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Review – Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, Young Vic, London, 21st January 2026

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In the opening moments of Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo, we hear the recorded voice of George Dubya Bush promising figurative sunflowers and butterflies when Saddam Hussein is toppled, and we all know how well that went. Mind you, I can’t talk, I’m as much to blame as anyone, as I fully believed that Saddam had those Weapons of Mass Destruction. After all, we sold them to him! He must have hidden them somewhere… Best not go there.

Unlike Rajiv Joseph, whose play goes there all guns blazing. He fearlessly pulls apart the Iraqi war of 2003, in an attempt to analyse the nature of war and warriors, the damage they do and the consequences they have. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing; it’s a very complicated play! In the case of this particular war, he also turns his attention to the almost unique position that interpreters have, working on the ground as a link between occupying forces/liberators (your choice) and local people. Do they count as warriors, or are they more like support staff, akin to army medics? A problematic situation calls for a problematic play, and Joseph certainly delivers that.

The inspiration comes from the bombing of Baghdad which, inter alia, caused the zoo to be destroyed, and all the animals escaped except the zoo’s solitary Bengal Tiger. With no keepers to look after him and no regular meals, he was starving to death in his enclosure. He was discovered when two American soldiers reconnoitred the zoo; one of the soldiers tried to feed it, resulting in the tiger attacking him. Unsurprisingly, the tiger was shot and killed. A relatively minor incident in terms of the war as a whole, but a fascinating springboard for an exploration of the casualties of military action.

Dubya’s opening speech sets the tone for two and a half hours of dramatic irony; those sunflowers and butterflies remain noticeably absent. The play is structured as a series of episodes or stand-alone scenes; if you want a connecting narrative you have to do the work yourself. It teems with complex ideas that crash into each other, making it hard to draw conclusions or see easy solutions to putting an end to conflict. The chaos of war is everywhere – not only noise, destruction, death and disfigurement, but also miscommunication, mental breakdown and the suspension of logic (a hand job costs ten dollars more than full sex, sorry if you’re having lunch).

Omar Elerian’s production emphasises the chaos within the play, relying on many alienation techniques, with incomprehensible or inappropriate language and accents, disturbing sudden loud bangs, blackouts, flashing lights and so on, the constant presence of ghosts; not to mention a talking tiger.

Ah yes, the fourth wall-breaking tiger; whom we see as a slightly disgruntled, lazy beast in his cage until he gets shot, after which he becomes a ghost for the rest of the play. He’s the most interesting and entertaining character, with his bitchy disdain of the lions, self-loathing for being stupid enough to be caught and brought from the wild, regret for a moment of madness when he killed and ate two children – but he was hungry, what was he meant to do? – and his extraordinary progress towards a state of redemption, culminating in – he thinks – meeting God. Clearly, this is not just any tiger. In Peter Forbes’ brilliant performance he invests the tiger with a broad, gruff Scottish accent that sets him apart from both the locals and the Americans. Arguably, the tiger is the only character who behaves with dignity and without guile; truly honest from the start, whilst all the other characters are playing a part or going rogue. I’m not sure if there is actually a message in this play, but if there is, it’s probably: be more Tiger.

You definitely don’t want to be like the two American soldiers who “liberate” the zoo in the opening scene. Tom ends up with a prosthetic hand after the tiger takes a bite, and his only hope for the future is making a bit of money on Ebay by selling Uday Hussain’s gold revolver and his gold toilet seat – except that he has lost them in the chaos of war. Upbeat and arrogant Kev, who’s only interested in who’s getting some pussy (again, apologies), loses his senses in a delicate but tense operation involving locals and the interpreter Musa, becomes hospitalised as he can’t get the ghost of the tiger out of his head, and eventually becomes a ghost himself after chopping off his own hand. This is war: no one gets out alive. But then again, is it fair to expect an ordinary bloke off the street from Michigan (no offence) to excel in the theatre of war?

Even Musa is haunted by the ghost of Uday Hussain, Saddam’s flamboyant and extravagant son, for whom he gardened before the war and who regrets introducing his sister to the villainous wretch. At a rough count towards the end, I think the number of ghosts probably outweighs the number of survivors.

Rajha Shakiry’s set admirably reflects the disarray of the chaos of war, with its crumbling walls, relentless sand, and comfortless concrete platforms. Even the poor tiger only has an old tyre to play with. Jackie Shemesh’s lighting design adds to the shock horror of war, with suggestions of a burning city in the background; a small thing, but I did enjoy how the lighting made a ceiling fan turn into helicopter blades – very inventive.

Excellent performances from the always superb Arinzé Kene as Kev, his confident bluster turning to mush has he falls further into mental torment, and Patrick Gibson as Tom who lets his guard down at a fatal moment. Amma Haj Ahmad gives an intense and disturbing performance as Musa, the translator who perhaps has an overdeveloped sense of his own significance and needs to find his own course of survival; and Sayyid Aki is disconcertingly entertaining as the alarmingly unpredictable Uday. It’s a shame that there are no meaningful female voices in this play, but that is perhaps a fair reflection of the events of this war.

Imperfectly impressive, infuriatingly inconclusive, at times hard to understand and always challenging for the audience. It’s not an easy watch, and the alienating techniques can get to you. Sometimes you feel this is more of an intellectual exercise than an absorbing or rewarding play; perhaps reflecting this, there was hardly any applause at the end of the first Act, and there were several non-returners after the interval. But you have to admire the surreal originality of the play, the talent of the cast and the effectiveness of the production. And in spite of its content, it genuinely is strangely entertaining! Bengal Tiger stalks the stage of the Young Vic until 31st January.

