond farewell to her fans and a fundraiser for Eastern Angles' Once Upon a Lifetime project.
Matt Jopling is a likeable Perch (and his rival Mr Softee), who is besotted with Sir Roger's fair daughter Rosamund (Geri Allen). The less alluring daughter, Hedwig, is played with enthusiasm, a beard, and a fine sense of the ridiculous by Patrick Neyman, who's also the Alchemist and a superb hooray Henry VIII. Violet Patton-Ryder mangles the Middle English with aplomb as Agnes, and is also the feisty Cook.
The choreography is lively and inventive on the tiny stage, and there are some splendid songs: The Fox is in the Thicket, for example, or the Unsuited duet for Rosamund and Perch, or the hilarious No Taste for Entertaining, in which Goblet shouts out foodstuffs to fit the lyrics … “there's an offal lot at steak”.
There's plenty of cod-piece humour (“What's that sticking out of your arras?”), some much-loved gags that were old when Will Somers was a boy - “Have you got quoits?” and variants, “Walk this way!” - but nothing is overplayed, the audience is involved but not humiliated, and there's an educational element, too. The collective noun for stoats is a caravan, apparently. 
As the man says - “excellent fooling, i'faith” - “just the Tudor ticket!”.

production photograph: Mike Kwasniak

WE DIDN'T MEAN TO GO TO SEA

WE DIDN'T MEAN TO GO TO SEA

Eastern Angles at the Hush House

26.06.2016

A welcome revival for this skilful, affectionate adaptation, by Nick Wood, of the Arthur Ransome novel of 1937, the seventh of the Swallows and Amazons franchise.

The staging is wonderfully inventive, endlessly evocative of the little Goblin on which the children accidentally sail to Holland. A circular stage, audience two sides, a small sail, a stern with a tiller, bigger sails either end of the traverse area, sea-chart designs on the decks, and everything stowed neatly away below: tin mugs, maps, flags, ropes, jumpers and lamps.

A combination of soundscape – the wind and the waves mixed with snatches of Shostakovich, master of film music – and atmospheric lighting conjured up the voyage in all its moods; we could almost feel the spray and the sea water.

And four young actors re-created that innocent world before the war when children could go off on adventures unaccompanied - “ all alone in our own little world with only the sound of the waves rushing by ...”

Rosalind Steele is Susan, sea-sick, but scarily efficient, longing to take the helm and prove as good as a boy. Joel Sams is John, acting skipper, reefing the mainsail, fighting fatigue and the elements to bring the cutter safely to harbour. Christopher Buckley gives an outstanding performance as Able Seaman Roger, the youngest on board, outspoken and always hungry. And Matilda Howe is Titty [not Kitty or Tatty, thank goodness], who writes up the whole adventure in her exercise book.

They all stay just leeward of Blyton-esque caricature, and everyone gets the chance to play another character. So Howe is also the Dutch pilot, Buckley the owner of the boat who unwisely goes ashore for a can of petrol, Sams is a superbly imperious Mother and Steele the naval Father – John, like Hamlet, sees a spectral parent in the dark watches of the night.

We also meet Sinbad the kitten and Billy the donkey …

It's a marvellous tale, tautly directed by Ivan Cutting. Not only a spiffing adventure, but also richly written, with tempers fraying as the sea-mist closes in.

And, of course, a natural choice for Eastern Angles, set in the local geography of the Orwell Estuary, just a few miles as the gull flies from where the Hush House sits under those wide Suffolk skies.

photograph: Mike Kwasniak

SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND

SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND
Eastern Angles at the Village Hall, Purleigh
18.03.2016
for The Reviews Hub

