Theatre Review: The Death of Ivan Ilyich (Merton Arts Space, & touring)

Published in 1886, Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich remains among the most immediate and moving of all literary meditations on mortality, documenting the demise of a seemingly successful man, a legal functionary, as he belatedly questions the value and purpose of his life. Rosemary Edwards, a translator of the text, describes the novella as “a powerful, sombre record…[It] gives what Tolstoy required art to give: it is kinetic, moving the reader to intense pity and awareness of the spiritually therapeutic properties of prolonged physical suffering finally resolved in death.”

Sounds a cheerful proposition, right? Well, Stephen Sharkey, in his expert new stage adaptation of the novella, succeeds in retaining the intense moral seriousness of Tolstoy’s vision while also incorporating some elements of dark humour – a touch of Beckettian irony – into the mix. Sharkey has shaped the narrative into a dramatic monologue performed by one actor in under one hour, and while this has resulted in some necessary stripping away – of elements of social context, of the protagonist’s background and family history – the essentials remain, sometimes even gaining potency in their new form as an embodied, closely shared theatrical experience. This is adaptation as distillation, and Sharkey, whose other adaptations include writings by Dickens and Dostoyevsky, has done a hugely impressive job of giving Tolstoy’s work a vivid, fresh and immersive theatrical life.

Pungent and wry, Sharkey’s text is expertly served by Attic Theatre’s production, directed by the company’s Artistic Director Jonathan Humphreys, which (as staged at Merton Arts Space) makes the play into a thrillingly intimate experience. At once eerie and welcoming, Grace Venning and Jess Bernberg’s brilliant design (set/costume and lighting, respectively) places the audience at tables lit by lanterns, conjuring an atmosphere of séance that feels entirely appropriate for Sharkey’s revisioning of the material as a ghost story of sorts. Jack Tarlton’s spectre-like Ivan takes his place amongst us, a spirit who’s unsure if we can see him. Once reassured, he begins to tell his tale: that of a St. Petersburg-born magistrate whose life – with its unhappy marriage, social climbing, gambling, and Law Court duties – is abruptly curtailed when he’s struck down with a mysterious illness some time after an accident.

As Ivan – by turns bitter, denying, scared, confused and questioning – gradually confronts his fate, so other presences (a dim prospective son-in-law, a hypocritical friend, a kindly young peasant carer) come into focus, with Sharkey also spotlighting Tolstoy’s indelible image of impending mortality as “the black sack,” both feared and desired by the protagonist. 

A show as intimate as this one naturally stands or falls in large part on the strength of its actor, and it’s hard to see how Tarlton’s performance as Ivan could be bettered. From the opening moments, Tarlton makes us his fellows and confidantes, directing lines at individual audience members, taking a seat at certain tables, or even (in a gesture evoking the already-famed performance art set-piece in Ruben Östlund's new film The Square [2017]) climbing atop one table to lay himself out as a corpse. Now still, now charging, Tarlton’s attention to the rhythms of the text is evident vocally as well as physically, and he keeps a palpable tension in the air, not allowing us to forget that Ivan’s fate is the common fate of everyone present. There’s catharsis in that recognition too, though, and Tarlton brings to Ivan’s journey a true sense of spiritual and emotional progression. It’s a terrific performance, rich and generous, unsentimental and intensely felt, and one that’s destined to make a deeply personal impression on all who see it.

In another generous gesture, Attic have been staging a stripped down, “pop up” version of the show, for free, at libraries in the Merton area. It’s to be hoped that Humphreys’s haunting production, and Tarlton’s great performance, continue to get the further life that they deserve.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich was performed at Merton Arts Space between the 6 and 29 October 2017, before one night at Theatre N16, and four free performances at libraries in the Merton borough.

Photos: Claudia Marinaro

Simon Usher and Jack Tarlton (Photo: Stephanie Koeniger)

  

I recently interviewed Jack Tarlton and Simon Usher about their upcoming project, CHORALE: A Sam Shepard Roadshow, a production of Sam Shepard-related theatre, film and workshops which is touring the UK from May. You can read the interview here at British Theatre Guide, or, alternatively, here at the Presence Theatre website, where further content about the show will be posted as the tour gets underway.