4-stars

Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Entertaining Mr Sloane, Young Vic, London, 15th October 2025

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1964. The year of A Hard Day’s Night and Little Red Rooster, Mary Quant and Bobby Charlton. Harold Wilson became the first Labour Prime Minister since Clement Attlee. And 31-year-old Joe Orton (although he claimed he was 25 in the original programme) had his first stage play, Entertaining Mr Sloane, performed at the Arts Theatre in London. The Guardian called it “a milk-curdling essay in lower-middle-class nihilism” but owing to the support, both financial and moral, of none other than Sir Terence Rattigan, it transferred to Wyndhams’ and had a brief but artistically successful run, winning the London Critics’ Variety award for the best play of 1964.

This is a welcome and inspired choice for Nadia Fall’s first production in charge of the Young Vic. In case you don’t know: Kath lives with her father, Kemp, (the Dadda) and has a spare room which she is going to let out to Mr Sloane. He is 20, a loner; physically appealing in a dangerous way, and it only takes her twenty or so minutes to find a reason for her to remove his trousers. Her brother, Ed, appears influential and wealthy; he doesn’t trust any potential lodgers and intends to send him packing, until he too finds Sloane physically appealing and tries to find a way to get closer to him. Sloane seems inexperienced but knows precisely what both brother and sister are after and works to play the situation to his advantage. The Dadda, however, recognises Sloane as the murderer of his ex-employer. If things weren’t already dark enough, they quickly get darker.

Few creative artists make such a huge mark that they deserve their own adjective, but Ortonesque survives as the only concise way of capturing his particular brand of innovative, dangerous, surreal, sexually charged, axis-changing and rivetingly funny drama. Entertaining Mr Sloane is a classic subversion of a traditional drawing-room comedy; three acts, one location, pretentions to moderate wealth and social influence, it’s no wonder that his work is a natural crossover product of the likes of Coward and Rattigan with Pinter and Osborne.

When the text was sent to the Lord Chamberlain’s office for a licence, the only thing the censor picked up on was the overt sexual activity between Kath and Sloane; all the other undercurrents in the play simply went unnoticed. Seeing Entertaining Mr Sloane today, over sixty years since it first appeared, gives you a strangely nostalgic feel for the Swinging Sixties. You can almost taste how shocking some reactionaries would have found it, and how deliciously it would have appealed to the progressives.

What makes this play stand out though is Orton’s superlative writing skills. The words his characters speak are subtle and nuanced, and their meanings are indirect; his ear for conversational patterns is outstanding. He has that enviable ability to present an awkward, uncomfortable, potentially tragic situation and then instantly send it up so that you burst out laughing and then hate yourself for your insensitivity. No subject is ever out of bounds for Orton. Domestic violence, mistreatment of the elderly, rape and assaults; Kemp grumbles about the number of foreigners coming into the country, committing sexual assaults – some prejudices don’t change.

Peter McKintosh’s set is a work of art in itself. When you enter the auditorium a jumble of domestic items and furniture dangle suspended from the ceiling – chairs, a pram, an ironing board, an airer, and so on; and around the base, a clutter of junk and debris surround the circular stage. Orton points out that Kath and Kemp’s house is next door to rubbish tip, which gave the inspiration for the set. It’s a nice idea, but it’s really only a mention in passing, so it’s neither vital to the plot, nor does it get in the way. The decision to stage the play in the round – because, as confirmed in a programme note, it is a voyeuristic play – works well. There is no hiding place in Entertaining Mr Sloane and there is no hiding place on the set either.

Richard Howell’s lighting design allows for some ingenious effects; off-stage characters are highlighted as if frozen in time, slow-motion sequences are lit artificially to create an other worldliness, and there is a stunningly impactful, strobe-filled start to Act Two which sees Sloane transformed from subdued semi-formal clothing to leather joy boy (the uniform Ed has chosen for him), an effect that fully deserves its own round of applause from the audience. Nadia Fall has made a few other fascinating directorial choices, including an impressive tug-of-love/semi-BDSM final tableau as Kath and Ed rope up the powerless Sloane with telephone wires graphically to convey how successfully the arch manipulator Sloane has been out-manipulated by the brother and sister. I am always a sucker for effective stage combat and the scene where Sloane batters Kemp is fantastically convincing.

Tamzin Outhwaite gives a wonderfully entertaining performance as Kath, a repressed sex kitten in a pinny who moves into Sloane’s space as a surrogate Mummy, unhesitatingly taking the lead whilst protesting her respectability. Her performance is perhaps more geared towards the comedy of the situation than the darkness, with lovely moments with her false teeth, and terrific comic timing of Orton’s killer lines. Daniel Cerqueira’s Ed is a chain-smoking, snide wannabe-bully who allows himself to be distracted and influenced by Sloane, almost but never quite taking control of situations. His vocal delivery reminded me strongly of the comedian Micky Flanagan, which was slightly unsettling; but it’s a convincing portrayal of someone fighting to stay one step ahead.

Christopher Fairbank is excellent as Kemp, a delightfully grubby old man, who’s seen it all and isn’t fooled by anyone, but knows he has to behave if he wants to keep a roof over his head. And, in an outstanding stage debut, Jordan Stephens is superb as Sloane, stringing the siblings along with just the right level of innocence until he flashes into intense anger and violence.

The production does come across as a little ponderous at first, with Act One feeling a little static, with the characters slow to develop. Once the second Act kicks in, the pace builds, and the nastiness intensifies to reach its exciting and unusual conclusion. An excellent opportunity to see Orton’s first stage work – and to reflect on how he could potentially have carved out an immensely successful career had he lived.

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Punch, Young Vic, London, 16th April 2025

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After an afternoon following Gareth Southgate’s progress in Dear England, we continued our James Graham day with a visit to the Young Vic to see his Punch, a transfer of the 2024 Nottingham Playhouse production with the same cast and creative team. It’s based on the true story of Jacob Dunne, who killed 28 year old James Hodgkinson in 2011 with one fatal punch in an unprovoked attack. He received a two and a half year sentence for manslaughter, served fourteen months in prison, and afterwards met his victim’s parents through a restorative justice programme. He has since championed awareness of One Punch violence, the benefits of restorative justice, as well as giving support to victims of crime and violence.

