Review – (the) Woman, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 14th February 2025

Posted on February 18, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

New Perspectives brought their touring production of Jane Upton’s new play (the) Woman to the Royal and Derngate, Northampton for three preview performances before officially opening in Oxford on 18^th February. The inspiration for the play came from Jane Upton’s own experience when, as a new mother, her brother told her that a guy she went out with at school had seen her in the street with her buggy and told him that he expected more of her than just bringing up kids in the same area she grew up.

Understandably annoyed, she decided to arrange a zoom meeting with the guy; unsure whether it was just to talk it out with him or simply to impress him with what he’d missed. Either way, it didn’t happen – the guy chickened out; end of. From that experience, this semi-autobiographical play started to take shape, centring on her main character’s experience of trying to raise a family at the same time as working as a writer, with many a pitfall en route.

The structure of the play – that M is trying to write a play for a demanding production team and that this play (i. e. (the) Woman) contains many of the same scenes that the producers are looking for – is clever on paper, but in practice created a play that had Mrs Chrisparkle and me completely baffled. Lighting effects occasionally flash that indicate – I think – that we’ve switched from reality to imagination, from the play that is being written to the play that is being performed; and it’s taken me the best part of four days for it to start to gel in my head.

Of course, the last thing anyone wants in respect of a heartfelt and anxiety-ridden play written by a woman from personal experience is to have a 64 year old straight, cis, white male reviewer mansplaining the whole thing. Indeed, the online programme includes a fictional one star review from some pompous and obviously neanderthal bloke called Jonathan Darcy pointing out how awful the play is; thereby batting away in an advance pre-emptive strike any anticipated complaints from men who simply don’t and can’t get it.

However, I must be honest; I don’t actually think I do get it. Maybe it’s because I’m not a parent. Maybe it’s because I’m not a woman. Maybe I’m just plain thick; but there is something about this production that sets up a barrier of communication between what we see on stage and what the audience understands. There is no doubt an intentional blurring of the edges between fact and fiction, but rather than illuminating the issues discussed, or even just entertaining the audience, I simply find it frustrating that it isn’t easier to understand. And if you don’t get it, it comes across as a negative piece with unlikeable characters, which makes it all the harder to appreciate.

Early in the play is a fictional version of the event that inspired Ms Upton to write the play in the first place. This is our introduction to M (she doesn’t have a real name), and in a scene with a lot of profane language from both characters, we see her challenging this scummy lowlife geezer over his misogynist remarks but then agreeing to impromptu “filthy sex” (her words) in the back of his van. Mixed messages, indeed; and that inconsistency of characterisation led me never to truly take to M as someone with whom I could connect as the play progresses. But maybe it isn’t an inconsistency of characterisation. Maybe one part of the story was real, and the other was part of “writing the play”. Frankly, don’t ask me.

Either way, it’s a very heavy piece; very intense and dark, full of misery and tragedy. There are trigger warnings (contains strong language, references of a sexual nature and references to baby loss) – take them seriously because this play deals with a lot of disturbing issues. Possibly too many; the difficulties of being both a mother and trying to work, of holding down a relationship when you’re no longer interested in your partner, of being surrounded by men who always know best, of dealing with both physical and mental illness whilst being let down by the NHS – I could go on. At 100 minutes with no interval, there’s very little light and shade, and even though there are some good comedy lines, the overwhelming sense of sadness made it hard for me to laugh at them.

The appearance of a nightmare demon baby with luminous eyes haunting M, which I think is meant as a kind of comedy callback, is both ridiculous and crudely done; and the Brechtian projection of spoken words from each scene seems at first to do little to illuminate our understanding. However, I suspect those words are meant to represent the writer at work, typing out a few relevant lines from each scene. If you don’t realise that at the time, as we didn’t, then they seem meaningless. Again, it’s taken me four days for the penny to drop.

There are some aspects to the story that I found very hard to believe. When M emerges from the back of a van after a shag with the lowlife and discovers the baby is missing – she reacts with all the concern and alarm of a mislaid set of keys; and when she talks to the only guy with a kid at the nursery, she tells him that she assumes they will soon be having sex, much to his embarrassment. People don’t really do that kind of thing. But maybe that’s because they didn’t actually do that kind of thing. Really, the structure does make it difficult to comprehend the play as a whole.

