Theater

Marisa Cerveris is fixated on the man in the ribbon tie. She examines his greying hair, receding and combed back off the forehead, a sloping nose, and two delicately poised hands. "It's like seeing a

Set in the ladies’ toilet of a South London nightclub, the audience of No Rhyme are given a snapshot into to life of Lizzie, the toilet attendant. On New Year’s Eve, drama escalates in the cubicles that we soon discover are Lizzie’s home, as both club staff and clubbers take revenge, confront each other and – in one case – even give birth. The show is compelling simply for the double virtue of it being excellently written and well cast. This is the Melanie Pennant’s first piece of writing, having worked for years as a solicitor. No Rhyme is part of the Brockley Jack Theatre’s Write Now Festival, an annual celebration of new writing which has been a feature of the theatre’s programme since 2009. Pennant has a natural flair for dialogue, particularly the colloquial banter between the two clubbers, which bounces backwards and forwards with scattergun rapidity. The audience become completely absorbed in the complicated love lives of these girls, only to be reminded of their petty selfishness under Lizzie’s withering gaze. The drama is given an underscore of mindless club tunes by the sound designer Mark Webber. This background hum forms a constant reminder of the ignorance of the revellers outside about the matters of life and death unfolding inside the toilet. Director Kate Bannister (also the Artistic Director of the Brockley Jack Theatre) has made her cast work extremely hard, as all five of the performers attack the piece with energy and commitment. Susan Lawson-Reynolds gives a performance of slightly frightening its intensity as Lizzie. However, it is Megan Lee Mason (fresh out of Rose Bruford Drama School) who dominates the stage as the streetwise and tough clubber, Nushka. She is a physically intimidating presence, with the perfect swagger, dance moves and foul mouth to match. The designer David Shields and his team have all done a stellar job of turning the tiny black box Brockley Jack Theatre into a fully functioning toilet. There is no miming here as the taps and hand dryer actually work. The extreme realism of the set and the actresses’ performances successfully transports the audience away into this trashy world, making the events of the night even more shocking as they unfold. However, as everything about the production aims for realism, Lizzie’s moments of connection with the divine are somewhat incongruous, as it is not realistic that the other characters would also acknowledge the drums she can hear inside her head. Running at just over an hour, No Rhyme could have easily been half an hour longer and still have sustained the audience’s attention. I felt that the show ended rather quickly, leaving me dissatisfied because many of the character’s problems remained unsolved. However, in the real world, none of these problems have a simple solution anyway, so perhaps this lack of resolve is intended. The entire team of No Rhyme is to be congratulated on an excellent production where their hard work and dedication has paid off. No Rhyme is running at the Brockley Jack Studio Theatre until 25 May 2013. For more information and tickets, see the Brockley Jack Studio Theatre website. The post Review: No Rhyme appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

Many months ago on my daily commute through Finsbury Park station I noticed the beginnings of a renovation project on a decrepit, old building. The reason why I noticed it was because it had my favourite word on it: theatre. As a diehard local, it excited me no end that a slice of the arts world was coming to my doorstep. I explored my passion for theatre with much support and funding from relatives by joining youth groups across the city, which changed my life. The idea that something similar is being created at such an accessible location, only 15 minutes from the centre of London, is phenomenal. To my knowledge, none of the local schools are private ones and many of these schoolchildren use Finsbury Park Station every day, so we can hope that they too, like me, will be drawn to a world that previously seemed impenetrable. Offering that opportunity to so many others is a commendable project. The play itself, These Shining Lives directed by Loveday Ingram, however, was a little underwhelming. Based on a true story, the tale itself is an inspiration; four young women buck the 1920s stereotype of living to be housewives, to instead get a job.In Chicago, Illinois, Radium Dials is a watch-making company paying these women “easy money” at $8 a day to paint the numbers on the watch faces using radium, so that the displayed time shines in the dark. Charity Wakefield, as our brave heroine Catherine Donahue, takes those first valiant steps into the working world and revels in the enjoyment of her independence and newfound friendships. Many of the problems Donahue incurs upon her foray into what was previously a man’s world are unfortunately no different to today. The threat her loving husband Tom, played by the charming Alec Newman, feels when she gets her first taste of success, the maternal guilt of not being the primary caregiver to her children, office politics and corporate bullying. However, when Donahue and her colleagues slowly discover the effects of radium ingestion, their true colours shine through and their subsequent actions are a testament to the women’s liberation movement. Mainly narrated by Wakefield as Donahue, the play is touching but seems to lack a little reality, I felt more could have been made of the company’s corporate responsibility and the result is too predictable to get completely swept up into. Supporting actress Honeysuckle Weeks was lovely in her rare glimpses of humanity as the otherwise brittle Charlotte. Lighting and backdrop of the stage, however, were incredible. The sky felt alive and the moving lake complete with reflections were enhanced perfectly by the musical choices. The creatives, Victor Craven, Tim Shortall and Rob Casey, truly transported you back to the twenties. I have no doubt that Park Theatre will thrive. I only hope that it’s the first of many more theatres to come. These Shining Lives is playing at Park Theatre until 9 June. For more information and tickets, see The Park Theatre website. The post Review: These Shining Lives appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

