Friday Five: Five (More) Theatre Outings

I have been on more theatrical excursions of late, so here is a brief summary of some of the shows I have seen:

Dracula by shake & stir theatre co

1. Hamlet at The Phoenix - advertised as 'A staged reading of an edited Hamlet by William Shakespeare', this is Cameron Thomas and a group of his mates reading sections of an extremely abridged Hamlet in a pub. As one would expect, there are drinks between acts, which means things get a little loose towards the end, but as the audience do too and pretty much everyone dies anyway (you can't possibly call that a spoiler!), it seems to fit the theme. Some of the actors are much better than others (inasmuch as some of them can actually act), and some sound like they are reading it for the first time - which, they might well be, as rumour has it that someone pulled out on the day of the performance. Live music from Cameron Ewens on keyboard throughout keeps things moving along nicely, and the actors swap characters along with their hats, which provides some humorous moments. There isn't a lot of depth or complexity (Fortinbras and the notion of restoration of order to Denmark is entirely absent) but it is fun and fast and not at all furious.
2. Dracula produced by shake & stir theatre co. at The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre - Shake and Stir once again bring sumptuous production values to the stage. The design and technical elements are faultless with a multipurpose revolving set and truly atmospheric sound and lighting. The adaptation honours the original book, eschewing some of the more schlocky aspects of later incarnations. While the darkness is ever-present, however, the fear and tension is absent, which may be because Old Creepy Dracula (Nick Skubij) seemed to morph into The Terminator, and I kept expecting him to say, "I'll be back."
3. The Iliad Out Loud & Abridged at The Street - Three people (William Zappa; Nick Byrne; Chrissie Shaw) read an adapted version (by William Zappa) of Homer's Iliad over the space of nine hours (that's three hours a night). They don't interact with each other or the audience, and harangue us with details of ships and battles, misogynistic Gods and rampant masculinity, while percussionist Gary France hits things in the background. They all have beautiful voices and bring out the poetry of the repetitious language, which was always meant to be spoken aloud rather than read in isolation. There is a strong appeal to school groups and university scholars, of which there are probably many in Canberra, who want to feel worthy. This is theatre for radio; best listened to while doing chores about the house.
4. The Play That Goes Wrong produced by Lunchbox Theatrical Productions Pty Ltd at The Canberra Theatre Centre - The fast-paced, critically well-timed production provides a really enjoyable night out. There are laughs a-plenty in the first act, which feels like comedy; fewer in the second, which feels like farce. Strangely enough, I've never enjoyed watching women trying to upstage each other while fighting in their underwear (it's just not funny, although many men seem to think so), but the stage crew logistics were superb, and the risk-assessment necessary is mind-blowing. The acting is all highly-stylised and unsubtle (co-writer Henry Lewis credits The Art of Coarse Acting, Monty Python and Laurel and Hardy, so that's hardly a surprise) and the story (of who murdered whom and why) becomes increasingly irrelevant as theatre tropes come flying from all directions, along with the props and set itself. 
5. A View from the Bridge produced by Canberra Repertory Society at Theatre 3 - Director Chris Baldock gives Arthur Miller's classic the 'bigger-than-Ben-Hur' treatment with a set that upstages itself, built from pallets and netting to represent the wharves where Eddie works. It is superbly lit and dominates the action (too much in places, where more intimacy would be welcome) but is awkward at times with actors struggling up and down gangplanks and crashing through flimsy wood in an alarming manner. The young leads are excellent and the relationships between the immigrant Italian bothers Rodolpho (Alexander Chubb) and Marco (Chris Zuber) are compelling and affecting. As Catherine, Karina Hudson is delightfully fresh and conflicted as she struggles to understand her uncle and aunt, and their attitudes to her burgeoning maturity. Less impressive is the central relationship between Eddie (Knox Peden) and Beatrice (Karen Vickery), which is too combative and lacks any hint of the warmth and affection Beatrice claims to miss. Nuances of text and movement are swamped by over-gesticulations, shouting and the chorus of (largely ineffective) actors who remain on stage throughout, patronising the audience's intelligence by miming the action. The production is bold, brave and bombastic, but bigger isn't always better. 