“Somewhere in England” - that's as precise as the wartime censors will allow. But we're in Suffolk, most probably – Horham is mentioned – and this is another fascinating piece of social history acted out under East Anglian skies.
Polly Wiseman's powerful play tells of the experience of Joe Turner, a black GI who spends much of the war supporting the bomber pilots of the USAAF. He enjoys fraternising with the locals, a pint in the pub. But encounters with a woman, a girl and a prejudiced airman bring imprisonment and the threat of worse.
The drama uses seven characters – four actors – to represent a spectrum of views. It uses a simple traverse staging, a few crates, corrugated iron and bunting, to pit honesty against hatred, patriotism against freedom. At first sight, the British seem more tolerant, more liberal than the segregated US forces. 
Viv, a land girl from London with a fiancé in the Merchant Navy, is chatted up by smooth-talking Chester, a suave pilot, but falls in love with Joe, encouraged by precocious 15-year-old Ginny, a local girl hoping to join the Sixth Form of the Grammar School. Amid the tensions and the traumas of warfare, relations between these four people become hopelessly, violently entangled. The knife Viv wears in her garter, the possibility of a “mongrel” baby, the constant presence of death stoke the fires of prejudice.
In the second half, we meet a journalist for Tribune, a titled lady from the WVS who will use any means to discourage inter-racial affairs - “the only victims are the offspring...”, and the fascinating historical figure of Walter White, a man of mixed race, who, as we would say today, identified as black, and was prominent in the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
But the play wears its weighty themes lightly. The writing is fast-paced and engaging, often amusing, the characters rounded and human, even “the dreadful Chester”, who eventually comes to question his motivation and realise what fear and peer pressure have driven him to.
Gari Jones's production engineers tense, powerful confrontations across the width of the stage. Ingenious dramatic shorthand has the journalist deliver the letter the same actress has just taken, as Ginny, from Joe. And he looks on from his distant cell as White peruses it. The Swing music that brings the races together punctuates the scenes. And in his darkest hours Joe's fine voice sings strongly of liberty and emancipation: “Keep your Hand on the Plow and Hold On !”
Four excellent actors give compelling performances in the intimate arena of a remote village hall – just such a hall as might have held the Saturday night hops where local girls begged gum and Hershey bars less than a lifetime ago.
Joshua Hayes is the conflicted Chester as well as the principled, determined Walter. Grace Osborn young, ambitious Ginny and the journalist, and Georgia Brown the tragic Viv and the bigoted Lady Reading. Nathanael Campbell is the modest, unassuming Joe – an engineer back home – whose experience stands for thousands of men of color who tasted freedom and equality a thousand miles from home.
In a moving coda, we're back in the Suffolk cornfield where Joe and Ginny first meet, and all her silly girlish pre-conceptions fall away in seconds.
An economical, eloquent historical drama which speaks directly to Britain today, where prejudice and mistrust persist alongside liberal multiculturalism.

HOLY MACKEREL!

HOLY 

MACKEREL!

Eastern Angles at the Sir John Mills Theatre Ipswich

08.12.2015

Shanty Theatre Company shares many of the ideals of Eastern Angles. So it makes sense to do as many others have done, to share a production. And what better subject than the culture clash between the West Country and East Anglian invaders ...

Fresh faces and new ideas for Ipswich. But this first partnership does not quite hit it off, despite an interesting historical background and some very clever notions. There are token attempts to interact with the Christmas show's loyal audience in the Sir John Mills, but not everyone manages a real rapport, and the tricky acoustic means that some of the words, and the lyrics, are lost.

The improbable plot is based in fact. The Newlyn fishing riots of 1896 saw “Yorkies” from Lowestoft steal an unfair advantage by fishing Cornish waters on the Sabbath.

The excellent company of five work hard to bring all the characters to life, directed by Tim Bell. Writer Harry Long has the lion's share of laughs as Norman the Chosen One, not, as he admits, the sharpest spanner in the works, who ends up leading both the mighty armies in the battle of Newlyn. Christian Edwards is Brassy Balls, the wicked boss of the fleet; Daniel Copeland the Harbour Master and the local Methodist minister. Mabel Clements is the sweet young local girl Kerra, Louise Callaghan a feisty Mags. Everyone, though, plays more than one part, and we're grateful for the names beautifully incorporated into their costumes.

Verity Quinn's design uses the space well – three entrances, ingenious storage, sixteen suspended oil lamps and bits and pieces flown in in the traditional way.