Punch is based on Dunne’s own book, Right from Wrong, so you can be assured that it’s as close to the truth as possible. It’s a blistering production of a riveting story, told with compassion and humanity by a fantastic cast. Anna Fleischle’s set convincingly places you in the concrete Meadows estate in Nottingham, with dark slopes and walkways with metal bars, and you can easily imagine the kind of environment in which Jacob, Raf, Clare and others grew up. Robbie Butler’s lighting smartly takes us from day to night; one particularly imaginative effect is how it suggests the fires caused during rioting and looting. James Graham is currently unmatched in his ability to take a true life story and express it for a wider audience; his feeling for fragmented conversation is pinpoint accurate, and, as always, he blends acutely raw emotions with humour.

There are no villains here. Jacob grew up as an ordinary lad. He gave into temptations as he got older, deprioritising school in search of fun and cash; his involvement in the moment of madness that killed James and changed his life forever was triggered by a response of loyalty – his mates were involved in “action” and therefore he had to step in. That was the code of conduct. Most people would regard loyalty as a positive attribute. And so many of us are guilty of acting first and thinking afterwards; it’s just rare that it has such disastrous consequences. That’s certainly one of the take home messages of the play – to some extent, something like this could happen to so many of us.

The play also shows the devastating effect of the crime on others. This is not just a matter between Jacob, John and the legal system. John’s parents, Joan and David, are left bereft, heartbroken, and in a vacuum. They’ve no idea why their son was killed, and indeed they don’t find out until they meet Jacob during the restorative justice procedure years later. Jacob’s mother loses her job as a child minder, specifically because she is barred from the work due to the crime he committed. Thus she loses her home, her income and her physical and mental health. He becomes estranged from Sam, his younger brother, cocooned in his room, at a time when Sam needed all the support a big brother could give. They say no man is an island – that’s certainly the case here.

Aside from David Shields’ performance as Jacob, the other five cast members weave in and out of their various roles with remarkable dexterity, literally at the drop of a hat or removal of a jumper; a superb ensemble performance from them all. Alec Boaden excels as the rascally but cowardly Raf, timid, uncertain Sam and the fair-minded detective Villiers. Emma Pallant is also excellent as Jacob’s mum and probation officer Wendy; as is Shalisha James-Davis as Clare, the local girl who becomes a nurse and as Nicola, the charity worker from Remedi who brings Jacob and John’s parents together. Tony Hirst convinces in a range of diverse roles including John’s father David, finding it impossible to balance the need to move forward with his love for his lost son, unable to forgive.

Julie Hesmondhalgh is stunning as Joan; a superb portrayal of a kindly, confused, practical but anguished mother trying to make sense of it all. The scene where Joan and David meet Jacob is played with such agonising emotion that it is impossible for your eyes not to well up. But it is David Shields who stands out with his most compelling performance as Jacob. A powerful, energetic, physical stage presence; totally believable, and despite the terrible thing that Jacob did, you completely connect with him. In his first major theatre role, Mr Shields is the kind of actor you can’t stop watching when they’re on stage; surely a star career lies ahead.

The Young Vic run is almost sold out, but the production will transfer to the Apollo Theatre in September. A must-see.

Five Alive Let Theatre Thrive!

Review – untitled f*ck m*ss s**gon play, Young Vic, London, 21st October 2023

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Did you know how tanks got their name? You know, those big military vehicles that flatten everything in their path? That kind of tank. Well, whilst they were being originally designed, the developers had to keep the whole process a secret. So when someone asked them once what they were developing, someone said oh, er, yes, er… it’s a tank, picking the first, generally nebulous concept word out of the blue. And the name simply stuck. Do you know how untitled f*ck m*ss s**gon play got its name? Writer Kimber Lee had no name for it whilst she was originally creating it, and when someone asked her what she was writing, she said oh, er, yes, er… it’s untitled – but its f*ck miss Saigon! And she realised no other name would have the same kind of energy for what she was writing, so that name also simply stuck.

Meet Kim. She has a dream; she wants to create a rice delivery service – Rice Now. She wants to marry Goro the fishmonger’s son. He believes in her dream; he wants to create a side dish to go with it – Rice Now, Fish Later. But also meet Rosie, Kim’s mother. She too has a dream – to get the hell out of the sh*thole (her description) in which they live, by marrying Kim off to some American and happily espousing the American Dream ever after. Fortunately for Rosie, meet Clark. He’s handsome, hench, a HIIT specialist, but primarily American. Rosie leaps at her chance and inveigles him into their humble home, he falls instantly in love with the beautiful Kim, and the next day, like a typical man, he’s off. Kim assumes they are married – there was a kind of a marriage ceremony that he didn’t even notice – but when he returns, he’s with his wife (gasp!) and they take Kim’s baby away from her (double gasp!!) to give him a life in the good old US of A.

I’m not really spoiling the plot for you; the first part of Kimber Lee’s excellent play sets Kim in a Groundhog Day scenario of reliving life in Madama Butterfly, or South Pacific, or the dreaded Miss Saigon. There’s even a bit of M*A*S*H* and The World of Suzie Wong chucked in too. Kim is given the job of representing the all-encompassing southeast Asian female in Western culture throughout the 20th century. And it’s a hard lot: wooed, impregnated, abandoned, rejected. No wonder as the play proceeds Kim gets progressively more furious and frustrated. But time moves on, and Kim is now living in New York City, married to Clark; her brother Afi is engaged to the beautiful Evelyn, and their mother has prepared a swish, middle-class celebratory dinner party. And now it’s Kim’s turn to reject the accepted norms of society.

The play is terrifically ambitious, taking the rise out of racial stereotypes but also taking the real lived experiences of those people deadly seriously too. At times – especially in the first part – it can be ecstatically funny. At others, it’s agonisingly painful. You can feel the writer developing her characters from their stock standard historical roots into believable modern people of today. It’s almost as though we’re discovering it all new, just as the writer and her characters are also discovering it – that lovely feeling when both the audience and the writer see the light at the same time. The play truly merits its unorthodox, inventive, haphazard title, its asterisks casting a fake veneer of politeness as a 21st century nod to decency.

