Review – Hamlet, RSC at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, Stratford-upon-Avon, 18th February 2025

Posted on February 19, 2025 by therealchrisparkle

Ahoy there me hearties as it’s all aboard the SS Elsinore as it crashes through the waves somewhere off the coast of Denmark. Yes, Rupert Goold’s new production risks headlines like This Hamlet is All At Sea with a nautical take on Shakespeare’s longest play, condensed at a tremendous pace into just short of three hours including an interval. There are some bold directorial decisions at play here, and most of them work extremely well, creating a memorable, vibrant, powerful, atmospheric production that has the audience gripped from the start.

Es Devlin has turned the stage of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre into a ship; a floating court if you will, its deck rising and falling in line with the choppiness or tranquillity of the sea, a permanent backdrop thanks to Akhila Krishnan’s very realistic video design. The cast must have Velcro on their shoes to stay upright through some of those stormy scenes, and you really get to understand the meaning of the phrase, those in peril on the sea. Access to the deck is gained via stairs from below at both the front and the back of the stage, as well as from various hatches on the surface of the deck. Colours, in both the set and in Evie Gurney’s costumes, are kept to the minimum, lending a harsh monochrome air to the experience.

It’s not altogether obvious why a ship setting should work for a production of Hamlet. True, an element of the story includes the prince being shipped to England with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to get executed, but his negotiations with pirates get in the way of that sordid plan and, consequently, he gets shipped back again. Otherwise, traditionally, the play is rooted in the terra firma of Elsinore; but we know that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, so to make Elsinore less firma and more instabilis makes sense. The programme notes suggest that the setting might represent the fate of the Titanic – indeed, the costumes are set in or around 1912 – in which case the final outcome is doomed from the start. Shakespeare, of course, gives us Fortinbras to arrive in the last scene and herald a new age for Denmark. But in Goold’s production, Fortinbras is one of the casualties of cuts (along with Osric and Reynaldo), so the future for Denmark is deliberately left uncertain at the end of the play.

Famously, Hamlet sets out to make Claudius reveal himself as the murderer of Old Hamlet by causing him to react to the play within the play, where a murderer pours poison into his brother’s ear. One of the better judged cuts is to do away with a lot of the wordy narrative by the Players – as well as Hamlet and Ophelia’s audience reactions – and replace it with obscure but effective singing; basically, here The Mousetrap – as Hamlet humorously names the piece – has been turned into a musical. Another necessary change results in an odd use of language though; as there are no arrases for Polonius to hide behind to witness Hamlet’s conversation with Gertrude, he takes the downstage stairs instead. When Hamlet hears there is someone hiding down there, he can’t use his sword to dash the villain to death because it’s not long enough, so he shoots him instead. However, Gertrude still tells Claudius that Hamlet whips out his rapier when he killed Polonius. Err.. no, he didn’t. He shot him.

However, the production is incredibly successful in making the story clear and easy to understand, in an exciting setting and with excellent stagecraft. I’m a big fan of stage combat done well – primarily because if it isn’t done well, it looks ridiculous. Gertrude gives Hamlet a tremendous slap across the face in the first Act; but, topping that, I’ve rarely seen anything quite so believable and thrilling to watch as the swordfight between Hamlet and Laertes in the final scene. Not only coping with the rise and fall of the deck surface, as the ship tilts alarmingly, to my untutored eye it was Olympic standard fencing. Most impressive.

It was with a heavy heart that I realised this production had plugged in the RSC Binatone LED bedroom alarm clock circa 1981 at the sides of the stage, recalling how fatally the time theme wounded the 2018 production of Macbeth. Here it counts down from some time after 9pm to some time after 2 am, with To Be Or Not To Be delivered on the stroke of midnight. You couldn’t make it up. It was Mrs Chrisparkle who suggested that it might represent the time it took for the Titanic to sink. A shapely theory; but it’s impossible for the events of Hamlet to be crammed into four hours, no matter how speedily it’s delivered. Hamlet travels to England and back, and Laertes to France and back during the course of the play. Not even Ryanair can operate that quickly. The best thing about the clock is that it’s completely ignorable.