There are some very well written and performed scenes. Lizzy Watts gives a strong and committed performance as M, never off stage, which is a remarkable feat of both memory and endurance. André Squire and Cian Barry make the most of their largely unremarkable male roles, as either ciphers, bullies or plain arrogant; but lifting the production immensely is a superb performance by Jamie-Rose Monk as all the other female roles. Funny, tragic, bossy, she makes you sit up and pay attention whenever she’s on stage.

Deliberately confusing, and certainly it feels too long; more light and shade, and shaving half an hour off it would help. If you get the play and its structure from the start, I can see that it would be much more appealing than we found it; for us, it was just a frustrating watch! After Oxford, the tour continues to Coventry, Birmingham, Nottingham, Worthing and Twickenham.

Production photos by Manuel Harlan

Three-sy Does It!

Review – Hedda Gabler, National Theatre on Tour, Royal and Derngate, Northampton, 28th November 2017

Posted on November 29, 2017 by therealchrisparkle

Beware – there are spoilers! But then the play has been around for 126 years now, so it’s hardly going to come as a surprise…

Imagine a hypothetical meeting of all the best directors and producers in the country, all getting together to decide which play they next want to work on. One says I know, let’s do Ibsen, and another says, yes, great idea, what about Hedda Gabler? And everyone goes hurrah! And thus another production of Hedda Gabler takes to the stage, ignoring so many other of Ibsen’s great works that – it seems to me – get staged comparatively rarely. I first encountered the terrifying Ms Gabler (or Mrs Tesman, as Ibsen avoided calling her) in 1977 with the thrilling Ms Janet Suzman in the part. In recent years there was the slightly less than extraordinary Theatre Royal Bath production with Rosamund Pike as Hedda, and also the Royal and Derngate’s very own ex-Artistic Director, Laurie Sansom’s production in 2012, with Emma Hamilton as the arch-manipulative, butter-wouldn’t-melt bitch.

Hedda Gabler, by the way, is Laurie Sansom’s favourite play and he describes the character as a female Hamlet. That’s interesting, because the programme notes for this National Theatre production, directed by Ivo van Hove, include Ibsen’s own preliminary notes for the play – which make fascinating reading and definitely worth buying the programme for that one page alone. One of these notes reads: “Life is not tragic – life is ridiculous – and that cannot be borne.” Not tragic? So much for the female equivalent of Hamlet, then.

So, if you’re going to stage yet another production of Hedda Gabler, at least make it different. And, boy, have they done that! This version has been written by Patrick Marber, so you can guess it will be brought bang up to date, maybe with some sacrifices to the original text, of which purists are unlikely to approve. One look at the set alone tells you you’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. If this is Kristiana in 1891, it’s not as we know it. Blank, colourless MDF panels surround the cavernous room; an electronic security system with camera buzzes visitors in and out; Hedda sits in a trendy 1960s style Scandinavian armchair; she uses an industrial stapler as part of her feng shui kit; Brack drinks from a ring-pull can (invented in 1959, according to Mr Wikipedia). Scenes are interrupted by music – uncredited in the programme but you’d swear some of it was Enya – creating a vivid, unsettling mix of the 19th, 20th and 21st centuries.

The lighting plays a significant role in creating tension. The set and lighting were both designed by Jan Versweyveld, obviously to complement each other and it really works. It’s the lighting that in many ways controls the play. A very sudden lighting change starts the performance; darkness ends it. After the interval, and when Hedda pulls back the blinds to let the daylight in, those blank colourless panels slowly take on colour. Pale at first, they grow richer through yellows and golds into redness as Hedda builds up to executing her catastrophic act at the fireplace. The final scene, where Ibsen directs that the room begins in darkness, opens with Brack and Tesman boarding up the window, drilling the boards into place, so the light is blocked out – and with it, all hope.

