I interviewed Agnieszka Holland about her memories of and work with Andrzej Wajda. You can read the piece at BFI online here.
Further reading:
A Human Link: Agnieszka Holland's Transnational Cinema and International Reputation (at culture.pl)
Found Japan: Andrzej Wajda's International Inspirations (at culture.pl)
Despite the calibre of casts and creatives his work attracts, and the admiration of writers I love including Steves Pemberton and Vineberg, I've yet to see an Alan Ayckbourn production I've even half-liked. (Alain Resnais' magical film of Private Fears in Public Places [2006] is a special case.) Vineberg, who calls Ayckbourn "the wizard of British farce," even went so far as to praise the rotten would-be ghost story Haunting Julia (1994) that was doing the rounds again in 2011; the critic claims that Ayckbourn's "brand of banter ... spins, often hilariously, off the banality of middle-class English conversation."
Banal, yes; hilarious, no. What I've seen of Ayckbourn seems obvious and shallow, and sometimes reliant on staging gimmicks. I'd take any random five minutes of an episode of One Foot in the Grave for more comedy and insight into suburban angst.
Still, the combination of a director I generally like and an actress I almost always do was enough to get me to a preview of Woman in Mind. Michael Longhurst's Sheridan Smith-starring staging arrives in the West End (prior to a short tour) to mark the 40th anniversary of Ayckbourn's play, which premiered at the Stephen Joseph in 1985. Subsequent US productions have featured Stockard Channing and Helen Mirren in the lead role of Susan; Julie McKenzie and Janie Dee have previously done it in London, and, most recently, Jenna Russell at Chichester.
It's not hard to see the draw of the role. Woman in Mind (the playwright's 32nd offering; he's now up to his 92nd) offers an externalised vision of a psychological state. Susan is a vicar's wife unhappy (natch) with her now sexless marriage, and semi-estranged from her much-loved son. She's taken refuge in fantasy - conjuring a more glamorous, appreciative brood with whom she interacts. Essentially the play dramatises maladaptive daydreaming, and we meet Susan as her parallel "existences" start to collide in more obtrusive ways. Yet Ayckbourn is less interested in making a case study than in depicting a kind of existential crisis of a neglected woman losing her sense of identity and usefulness, and sensing time running out.
For its first half, it looks like Longhurst's production will really make the play work. Soutra Gilmore's floral-heavy design - including a safety curtain with the words "Safety Curtain" still blazoned across it - and Lee Curran's lighting design give the proceedings a pop-up vividness over a particular sense of time or place. That the evening won't be the subtlest is signalled by the (fun but questionable) playlist of pre-performance and interval songs, which features just about every track ever recorded with "crazy" in its title.
As Susan's interactions with the bumbling, eager-to-please Dr. Bill (a surprisingly effective Romesh Ranganathan), with her distracted spouse Gerald (Tim McMullan, good value as always), and her terminally dull sister-in-law Muriel (Louise Brealey) converge with her chats with her more exciting and attentive fantasy family - stylish spouse Andy (Sule Rimi), ebullient daughter Lucy (Safia Oakley-Green) and dynamic brother Tony (Chris Jenks) - the tone is quite fresh and funny. (There was also a memorable meta-incident at the performance I attended, in which Smith momentarily broke character and got the giggles at the sound of a sole strangulated laugh from an audience member). Longhurst keeps the transitions between real and imagined life fleet and unfussy - when the safety curtain rises, it's to reveal the wild grasses of Susan's consciousness, from which her fantasy family start to emerge.
From there it seems like the play will get in to deeper areas, especially with the arrival of Susan's son Rick (Taylor Uttley), but the second half degenerates and ultimately the play goes nowhere interesting. What makes the production worth seeing is Smith's commitment; she has such openness and humanity as a performer that she makes even the weakest moments count. She finds all kinds of variety in Susan: vulnerability, insecurity, warmth, cutting wit and cruelty (the relish in her takedowns of Muriel is priceless), confident sultriness.
The show marks Smith's return to the West End after the unloved Opening Night musical and, while some might want to present it as such, Woman in Mind is no comparable disaster. Unlike van Hove, Longhurst isn't a director who leaves common sense behind (in fact, a wilder approach might have helped here in the later stages, in which an attempt at frenetic surrealism mostly comes across as feeble). Woman in Mind finally squanders its interesting ideas but, for all its shortcomings, it's still the most enjoyable experience I've had at an Ayckbourn play so far.
Woman in Mind is booking at the Duke of York's until 28 February and then tours to Sunderland and Glasgow. Further information here.
Production photos: Marc Brenner.
I didn't love an awful lot of the theatre I saw in 2025, and some of the most hyped UK shows turned out to be least favourites: between the witless Ghosts at Lyric Hammersmith and Simon Stone's even-worse The Lady from the Sea at the Bridge, I won't be signing up for any more "contemporary versions of Ibsen" any time soon. Some flawed plays benefitted from the magic of great actors, whether Susan Sarandon's touching, graceful work in Mary Page Marlowe or Sheridan Smith's open-hearted, protean turn in Alan Ayckbourn's attempt to convey a disordered mental state in Woman in Mind.