The Play That Goes Wrong by Lunchbox Theatrical Productions

Friday Five: White Hot Crucible

I've just been to see the film of the Old Vic production of The Crucible, directed by Yaël Farber with taut, crepuscular choreography, including the meticulous scene changes, highlighting the sense of isolation and repression. Although I have studied the play and seen half a dozen versions of it, I have not watched it since I played the role of Elizabeth Proctor for Wellington Repertory in 2007 (played in this version by Anna Madeley as strangely simple), which messed with my head more than any role I have ever played. This production has reminded me of the following things:

5 Points from The NT Live Crucible:

1. When done well, this is a spectacularly gripping and powerfully intense piece of drama; done badly it is very long and boring. Fortunately this was very much in the former category. Although the final act is inescapably somewhat melodramatic and verbose, the three and a half hours of absorbing drama are thoroughly rewarding and sadly still relevant.
2. The role of Reverend Hale is one of the best example of the transformation of character an actor could ever hope to play. Adrian Schiller delivers one of the most dynamic performances seen on stage.
3. Silence is as important as words, if not more so.
4. Those girls are nasty self-indulgent little bitches and they all need a damn good slap.
5. I'm still in love with Richard Armitage - he is brilliantly strong but conflicted as John Proctor.

Friday Five: 1950s Drama

When I first heard I had got the part of Ann in Edward Albee’s At Home at the Zoo, I thought I’d better do some research around the play. Albee wrote the one-act play The Zoo Story in 1958, centring on two men meeting on a bench in Central Park. Peter has gone there to read his book and he is accosted by Jerry, a transient who wants to talk.

Criticism of the play focussed on the fact that Peter wasn’t a fully fleshed-out character, so Albee wrote a first act, Homelife, in 2004. This act explored the domestic scene and Peter’s interaction with his wife, Ann, suggesting reasons for his behaviour during his later encounter with Jerry. Albee has not allowed The Zoo Story to be performed without Homelife (and vice versa) since.

The 1950s was a fascinating decade for drama. I discussed this with my mother (she’s great at literary debate and was frequenting London theatres at this time, so knows her stuff) and she pointed out that theatre in America was very different from theatre in Britain at this time. Britain was reacting to a Tory government, which always makes for interesting drama, as Churchill’s Conservative Party won the 1951 general election (with fewer votes but more seats than Labour) and Labour did not return to power until 1964.

Unemployment was steady, the system did not allow social improvement and many chose to fight against this system and bring attention to the working and middle classes. Within ten years, British theatre had shocked the establishment and moved a world away from the likes of Noël Coward and Terence Rattigan. Before the 1960s kitchen sink dramas, the stages in the 1950s were full of social alienation, working class realism and a move towards Absurdism. Many of the playwrights of the 1950s were left-wing and angry. In 1950s theatre in context, StageWon, Dan Hutton explains, 

“The defining play of this era, however, and arguably the one which changed British drama forever, was John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger. It has gone down in theatre folklore as the piece which singlehandedly managed to pull British drama out of the innate Victorian traditionalism of the first part of the 1900s and into the 20th century. Charting a few days in the life of the now infamous Jimmy Porter, it was panned by many critics but spawned one of the most famous reviews of all time by Kenneth Tynan in the Observer, who said they he “could not love anyone who did not wish to see Look Back in Anger”.”

Whereas the anarchistic Angry Young Men (and Women – Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey is a classic of the era) were particularly British, some of these themes were also being developed in American dramas. Arthur Miller and Tennessee Williams may have been a little more structured, but Hutton argues it was clear that “a precedent had been set for plays from which meaning was difficult to extract”. Plays began to appear meaningless with lack of plot and action; the death of the narrative led to confused and bewildered characters, and probably audiences.

So, besides reading around Albee and the historical period against which these plays were set, I have been discovering and re-reading some great work of the era.

5 Quintessential 1950s playwrights: 

1. Arthur Miller – The Crucible (1953); A View from the Bridge (1955) – looping dialogue in which characters desperately try to explain things to each other and are rarely understood
2. Samuel Beckett – Waiting for Godot (1953); Endgame (1957); Krapp’s Last Tape (1958) - a massive step in the direction of the absurd
3. Tennessee Williams – Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955); Orpheus Descending (1957) - terribly conficted characters doind desperately brutal emotional things to one another
4. Harold Pinter – The Dumb Waiter (1957); The Birthday Party (1958); The Caretaker (1959) - the plot disappars into dialogue and the theatre of menace is born
5. Eugène Ionesco – The Lesson; The Chairs; The New Tenant (1953) – one-act plays which he described as ‘anti-pièces’ or anti-plays; extended sketches of nonsense as words overwhelm the characters to create a sense of unease

My Week With Marilyn: Wiggle It

In this entertaining and engaging film, Colin Clark, an employee of Sir Laurence Olivier’s, documents the tense interaction between Olivier and Marilyn Monroe during production of The Prince and the Showgirl. It really does concern the events of one week (although they seem to be typical and exemplary of a much greater timespan), allowing director Simon Curtis to maintain a tight focus and avoid the rambling pitfalls of many a biopic.