The production builds to an astonishing crescendo with a final scene that makes you tingle. As the storm gets rougher and the waves toss the ship more dangerously, it starts to tilt into an unavoidable sinking position. Characters are variously poisoned or wounded by swords, and, as they die, gravity slides them down the deck towards a watery grave. It’s a remarkable visual effect and provides a telling juxtaposition with the dignity and formality of Old Hamlet’s funeral at sea with which the play starts. At the end, with no Fortinbras to rescue what’s left of the court of Elsinore, Hamlet stands up, arms outstretched, looking like the salvation of the world, and you expect him to tumble to his death; but he doesn’t. Blackout; end. It’s up to the audience to decide his fate. Does everyone die except Horatio? Or does Hamlet somehow survive and begin the renewal of Denmark?

Rupert Goold has assembled a fantastic cast who nail some superb characterisations throughout. Jared Harris gives a beautifully understated Claudius who attempts to retain his dignity whilst always coming across as guilty as sin. Too quick to lay a kind hand here, or to offer support there, you feel that when the time comes for him to confess his crime, he’s truly relieved to get it off his chest. Nancy Carroll is an excellent Gertrude, reaching for that pacifying cigarette with a ruthlessness that shows there are times when a nicotine patch just won’t do. She is more motherly than Gertrude is normally portrayed, going in for a big maternal kiss and cuddle with Hamlet as she does what she can to make him feel better after killing Polonius, which feels extremely believable; it’s the only way she can try to make good her immoral actions.

Elliot Levey is also brilliant as Polonius; not a doddery old fusspot, but an affectionate father who likes to play infantile games with his daughter. Of course, he’s keen to stick his nose into everything from arranging the royal household affairs to critiquing the players, but Mr Levey plays him as a likeable old chap rather than an irritating old git. The always reliable Anton Lesser brings great credibility to the role of the Player King, who’s basically a jobbing actor who has done well, rather than a bighead who knows it all; he also doubles up as the Ghost of Old Hamlet – a very “real” ghost in this production and also turns in a nice cameo as the first Gravedigger. Ah yes, they don’t have gravediggers on ships, but this is a useful exception, someone has to be in charge of dispatching all those dead bodies.

Lewis Shepherd gives us a suitably hot-headed Laertes who puts revenge first and then asks questions after, and Nia Towle’s Ophelia is as strong and independent a young woman as the times would allow; her “mad scene” is as full of power and physicality as I’ve ever seen, enveloping herself around the King without the inhibitions of etiquette. And there’s an entertaining portrayal of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern by Chase Brown and Tadeo Martinez, who would easily pass for extras in The Book of Mormon. It’s always entertaining when Claudius mixes the two friends up and is corrected by Gertrude, in a scene straight out of Tom Stoppard.

A production of Hamlet is always going to succeed or fail on the strength of its central performance, and here Mr Goold’s production is in the safest of hands. Luke Thallon is phenomenal. Young enough to have dreams to be shattered, and old enough to be cynical through experience, he gives a lively, physical, emotionally draining performance, delivering each line as though he’s working out what to say next; Hamlet starts sentences that he often has no idea how they will end, revealing an eloquent vulnerability that conveys his character perfectly.

It’s always a matter of opinion in any production as to what extent Hamlet is mad or feigns madness. Is Mr Thallon’s Hamlet mad? I sense not very. At times channelling the brash comedic smugness of the late Rik Mayall, at others deadly serious and threatening, it’s a performance of limitless possibilities and interpretations and he has the audience spellbound, waiting on his every word. And he heads up a production that’s exciting, powerful and innovative; exploring new ways of telling an old tale and telling it superbly well. On the downside: I miss Osric and Fortinbras; and there’s the clock. But on the upside: Luke Thallon, and that tremendous final scene. An absolute cracker of a production.

Production photos by Marc Brenner

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – The Cabinet Minister, Menier Chocolate Factory, London, 27th October 2024

Posted on October 28, 2024 by therealchrisparkle

Late to the party on this one! Sir Arthur Wing Pinero’s 1890 Court farce The Cabinet Minister has had new life breathed into it in Nancy Carroll’s jolly adaptation, currently packing them in at the Menier. I must confess, as old as I am, this was my first exposure to the works of Sir Arthur, who has been somewhat overlooked over the last fifty years or so; and this production has left me curious to discover more of his work – which can only be a good thing.