  

Theatre Review: From Morning To Midnight (National Theatre, Lyttelton)

  

If Franz Kafka had penned a Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin episode and got Robert Wiene to direct it (with Terry Gilliam on hand to assist him, perhaps) then it’s possible that the end result would have been something like From Morning To Midnight, the latest production from Melly Still, which had its first preview performance in the Lyttelton on Tuesday night. Written in 1912, Georg Kaiser’s episodic Expressionist drama concerns a bank clerk who, shaken out of his dull routine by the appearance of a glam femme, absconds from his job with 60,000 gold marks in his pocket and an existentialist’s inquiry in his heart: that is, to discover “a reason for being alive, a reason for actually drawing breath.” It’s a quest that leads our hero through various locales (from hotel to snowy wasteland, brothel to Salvation Army meeting) over the course of one day, as Kaiser explores the kind of freedom and meaning attainable by Modern Man.

 

The National has this season’s Edward II on its hands with From Morning To Midnight, a production that, while clearly captivating some audience members, sent a number fleeing from the theatre at the interval and prompted the man in front of me to deem the show “The worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Without going that far (I, for one, would sooner sit through this production than the frightful Jeeves and Wooster again, for starters), the show is a mixed bag indeed. An inert text by Dennis Kelly (a writer who keeps getting commissions beyond his capabilities, it seems to me) is one of its major problems; it simply doesn’t do justice to the play’s leaps from the mundane to the phantasmagorical or provide the production with enough ballast to ground its effects and multiple coups de théâtre. Moreover, the piece feels, in this rendering, intellectually mediocre, its elements of social critique muted.   

Still can be a wonderfully witty, imaginative director: her Beasts and Beauties was a marvel and, in Coram Boy, she delivered one of the finest-ever NT productions. And she certainly goes all-out to stage some big, startling moments here. They include a daringly sustained, near-wordless opening sequence presenting the bank’s routine and bustle; a snowstorm epiphany; and some deft, amusing early sequences that take us into the Clerk’s fantasies of himself as an intrepid romantic hero. Best of all is a great scene in which the Clerk rejects his family that’s punctuated by Kelly Williams’s fine shriek as the abandoned spouse – one of the all-too-rare moments in which a genuine human emotion pierces through the production’s conception.    

The problem is that too many of the episodes come off, precisely, as self-conscious Big, Startling Moments designed to make the audience go “Wow!” and as a consequence the production feels at once over-elaborate and weirdly empty. Indeed, for a show that features a cycle race, bopping and a bawdy cabaret amongst other to-ing and fro-ing in its second half, much of From Morning To Midnight is surprisingly sluggish, the show reaching its nadir in a painfully protracted Salvation Army sequence (featuring Edward II-esque video projections, oh joy) that starts to feel like it will never, ever end. There’s also something offensive about the implications of this final scene and Kaiser’s eagerness to turn characters into money-grasping betrayers.

 

Some of the production’s pacing problems will probably be ironed out over the course of the preview period, but other troublesome aspects run deeper. Nodding and winking at the work of Wiene and Fritz Lang amongst others, Soutra Gilmour’s design combines with Bruno Poet’s lighting to forge another dispiriting gloom-and-shadows special (see here and here) that confuses depressive with impressive. And while the onstage band’s pastiching of silent film scores adds zing to scattered moments the musicians are ultimately strangely underused.

Fronting Still’s hard-working, multi-tasking ensemble, the always-inventive Adam Godley does all kinds of interesting physical things in the lead role; first seen as a mere silent cog in the machine of the bank, he unravels with zeal but never manages to create a character we come to care about. His Clerk remains a cipher to the  (bitter) end, and consequently the protagonist’s journey has no poignancy and no emotional power.

 

            

That goes for the whole production, in fact. From Morning To Midnight is an admirably daring choice for the NT. It's a landmark expressionist play, and I'm happy that I saw it, but I'd have liked to have seen it served better than it is here. As it is, Still’s production lumbers on (and on) and Kelly’s version makes the play’s perceptions look too puny to carry the weight.

Theatre Review: A Doll's House (Royal Exchange Theatre, Manchester)

Comparisons are odious. Yet inevitable. Greg Hersov’s production of A Doll’s House at Manchester Royal Exchange (which enticed me to make my first, long-overdue trip to this excellent venue) has the dubious fortune to be following hard on the heels of Carrie Cracknell’s recently-revived 2012 take on Ibsen’s play at the Young Vic, a production viewed as the best for many years. Even those of us who weren't entirely persuaded by all aspects of that Simon Stephens-penned version couldn't deny its distinctive elements: an incredible spinning set by Ian MacNeil, for one, and Hattie Morahan’s all-out performance. For many, Cracknell's  production will be a hard act to follow.