It’s turning out to be good year for American playwrights in British theatre. No sooner has the curtain come down on the Royal Court Theatre‘s production of Bruce Norris’s The Low Road, then Ayad Akhtar’s Pulitzer-Prize winning Disgraced is set to open at the Bush. Then, we have David Mamet’s Race at the Hampstead and a new play by Daniel Henry Hwang soon to debut at the Park theatre. While differing largely in both form and content, they nonetheless each share a willing ambition to address some rather meaty subject matter: the roots of modern capitalism, culture and religion in the twentieth century and well, race, respectively. By comparison, Amy Herzog’s 4000 Miles is a curiously subdued affair; a mournful chamber piece occasionally buoyed by flashes of humour. It’s a play peopled with characters attempting to recall the past, but it often lapses into sentimentality. The problem with 4000 Miles is that the issues it sets out to explore are addressed too diffusely. Herzog’s writing demonstrates a tenderness and humanity, but she fails to sustain a dialogue with the wider conflicts she sets out early on in the play. Set in the very recent past, the story begins when 21-year-old Leo (Daniel Boyd) arrives unannounced in the dead of night on his grandmother’s doorstep. Vera (Sara Kestleman) is 91, a dyed-in-the-wool communist and has lived alone in her rent-controlled Manhattan apartment ever since the death of her husband, Jo. Leo is an insouciant pot-smoking hippy returned from a cross-country bike ride gone horribly awry. Over the course of one month, Leo and Vera reminisce and bicker like an old married couple; both feel adrift and unable to pin down their own sense of purpose. They chatter about the past, family, politics and sex, until Leo’s estranged girlfriend Bec (Jenny Hulse) shows up, prompting more conversations about the past, family, politics and sex… etc. 4000 Miles is a play preoccupied with looking back, the clash of generations that is exemplified through Leo and Vera’s relationship should be grounds for great drama, but it’s dissipated by the play’s lack of forward momentum. By the end of the play, I was left wondering whether the vague sense of loss that plagues Leo and Vera had somewhere spilled over into the fabric of the play itself. The acting is strong overall, but particularly praise must go to Kestelman as Vera Joseph; a volatile concoction of compassion and cynicism, she communicates Vera’s frailty with remarkable sensitivity. Boyd is understated as the listless Leo, his naïve, boyish charm serving as a suitable foil for Vera’s world-weary wisdom. Despite the play’s shortcomings, James Dacre’s staging is thoughtful and considered; Simon Kenny’s design is a pleasure to behold – Vera’s apartment has been meticulously researched and communicates a whole interior life through a sophisticated attention to detail. The Print Room’s intimate, end-on staging is perfectly suited to the domestic interiority of the play, having made a very clean transition from the Theatre Royal Bath’s Ustinov Studio. 4,000 Miles is playing at the Print Room until 1 June. For more information and tickets, see the Print Room website. The post Review: 4000 Miles appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