It’s always a delight to realise that a play from long ago still raises issues that are relevant today. The Cabinet Minister in question is Sir Julian Twombley, accused of accepting favours – can you imagine such a thing happening today (pause for ironic reflection)? Not only that, his wife and son are a pair of profligates who spend inordinate amounts of money on a sumptuous lifestyle that they can’t afford. Worse still, in their social circle, are a couple of working class people – Fanny and Bernard Lacklustre – who are doing really well for themselves. You know the type – all cash and no taste. Regrettably there are outstanding bills payable to them that the Twombleys have no hope of paying. However, these dreadful people will let the bills go unpaid if Lady Twombly allows them full access to upper class salons and a private indication from Sir Julian as to whether the Rajputana Canal will be built. Successful insider trading will make the smarmy Lacklustre a fortune.

Corruption, debt, class; they’re all there, just as they are today. So it doesn’t take a lot of fine tuning to present this play to a modern-day audience; just a little clipping, reshaping and re-naming, and the removal of a few less savoury observations of the day. The script has been tightened up a little, with some cheeky wordplay (fiddle and flaps come to mind). The biggest innovation in this production is the use of instruments on stage; a natural progression from the original, where Sir Julian plays the flute to calm his nerves. In Paul Foster’s production, Sir Julian’s woodwind is but one element of a full musical motif that dots in and out of the show.

Janet Bird’s engaging set presents the Twombleys’ elegant conservatory in Act One and transforms itself to the spacious hall of Drumdurris Castle in Act Two; a transformation that requires many backstage staff working flat out during the twenty minute interval. The costume design is first rate and absolutely in keeping with the 1890s, so the whole production is a feast for the eyes.

Nancy Carroll shines as Lady Twombley, the perfect glamorous hostess, despising what she has to endure with the commoners whilst deeply supportive and affectionate for her family members. Nicholas Rowe is an upstanding Sir Julian, Sara Crowe an enjoyable meddlesome Dora, and Phoebe Fildes and Laurence Ubong Williams terrific as the despicable Lacklustres. Dillie Keane and Matthew Woodyatt form a very funny double act as the mother and son Macphails; completely over the top, but the show demands it. There’s also excellent support from Joe Edgar as posh boy Brooke, George Blagden as his globetrotting cousin Valentine, and Rosalind Ford as the spoilt but endearing Imogen.

In the end, Pinero plays it safe and doesn’t disturb the status quo – the upper class win the day and the commoners are sent packing. Whilst The Cabinet Minister never ascends to a level of riotous belly-laugh inducing comedy, it is constantly entertaining and thoroughly well done. There’s an irony in that Pinero’s Court farces of the 1880s and 90s were so called because they were staged at the Court theatre, now better known as the Royal Court; home in the 1950s and 60s to the works of the angry young men of the time, who would have despised Pinero’s output.

But there’s always room for a well-made play, and I note with interest that the original production of The Cabinet Minister included one Brandon Thomas in the cast playing Macphail, only two years before he also appeared in his own, hugely successful, new play, Charley’s Aunt, at the Royalty Theatre. A good Victorian play should never go away, and I for one am pleased to see Pinero back in town.

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – The Deep Blue Sea, Minerva Theatre, Chichester, 27th July 2019

Posted on July 29, 2019 by therealchrisparkle

One of our favourite annual treats is to enjoy a weekend in Chichester with friends and family, seeing a couple of shows, having a lovely lunch in the Minerva Brasserie, followed by late night sharing boards in the Minerva Grill, and a scrummy Sunday breakfast at the Spires Café. Well, we did all of those things last weekend. It was great.

You want more detail? I guess I should be more specific about the plays we saw. For the matinee, we had tickets to see Terence Rattigan’s The Deep Blue Sea. Perhaps surprisingly, this is the second Chichester production of this play in eight years; we saw Philip Franks’ production in 2011, and it was thoroughly engrossing; a simple tale, told simply. But I have a memory that it was swamped by the largesse of the Festival Theatre; would a more intimate production in the Minerva be more successful? (Answer: Yes.)