Never fear, though. For Hersov and his team manage to make something subtly different but also very compelling out of Ibsen’s masterpiece.  Digging out the play's themes and images with admirable clarity, and with strong performances from all of the cast, this new production has a vibrancy and immediacy that's quite bracing. 

A spry translation by Bryony Lavery, which puts subtle spins on some lines to give them fresh textures, helps. As does the space. While Helen Goddard’s spare design is far more conventional than MacNeil’s was, being played in-the-round gives the piece a particular intensity. The excellent Cush Jumbo  - last seen in fine form as Mark Antony in the Donmar’s all-female Julius Caesar (which made by Best Productions of 2012 list) - cleverly uses Nora’s fractured mini-soliloquies to subtly make the audience her confederates and comrades throughout; we’re with the character every step of the way. Entering with a carefree giggle, ending with the determined stance of a woman who knows she must make a painful break in order to find herself, Jumbo expertly captures the character's complexities: she’s by turns gleeful, wheedling, flirtatious, vain, fearful and shrewd.

The actress is aided – as Morahan wasn’t, entirely – by performances that match hers in quality. Jamie de Courcey is an unusually effective Dr. Rank. Jack Tarlton, who featured in Cracknell's interesting short film variant on the play,  brings both taunting menace and touching desperation to Krogstad. And David Sturzaker gives us a Torvald who considers himself a tolerant, avuncular fellow: an indulgent corrector of his wife’s foibles. Directed for pace, a few moments could use a little more depth and shading. But the production grips and moves nonetheless. The final slamming of the door may not shock as it once did, but the greatness of Ibsen’s play – beautifully brought out here – is that it’s not simply a period piece at heart; rather, it’s a work that still has much to say to us about the damage that an uncritical adherence to societal norms can do to the individual – in the domestic sphere and beyond.

The production is booking until 1st June.

Theatre Review: Beasts and Beauties (Hampstead Theatre)

Following its highly successful revival last year, Melly Still’s Beasts and Beauties once again takes up residence as the Hampstead’s Christmas show. It’s a most welcome return for this dark and delectable adaptation of a selection of folk and fairytales - as well as a welcome return to theatre of the imagination at a venue whose programming has been reliant upon fact-based material this season. In its new incarnation, Beasts and Beauties has been shorn of two tales: it now comprises six rather than eight pieces, and benefits from the streamlining. Apart from an enjoyably (and appropriately) modish take on “The Emperor’s New Clothes” - which presents the hero as a hilariously strutting and posing fashionista surrounded by suited flunkies - Still and her co-writers (Tim Supple and Carol Ann Duffy) have resisted the temptation to update the stories excessively. Instead, they’ve trusted the content of the tales to resonate with a contemporary audience, and dramatised them through thrillingly theatrical means that blend diverse elements - song, shadow-play, drawing, puppetry and mime - into a cohesive and dynamic whole.

There’s female curiosity and consequent marital terror in the opening “Bluebeard” (which features one sequence so chilling that the small child behind us burst into tears); superb slapstick, suggestive butter-churning and satisfying gender politics in “The Husband Who Was to Mind the House for the Day”; manic anthropomorphising in “Toby and the Wolf”; and a frightening, funny and ultimately very touching take on “Beauty and the Beast.” The most striking and surprising of the six pieces might be “The Juniper Tree,” though, a stunning adaptation of a German tale that boldly touches upon infanticide and cannibalism before reaching its hard-won redemptive close.

The line between narrator and participant is rendered marvellously fluid in Still’s production, and the seven-strong cast - Justin Avoth, Michelle Bonnard, Jake Harders, Rhiannon Harper-Rafferty, Jack Tarlton, Jason Thorpe and Kelly Williams - work brilliantly together, demonstrating superb physical and vocal dexterity as they vividly create characters animal and human (or somewhere in between). Williams is especially effective as she trades the winsomeness of Beauty for the cleaver-wielding frenzy of the stepmother-from-hell in “The Juniper Tree,” unleashing some hilarious, Matrix-esque slow-mo moves as a disgruntled colt along the way, while Tarlton’s scary-then-sympathetic Beast and Thorpe’s dopey dog Toby are among the other stand-out characterisations. But this is the kind of show in which everyone gets their chance to shine, and its inclusive spirit is entirely winning. Still and her collaborators dramatise these tales with all the playfulness, heart and theatrical inventiveness that you could wish for, resulting in what is surely one of the richest and most entertaining family shows to be seen in London this season.