Eddie Redmayne is charming and fresh as the besotted Colin Clark

Of course, Marilyn is the star of the show and Michelle Williams outstandingly captures her allure and vulnerability. She is crippled with insecurity about her true identity and her acting talent, surrounding herself with an entourage of admirers and sycophants, including Milton Green (Dominic Cooper in truly unctuous form) who supplies her with pills for everything, and drugs her up to manage her, and the chauffeur and chaperone, Barry (Jim Carter), who attempts to exert some measure of concerned control.

She particularly shines among the ‘common people’ – at Eton or the local pub, where she tells the landlord, “Nice place you’ve got here”. It is enough to warm his soul and he would dine out on such a chance remark for years. She knows it, but she can afford to be generous with her winsome smile.

"Shall I be Her?"

“Shall I be her?” Marilyn asks on a trip to Windsor Castle, where she is shown around by Sir Owen Morshead, Colin’s relation, acted with sensitive understanding by Derek Jacobi. She is struck by the fabulous dolls’ house and opens it up to look inside, murmuring, “Every girl should be told how pretty she is and how much her mother loves her.”

Marilyn grew up in other people’s homes with her own mother in an asylum. She doesn’t know who her father is and seeks approval from the establishment who are smitten with her sex appeal although they don’t much care for her personality. Her current husband, Arthur Miller (played with assured nonchalance by Dougray Scott) complains, “I can’t work; I can’t think; she’s devouring me” and he leaves her to return to America, which threatens to tip her into suicidal despair. Green explains, “You don’t leave Marilyn alone. She thinks everyone’s abandoned her”, and she questions through a drug-induced haze, “Why do the people I love always leave me?”

Dougray Scott as Arthur Miller and Michelle Williams as Marilyn Monroe

Marilyn worries that no one cares for who she really is; they are simply besotted by her persona. “All the people want is Marilyn Monroe and then they realise I’m not her.” Yet she plays to the myth, pouting and winking and talking in her ridiculous baby doll voice. Although she claims, “I’m not a goddess. I just want to be a regular girl,” she is keen to seduce Colin (Eddie Redmayne), taking her clothes off before him to swim in the Thames, and giggling under a blanket with him to try and escape her bodyguards.


"Did she break your heart? Just a little bit? Good, it needed breaking." - Emma Watson as Lucy considers her 'rival'

Everyone warns Colin that Marilyn is a heartbreaker and not to get involved – even the dowdy-by-comparison wardrobe mistress, Lucy (Emma Watson), who might have been his girlfriend before she was so dazzlingly eclipsed. Colin seems carefree and charming as he wins the affections and confidences of the delectable and delicate Marilyn, but the film is based on his diaries, so he would be made out to be a bit of a hero.

Kenneth does Larry

Sir Laurence Olivier (Kenneth Brannagh) fares less well. Anxious despite his gravitas, he can be hectoring and bullying to hide his own lack of self-confidence. Brannagh acts this perfectly, He seems intolerant to Marilyn fears, ranting, “We’re all scared. I’ve spent half of my life in abject terror. It’s what we actors do.” He tells Marilyn to “Rely on your natural talents”, suggesting she work her sex appeal and not trouble with acting.

Marilyn persists with acting coaching from the brilliantly bristling Paula Strasberg (Zoë Wanamaker) although Olivier fumes, “Trying to teach Marilyn to act is like trying to teach Urdu to a badger.” Larry doesn’t like method acting; it’s new and it frightens him. Marilyn is the future, which makes him feel threatened. When he removes his make-up before the mirror, he reveals the man beneath the actor, admitting that he wanted to feel young again by working with her, but “when I look at that magnificent face, all I see is my own inadequacy.”

Vivian Leigh (Julia Ormonde), Olivier’s wife and remarkable actress in her own right, is 40, which is too old to play on screen what she can on stage. She sweeps into rehearsals to dispense benedictions but also to check on her competition. Marilyn is 30. Hollywood demands young women, although hypocritically dominated by older men.

There is much warmth and generosity of spirit (and acting) in the film, but none more so than from the simply spectacular Dame Judi Dench. Who could possibly want a greater mentor than her or her character, Dame Sybil Thorndike? She makes excuses for the forgetful and stumbling Marilyn, always has a gentle word to ease her into the situation, and commiserates with Colin's infatuation pains. She also becomes embroiled in a stand-off between union members (over whose job it is to move a chair), which she calms by reminding us, “If the unions fall out, only the management benefits”. She is clearly on the side of us; the workers.

The ever-fabulous Dame Judi Dench as Dame Sybil Thorndike

My Week with Marilyn is a glorious film about a stunning woman, but it is also a film about films and acting, with many superb actors. The screen was eclipsing the stage and there is tension between the classical and more natural delivery, with a smattering of Shakespeare quotes throughout. A new generation of celluloid luminaries were emerging and the previous stars were losing their lustre. Acting is ephemeral and Olivier calmly accepts that “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.” And what wonderful dreams they are...