Director Roy Alexander Weise has given this fascinating play a grand staging. The Young Vic splendidly configurated in the round, the huge empty central stage has more than enough space to suggest all manner of Asian and American homes, although it’s perhaps at its most evocative when as bare as possible. Loren Elstein’s costumes brilliantly reflect the traditional styles of Asia, the modern elegance of urban family living, as well as recreating the costumes of those well-known musicals.

It’s superbly well acted throughout; Kimber Lee has given brilliant dialogue to each of her characters and the actors rise to the challenge of delivering it beautifully. A unifying thread throughout the play’s disparate structure is Rochelle Rose’s narrator, an elegant, dynamic, and humorous presence delivering a commentary on proceedings from the side – in fact from all parts of the auditorium, she’s very much on the move the whole time – including becoming a wisecracking but also embarrassed guest at the engagement party. Ms Rose is great in this role – authoritative yet confiding, and hugely watchable throughout. Tom Weston-Jones is excellent as Clark, tentatively mumbling loving words to Kim in an obscure language that includes words like origami, Toshiba and edamame, a terrific device by Ms Lee to show the linguistic disrespect of the west for the east.

Jennifer Kirby is also excellent at Clark’s wife and Afi’s fiancée, making the most of a fantastic sequence where Evelyn patronises Kim heavily but unwittingly, explaining how she knows the pain she’s going through, dripping with white middle class privilege with every sentence she utters. Jeff D’Sangalang gives us a delightfully earnest and kind Goro, and an up-and-coming ambitious Afi. Lourdes Faberes plays the “Asian musicals mother” roles with a blend of faithfulness to the originals but also a knowing wit, and is later transformed into the elegant dinner party hostess. But Mei Mac really steals the show as Kim, in all her incarnations and situations. With a beautiful feel for both the comedy and the sorrow of the character, it’s a terrific performance and one that lingers long in the mind after the show.

Bold, innovative, unique. Yes, there are a few times when the energy sags a little, and the unavoidable repetition of the plot device to make its point may prove slightly frustrating for some. But I absolutely loved this play and its ambition. Congratulations to all, and hopefully it will have a life after the Young Vic run ends on 4th November.

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Oklahoma!, Young Vic, London, 28th May 2022

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When I saw that the Young Vic were showing the new, shaken-up Broadway version of Oklahoma! I knew it was something I had to see. Oklahoma! is one of my favourite musicals but you can never overlook the dark, violent prejudice and savagery that lurks just a little under the surface. The Chichester production from 2019 brought out all the joy of the show whilst exposing a lot of its iffy underbelly. Daniel Fish’s new production goes deeper, and a lot of what it reveals is truly horrific. But it’s also jam-packed with the humour that has always been a mainstay of this musical.

You know the show is going to be disturbing even before it starts. The transformed Young Vic auditorium is ablaze with bright light; the band sit at one end of the stage area, whilst trestle tables laden with cans of beer (that get consumed) and crockpots of chilli (that don’t) line along either side of the acting area and – for the first act – along the middle. The actors sit with their backs to us until it’s their time to join in the show. Unusually for a musical the programme doesn’t list the musical numbers, so unless you know the show intimately you don’t know what’s coming next or whereabouts in the sequence of scenes you are. You might assume from this that the music takes second place in the show’s priorities – but that’s not the case. The music is vital to the show, and frequently adds to the sense of irony and discord that permeates Daniel Fish’s vision for the production. Tom Brady’s band takes Rodgers and Hammerstein’s sumptuous score and give it a modern twist; less Broadway 1943, more country guitar-heavy, but still with stunning singing from the cast who harmonise together exquisitely, with passion and power.

The iconic opening, where Curly sings Oh What a Beautiful Morning off stage whilst Aunt Eller churns butter, now has Curly onstage accompanying himself on his own guitar whilst Aunt Eller silently looks away with the rest of the cast. In fact, gone are the Curly and Laurey of yore, the adorable young couple who win your heart, and whom you want to see living happy ever after at the end. Arthur Darvill’s Curly is vain and arrogant; his swagger barely conceals his scorn for his surroundings, and you get the sense he’s more isolated, not really part of the community; you wouldn’t believe anyone who says he’s their friend. However, this characterisation is juxtaposed with his surprisingly delicate and eloquent singing voice. Anoushka Lucas’ Laurey, on the other hand, is temperamental and sullen; she bats Curly’s approaches away as though he were just another “typical man” for whom she has neither time nor interest – until things start to get physical, at any rate. If and when this Curly and Laurey get together you feel that the sparks will fly in their relationship and not always in a good way.

Where the show is much more traditional is in the representation of the four comedy characters, Ado Annie, Will Parker, Ali Hakim and Gertie Cummings, each one played sublimely. Rebekah Hinds gets Gertie’s irritating cackle perfectly, and suggests a superb smugness whenever she gets her way over anything (or anyone). Stavros Demetraki is hilarious as Hakim, desperately trying to put more money Will’s way so that he can be freed from his commitment to Ado Annie. James Davis, who played Will in this production on Broadway, brilliantly portrays just how utterly stupid the character is, constantly infuriating himself with his own mistakes.

Although she has a lot of stage credits to her name, I’ve never seen Marisha Wallace before, but I was blown away by just how fantastic she is as Ado Annie. Filling the theatre with the most powerful and beautiful of voices, she has immense stage presence and injects everything the character does with just the right amount of comedy, as well as perfect interplay with the audience. Her performance of I Cain’t Say No is the true highlight moment of the show. All the way through, I couldn’t wait for her next appearance because she lights up the stage with such genuine pleasure. Simply marvellous!