The style is often surreal, and relentlessly meta-theatrical. Subtext, allegory, soliloquy are all knowingly referenced. Some of the silliness works well: the three bearded harbour masters, the excruciating stage wait, the dual control room with a window for each side. And, in a rare concession to Christmas, there's a welcome appearance from Bella the Cow. Stu McLoughlin's music, though cleverly conceived, often feels like a distraction – boy band, Police tribute ensemble pieces are polished, but add little to the plot. But I enjoyed Norman's Les Mis “What Should I Do” moment.

The tone shifts from far-fetched flights of fancy to genuine tenderness, whereas infectious fun might fit the bill better, in this slot, in this space. And I know it's not a documentary – Norman thinks Wesleyanism is a type of cheese – but even in non-conformist Cornwall I'd be surprised to find a crucifix in chapel, or even a vicar …

production photograph by Mike Kwasniak

OYSTERS

OYSTERS

Eastern Angles at the Cramphorn Theatre, Chelmsford

23.03.2015

As my morning paper points out today, “no other food has had such a whirligig history as the oyster”.

Some of that history is included - “shoe-horned” the writer/director admits – into this intriguing documentary play, touring the region this spring as a result of a commission from the Pioneer Sailing Trust, based in Brightlingsea,

Ivan Cutting's piece is unashamedly didactic – there's Pearl, dressed up as a mythical goddess to bring the story of the oyster - “the naughty fruit of the sea” to primary schools, there's boatbuilding done as expressive dance, there's even a whiteboard which doubles as a screen for the wonderful wood-cut designs by renowned East Anglian artist James Dodds, who was born in Brightlingsea, and began his career as an apprentice shipwright …

The set features the tools of the trade, trestles, the curved ribs of a boat and a Heath Robinson keg for steaming the timber to shape.

Like many Eastern Angles productions, it's a rich mix. Almost to the point of being indigestible. The death of boat-building, the “restoration” of an oyster smack, the regeneration of The Slipway. And a boatload of curious characters.

At the centre of it all, Mo, short for Moses, the touchy, taciturn boat-builder whose workshop is invaded by apprentices and PR people from the Council. A compelling performance from Terence Frisch: wry humour, short temper. Kiki Kendrick is the storyteller Pearl as well as the manipulative Pamela, Hephzibah Roe the posh intern. And Jeannie Dickinson is outstanding as a one-woman quartet: a nurse, a Scots constable, Angie the apprentice, and, less convincingly, perhaps, Andrea the re-enactor PR person who “coxes for both crews”.

This oyster stew is crammed with ideas – gentrification, pollution, the loss of heritage, the youth of today, identity. Theseus' ship is referenced but not named. Names that are dropped into the mix include Stephen Fry, Richard Dawkins. Immanuel Kant, David Hume, Melvyn Bragg, T S Eliot and Bob the Builder.

I might have preferred a little less content, and some meatier characterization; often these people were speaking only to convey ideas. Nonetheless, a fascinating look at a craft which has managed to hang on into the 21^st century, and a brilliant way of bringing the work of the Trust to a wider East Anglian audience. Now, when's the next bus to Brightlingsea …

Brightlingsea Past and Present by James Dodds

production photograph by Mike Kwasniak

Eastern Angles are bringing Oysters back to Essex - Maldon, Margaretting, Brentwood and the boatyard in Brightlingsea itself

THE MYSTERY OF ST FINNIGAN'S ELBOW

THE MYSTERY OF ST FINNIGAN'S ELBOW

Eastern Angles at the Sir John Mills Theatre Ipswich

10.12.2014

Multiple mysteries, in fact, in this seasonal school-story confection by the famed team of Pat Whymark and Julian Harries, writers and directors.

Who is the real gardener here, and who the secret agent [from MFI5] ? Does anyone else remember the Ovaltineys ? Which is the character who is talked about a lot but never appears ? Could it be twin sister Lulu ? The ancient Sister Montezuma, confined by old age to the school tuck shop ? Brother Cadmium, sleuth monk ? Mrs Fenrir, the lupine dinner lady [a nod to this summer's Ragnarok] ? Or Scarcity Muttford, flapper and fascist ?

And who filched St Finnigan's elbow, the sacred relic with miraculous powers ?