Playing with Grown Ups centres around a couple in their late 30s, trying to adjust to their new roles as first time parents. Robert (Ben Caplan) takes to parenthood naturally, whereas Joanna (Trudi Jackson) is presented as frazzled and overwhelmed by her new responsibilities. An exhausted Joanna is far from pleased to hear that her husband has invited their old university friend, Jake, round for dinner. Silver-haired Jake (Shane Attwooll) arrives with his date Stella (Daisy Hughes) a girl who is young enough to be his daughter. As the group poke fun at Stella’s idealistic view of the world, their evening is repeatedly interrupted by the baby crying offstage. Joanna’s irritation at this incessant crying is apparent, an irritation which escalates as the evening progresses until she finally erupts shrieking that she cannot cope anymore. As she expresses sentiments of feeling trapped and invisible it soon becomes clear that Joanna is suffering from severe post-natal depression. Portraying gritty realism on stage can be tricky, but this production achieves it effortlessly. The entire play is confined to the couple’s living room, and thanks to Simon Scullion’s design and naturalistic performances from the entire cast it genuinely feels like you’re eavesdropping on a group of old friends. As the wine flows this group of university chums reflect on how the aspirations they had when they were students compare to the reality of what their lives have become. I found Hannah Patterson’s female characterisation particularly interesting, for instance her use of monologues to reveal that despite appearing to be a happy-go-lucky carefree teenager Stella’s home life is also rather troubled. I thought that Hughes’s portrayal of Stella was both endearing and accomplished. I also found Jackson’s depiction of Joanna breakdown to be truly poignant, fighting back the tears to explain that since becoming a mother she feels like she lost all sense of identity. To have a mother refer to child as a terrible mistake is difficult to hear, but for me encapsulates the bleak despair that many women suffering from post-natal depression must feel daily. Parents often refer to having children as being a big sacrifice, suddenly having to put another person’s needs before your own. Playing with Grown Ups explores the emotional and physiological effect that this sacrifice has on a parent. Playing With Grown Ups is playing at Theatre 503 until 8 of June, for more information and tickets visit www.theatre503.com. The post Review: Playing With Grown Ups appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

Josephine, Boris and Sistahl are putting on a play with some songs in it. As they pile onto the stage, tripping over each other like children doing a show for their parents, they admit that it is going to be about anorexia – but they don’t want that to put us off. In this charming ensemble piece, Olivier-nominated Caroline Horton has turned a complex personal story into a piece of theatre that is not only funny, sad and entertaining in its own right, but which brings something genuinely helpful to the dialogue surrounding anorexia. Mess draws on Horton’s own experiences of suffering from an eating disorder, using these to tell the story of Josephine, a university student who has been plagued for years by a mixture of nerves, anxiety and full-blown panic – but who has discovered that rigidly controlling what she eats helps her to keep calm. She makes charts, listing the meals she will eat that week along with their calorie count, so that she is able to monitor her calorie intake across the whole week; she also records her exercise and her slowly decreasing weight. The pages of colour-coded numbers help her to feel that she is in control. This is a piece that draws on the most understandable, relatable elements of Josephine’s illness – her desire to control things, her perfectionism – and shows how an eating disorder can grow from them, how these qualities become disfigured as Josephine’s illness disfigures her body. Horton and her cohorts are fully aware of the occasional absurdities of anorexia, as well as the fact that for some people it manifests as something of an obsession, a kind of addiction. The result of all this is a play about eating disorders that really need not scare anyone away: it is as funny and engaging as it is sensitive and insightful. Horton is assisted in her tale by Hannah Boyde as Boris, Josephine’s university friend, and Seiriol Davies as Sistahl, their musical accompanist, who also provides them with sound effects. Both are excellent, with Boyde in particular seeming at first a joke as Boris, cross-dressed and vaguely 1930s, all bumbling and stiff-upper-lip – but Boris’s devotion to his friend is taken absolutely seriously and it soon becomes clear that Boyde is capable of breaking your heart with merely a look. She and Horton complement each other nicely, while Davies, whose Sistahl helps and hinders by turns, has spot-on timing from start to finish. Together, they won The Stage’s Best Ensemble award for 2012 when this show ran at the Edinburgh Fringe, and it is easy to see why. Alex Swift’s direction, too, keeps the tightly rehearsed set pieces feeling loose and spontaneous, and gets the most out of the whole cast. Some critics have found all the whimsy a little too cloying, and while that’s fair enough, for me it was perfect. This is a love letter to life, after all, with all of its joy and all of its mess, from a woman who became so ill that she was simply removed from it. There is magic in the very seams of this production; to say much more would be to spoil its beautiful surprises. Before going to see Mess I spent some time trying to choose who to bring with me. I dithered, knowing the subject manner: so many of the close friends I considered inviting had struggled themselves with an eating disorder, or been affected by the struggles of close family members, or close friends. To say that it is becoming a horribly common problem is not to trivialise these illnesses or to dismiss their importance: rather, this is exactly why they are so important, and why Mess demands to be seen. Because the lives of women and men across the country are riddled with this, punctured by the echo of their own calorie-counting, or their sister’s, or their friend’s, and this is a play that both cares and understands. Mess is playing at the Battersea Arts Centre until 1 June. For more information and tickets, see the Battersea Arts Centre website. The post Review: Mess appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