Then there’s the casting, which in some cases distances itself as far as possible away from Ibsen’s original stage directions. Christine Kavanagh, for instance, who plays Tesman’s Aunt Juliana, looks at least twenty years younger than Ibsen’s suggestion of a 65-year-old woman. Abhin Galeya, as Tesman, doesn’t look a bit like Ibsen’s description of a stoutish man with a round face and fair hair and beard. This is a Hedda where they’ve cut away all the trappings of 19th century convention and performance style to bring it in to sharp modern focus. As an audience member, the juxtaposition of the modern and the traditional compels you to give it your full attention.

It’s vital for a production of Hedda Gabler to have a strong central performance that really makes you understand the character’s motivation. Lizzy Watts’ Hedda is, without doubt, a smooth operator. Not merely the bored young housewife with nothing much to do and already fallen out of love with her husband; no, this Hedda is pathologically cruel, deliberately contrary, gleefully malicious. You can see her eyes widen and her smile break out when she thinks of a brand new way to cause pain and wreak havoc. It’s no coincidence that Hedda’s existence is contained within these four blank walls – you cannot imagine her existing outside them. How on earth would Tasman, or indeed Lovborg, ever imagined that she was a plum candidate for a relationship? Yes, she’s manipulative and no doubt presented well, but I don’t see how she could have held back from inflicting cruelty on even a first date. Fortunately, everything that’s gone before is in another time and place and we don’t have to consider it.

It’s at the moments when Hedda is at her most destructive that Ms Watts shows us how much the character is pleasured by the sensation. Forcing Lovborg into drinking again is her first victory; getting him to take one of her father’s pistols so that he does the right thing is another. Burning his work gives her an inner contentment and satisfaction; hearing of his death damn nearly causes an orgasm. This is a study of someone sexually turned on by evil. When Brack confronts her with his knowledge of her involvement, and she realises that Lovborg’s death was not as poetic as she had hoped, he in turn drips, pours and spews his can of drink on to her (in her sensual, satin nightdress) which reveals itself as spatters of blood, the evidence of her guilt in an homage to Grand Guignol. It’s a gruesome, visceral sight that no one else seems to be aware of; is this Hedda’s brain telling her that she has, finally, gone too far? Or is Brack equally predisposed to making a grotesque gesture? However you interpret it, it’s a truly stunning image.

Abhin Galeya’s Tesman comes across as far from being a dusty academic. He’s much more of a lad, skipping and jumping about in childish delight when he hears a bit of good news; an immature sop who’s no challenge to Hedda’s cunning. When he and Mrs Elvsted are seated, trying to piece together the original notes of Lovborg’s masterwork, it’s no surprise that they’re on the floor in the corner, like two kids playing a game. Adam Best’s Brack is a suitably nasty piece of work, affecting an air of respectability whilst concealing his own agenda; trapping Hedda against the wall, desperate to control the uncontrollable. Richard Pyros, Christine Kavanagh and Annabel Bates all give excellent support as a deeply pathetic Lovborg, a bright and kindly Juliana and a surprisingly feisty Mrs Elvsted. And Madlena Nedeva provides a slavishly dour presence as the maid, Berte; hanging on to her job for grim death by sitting permanently by the door like a grouchy Babooshka.

This is a production that occasionally provokes nervous laughter from the audience at what you might feel are inappropriate times. No more so than the final scene, when Patrick Marber has Tesman slowly approach the lifeless Hedda with the flat response “oh, she’s dead”. Such a ridiculous thing for this great tragedy to end with – but wait, what was that Ibsen note? “Life is not tragic – life is ridiculous”. So, that’s spot on for this approach to the play. It’s a very different interpretation from what the average Ibsen-goer will be used to. The sterile, stylised setting won’t work for everyone, and, if I’m honest, some of the intrusive music really got on my nerves. But, then again, I think it was meant to. Not for the purist, not for the complacent; but definitely for the theatre buff who likes to have their ideas shaken up and turned on their head. After Northampton, the tour continues again from January to March, visiting Glasgow, Wolverhampton, Woking, Nottingham, Newcastle, York, Milton Keynes and Dublin.