The play was first produced in 1952, at a time when Britain was still attempting to shake off the drabness of Second World War rationing, drabness and general gloom. Men had come back from the war with what we would now know as PTSD, many struggling to find a way to fit back into life and with many women accordingly finding it difficult to cope with their menfolk. Clearly, unless you were a) well-off and b) remarkably well adjusted, it was a tense time for all. Whether it was in a sudden blaze of passion or a slowly-burning sense of growing desire we’re never really sure, but what we do know is that Hester Collyer had thrown away her life as a judge’s wife, with all its comfort, status and solidity, and run off with a ne’er-do-well alcoholic, Freddie Page, who’d been a pilot in the war.

But when the fun, danger and ardour of their affair starts to wane, there’s not much left for Hester to enjoy in life, and the play, famously, starts with her being rescued from a suicide attempt (by gassing herself in front of the fire) by her landlady and neighbours. If she’d had put a shilling in the meter, she’d be dead. The rest of the play examines Hester’s life over the course of one day; from a semi-reconciliation with her husband, desperate niggling arguments with her boyfriend, and reaching an understanding with another of the residents, Mr Miller (not Doctor, please), in whom she sees a fellow recipient of life’s great booby-prize. When it’s time to turn the lights out at the end of the day, will she resist the temptation to make good her suicide attempt of the previous night? If you don’t know the answer to that, I’m not going to tell you!

This is one of those plays that it’s impossible to update; in fact, the stronger you can build up that distinct post-war, 1950s poverty-filled London gloom, the better. Peter McKintosh’s set successfully conjures up a claustrophobic prison of a flat at the top of the stairs in a big multiple-occupancy house, where the landlady Mrs Elton (a nicely judged performance by Denise Black) spends morning, noon and night in pinny and housecoat, perpetually attending to the needs of her tenants, hearing their secrets and then blabbing about them to the neighbours. The all-important gas fire sits starkly against one side of the stage, an ugly, functional installation with no pretence to homely cosiness, quietly reminding us all of its power to end a life.

This new production stars Nancy Carroll as Hester Collyer, in an excellent performance that makes you feel that, if only the stars had aligned slightly differently, this Hester would have had a life of glamour and refinement. With an air of calm, resigned resilience, it’s a remarkably spirited portrayal of a suicidal character – she seems to get over it all rather quickly, and rises to the challenges of the day with surprising strength. By contrast, Hadley Fraser’s Freddie Page cuts a much more pathetic figure; a spoilt brat of a wastrel who’s relied on his looks to get him through but when times get tough has no inner resources to back it up. It’s another excellent performance, bringing out all the character’s immaturity and irresponsibility, as he organises long drinking sessions with his mates and refuses to take the blame for his contribution to Hester’s unhappiness. When the first Act finished I wanted to shout down to the stage, Leave him, Hester, he’s not worth it, hun, but I’m not sure if she would have taken my advice.

Reliable Chichester stalwart Matthew Cottle gives a strong, unsentimental performance as Miller, the once-doctor who still helps with medical advice in the household despite no longer being allowed to practise; although in seedy 1952 North West London, a resident medic would always be in demand. There’s also a toe-curlingly enjoyable scene between Hester and Ralph Davis’ Philp Welch, one of those agonisingly patronising moments when a younger man tries to explain to an older person where they’ve gone wrong in life and what they can do to turn things around. Keeping a lid on her frustration and annoyance, you sense it’s all Hester can do not to stuff the gas tube up his nose and shove a shilling in for good measure.

This production received generally excellent reviews and I can see why. Although the pace of the play is quite slow, the attention to detail is impressive, and the commitment and dignity of the performances is a delight, even if the horrors of what they’re going through isn’t. Its final performance was last Saturday night and I don’t know if it’s going to have a life hereafter…but it was a very enjoyable and thought-provoking production.