I hardly recognised Greg Hicks as Andrew Carnes; if you’ve seen this role played as a lovable old rogue before, think again. Mr Hicks makes him a truly hard man. No sense of humour or kindness; a man who thinks with his gun first then might reflect afterwards (or might not). He’ll aim his barrels at anyone who dallies with his daughter; I thought he was going to blast a few heads off early on and finish the show before the interval. Liza Sadovy’s Aunt Eller is another characterisation that feels more remote and detached from the community, until, at least, she’s in charge of the auction of lunch baskets. There’s excellent support from Raphael Bushay as Mike and Ashley Samuels as Cord Elam; their hesitations at supporting the decision of Judge Andrew towards the end spoke volumes. But the whole cast does a great ensemble job, with terrific singing and dancing – a lot of full-bodied hard-floor thumping to get a resoundingly noisy beat effect.

One of many fascinating directorial decisions in the show – some of which work, and some don’t – is the characterisation of Jud Fry. It’s in the characters’ dealings with Jud that this show gets particularly uncomfortable. Jud is usually portrayed as a loner. Papering his bedroom walls with soft porn to make him seem like a worthless wretch, picking on his learning difficulties, or sometimes on his ethnicity, he’s often seen as the antithesis of Curly, who’s All-American Hero in comparison to Pore Jud. However, Patrick Vaill (who also played the role on Broadway) presents us with a very different Jud. He’s passive, quiet, unemotional; determined but unthreatening, and probably no more of an outsider than Curly is. Rather than being the monster or ogre that he’s normally portrayed, this Jud is just another guy. And that makes Curly’s persecution of him strangely more uncomfortable – other than the fact that Curly’s a bully and wants nothing and no one to stand in his way.

So here’s the first directorial decision that I really didn’t understand. The two scenes where Curly intimidates and interrogates Jud are played in total blackout. All you can follow is by what you hear the two men say to each other. No visual cues, no facial expressions, no physical movement. Apart from the fact that it puts the audience in an uncomfortable, vulnerable position as well, it acts as a barrier to communication; and you can feel the built-up energy of the show quickly sap away as the scene progresses. The fact that you can’t see Curly and Jud’s interactions means that you can’t really understand what goes on between them. And whilst we have seen Curly in action several times during the show, Jud’s presence has only been very minimal, apart from in these two scenes – where you can’t see him! After a while, a camera projects Jud’s image onto the back wall during the song Pore Jud is Daid, but it’s distorted and artificial, and by that time I was so exasperated at being literally kept in the dark that I resented this piece of direction. I felt it was disrespectful to the audience. <rant>Rather like the moment when Ali Hakim unnecessarily and totally out of character sprays beer (actually water but we weren’t sure) over some members of the audience, including Mrs Chrisparkle. She was genuinely concerned it might have ruined her new leather jacket. It would have done if it was beer. The poor man next to her was soaked. Come on, Young Vic, treat us like adults! This isn’t a panto! </rant>.

Odd decision number 2 coming up: it’s always difficult to incorporate the dream ballet sequence in the show. Nowadays it doesn’t fit in with our expectations and comes across as a purely historical interlude that the show would be better off cutting out. However, if you keep it in, it has to be relevant. It’s Laurey’s dream, so it should be performed by Laurey. If it has a meaning, it’s to process her anxieties regarding her forthcoming marriage to Curly. So I’m afraid I didn’t enjoy the dream dance sequence in this production at all. Nothing against Marie-Astrid Mence who throws herself brilliantly into John Heginbotham’s frankly ugly and irrelevant choreography and moves in time with the ghastly distorted musical accompaniment that’s brash, discordant and way too loud. And my word, did it go on….!

There is a third directorial decision that works well – but, good grief, is it horrible! I’m not going to give the game away too much because the shock of the staging is vital to the show’s effect. I knew that Curly was going to shoot Jud near the end – he always does, it’s part of the plot. What I wasn’t expecting was the physical aftermath, both in the actual appearance of the characters and in their change of demeanour. When Curly leads the cast for what is normally the final, triumphant rendition of the title song, so shocked is he at what has happened that he is literally like a zombie. His mouth is singing the words, his hands are strumming the guitar, but the soul inside has gone awol. Laurey joins in with demented fury, eyes on stalks, stamping and shouting like Lady Macbeth on an acid trip.

But this is the message that the show wants to send. The action takes place at the time when Oklahoma was all set to be the next state of the union. You’re doing fine, Oklahoma, goes the uplifting, unforgettable melody, as the state triumphantly sails into the next century. This show points out that the rot has already set in. There’s nothing fine about this Oklahoman society, riddled with injustice and corruption, hatred and contempt. What is normally a sweet ending is rendered bitterly sour. And the production is hugely successful at revealing this ugly truth.

But if you’re a fan of the traditional show like me, even though you appreciate its dark undercurrent and murky prejudices, watching this production left me feeling physically nauseous. My stomach was frappéd like I’d been involved in the Oklahoma Chain Saw Massacre. By far the majority of the audience stood to give it a rapturous ovation, and I completely understand why; but I was rooted to the spot, giving a slowish handclap in disbelief at what I had seen. I’m writing this five days after seeing the show and I can still feel that sense of horror and destruction that this production has created in me. I can only say that you must see this show for yourself to truly appreciate what it reveals. It’s on until 25th June, but this is too much of a landmark production for it to stop there. I only wonder if there will ever be space for a traditional Oklahoma! again.

4-starsFour They’re Jolly Good Fellows!

Review – Hamlet, Young Vic, London, 19th October 2021

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It was by lucky chance that I saw that two sumptuously located seats in Row G of the Stalls had become free at the Young Vic for their much awaited Hamlet, directed by Greg Hersov and starring Cush Jumbo as the forlorn Dane. I always associate the Young Vic with Shakespeare, even though they’ve always offered a wide range of productions. I was a mere 16 year old when I saw the National Theatre’s Troilus and Cressida there, and Judi Dench and Ian McKellen’s RSC Macbeth when I was 18 just sealed it for me as a theatre where you can see great plays in great productions at – let’s face it – great prices. Over the course of fifty years or so, that philosophy hasn’t changed – and hurrah for that.