Guy’s life is running away from him without him noticing. Once a writer (he won a short story award 14 years ago, according to his talking fridge) he now finds himself stuck with a writer’s block, a girlfriend whose job is still a mystery to him, and a planned knock-through to accommodate a breakfast nook. He blames his unfinished taxes, the noisy dog outside, the washing machine downstairs that shakes the house like an earthquake and the over-friendly neighbour for his lack of focus, and fails to actually sit down and try to write the CBeebies script that will get him going again. When his girlfriend Fi (Melanie Wilson) has to go away on business and leaves him in charge of the knock-through, life suddenly interferes. He only needs to let the builder in. It can’t go wrong. And of course it does. Chris Branch, the Pina Bausch-loving builder with a finer taste in coffee, uncovers Mr. Elms (Matthew Steer), a Victorian man who’s been trapped in the wall for the last century, and suddenly Guy finds himself occupied probing Mr. Elms for his life story and introducing him to the twenty-first century with his box set of The Wire, Skype and the wonder that is juice. Things spin out of control firther as Fortunately Maybe (Jason Barnett), an African orphan (and fully grown adult) who Guy has been sponsoring, turns up at his doorstep calling him Daddy – causing a stir. There’s no way he’ll hit his deadline now. And his relationship is at risk. Will Adamsdale both stars (as Guy), writes and directs (co-directing with Lyndsey Turner, Posh) and has created a show that’s liberatingly hilarious, with a childlike honesty and a touch of stand-up frankness  – it makes you smile as it kicks you in the shins. Adamsdale raises questions about our society through Guy’s lack of initiative in his work, relationship and friendships.  It’s better to try and fail than to sit still and watch life pass by, and Guy learns that he might not have control over his career, or his relationship, or his tax – but he can get the noisy dog outside removed if he tries. The cast is multi-tasking throughout the whole show with jolly songs, a choir of East Enders, hilarious sound effects using the chaotic set of cardboard boxes, bikes and bins (singing ones too), a talking fridge and sit-com banter. Michael Vale’s set design is simple and clever (markings on the floor creates the house) and is an exciting addition to the Jerwood Upstairs. The Victorian in the Wall has got the perfect combination of heartfelt and truthful moments, good gags and revue-style songs. It’s superbly executed and truly inspiring. A must-see this year. The Victorian in the Wall is playing at the Royal Court Theatre until June 8. For more information and tickets, see the Royal Court Theatre website. The post Review: The Victorian in the Wall appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

With a screwed-up face and the exclamation “you look like an owl”, Olivia’s friendship with neighbourhood rebel and outcast Kay begins, along with her transformation into ‘Owl’. Jon Keevy’s rich and evocative text is a classic bildungsroman; a narrative that chart’s Olivia’s arrival into a new town, new school and growth into a teenager. The contemporary classic coming-of-age narrative Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop sprung to mind when watching A Girl Called Owl. Not so much in style, but certainly in content. A young girl enters a new and, to her, strange place. Motherless, she is slightly at odds with the world, a lone figure who – with her outsider’s eyes – can see the truth of this place. Underlying currents of violence and sexuality ripple throughout the script, and at key moments surge up with greater force. Briony Howitz is alone on stage, but with her ability to command facial expression and accent she is accompanied by the story’s myriad characters. A chair also accompanies her, which she uses as a position from which to tell her story and to aid transitions. Howitz leaps onto and around the prop as it becomes tree, swimming pool, mattress in “the palace”  – a derelict building that is the scene for teenage forays in the smoke-filled dark. This prop/set piece generally works well, although at times I found myself wishing Howitz would stay a little stiller. The text is very full and often rattled through at quite a speed, with movement on top of this I found I often lost track of what was being said. Superb use is made of lighting and sound both of which come into their own in transitions indicating a change in time, emotion or simply thought. Simplicity is put to good use with the show’s sparse design, allowing text and performer room to play and stand out. If only there were a little more time for both to breathe – something most likely achievable with a few cuts and tweaks to the script. That being said A Girl Called Owl makes skilful use of the power of storytelling; an art often neglected in our multimedia saturated performance times. It is a simple pleasure to watch. A Girl Called Owl is playing at the Brighton Fringe until 20 May. For more information and tickets, see the Brighton Fringe website. The post Brighton Fringe Review: A Girl Called Owl appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