The production runs for 2 hours 15 minutes and is booking until 7 January. Further information at the Hampstead Theatre website.

Theatre Review: The Golden Dragon (Arcola Theatre)

Following its successful run at the Traverse Theatre during the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, The Golden Dragon – Ramin Gray’s first production as Artistic Director of Actors Touring Company – now takes up residence at the freshly reconfigured Arcola Studio 1. Written by the German playwright Roland Schimmelpfennig and presented here in a lithe, expert translation by David Tushingham, the play is, I think, a bit special. The piece unfolds in an unspecified city, in and around the “Vietnamese/Thai/Chinese” restaurant of the title, and utilises the estimable talents of five multi-tasking actors (David Beames, Adam Best, Ann Firbank, Kathryn O’Reilly and Jack Tarlton) to portray a range of characters of various ages, ethnicities, and even species.

Tipping their hat to Brecht, play and production boldly “bare the device” throughout. Stage directions are spoken; props, wigs, instruments and costumes are positioned around the stage and taken up as required; and the actors slip fluidly from first- to third-person, both inhabiting their characters’ experiences and serving as commentators on them. “Fluidity” is the key word here as the production’s kaleidoscopic structure sketches the experiences of a variety of individuals: a Chinese kitchen-worker (O’Reilly) suffering debilitating tooth-ache; a pair of weary flight-attendants (Beames and Tarlton) just returned from another long-haul trip; an ant (Ann Firbank) pimping out a starving cricket (Adam Best); a couple (O’Reilly and Tarlton) dramatically breaking up.

This is all intriguing and amusingly eccentric from the off, but as the evening progresses the production takes on a surprising depth and emotional power, adding up to a hugely resonant - and fairly devastating - anatomisation of globalisation and economic migration, and the exploitations resulting from each. But Schimmelpfennig doesn’t preach; he presents. And a beautiful sense of structure and design underpins the apparently scattershot approach as we gradually come to perceive the intricate web of interconnections that link these seemingly disparate lives.

Some of Schimmelpfennig’s devices are questionable - the repetition of “short pause” to punctuate various speeches quickly becomes tedious, for example - but the humanity of his writing rings as clear as a bell. Indeed, this is a piece of work that speaks for theatre itself as a site of empathy and imaginative transformation - a space in which people can, continually, become someone/thing else.

And for all their status as archetypes, Schimmelpfennig’s characters aren’t the flaccid, underwritten creations of a Jon Fosse but vivid protagonists whose experiences are rooted in the real world. (The playwright has another advantage over Fosse, too: a sense of humour.) Of the gallery of people that are presented to us Tarlton's and Beames's air-stewardesses and Firbank’s deadly, Beckettian exploiter are among the most memorable. (The sublime Firbank also achieves the feat of making the lists of ingredients that she has to declaim sound interesting and alluring; never have “fried egg noodles” sounded like a sexier proposition.) The Golden Dragon is, perhaps, an acquired taste, but those who get on to its wavelength will find this to be a delicious production of a poetic, bizarre and unavoidably political play; one of the year’s best.

The production runs for 1 hour 15 minutes and is booking until 24th September. Further information at the Arcola website.

Mini-Review: Making the Sound of Loneliness

“The spotted dog moaning at the back door, wanting to get in; making the sound of loneliness…” To complement their production of The Golden Dragon, Actors Touring Company are also presenting a series of “Side Orders”: curtain-raisers involving TGD company members that precede the main show. One that I had the pleasure of catching was Making the Sound of Loneliness, devised by Jack Tarlton, director Simon Usher and musician Benjamin Kritikos of the band Herons! who have combined their talents to fashion an evocative slice of Americana from the weird and wonderful writings of Sam Shepard. Drawing upon a range of stories from various Shepard collections including Hawk Moon, Motel Chronicles, Cruising Paradise and Great Dream of Heaven, the show is unfussily staged by Usher to keep the focus firmly on the expressive potential, the humour and the haunting strangeness, of Shepard’s language as it conjures lost highways and desert landscapes, brief encounters in border towns and dusty bar-rooms, the spirits of drifters and dreamers. The writer’s words are by turns delicately and dynamically delivered by Tarlton as he slips expertly between roles and personas, with a truly supreme “rock ‘n’ roll” moment the highlight. Kritikos’s music complements the writing well, adding texture and atmosphere, and making Making the Sound of Loneliness a piece that not only serves as an appealing appetiser to The Golden Dragon, but that’s also an intriguing, amusing and highly entertaining experience in its own right.