SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON

SAINT GEORGE AND THE DRAGON

The National Theatre at the Olivier

11.11.2017

Rory Mullarkey’s new play is an enjoyably old-fashioned affair. And not only the opening scene [it’s really a three-act play] which is done in cod-Chaucerian verse. The last third, after the interval, is set in the present day, but agreeably free of expletives.

It’s an ambitious exploration of the legend of St George, and the cross which was his symbol but now has a multitude of meanings.

He comes home to an England he remembers as an Eden, a perfect isle. “A Knight there was ...” the tale begins, as he descends through the stalls, a messianic figure in a flowing robe and his “sunrise russet” locks. But he finds England much changed, darker, more dismal, ruled by a traditional dragon.

Our hero, a naive, likeable dragon-slayer, with moments of self-doubt, moments of epic bombast, is engagingly played by John Heffernan, bringing out the quiet humour of the writing. His Dragon, very much a pantomime villain, at least in his first incarnation, is done with evident relish by Julian Beach.

We are quickly introduced to the villagers, medieval types named for their trades. As with Blackadder, they crop up again in the second part, set in the Industrial Revolution, with the Dragon in a giant capitalist top hat. And again in the 21^st century, when tower blocks have obliterated the town which replaced the village.

Many fine performances, from Gawn Granger as the old man, Jason Barnett as the Crier [“Oyez...”], Joe Caffrey as Smith, Jeff Rawle as Brewer the inn-keeper. The Dragon’s henchman, or aide-de-camp, a complex character, key to the story’s development, is Richard Goulding. And the Saint’s love interest – the old man’s daughter – is given a memorable performance by Amaka Okafor. And the boy, another key character, was confidently played, when I saw it, by Reuel Guzman.

Lyndsey Turner pulls out all the stops to do justice to the epic scale of the story. The aerial battle with the triple-headed dragon is a powerful blend of narration, reaction and old-fashioned special effects as the heads crash and burn in a most spectacular fashion. Rae Smith’s design – a Ravilious landscape, with a model village/town/city built on it, and a kitchen for each era – is perfect for the piece, which seems very much at home in the spacious Olivier.

We are left to ponder what the play is about. The dragon, by the end, is no longer a foe to be challenged, but the enemy within each one of us. The England that has appropriated the noble flag is a selfish, soul-less place, hen parties and football in the pub. Elsa, now a teacher, finds herself crying on the bus.

The playwright deliberately does not set it in England, though it’s a very close match - “an island much like our own”. It’s not a state-of-the-nation play, though the programme reflects on our national identity, on heroes [and villains] and our need for stories. And this is a fairy tale, a myth – as George, completely adrift in the present day, says,“I am a legend.”

It would be unkind to reveal the ending, but it is sufficiently ambiguous to allow for optimism or despair as we wonder whether the dragon can ever be defeated.

Photograph: Johan Persson

FOLLIES

FOLLIES

The National Theatre at the Olivier

05.09.2017

The eagerly awaited NT Follies – latest star-studded revival of Sondheim's 1971 masterwork.

It must be almost 40 years ago that I saw what I think was the UK première – a production by students of the University of Southern California, in the cavernous, faded splendour of the auditorium of Portobello Town Hall.

Dominic Cooke's production, with designs by Vicki Mortimer, uses the depth and height of the Olivier stage to recreate the derelict Weismann Follies, inspired perhaps by the iconic photograph of Gloria Swanson in the ruins of the Roxy Theatre, reproduced in the lavish souvenir programme.

The ravages of time are central to his interpretation – the older characters are contrasted with their younger selves, forever walking through conversations or shadowing the movements of half-forgotten numbers. So, as in Merrily We Roll Along, we are reminded of the fate of the glowingly optimistic young things. The young lovers watch from atop the rubble as their older selves reminisce and fight. The showgirls – beautifully dressed – appear like ghosts or angels on the rusty fire-escapes – the closest we get to a walk-down staircase. The 21-strong band [MD Nigel Lilley, in white tie] are glimpsed in the upstage shadows.