For many decades I’ve always considered Hamlet to be my “favourite” play, if you can have so facile a thing. It contains everything; suspense, vengeance, madness, humour, blistering scenes and complex characters. It even has an early version of The Mousetrap. I wasn’t familiar with the work of Cush Jumbo; my loss indeed, but more of that later. I was, however, familiar with Adrian Dunbar, being a firm fan of Line of Duty, and if I’m honest, gentle reader, casting him as Claudius/Ghost was what swung the decision to book. More of that later too.

There are hardly ever “straight” productions of Shakespeare nowadays. They are always either set in a different time or location, or with some other major aspect of the play somehow turned on its head. Watching a modern Shakespeare is a good way of finding out to what extent you’re a Shakespeare purist. On the whole, I think I’m pretty adaptable where it comes to the Noble Bard. Shakespeare is big and strong enough to look after himself, and if you see a production where they’ve taken more liberties than you can shake a stick at, well, there’ll be another production before long which will take the original from yet another unexpected angle. And Shakespeare always survives. With a play as solid and remarkable as Hamlet, no cheeky modern slant could ever ruin it, and indeed it may well shed light on how an old play can still have enormous relevance today.

Greg Hersov’s production takes a reasonable number of liberties, most of which I found refreshingly enjoyable. I only had one quibble with his vision for this production – no Fortinbras. Even though he’s listed in the cast list, the play ends with a mass of dead bodies and no Norwegian saviour to come and make sense of the rotten state of Denmark and start to put it back together again. As such, the play ends in gloom and destruction, with no hope for the future provided. I can’t help but think that Shakespeare would be (as the cliché goes) turning in his grave at that one – and that’s the purist in me.

Apart from that, I liked the freshness and the modernity of this production. Hamlet is a big play (Shakespeare’s longest) so it needs to be pretty pacey to make it comfortable for modern attention spans. Sparky highlights amongst the minor characters help make it go with a swing, and this was one aspect in which this production really excelled. Joseph Marcell’s Polonius steals every scene he’s in with a perfect interpretation of that meddlesome, pernickety character. His pomposity is imbued with kindness (as when he’s giving Laertes laboursome advice) or self-protection (as when he’s gently humouring the “mad” Hamlet), and you can instantly recognise elderly relatives and acquaintances in his self-important mumblings. Absolutely brilliant.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are re-imagined as a couple of hippies, and Taz Skylar and Joana Borja capture a little youthful eccentricity (young versions of Polonius in a way), as they pose for selfies and lead Hamlet on something of a merry dance. They’re funny and a bit kookie, and it works really well. Leo Wringer’s Wray and Nephew-swilling gravedigger is one of those rare performances – one of Shakespeare’s grotesquely unfunny comic characters designed to lessen the horror of the tragedy, reborn as genuinely funny. Jonathan Livingstone is a very solid, reliable, traditional Horatio, whereas Norah Lopez Holden is a more modern, outspoken Ophelia, prone to sullenness, not frightened to be assertive, and (appropriately) unnerving in her madness. Jonathan Ajayi plays Laertes with a light throwaway style that works well in his early pre-France scenes but seems less appropriate when desperate for revenge against Hamlet for murdering his father.

Giving an immaculate, perfectly judged performance throughout, Tara Fitzgerald is brilliant as Gertrude, visibly shrinking into herself with the growing awareness of her awful misjudgement. Her vocal delivery is immaculate, her reactions to the events going on around her are spot on, and her death is probably the best I’ve ever seen for the role, pitched without sensationalism but completely realistically.

Adrian Dunbar’s Claudius is a strangely underplayed performance. He’s beautifully at his ease in conversational scenes, such as when he’s having his man-to-man chat with Laertes over an elegant tumbler of whisky, where his delivery is natural and flowing. However, when it comes to the soliloquies, he becomes all declamatory, as though he’s reciting it from a book in order to make the words sound nice but with little attention to their meaning. He completely looks the part, in his smart blue lounge suit, but when he was praying for forgiveness, I didn’t believe a word of it, I’m afraid.

Also completely looking the part, is Cush Jumbo as Hamlet with her close shaven head, trendy black mourning outfits, and rebellious stance. Her interaction with those characters that she feels are her allies is a pally delight, with a genuine thrill at being reunited with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, her close friendship with Horatio, and the memory of her childhood trust in Yorick. However, if you are Hamlet’s enemy, she is scathing. In answer to the age-old question, Is Hamlet mad? Ms Jumbo’s answer is definitely No – you feel this Hamlet is completely in control of their mental faculties and is calmly and determinedly working towards the desired aim of revenge. The casting works incredibly well, and you completely believe in her compelling delivery of the role. Her soliloquies expressed a clear understanding of their meaning and significance which lent a lot to this production being very easy to follow. A Shakespearean tragedian par excellence!

Hamlet continues at the Young Vic until 13th November – returns only, I’m afraid. However, there are four live streaming broadcasts available from October 28th to 30th, so you can still get to see the show. And it’s worth it just to see Cush Jumbo!

P. S. Our performance got off to an unintentionally hilarious start. Just as Adesuwa Oni entered the stage as Barnardo on the battlements, someone’s phone/watch alarm went off in the audience to signify it was a quarter past the hour. Ignoring it magnificently but in coincidental response to the alarm, she delivered her opening line, “Who’s there?” Cue a considerable ripple of uncontrolled laughter from the audience. Great work from Ms Oni to carry on regardless, but if anything ever revealed why you have to turn off all your devices, that was it!

4-starsFour they’re jolly good fellows!

Review – Death of a Salesman, Young Vic, 3rd July 2019

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My third time of seeing (arguably) Arthur Miller’s finest play, but it was the Squire of Sidcup’s first time, and, as you know, you always remember your first time. Miller’s portrayal of Willy Loman, visually crumbling before us all, never fails to hit the heartstrings and I felt especially sorry for the young woman in the row in front, who started crying about an hour before the end and never let up. Since the introduction of the Internet, travelling salesmen like Willy are a thing of the past; old jokes like “I travel in ladies’ underwear” make no sense to anyone under the age of 40. But crushing guilt, bitter loneliness, that ghastly inability to regain one’s former success, and the desperate clutching of the feeblest straws to keep one’s hopes alive, are timeless concepts that everyone encounters at some point throughout their lives.