Still, now's the time to accentuate the positive and here are five shows I loved from those I saw in the UK and Poland this year.
Angels in Warsaw (Teatr Dramatyczny, Warsaw)
A variant on Angels in America transplanted to an '80s Warsaw context didn't sound at all promising but Julia Holewińska and Wojciech Faruga made a wonderfully immersive combination of documentary and phantasmagoria here, boosted by a crack ensemble cast and the director's visionary stage-craft.
Glory Game (Teatr Komuna Warszawa/Sticky Fingers Club at Retroperspektywy Festival)
A slo-mo sporting satire no-one could take their eyes off.
Creditors (Orange Tree)
The fine Jewel-in-the-Crown-reunion trio of Charles Dance, Geraldine James and Nicholas Farrell found a bit of tenderness and plenty of fresh bite in Tom Littler's gripping production of Strindberg's drama.
Prowadź swój pług przez kości umarłych (Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead) (Teatr Jaracza, Łódź)
Agnieszka Holland's Pokot (2017) remains my favourite adaptation of Olga Tokarczuk's novel but Lena Frankiewicz's more hallucinatory staging (from Sandra Szwarc's adaptation) brought plenty that's fresh to the table. Hopefully, after some shaky years, this confident production marks the opening of a strong new era for Teatr Jaracza.
When We Are Married (Donmar)
All the single ladies! Very much in the spirit of the Orange Tree's recent Christmas revivals, a dose of happiness to end a turbulent year from the Donmar in Tim Sheader's delightful production of Priestley's warm and sharp marital comedy.
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| Camille O'Sullivan (Photo: Barry McCall) |
Some singers and musicians are studio creatures; the real ones are live performers. By that I don't mean the kind who turn the live arena into an extension of the studio or video - performing the same show every night, carefully choreographed down to every gesture. I mean those who bring spontaneity - a sense of vulnerability, danger or even threat - to live performance, and who make the audience not just spectators, there to be awed and impressed, but fully engaged participants.
An Edinburgh Fringe stalwart, Camille O'Sullivan belongs to the latter class. She makes records, and they're very good, but O'Sullivan live is on a whole other level as an experience. "My French mother says 'Can't you just be enigmatic?'," O'Sullivan tells the audience at Soho Theatre. "But when I get on stage this whole other creature, comes out." Mixing eccentric banter, chaotic segues, restless movement and sensational vocals that can shift from punky rasp or guttural growl to tender whisper in an instant, O'Sullivan puts it all out there as a live artist - messily, thrillingly, gloriously.
Co-created with long time collaborator Feargal Murray, the show currently at Soho, Loveletter, is one that O'Sullivan has been performing for over a year. Ostensibly it's a tribute to two of O'Sullivan's greatest inspirations: Shane MacGowan and Sinéad O'Connor. O'Sullivan knew both of them personally, touring with the Pogues, an experience she described as "pure poetry and anarchy."
That's a description that fits Loveletter, too. Accompanied by Murray on keys, and surrounded by some intriguing props - mannequins topped with a cat and a dog’s head, a glowing heart and rabbit-shaped lamps ("lockdown purchases," O'Sullivan deadpans), she interweaves the songs with scattershot memories, confessions and affectionate chiding of "shy London cats" in the audience.
O'Sullivan being O'Sullivan, Loveletter doesn't just comprise the song-writing of her two most beloved fellow Irish artists. She also includes work by other favourites: Radiohead's "Street Spirit (Fade Out)" opens the evening; Brel's "Amsterdam" is delivered in a red light to match its a capella intensity, while Nick Cave's "Jubilee Street" is ripped through with fierce aplomb and O'Sullivan clambering into the audience.
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| (Photo: Vitor Duarte) |
One may feel that O'Connor's work, in particular, gets short shift in the set: surely "Troy" or "Mandinka" would make more sense in the context than than the takes on Bowie and Waits's work that are included, brilliant as they are. But the segue from "My Darling Boy" to "This is to Mother You" - both taken tenderly a cappella, O'Sullivan on her knees - is absolutely beautiful. O'Sullivan movingly turns the latter into a maternal benediction to O'Connor herself ("I will do what your own mother didn't do"), just as she makes "The Broad Majestic Shannon" a triumphant address to MacGowan: “Take my hand and dry your tears, Shane/Take my hand, forget your fears, Shane/There’s no pain, there’s no more sorrow/They’re all gone, gone in the years, Shane."
A reading of the final passages of Joyce's "The Dead" segues into "A Rainy Night in Soho", memories of Kirsty MacColl, and a uniquely beautiful "Fairytale of New York." By the time O'Sullivan has donned the cat mask and is getting the audience to "meow" in chorus, the "shy London cats" were liberated and ready for anything, including a sweet sing-along to one of her signature pieces, Cave's "The Ship Song."
Loveletter is a night of profound artistry and crazy liberation. Walking back out into the Soho streets - a rainy night, wouldn't you know - the spirits were felt, brought to life with love by a great and singular artist.
Loveletter is at Soho Theatre until 6 December. Further details here.