The 37 cast members include excellent chorus – Bill Deamer's choreography is wonderfully well served – and some of the best musical theatre performers in the land. Janie Dee is Phyllis, unhappily married to Ben, stylishly sung [not for the first time] by Philip Quast. She flirts passionately with a callow waiter [Jordan Shaw] and gives a near-definitive Could I Leave You, very simply staged. Peter Forbes is Buddy, whose dowdy wife – from Phoenix AZ – is the legendary Imelda Staunton, already Olivier-laurelled for three other Sondheim leading ladies. Her Losing My Mind is unbearably tragic, and she brings the same sad despair to much of her dialogue.

Her younger self is Alex Young; Phyllis's Zizi Strallen.

Superb characters from Di Botcher as the chain-smoking Hattie – Broadway Baby; Tracie Bennett, flaky, heavily mascara'd, gives a manically, despairingly defiant I'm Still Here.

The role of Roscoe is key to setting the tone [with Beautiful Girls] – good to see the excellent Bruce Graham given space to make an impression.

Any Follies production needs a legend or two to underline the nostalgia and the theme of showbiz survival. I fondly recall Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson in the 1987 Shaftesbury Theatre show. Their dancing double act is nicely done by Norma Atallah and Billy Boyle, whose résumé includes a long list of West End musicals as well as the Basil Brush show. But the real legend here is Dame Josephine Barstow as the operetta star Heidi Schiller. She duets beautifully with her younger self, soprano Alison Langer.

Loveland – and the follies which follow – is suggested by gauze and chandeliers, and a diaphanous front cloth for Buddy's superbly guyed vaudeville routine.

No interval, but the two and a quarter hours didn't seem a moment too long. At the end, we're left with the quartet of youngsters, and a last look back from Gary Raymond's wonderful Weismann as he stands in the doorway.

Di Botcher as Hattie - images by Johan Persson

AMADEUS

AMADEUS

National Theatre at the Olivier
05.11.2016

Back in the Olivier to see the eagerly awaited revival of Peter Shaffer's classic Amadeus.

Only a couple of rows from the front of the circle, where I still remember sitting entranced in 1979 as I watched Schofield create the role of Salieri, ironically bringing notoriety to a composer who feared, rightly, that his memory would be eclipsed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Michael Longhurst's production is very different, of course. One of its great strengths is the 20-strong South Bank Sinfonia, embedded in the action. They set up at the beginning, and at the end, coats on, instruments in cases, they take a call with the actors. The venticelli are literally winds, carrying their instruments as they bring gossip and comment on the action.

Their modern dress is not the only anachronism – Salieri's sweetmeats look like donuts, and Mozart sports stylish DMs.

He's played by Adam Gillen as a strident, charmless child, accentuating the gulf his rival sees between the sublime and the disgusting prodigy. The “dreadful girl”, his Constanze, is given the full TOWIE treatment by Karia Crome.

Gillen's caricatured shoutiness is occasionally contagious, with screeching and yelling where cold crispness might be more effective.

Antonio Salieri, seeking advancement and fame, bargaining with his God, scheming to thwart the upstart Mozart, is powerfully played by Lucian Msamati. He has a strong rapport with the audience, his ghosts of the future.

The Olivier stage, bustling with life at the court, on the streets, in library and salon, is excellently used, with hangings, two levels, a cloth for the Prater and a pit for the players, who are imaginatively used – a walking glockenspiel especially effective. The music is often played straight, but there are twists, too: hooked-on bass-heavy serenade for the party, smooth jazz for a seduction.

Among the many impressive moments, amusing stagings of Seraglio and Zauberflote, and a stunning climax in which Salieri is crushed by the force of the Kyrie, and he clutches vainly at the Mozart manuscripts on the floor around him.

production photograph: Marc Brenner

YOUNG CHEKHOV

YOUNG CHEKHOV

Chichester Festival Theatre at the Olivier, National Theatre

30.07.2016

These three early plays, performed in repertory last year in Chichester, transfer triumphantly to the even vaster arena of the Olivier.
David Hare's brilliant adaptations – Platonov (1880), Ivanov (1887), The Seagull (1897) are directed by Jonathan Kent, whose excellent Gypsy also travelled up from Sussex last year.
This was the first of the all-day Chekhov-fests.