This production has been a sensational success and it’s not hard to see why. A phenomenal cast headed by Wendell Pierce and Sharon D. Clarke, lucid direction from Marianne Elliott and Miranda Cromwell, sparse but creative design from Anna Fleischle, evocative and enchanting music from Femi Temowo, all within the inspirational intimacy of the Young Vic, make three hours fly by.

Above the bare stage dangle sticks of furniture that drop into place when required then fly up again afterwards; a meagre window-frame, a small telephone table, comfortless chairs. The only other props are the refrigerator – standing as a symbol for those necessities in life one can never quite afford – and the gas heater, which hides the rubber tubing that Willy might use to end his life. A flight of stairs is barely visible through the back door; there is life outside, but it’s of no consequence to us.

The music, played live by Mr Temowo as he wanders in and out of the recesses of the set, feels of greater significance than in any other production of this play that I’ve seen. When Willy is hallucinating his conversations with his young sons, the music comes in and acts as their unseen responses; it seems to create a balance in Willy’s mind and provides support where, usually, silence is deafening. It also provides Biff’s responses when he’s on the phone to Linda; whether this supplies the support she needs, or whether it’s another example of the deceptions that the family can’t help but feed each other, you decide.

Oh those deceptions… that, for me, was the chief element of the play that this production really brought out. This is a family founded on the thinnest of ice, from Willy’s infidelity in Boston, to the fabrication of Biff’s successes out West, from the true source of Willy’s income to Biff’s kleptomania. Willy’s famous contradictions show that he has no consistency in the truth; one minute the Studebaker is the finest car on the planet, the next minute the goddam thing should be prohibited. When Biff and Happy go out on the pull, there’s not an ounce of truth in the stories they spin to impress the girls. Willy insists that, in his interview with Bill Oliver, Biff shouldn’t pick anything off the floor if Oliver drops it; yet, in a brilliant moment of enhancing the original stage direction, what does Willy do when boss Howard drops his lighter? Lies, deceptions, inconsistencies, contradictions.

Wendell Pierce is an outstanding Willy Loman. Somehow, he can make his physical appearance rise and sink depending on the character’s mood and confidence, visible transformations that instantly convey the weight on his soul; at Willy’s lowest he tremors and closes down like a Parkinson’s or dementia patient. It’s extraordinary to watch. When he constantly complains about Linda or Happy interrupting him, it doesn’t come across as the usual bad-tempered bullying, rather it’s a desperate insecurity revealing that the only thing he really wants in life is to be proud of Biff. Mr Pierce’s stage authority is immense; all eyes on him when he speaks, he gives a performance of superb texture, where changes of pace, mood, direction and power abound.

I’ve not seen Sharon D. Clarke on stage before but I can see why she’s steadily on her way to becoming a national treasure. Linda Loman can sometimes come across as a bit of a mousey drudge, but not this one. She’s a powerhouse of emotions, made strong by years of supporting a good man but a failed one, devoted to protecting him even if it means writing her children out of her life. You never doubt that this Linda would follow through with her threats. But it’s all delivered with supreme control and terrific stage presence.

Arinzé Kene plays Biff with great honesty and integrity; he never really comes across as the sporting hero or powerful businessman that he’d like us to think he is – because he’s not. From the very start, this Biff is riddled with failure; there’s no pretence, no assumption of confidence in advance of his meeting with Oliver, and his respect for his father is always compromised (unsurprisingly). Physically, Mr Kene is the least statuesque of the four family members, and it works to his advantage; that stylised, slow-motion, entry on stage where we all know he’s going to burst in upon his father with his mistress, and there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it, is a perfect moment of agonising, looming fate, Mr Kene stealing upon the scene with virtual invisibility.

Martins Imhangbe’s Happy, on the other hand, appears every inch the Young Pretender, but without the approval or patronage of his parents; constantly shoving himself forward only to be ignored or slapped down. There’s both comedy and tragedy in his excellent interactions with Mr Pierce; Willy totally ignores the conversational contributions – indeed the presence – of his second son. No wonder the boy has grown into a dissolute layabout whose only efforts go into sensationally impressive chat-up techniques.

The rest of the cast give tremendous support, with finely judged characterisations from Ian Bonar as the “anaemic” Bernard and Trevor Cooper as the long-suffering Charley; Matthew Seadon-Young is grimly unforgiving as Howard Wagner and smartly chipper as Stanley the waiter; and Jennifer Saayeng and Nenda Neurer, as Miss Forsythe and Letta, are made splendidly uncomfortable by the unexpectedly brutal Loman family interactions.

This is a strong, gripping production, overflowing with conviction and majestic throughout. The run at the Young Vic is fully sold out, and it’ll be a different experience when it transfers to the much larger Piccadilly Theatre in October, but I’m sure equally rewarding. Highly recommended.

P. S. I did enjoy and admire the dignity of the curtain call; Mr Pierce, quite rightly, taking centre stage and very appreciatively acknowledging all parts of the auditorium for their response, but also taking care that his fellow performers were fully recovered from the incredible emotion of the final scene before inviting them to join in recognising the audience. I can’t remember seeing that before; it showed a generosity and concern towards the other cast members that fair warmed my heart, it did.

P. P. S. This was my first visit to the Young Vic since the late Pete Postlethwaite’s King Lear ten years ago. Very impressed with its exciting vibe and the comfort and sight lines in the auditorium. However, I was most unimpressed with only allowing us ten minutes for the interval! Ten minutes! You’ve seen how long the queues are for the ladies’ toilets in a theatre – do the maths, it doesn’t add up. By the time you’ve got out of the auditorium, collected your interval drinks, and done a quick wee, someone’s shouting THREE MINUTES LEFT with apocalyptic urgency. No time for a sip, no chance of a half-time chat. I think that’s rather disrespectful towards the audience. We’re not cattle, you know.