[CONTAINS SPOILERS] Winner of the Soho Theatre’s biennial Verity Bargate award, Pastoral is a stark look at humanity, juxtaposing surreal comedy with an unsettling darkness that lingers for a long time after the company take their bow. A plant is growing through the carpet in Moll’s apartment. Voles are strutting out of Paperchase. It seems that nature is trying to reclaim its earth with wildly spreading weeds, fighting back against humans who have manipulated it for so long. A prevalent reminder that nature, that we find so inherently beautiful, can be destructive. Moll is told to prepare for a holiday, but soon she finds herself trapped with her two sons. A married couple are trying to evacuate as well, with their courageous 11-year-old son despite not having any food to survive. Thomas Eccleshare’s imaginative first play has a subtle power and strength behind it throughout. Moll’s shrewd commentary on the street action below her flat window was flawlessly delivered by Anna Calder-Marshall, evoking all the laughter she could in her hilarious rant about “the fat”. Calder-Marshall played Moll skillfully and naturally, fully developing her eccentricity, without allowing her to become a caricature. Moll finds a companion in Arthur, played by Polly Frame, whose boyish gestures and mannerisms capture the essence of childhood. However, she fails to match Calder-Marshall, allowing her performance to be slightly too exaggerated, perhaps reminiscent of pantomime, particularly in the over-the-top hunger mime accompanying an amusing tribute to doughnuts. The audience find themselves laughing at the absurdity Pastoral shows, drawing on the apparent humour of a fully-grown man struggling to capture a tiny hedgehog. But the laughs quickly die as a more frightening tone sets in. This is mirrored in the memorable deterioration of the set, including a collapsing floor, growing tree and daffodil darts falling from the sky: a clever touch by director Steve Marmion. The final image of Moll slow dancing and sharing a cigarette with Arthur, her young knight without shining armour, was strangely touching. Both were left abandoned by society, deemed too weak to escape. A bride-to-be appears in the auditorium fully equipped with fairy wings, tutu and personalised T-shirt, but this sight, which previously was laughed at, now instills a sense of grief as she delivers her powerful wedding speech. Pastoral’s black comedy has such force, making the entire play incredibly sobering. As the pressure begins to mount for the starving group, they turn on their visitor: along-awaited Ocado deliveryman who suffers as the group succumb to something of a Lord of the Flies mentality. It’s easy to shrug off the act of violence at first. But once you are reminded that these six people are stuck in the flat starving to death, the question is: what would you stoop to? Pastoral is playing at the Soho Theatre until June 8. For more information and tickets, see www.sohotheatre.com The post Review: Pastoral appeared first on A Younger Theatre.

Ever heard Grendel sing the blues? Seen an academic transform into a dragon? Or heard Beowulf describe himself as a sexy motherfucker? BBB’s unconventional Beowulf has all of this and more, as it rattles through one of the most famous epic poems of all time. It’s a riot of musical styles and silliness, managing to stage epic battles and tender moments with equal aplomb. Using the whole space of Bristol’s Trinity Arts Centre, we get monsters and men leaping about the hall, followed by musicians and creating nothing short of mayhem. Presented as an academic lecture on Beowulf (brandishing Seamus Heaney’s translation), BBB’s production swiftly descends into a rock-based song cycle telling the story of our eponymous hero. The talented band are as at home with the mellow ballads as with the storming numbers, although, as ever, the devil gets all the best tunes. Composer Dave Molloy offers us a nice mix of styles, although the big, brass-heavy numbers are the most fun. The band are fabulous, especially Mario Maggio on clarinet and Pete Wise on drums. Rod Hipskin’s Grendel is excellent – cocky as he nonchalently leaps about the Trinity Centre, taunting Jason Craig’s stolid Beowulf – and having some tender moments with his monstrous mum (Jessica Jelliffe). All of the cast have lovely voices, and the close-harmony work sends shivers down the spine. The sound levels aren’t always perfect which sometimes makes it difficult to hear all of the words – the singers are often drowned out by the drums, guitars and brass. We get the gist, though, thanks to Jason Craig’s witty script. I think there’s an assumption that the audience will know the rough story, but this sprint through Beowulf is as clear as it is unsubtle. Beowulf himself has something of Blackadder‘s Lord Flashheart about him – all bravado, swagger and stupidity. He is good at ripping the arms off monsters, though, and comes with his own pair of dancing girls as back-up (Anna Ishida and Shaye Troha). The construct, of three academics arguing about interpretations of the poem, is well done, and when the academics become part of the story it is done with a light touch. For all of its tricks and songs, at its heart this is a bunch of people telling us a story. The show touches on some deeper themes (do we create our own monsters? When is revenge OK?) but only fleetingly; mostly, what we have is riotous, raucous fun. Beowulf is at the Trinity Arts Centre in Bristol as part of Mayfest until 19 May. For more information and tickets, visit the Mayfest website.   The post Mayfest review: Beowulf appeared first on A Younger Theatre.