On variations of the original watery set, some breathtaking performances, notably James McArdle, who takes two major roles. He's Platonov, the charismatic “misogyny on wheels“, who can't help attracting women – not unlike Ayckbourn's librarian Norman. A virtuousic performance, with impeccable comic timing. Hamlet is referenced in all three plays, and McArdle handles the soliloquies skilfully, as do many of his fellow performers. He's also Doctor Lvov in Ivanov, forever sanctimoniously pointing out the flaws in the title character – played here by Geoffrey Streatfield, Sam West being committed to the Coward tour.

Most of the other Chichester actors are in place, including Olivia Vinall, outstanding as Sasha and as Nina to Joshua James's Konstantin, fervent evangelist for the “new theatre” in The Seagull. His old-school diva of a mother is inimitably brought to life by Anna Chancellor. Nina Sosanya is Anna Petrovna for Platonov and, touchingly, Ivanov's Jewish wife.

“Just the lake and the horizon” - the setting for Konstantin's drama and for ours - wonderfully atmospheric, with interiors rising from the decking.

It rains through the last act of the Seagull. Otherwise, the oppressive heat is a leitmotiv, as is the unfortunate availability of vodka and firearms.

A deserved transfer for this illuminating collection, showing just how Chekhov honed his dramatic art.

THE BEAUX' STRATAGEM

THE BEAUX' STRATAGEM

National Theatre at the Olivier

27.05.2015

Farquhar's carnal comedy comes to the vast Olivier stage, nicely filled by a versatile three-storey house [Lizzie Clachan designed] which morphs before our eyes from Boniface's inn to the Bountiful household, as oil lamps flying out pass chandeliers flying in.

Michael Bruce's music is splendid, too. Folk inspired and lively, especially in the “Trifle” song and dance number, and the French chanson, complete with accordeon. Musicians step out of doorways to accompany; the show begins with a lone fiddler at the top of the house, and ends that way too, when she is joined on stage by the whole band and the acting company for a joyful jig.

Simon Godwin's production eschews overly stylish Restoration mannerism for a more naturalistic feel: Susannah Fielding's resourceful Mrs Sullen has a feminist streak; she's well supported by Pippa Bennett-Warner as her sister-in-law sidekick. The two “brothers in iniquity” are Geoffrey Streatfield and Sam Barnett. Great comedy performances too from Jane Booker as Lady Bountiful, Richard Henders as her sullen, silent sot of a son, and Pearce Quigley as a deliciously deadpan Scrub.

It's a complex piece, but the pace is excellent and the narrative is driven along at a cracking pace, especially in the last act, when bandits, marriage, divorce, and a helpful inheritance come hard on each other's heels.

TREASURE ISLAND

TREASURE ISLAND

National Theatre at the Olivier Theatre

03.12.2014

Robert Louis Stevenson gets equal credit for the National's new Christmas entertainment. Perhaps unfairly, since Bryony Lavery's adaptation starts within hailing distance of the original “story for boys”, but then drifts further and further into murky waters of its own, with Long John Silver getting poetic justice, and the pirate crew clobbered with polystyrene weapons.

Young Hawkins is female, here, “because girls need adventures too”, which actually works well in Patsy Ferran's likeable, human take on the role. But this could have been a fine opportunity for a young actor; instead we have Ben Gunn – Joshua James, who makes an impressive Caliban entrance – as a pretentious teenager, and Long John Silver, given a smart prosthetic leg, entrusted to Arthur Darvill. His stint at Shakespeare's Globe did nothing to convince me that his natural home is on our bigger stages, and his Sea Cook is never more than lightly menacing, mildly evil.

Director Polly Findlay gets some good performances from amongst her large cast – Helena Lymery's Livesey, Gillian Hanna's unlettered Grandma, Angela de Castro's colourful Israel Hands, and Tim Samuels' enjoyable Grey, the Mr Cellophane of the crew, who spots the albatross but is always overlooked, never noticed …

The huge set – wood henge, the ribs protecting the heart – transforms into the Hispaniola, whose fitting-out and rigging is stunningly done.

