Showing posts with label Trevor Nunn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trevor Nunn. Show all posts

Wednesday, 10 October 2012

Theatre Review: All That Fall (Jermyn Street Theatre)



An elderly, infirm Irish woman, Mrs. Rooney, treks to the station to meet her husband from the train as a birthday surprise for him. The journey there and back is at once comedy, tragedy and odyssey. The teeny-tiny Jermyn Street Theatre have scored something of a coup in getting Trevor Nunn to direct Samuel Beckett’s All That Fall - a one-act radio play first broadcast in 1957 - with Eileen Atkins and Michael Gambon (no less), in the lead roles. Never meant for presentation in a theatre - “it is no more theatre than Endgame is radio and to act’ it is to kill it,” the proscriptive playwright averred - All That Fall has received occasional productions against Beckett’s wishes but surely none as illustrious as this.

Perhaps mindful of Beckett’s remarks, Nunn and his collaborators have opted to stage the work as a half radio play/half theatre production hybrid. Sounds predominate (footsteps, children’s voices, Schubert’s Death and the Maiden), the only set is a car door, mikes dangle from the ceiling, the actors hold their scripts at all times, but are appropriately costumed. (The effect is not unlike that of Martin Crimp’s production of Definitely the Bahamas at the Orange Tree back in March.)

Does this semi-staging “kill” the play, as Beckett insisted that it would? Very far from it. Rather, the result is as intense and memorable an hour and fifteen minutes as you’re likely to spend in a theatre this year. Composed between Godot and Endgame, reflecting the former and anticipating the latter in its concern with death and dependency, human striving and human suffering, All That Fall feels as rich and complex as either of those great works. Intimately attuned to the inimitable rhythms of the playwright’s glorious language, Atkins and Gambon are everything you would hope for, and a crack cast - Ian Conningham, Frank Grimes, Gerard Horan, Catherine Cusack, Ruairi Conaghan and James Hayes (the latter pair reunited from the Donmar’s recent Philapdelphia, Here I Come!) - are vivid in support. And how pleasing it is to see Nunn do such a lean, spare job of work here after the lumbering, cumbersome productions that seemed to be becoming his trademark.

What does this version give us that a radio version wouldn’t? Well, the sublime visual vaudeville of Mrs. Rooney being lifted into and out of a car, for one. Also, the sight of the great Gambon hands touching Atkins’s hair. And Atkins herself - by turns quizzical and anguished - distilling the play’s tragicomic vision into a look, a gesture. In short: worth begging, borrowing or stealing a ticket for.


Running until November 3rd.

Sunday, 19 June 2011

Theatre Review: Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead (Theatre Royal Haymarket)



Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is the second production in Trevor Nunn’s season as Artistic Director of the Theatre Royal Haymarket. Sadly, though, it comes nowhere near to matching the success of the first, Nunn’s truly gorgeous staging of Terence Rattigan’s Flare Path. Actually, Nunn's production, which opened at Chichester last month and takes up residence at the TRH until August, is serviceable enough. The problem is the play itself. Stoppard’s comedy, which famously imagines the extra-textual reality of two of Hamlet’s minor characters, may have looked like “an amazing piece of work” when it premiered in the late 1960s but now it seems mostly tiresome: a thin, effete, painfully derivative piece of gimmickry that filters Shakespeare through Beckett and Pirandello and is based around a central conceit that’s more interesting than anything that the playwright does with it. Stoppard would go on to achieve interesting marriages between what he calls "the play of ideas and farce or high comedy" later in his career, but here the jokes are corny and the metatheatrical elements laboured, while the philosophical musing - on fate and free will, mortality and identity - feels trite.

The fact that the production remains mildly diverting is down to its actors. The casting of two of the original History Boys as Ros and Guil pays dividends: Samuel Barnett and Jamie Parker work together with the skill and ease of actors who know each other well; the pair’s rapport and respect is palpable throughout, and Barnett in particular has some inventive physical moments. And replacing an indisposed Tim Curry, Chris Andrew Mellon brings lewd gusto to the play’s best role, that of the Player King.

Nunn, who has been known to stretch a production beyond endurance, paces this one fairly well, although his inventiveness deserts him in a miserably staged pirate scene. But playing out on a grim dark-toned set that is too obvious an evocation of an existential limbo (the opening tableau is way too Godot) the production never really breaks through the aridity of Stoppard’s conception. The playwright offers quips, with little insight and no feeling. He doesn’t even play fair with his source material, truncating Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s most significant scene in Hamlet, presumably because it doesn’t quite fit his conception of the pair as perpetually befuddled innocents. And so what we’re left with is skimpy and insubstantial: a competent but unspectacular production of a play that now seems a lot less ingenious than it thinks it is.

The production runs for 2 hours 40 minutes and is booking until 20th August.