Review – Young Marx, Bridge Theatre, 19th November 2017

Posted on November 21, 2017 by therealchrisparkle

First of all, a great big stagey welcome to the Bridge Theatre, a new venture on the south side of the Thames, a few minutes from Tower Bridge, opposite the Tower of London, along from HMS Belfast. I don’t think there’s any other theatre with such a selection of iconic views from its front door. Inside, there’s a wide bar/reception area that leads to the circle and galleries, and stairs down to the stalls. Inside it’s very comfortable, with a great rake and terrific sightlines, as the rows are slightly staggered so that you don’t have someone else’s big head right in your line of vision. Our interval glass of Minervois was exceptionally tasty; my only criticism is that the box office was closed at the end of the show, even though it’s an extension of the bar area, where people were still working. There were at least four people, maybe more (including myself) who hung around waiting for someone to come so that we could buy a copy of the playscript (and after all, it’s not until after the show that you really know whether you want to buy a copy or not) – but alas no one appeared. That was at least £40 worth of sales they missed out on. Still, what a great theatre!

Its inaugural production is Young Marx, from the pen of Richard Bean (who seems to be unstoppable with his writing at the moment) in collaboration with Clive Coleman. Yes, even that towering, intimidating, bewhiskered old commie Karl Marx was once a young roister-doister. Penniless and thoroughly amoral, he steals from his wife to get money from the pawnbrokers, sleeps with the maid and then passes her child off as someone else’s, hides from his creditors, and from the law; even causes a fight in the library. He’s an appalling procrastinator; his pal Engels begs him to knuckle down and write his Magnum Opus that will change the lives of working people for ever more; but he’d sooner go out and get drunk. The play lets us into his chaotic life; his relationship with his wife (not good); with Engels (very good); and with his children (extremely good). It emerges that there is a spy in the midst of their political gatherings, but who is it?

To be honest, we don’t particularly care, as the play is much more character-driven than plot-driven, and all the better for it, I feel. Mark Thompson’s gloomy revolving set provides a strong evocation of the poverty-stricken streets of London, and the Marx’s spartan apartment; and contrasts with Grant Olding’s rock-style incidental music, which deliberately clashes anachronistically with the 19th century story, startling and unsettling the audience with its constant interruptions. Messrs Bean and Coleman provide Marx with a couple of farcical fight and flight scenes, just to create a larger than life sense and to distance the story from reality a little bit more – even though almost everything that takes place in the play did actually happen for real. It must be said, that first fight scene was clumsy and ineffective; Mrs Chrisparkle feared she was going to be in for a very tedious afternoon. But she needn’t have worried. Everything else afterwards worked well; and the second fight scene, in the library, is simply hilarious and superbly executed.

Rory Kinnear is perfect casting as Marx. He has that knowing air; that look that weighs up the difference between the sensible and the mischievous but will always go for the mischievous, just because he can. Switching effortlessly between faux-sincerity and childish naughtiness, he manages to keep one step ahead of the law but not necessarily ahead of his wife. He has brilliant comic timing; his scenes with the excellent Laura Elphinstone as Nym, where he’s having to cover up his infidelities, are a joy. Oliver Chris’ Engels is another superb performance, bright, polite and cheery, full of decency to compare with his pal’s lack of it. Nancy Carroll, whom we last saw as the delightfully naughty Maggie in Woyzeck, gives a great portrayal of his long-suffering wife Jenny, dispensing kindness to all and sundry apart from her wretched husband. Tony Jayawardena, hilarious as Mr Bhamra in Bend it Like Beckham, again shows his fantastic ability to get the best humour from throwaway lines as Doc Schmidt. If you think the receptionists at your GP can be occasionally indiscreet when blurting out your symptoms to a full waiting room, just be grateful you don’t have Schmidt treating your venereal disease.

I also really enjoyed the performance of Eben Figueiredo as the servile and over-enthusiastic Konrad Schramm. Mr Figueiredo was one of the few good things about Chichester’s Pitcairn a few years ago, so it’s good to see him in a show worth his talent! And the always entertaining Miltos Yerolemou is on top form as the grumpy French revolutionary, Emmanuel Barthelemy, with his constant translation issues. In the performance we saw, Marx’s children, Qui Qui and Fawksey, were played by Matilda Shapland and Logan Clark and a jolly fine job they did of it too. But the entire cast works extremely well together as a very fluid and entertaining ensemble.