The language is often authentic-sounding, with clever, witty touches. But it's not always clear whether we're taking the tale seriously or sending it up. Probably needs to be more panto, or less. And the story demands to be more tautly written; there's too much sitting around for a proper adventure yarn.

I have seen much better versions, with much more limited resources. Dare I suggest that a hard-working cast of eight, and the imagination of the young audience, would be a better recipe for success than spectacle and a cast of dozens.

I saw a preview performance, and no doubt the pace will pick up, the scenery will behave, and the swashbuckling become more thrilling as the run continues, which it does into April 2015 ...

A SMALL FAMILY BUSINESS

A SMALL FAMILY BUSINESS

National Theatre in the Olivier

01.04.2014

Spoilers have been kept to a minimum; this piece refers to the second preview of the production.

This is one of Ayckbourn's most cutting comedies. First staged here in 1987, it was widely seen then as an allegory of Thatcherite values. It has lost none of its bite – a quarter of a century on sleaze, greed, corruption and the breakdown of morality are just as prevalent in our “all in it together” society.

The family firm that the playwright imagines are all in it for what they can get out of it. All except Jack, a man of principle, who takes over from his ailing father-in-law at the helm of Ayres and Graces, makers of fine furniture and fitted kitchens.

As the drama unfolds, each member of his family is revealed as, more or less, morally bankrupt, though surrounded by status symbols and conspicuous consumption. Starting with stroppy teenager Sammy, whose shoplifting starts it all, revealed when a sleazy, creepy inspector calls ...

Tim Hatley's suburban façade is clearly not a real house – something from a child's book, or an artist's impression: too regular, too cleanly detailed. The same holds true for the interior, its well-appointed rooms doing duty for all the family houses. That's about as far as the dramatic trickery goes here; some simultaneous scenes in Act II. Time passes, and there are great clouds blowing. There's a serving hatch, of course, and an overdone hotpot, though, inevitably, it takes time for the olfactory evidence to reach the back of the circle.

Director Adam Penford gives us some wonderful set pieces, some fine farcical moments, including the excruciating opening scene, and there are strong performances all round. Ayckbourn is unrivalled as a writer of truly awful characters, and they are brought to very believable life here, though, perhaps with the passage of time, many of them seem a little like stock stereotypes.

Nigel Lindsay is Jack, who rallies his troops with talk of trust, but is drawn slowly but surely into the web of bribes and “business deals”. Good work too from Gawn Grainger, no less, as the increasingly confused paterfamilias. Alice Sykes as Samantha, Stephen Beckett as the odious Cliff and Neal Barry as Des, “more than half nancy” who spends all his time in the kitchen and dreams of running a restaurant on Minorca.

Benedict Hough, the “eminently corruptible” private investigator, is brilliantly brought to life by Matthew Cottle. His voice, his body language make him a loathsome figure, but very funny too. I shall long remember him prowling ominously round the empty rooms.

Ayckbourn writes superbly for his women, and here we have eating disorders [Amy Marston's Harriet] and “strictly amateur” S&M escort Anita [Niky Wardly], Alice Sykes's Samantha. And central to the intrigue, Jack's wife Poppy, perceptively played by Debra Gillett.

Constant reminders of the eighties, when mobile phones and CD players, very desirable novelties, were big and bulky, “bloody” was the teenage epithet of choice, and LCD watches were state of the art.

The denouement, involving a cramped Porsche, seems a little contrived, and the final tableau, though undeniably powerful, is sadly predictable.

Nonetheless, a carefully crafted, very enjoyable revival of a classic comedy of manners, as a much a moral tale for our times as it was in the days of the Big Bang and the Great Gambon.

Production photograph: Johan Persson

EMIL AND THE DETECTIVES

EMIL AND THE DETECTIVES

National Theatre in the Olivier

29.11.13

Kastner's novel is not a period piece; it was written in 1929, about children living in between-the-wars Berlin.

It has remained popular ever since, with several film versions.

And now it follows His Dark Materials, War Horse, Nation and Coram Boy onto the Olivier Christmastime stage, adapted by Carl Miller, with music by Carl Englishby.