The cast of five cope magnificently with the convoluted plot, changing costumes in a trice, providing instrumental accompaniment to the songs. Samuel Martin, as Billy and Sister Judith, even has a protracted fight with himself at the play's climax.

Greg Wagland, Eastern Angles Christmas favourite, has a ball as a sinister Rear Admiral, Cardinal Pecorino on his trusty Lambrusco, and school bully Lydia Bumolé. Oh, and Mr Cowell the music teacher.

Such celebrity name-checks are a running gag – Sister Usain Bolt [Suffolk lass Alice Mottram, impressively playing grotesques as well as schoolgirls] is the school's PE mistress, and all sorts of famous gels are dotted through the assembly hall.

Newcomer Joe Leat is excellent as an Irish Reverend Mother and Mr Facsimile the shifty Latin Master, and Alicia, our plucky heroine aged 15¾ is played by Francesca Gosling with a winning mix of feistiness and foolishness.

This catholic school for girls is a hot-bed of crime; this ripping yarn is a potent blend of Daisy Pulls It Off and Father Ted. There are tasty treats a-plenty along the way – the School Goose [is that a euphemism ?] and the cuddly moles, the hectic chase, the secret roulette table, the sea monster, the bearded bust of the saint, the stationery envy and the wrestling nuns.

And those wonderfully off-the-wall songs - “I'll be there to bully you”, “Isn't it grand” with fiddle and penny whistle, and the romantic “Alicia”, sax, violin and chorus of goose and moles.

It's all a wizard way to enjoy some festive fun; gold stars for silliness all round !

production photograph: Mike Kwasniak

RAGNAROK

RAGNAROK

Eastern Angles at the Hush House

13.09.2014

To a remote site, born of the cold war, to witness the world's end. Ragnarok, the Norse Armageddon, with Giants, Dwarves and the Ancient Gods.

Eastern Angles feel some affinity with the region's early inhabitants. There were Viking re-enactors outside the Hush House for some pre-show rough stuff. Playwright Charles Way was specially commissioned to write this piece for this company and this space. 

It boldly embraces the old myths, with epic staging and poetical language, with colloquialisms and clichés for added grit.

Designer Sam Wyer has taken his cue from this utilitarian building – the towers are corrugated iron, the ox on the spit an oil drum.

Light, sound, smoke, wind and flame conjure up a spectacular world, and there are countless striking stage pictures, not least the Viking funeral boat in flames, disappearing into the sinister perspective of the Hush House's tunnel. Ben Hudson's evocative soundscape, too, echoes the deafening origins of this Cold War hangar.

There are superb puppets – the Giants, Idun the orchard goddess, and Fenrir the wolf, looking a little too cute, here, perhaps.

But strong meat, this. An eye is ripped out, and eaten. Loki, the shapeshifter, is tortured. And the very visceral, ungodly family feuds link Asgard with mortal Midgard.

Director Hal Chambers deploys his cast to great effect, filling the traverse stage with confrontation, conflict and occasional comedy. Theo Ogundipe makes an impressive Thor, wielding his hammer and leaping athletically around platform and causeway. Gracy Goldman has huge presence as Freya, goddess of fertility. Oliver Hoare is a mischievous rapscallion Loki – insouciant, insolent, he has most of the puns and the wordplay. And three amazing characters from Josh Elwell: the Mason who rebuilds the walls of Asgard, Thjazi the Giant, and Hod who shoots the mistletoe arrow to kill the invincible Baldr [Tom McCall]. Odin, the all-father, is an imposing Antony Gabriel, with Fiona Puttnam his Frigga. The ethereal Idun is voiced by Sarah Thom, who also plays the Seeress, foretelling the future and peering back into the past - “Burning ice, biting flame, that's how the world began …”

There are myths within myths here, as well as a wonderful shared storytelling moment – How Thor Won Back His Hammer. And a breathtaking finale, where the future is foretold and Baldr walks out into the twenty-first century.

These Norsemen and their Gods are not dead. Their bones lie under these Suffolk skies, their names live on in our language. They must surely rejoice to see their colourful stories brought to life in this thrilling triumph of theatricality.

production photograph: Mike Kwasniak