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Review: Flare Path (Theatre Royal Haymarket)



Trevor Nunn’s season as Artistic Director of the Theatre Royal Haymarket gets under way with a rather spiffing production of Terence Rattigan’s WWII drama Flare Path. The production is one of several Rattigan plays being staged across the UK to mark the centenary of the great playwright’s birth. The classic The Deep Blue Sea is at the West Yorkshire Playhouse (and - even better - is also being filmed by Terence Davies; yes!) while Cause Celebre opens at the Old Vic later this month. First staged in London in 1942, in a production starring Phyllis Calvert, Flare Path isn’t one of Rattigan’s best known works, despite being adapted (and very much transformed) into the delightful film The Way to the Stars in 1945. There’s a sense, perhaps, that the play is too much of a museum piece, one that had something vital to communicate to 1940s audiences but has less to say to us today.

Entering the TRH auditorium to the appealing strains of 1940s ballads and swing music, it's immediately apparent that Nunn and his collaborators are taking a traditional and unironic approach to the material. This turns out to be a virtue, though. Rattigan’s play certainly has its flaws: it’s sometimes creaky in its exposition, schematic and often obvious. But Nunn’s confident production effortlessly draws you in, benefiting from the input of a crack ensemble cast and, ultimately, from the bracing humanity and compassion of a playwright who excels at getting his heroes and heroines into involving emotional binds. The following remarks were written after the first preview of the play on Friday 4th March.

Based in part on Rattigan’s own wartime experiences, the drama takes place in a hotel near an RAF Bomber Command airbase, and focuses upon the interactions of a variety of characters staying at the hotel. There’s Count Skriczevinsky (Mark Dexter), a Polish pilot serving with the RAF and his young English wife Doris (Sheridan Smith); the tail gunner Dusty Miller (Joe Armstrong) and his wife Maudie (Emma Handy) who’s arrived for a short visit; and, most centrally, there’s the love triangle being played out between three characters: the genial, unwitting Flight Lt. Teddy Graham (Harry Hadden-Paton), his actress wife Patricia (Sienna Miller) and her film star lover Peter Kyle (James Purefoy), whose unexpected arrival at the hotel is intended to encourage Patricia into leaving Teddy. Matters come to a head when the men are sent on a night-time raid over Germany from which it seems unlikely that all will return.

Stephen Brimson Lewis's attractive set nicely evokes the hotel lobby/reception area in which all of the action occurs, with nifty projections by Jack James and an understated sound design by Paul Groothius effectively conveying the airfield outside, especially in a pivotal take-off scene. Indeed, the production conjures its place and time with consummate skill, and despite a few longueurs over its 2 hour 45 minute running time, it’s mostly satisfyingly paced, moving through contrasting moods with, dare we say, Chekhovian aplomb. It's often very funny (though perhaps a little too insistent in wringing laughs out of the faltering English of Dexter’s Polish Count), and at times very moving too. Rattigan’s writing is especially good at exploring the dynamics between the RAF and non-RAF characters, and, in particular, their delight at the appearance of a Hollywood star in their midst: there’s a nice running gag about Peter being asked about his acquaintanceship with a variety of film stars.

The reference to Chekhov also feels apt because Flare Path is very much an ensemble piece. Every character, no matter how minor, counts, and, as often, Nunn succeeds at getting his cast to spark off each other in a lively and natural fashion. This is the kind of play in which you come to care more and more about the characters the more you learn about them. Rattigan is often praised as a great writer for women but his male protaginists are drawn with equal insight and the two principal actors here could hardly be bettered. Purefoy is expert as he suggests the doubts and insecurities lurking under the surface of his matinee idol's polished persona, while Harry Hadden-Paton is stunning  as Teddy, stripping away the character’s good-humoured charm in a deeply affecting scene in which his vulnerability and emotional dependency upon Patricia are revealed. In such scenes, Rattigan's writing pierces through the stiff-upper-lippery to create moments of intense poignancy and power.

If there’s a weaker element to the ensemble I’m afraid to report that it’s Sienna Miller. Her performance is adequate, but doesn’t succeed  - yet - in communicating the depths of Patricia’s predicament or in making the most of the massive transition that the character undergoes. Nor do her scenes with Purefoy really crackle; the love story seems somewhat underplayed. At times you almost forget that she’s there: Teddy and Peter might be competing over a void. Miller's lack of presence seems particularly noticeable, perhaps, because the other actors register so vividly. The wonderful Sheridan Smith brings a marvellous warmth and humour to her barmaid-turned-Countess, and her late scene with Purefoy (it involves the translation of a significant letter) is a heartbreaker. Emma Handy is a brilliant mixture of querulousness and stoicism as Maudie, Joe Armstrong is quite delightful as Dusty, and Clive Wood spot-on as the squadron leader Swanson. And as the fussy hotel proprietress Sarah Crowden delivers an absolute gem of a comic performance that channels Joyce Carey by way of Maggie Smith.

In its sentimental endorsement of the necessity of putting aside personal passions for the good of the war effort, there’s no denying that Flare Path is a museum piece in many ways. And yet Nunn’s production feels fresher than you might expect. The play’s “relevance,” I’d argue, lies in making a case for values that have precious little currency in our contemporary culture: self-denial, emotional restraint, duty to the group. Intelligent, assured and full of feeling, this generous-spirited production is a real pleasure, and probably as accomplished a staging of the play as you could ever hope to see.
 
The production runs for 2 hrs 45 minutes. It's booking until 4th June. Further information here.