Two factors in particular make it the stunning success it is. One is the performances that director Bijan Sheibani gets from the huge troupe of children involved. They carry the bulk of the drama, setting the pace and the mood, drawing the audience in, advancing the plot. Three teams are involved [Drew, Marple and Sherlock – who could have dreamt that up ?]. Emil, a serious, determined young man from Neustadt, arrives, robbed and penniless, in the big city, where he meets his cousin, Pony the Hat, and the artful-dodgerish Toots, who help him track down the mysterious Mr Snow [Stuart McQuarrie], the man on the train who drugs him with chocolate and steals the money he's meant to be taking to his grandmother. These three principal children [not sure which team] all give confident, endearing performances, and there's support in depth from the rest of the detectives, too.

The other factor is the stunning design, faintly futurist, vaguely vorticist, by Bunny Christie. The huge stage is effectively used, with back projection often recalling the black and white adventure film of Emil's imagination. The Hotel Eldorado, a distant airship, the Kommerz Bank, all conjure up a wonderfully authentic atmosphere. Design aside, the staging is often very simple: the car chase, the tube train, and the sewers, where Emil's slow descent is one of the cleverest ideas I've seen this year.

There is a great six-piece band [Kevin Amos in charge], but this is not a musical. The direction, though, is often operatic in style – the apples, the final confrontation.

“Is this a happy ending, Mrs Tischbein ?” Emil earnestly enquires of his mother. “I think it is,” she replies.

And a gloriously fulfilling theatrical experience for audiences of all ages, I would add. There's even a chase through the stalls …

EDWARD II

EDWARD II

National Theatre at the Olivier Theatre

29.08.13

An open stage, a little like Habit of Art. Does this mean it's a work in progress, or a rehearsal ? Henry [hoover] and Yamaha [keyboard] both in use as the audience fills the Olivier. There is a tab cloth, used at the end, too.

The ladies behind me are trying to pin down the history.

Becket ? Wars of the Roses ? Princes in the Tower ? White Queen ?

No need to worry, since there's a helpful monarchy slide show at the start, taking us back from Elizabeth to Edward. And bold Brechtian captions to keep us up to speed.

Joe Hill-Gibbins has clearly been given carte blanche, and an impressive cast, to bring his vision of Marlowe to the National stage. It's a disquieting vision, with striking anachronisms and lavish, inventive use of technology. The structure behind the main acting area – we see only its unfinished exterior – turns out to be used for the private worlds, the intimate spaces of the play, all captured, live, on hand-held video. All the voices are amplified, all the time. There's an OB sequence, too, for the entrance of Spencer and Baldock, with some cheeky improvisation. The long interval is spent rebuilding the sacked castle, so it can't be such a random jumble as it appears.

Award-winning American exile, flavour-of-the-month Kyle Soller is Gaveston [or Gavisten, as he has it]. He is also Lightborn the assassin, a clever twist. Obviously the same player, though – he's the one who thinks "whilst" is pronounced "willst". He makes his entrance from exile through the stalls, then commands the stage from the Olivier's sweet spot. Hard to see how this "paltry boy" could enchant the king, though …

Played by John Heffernan, his comic talents largely untapped here. [There are laughs in the show, however, many of them at the anachronistic cigarettes and champagne.] It's a strong performance, though there is little regal about it, charting the tragi-comic fall from insouciant monarch – "brain-sick king" - to shambling prisoner. The most affecting scene has him reluctantly relinquishing the crown - "… let me be king till night!"

This is an equal opportunities court – "our sister Kent" – and there's a fine no-nonsense Pembroke from Penny Layden. The ensemble work is often effective – the dogs with drums, who also walk the bodies off at the end.

The costume flirts with anachronism, too. Bettrys Jones's Prince Edward wears a scarlet schoolboy blazer most of the time. I did feel there was significance here that I wasn't getting …

The big video screens are only partly successful – sometimes difficult to focus on both, and I was well placed. The lighting is wilfully ineffective, mostly from the back, with follow spots from the side, making it hard to see faces. The pace is often sluggish, the verse not well treated.