The whole thing is played for laughs from the start to the finish. Serious students of political ideology need not apply. But if you like to see Marx hiding from his enemies in a cupboard or on the roof, or witness Marx and Engels nick a gate from a park and then pee up a wall together like naughty schoolboys, you’re on to a winner. It runs at the Bridge Theatre until 31st December. Good fun, highly entertaining – and a lovely new theatre to explore!

Review – Woyzeck, Old Vic, 10th June 2017

Posted on June 13, 2017 by therealchrisparkle

Of course I knew the play Woyzeck, doesn’t everybody? Famously a fragment left behind by George Büchner on his untimely death at the age of 23 in 1837. Adaptors over the years have made it their own by piecing the remaining bits together and adding an ending to suit their own tastes. The opera by Alban Berg. The film by Werner Herzog. And now Jack Thorne’s dramatic adaptation for the Old Vic… I’m not convincing you, am I? I confess that of course I’d heard of Woyzeck, but that was about the extent of it.

This Woyzeck is a soldier in Berlin in the early 1980s, packed off after an inauspicious spell in Northern Ireland, taking with him his Irish girlfriend Marie and their baby, living in stinking rooms above a butcher’s shop rather in married quarters – they’re not married. His loyal colleague from Northern Ireland, Andrews, is still by his side, screwing everyone he comes into contact with so long as a) they’re female and b) they’re alive. Woyzeck is in desperate need for extra cash so acts as hairdresser/masseur (maybe more?) to Captain Thompson, and subjects himself to medical trials with the creepy Doctor Martens. Woyzeck has PTSD from his Northern Ireland stint but are the medical trials making him worse? And will his relationship with Marie survive his outbursts of fury and violence?

Tom Scutt’s design, which mainly consists of large walls descending from the flies, dominates the stage; and whilst these walls have considerable impact by their own appearance, they detract from the acting space. As a result, the Old Vic’s huge stage is only rarely called upon to contribute; the majority of the scenes take place, cramped, in between or in front of the walls. You may wish to attribute great symbolism to these walls – do they represent military barricades? Are they walls within Woyzeck’s mind? and so on. As Woyzeck begins to fall apart, so do these walls; gashes in their soft surfaces revealing bloody globules of angry brain. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted them.

It is, I think it’s fair to say, a dark play. Apart from Andrews, there’s no one particularly happy with their lot. Woyzeck’s initial optimism falls away as the play develops; Marie’s confidence in Woyzeck steadily declines; Woyzeck fails to adhere to the strict rules of the medical trial, much to the doctor’s fury. Relationships are strained; security is threatened. There’s no obvious rescue position at the end of the play that looks to the future; no Fortinbras coming in to save us all. No matter how much you might enjoy the performances, at the end of the play you feel as though you’ve had a thoroughly hard time and you’ll need to rush outside and get some fresh air.

John Boyega plays Woyzeck; you, gentle reader, of course know who he is, but I didn’t have a clue as I don’t watch Star Wars. He cuts an impressive figure and is very convincing as a tormented brain, which is largely what he has to portray after the interval. I liked his light-hearted but sexually charged banter with Marie, and his scenes with Andrews, although I found his interaction with the other characters slightly less convincing. Sarah Greene is superb as Marie, spirited in her dealings with Woyzeck, a little reserved and somewhat humiliated with other characters. However, the two of them together created an unlikely partnership for the times and in many ways, it wasn’t entirely believable. Ben Batt and Nancy Carroll steal the show; he as the irrepressible and ever perky Andrews, and she as the flirtatious and snobby Maggie, inquiring after the collection boxes she has entrusted to the embarrassed Marie whilst Andrews finishes off pounding her from behind. Marvellously confident performances both.

For me this was a distinct curate’s egg of a production. Despite some good individual performances, some scenes did not gel and the descent into madness at the end wasn’t so much emotionally exhausting as straightforward tiring. There’s no doubt the play amply portrays the horror that can overtake a soldier; but I also felt a little injection of subtlety could have invested it with much more power, resulting in its offering much more entertainment. It’s on until 24th June.