Review – The Government Inspector, Warwick Arts Centre, 28th May 2011

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It’s been a sin of omission on my part that I have never visited the Warwick Arts Centre before last Saturday. Its reputation as a home for challenging theatre was made early on in its life in the 1970s, so I’m delighted to have finally found it and will be checking religiously for new shows to see there. I recommend it – the sightlines are excellent, the sound is clear and the seats are comfortable. The ice-creams were tasty but I wasn’t that keen on the cafeteria aspect of the bar areas. It’s definitely more functional than sophisticated.

I also have a great fondness for the Young Vic, where I saw some pretty sensational stuff in the 1970s and early 80s, and so it was with eagerness that I booked for us to see “The Government Inspector”, being a Warwick Arts Centre – Young Vic co-production.

Gogol’s 1836 play is a satire on corruption and greed. It’s a terribly simple plot. An inspector is to arrive incognito in some backwater Russian town and the mayor and notables are terrified that their corrupt inefficiencies will get discovered. They assume a new man in town is the inspector and so, as they are used to receiving bribes, they give him bribes to smooth the waters. Of course, he isn’t the inspector but a waster with a gambling addict, so he is pleased to receive their money and take advantage of the townswomen to boot. At the end, he leaves scot-free with all the cash, and the locals, much poorer, still await the horror of the real government inspection.

I’ve not seen or read this play before, but I understand it that it is often presented with an eye to the surreal. That’s certainly the tack taken by director Richard Jones in what I felt was a pretty woeful production.

Let’s start with the set. Stage right you have the Mayor’s living room, taking up the majority of the usable area. Stage left you have another room, at times the mayor’s wife’s boudoir, their guest room, the room at the inn, or an interrogation room-cum-torture chamber. Fair enough. My opinon is, having established those boundaries, stick with it. But for the final scene the mayor’s front room just extends and takes over the other stage area, oblivious of its previous segregation and because of the other area’s different flooring and decoration, it just looks and feels wrong. On another occasion, when Khlestakov, the non-inspector, was sleeping on the floor in the guest room area, his feet distinctly broke through the imaginary wall and ended up in the mayor’s parlour area. Sloppy, I thought; no real respect given to the staging.

Secondly, the vision of the play is inconsistent regarding its era. Whilst the majority of the time it appears to be fully 1830s as far as costume, scenery and props are concerned, in the final scene, all the guests have helium balloons. Not sure that’s entirely right.

And then you have the stage effects. In order (presumably) to give an impression of the mayor’s tormented mind, they project the moving word “incognito” on to the walls in a spooky sort of way. And rats appear at the door and along the picture rail too. The trouble is the rats are laughable. They look for all the world like the ones that they didn’t make earlier on Blue Peter. Visually, it came across as very cheap and amateur. There’s one scene change moment when – for some reason – all the stagehands and actors who are moving scenery come on wearing bird masks and other surreal costumes. There was no artistry to those costumes; they look like they were just chucked on higgledy-piggledy. They were tawdry and it was embarrassing. Plus it was accompanied by a ridiculously loud, off-putting, indescribable and headache-inducing sound effect.

Oh my God those sound effects. I can only guess they were meant to enhance certain aspects of the play for the hard of understanding. When Khlestakov is sitting on one chair and the mayor’s daughter is on another, he draws the chair close to her as a visual sign of pursuing her. She pulls her chair away from him. He follows her again, she pulls away again, and so on. This takes place on carpet. Yet the scene is “improved” by having a chair scraping sound effect whenever the chairs move. It makes the whole thing so unsubtle. At other times, there is music in the background which ends with an old-fashioned “stylus being dragged across a record” sound effect. Not quite sure what it was meant to signify, but by the sixth or seventh time I’d heard it I wanted to smash the record over the director’s head. It was an overdose of inanity.

On the whole the performances themselves were not bad. Julian Barratt plays the Mayor, and as I have never seen The Mighty Boosh, I had no preconceived ideas about what he would be like. On the whole I enjoyed his performance; I liked his facial expressions, and I thought he conveyed the mayor’s tortured angst pretty well. My main concern was that he spoke in a monotone nearly all the time. I wouldn’t say he actually sounded monotonous, but he kept exactly the same vocal cadences for when he was talking to his family, buttering up the soi-disant inspector, dealing with the other worthies of the town or interrogating the dissident shopkeeper. It lacked variation.

Doon Mackichan, for whom I have a lot of time , played his wife. A naturally comic personality, she was great vamping up to the inspector and trying to out-sexy her daughter in his affections. For me the stage certainly brightened up whenever she appeared.Kyle Soller was Khlestakov; we saw him as the eponymous Talented Mr Rigby last year, where I didn’t entirely believe his charisma, but this time I found him more convincing. Basically Khlestakov is a show-off fop, camping it up around the stage and taking advantage of everyone, and he did it fine.

I can’t help but think, though, that instead of this downright weird presentation, it would have been much more telling if it had been played more straight and serious. I would have thought you could really demonstrate the scale of the corruption and foolishness of the townspeople and make Khlestakov more of a threatening and manipulative presence if they’d taken away all the gimmicks and left the text. What are now mere cartoon characters could become real people instead. This would also have meant the impact of the final realisation by the townspeople that they had been fooled would have been more devastating. As it is, the ending has all the force of being kicked in the shins by a dormouse.

There was a theme of repetition too: characters repeating the same short speeches ad nauseam to very little dramatic effect. God it was tedious. No wonder it felt like the show runs for several hours. I think I should stop now before I think of other aspects of the show that irritated me.

It’s an excellent play, but it’s a production that tries too hard to be clever, relies too heavily on artificial effects and offers too much caricature instead of characterisation to warrant the ticket price, I’m sorry to say.