I imagine this will divide opinion – empty seats after the interval criticism of a sort – a fearlessly creative contemporary take on the play, or self-indulgent drama school posturing. I stayed in my seat, but incline to the latter view ...

production photography: Johan Persson

13

“13”

The National Theatre in the Olivier

20.10.11

Drove past St Paul's 99% occupation camp on the way to the National. The placards and the protesters on the Olivier stage seemed very topical, as did the breaking news references to riots and recession.

Dramatist in residence Mike Bartlett – his Earthquakes in London very effective in the Cottesloe's claustrophobic night-club – took on the vast spaces of the big house in a state-of-the-nation play which wasn't afraid to talk religion, politics and philosophy at its audience. In fact, many of the themes, and not a few characters, were foreshadowed in Earthquakes.

This time we have, amongst an eclectic bunch of Londoners, a Dawkins figure [author of “Fairytale God”] a conservative PM [an elegant Geraldine James, reasonable but sententious] and a Messianic young man [Trystan Gravelle] who starts his ministry on an upturned bucket and finds his disciples through YouTube.

Bartlett has a good sense of the zeitgeist, and a good ear for the language of every day life – Katie Brayben's Shannon one of several excellent characterizations.

The heavier themes – evil, [Ruby is “not a good child” and meets an awful end in a chilling but incongruous moment] Armageddon, Apocalypse – are sometimes hard to take, though, and whereas I was hoping for twists and reversals after the interval, the piece just got wordier and more didactic.

When John deserts his followers and they lose their cohesion, we are left with a strong sense of the “individual voices” they have once more become - “he's left us all to work it out for ourselves, “ says the cynical soldier at the close.

Thea Sharrock's production boasts some excellent design ideas [Tom Scott] – like the black cubes: a tiny one for Stephen's non-existent God, a larger one suspended above the stage for the in-coming, and a huge one for the first act, at one point stunningly peopled with the figures “in other people's dreams”, which opened up with steps and ladders for the second act.

But the piece does not need the vast stage to work – television would do just as good a job. Genuinely theatrical moments, like the quartet of voices arguing about Iran, were rare.

Two elderly Americans at the interval.

Him: “We're leaving.”

Her: “Are you not enjoying it - I thought it was very good ...”

Worth going along – certainly on the Travelex £12 deal – to make up your own mind.

EMPEROR AND GALILEAN

National Theatre at the Olivier

14.06.11

“Ibsen's lost masterpiece” tells the story of the Emperor Julian [the Apostate], Christian turned pagan whose ruthless persecution strengthened the will of the “Galileans”, establishing Christianity as an enduring world faith.

Ben Power's new version of this epic of 1873, directed by Jonathan Kent, fills the Olivier stage with vast structures, peopled by the foot-soldiers of history.

But it is the words and the ideas, robust exchanges of views on the edge of the action, which are important, rather than the spectacle and the special effects. We don't need video to imagine the eagle soaring, and we understand that brutal war is universal and of all time, without the warplanes following the eagle through the skies.

There was some wonderful design – the religious procession, the funeral of Helena, but I wasn't convinced by the fatigues and fags for the soldiers. The final image of Julian, echoing the huge crucifix, was very telling, though.

This Julian is a fascinating character, seeking truth and freedom from Constantinople to Athens to Ephesus, abandoned by God, denied philosophy, and dying unmourned on the Field of Mars.

But I found Andrew Scott's performance strangely uninvolving, monotonous in delivery and lacking in charisma – a petulant, pathetic weakling, a tinpot tyrant.

His childhood friends - “shared lives” - did manage some powerful characterizations between them, James McArdle's blunt Agathon, John Heffernan's Peter, wryly humorous at first, then later showing the strength of faith that Julian lacks. But they too sometimes seemed too small-scale for the production, [occasionally inaudible in the circle], which demanded the kind of epic acting that we did get from Ian McDiarmid's Maximus, or Richard Durden's Ursulus, or Nabil Shaban's amazing Constantinus.

A fascinating play, with Julian explicitly following Cain and Judas as the tools of God. But the core of it all could have been told much more tightly, without the distractions of the epic excesses we saw on the National stage.