Juniper Blood

by Mike Bartlett

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 11 September 2025

James Macdonald directs Hattie Morahan as Ruth, Sam Troughton as her partner Lip, Nadia Parkes as her "ex-step-daughter" Millie, Terique Jarrett as her partner Femi and Jonathan Slinger as the neighbouring farmer Tony in Mike Bartlett's new play Juniper Blood.

Ruth and Lip are trying to live a sustainable life on Lip's family farm, which Ruth has clearly saved from being sold or broken up - Lip, something of an unworldly idealist, was clearly unable to manage on his own. Millie and Femi, visiting from the city, provide skewering generational and urban/rural barbs which indicate that Ruth is not necessarily a saintly figure, while Tony in turn satirises the eco-pastoralist ideals Ruth and Lip embody, while dealing with his own profoundly distressing recent widowhood.

The play, designed by ULTZ, is set out of doors - the program contains a long essay on the significance of farm settings in plays. There is a grassy field (real grass: how is it kept flourishing?) and sharp daylight turning to dusk at the end of the first act. The tensions and discussions are, it is claimed, inflected rather differently when set outside, rather than (for. example) in a farmhouse kitchen such as would more normally suit a theatre.

There is plenty of scope for tension as the characters reveal their priorities and prejudices. Is sustainable farming economically possible? Is idealism viable at any cost? Can simmering cross-purposes be resolved or will the antagonisms just get worse? These are big issues at both the personal and the societal level, and the play attempts to embrace them all.

While the setting is arresting and the actors excellent, the play itself constantly runs the risk of being too wordy and preachy, raising important issues at the expense of dramatic credibility and narrative drive. The painful dynamic between Ruth and Millie is hilarious and toe-curling at once, but after the first act it recedes into the background, receiving only a slight flicker of interest towards the end. Likewise Tony's interaction with Ruth, prominent in the second act, once having served its turn, receives no further attention. Meanwhile in the third act there is an astonishing disquisition by Femi on the nexus and ultimate triumph of capitalism which is more of a lecture than anything else: only exceptional skill can bring this sort of thing off without intensely irritating an audience (Terique Jarrett succeeds in this).

Sociasl satire, family drama, echoes of Chekhov - even trees being bulldozed, let alone the personal dynamics - and state-of-the-world polemics make for a heady but not entirely successful blend: fascinating to watch in such a well-conceived and acted production, and yet not completely convincing.

Intimate Apparel

by Lynn Nottage

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 31 July 2025

Lynette Linton directs Samira Wiley as Esther, a Black New York seamstress, Nicola Hughes as her landlady and employer Mrs Dickson, Faith Omole as her friend Mayme, Kadiff Kirwan as her suitor and husband George, Claudia Jolly as Mrs Van Buren, a wealthy client, and Alex Waldmann as Mr Marks, a Jewish fabric merchant, in Lynn Nottage's play Intimate Apparel, set in 1905 and loosely inspired by the career of her own great-grandmother.

Skilled dressmaking was a respectable occupation for poor women who valued their reputation, and Esther hopes one day to set up a beauty salon using the carefully hoarded savings from her exquisite corset-making, as she is much in demand by the likes of Mrs Van Buren. An alternative source of livelihood is represented by Mayme who works in a brothel. Out of the blue Esther receives a letter from George who is working on the construction of the Panama Canal and has heard of Esther through a mutual acquaintance from the parish church of her childhood home. As she is 35 and fearful of being a lifelong spinster she responds through the good graces of Mrs Van Buren (as she is illiterate herself) and a charming correspondence flourishes as the couple gradually gain confidence in one another. But marriage, when it comes, brings perhaps inevitable disillusionment as Esther loses her hard-won autonomy and George, whose own letter-writing was also aided by someone else, proves less loving than she hoped. A very subdued flirtation with Mr Marks is hemmed in by her shyness and the social customs of his faith, but is channelled through their shared enthusiasm for fine fabrics.

The characters and themes could so easily be stereotypical but Nottage's dialogue is supple and nuanced, the insight into the the appreciation of fabric and style completely assured and convincing, and the situations resonant with carefully observed emotional weight. Esther, the focal point of the play, is long-suffering and often almost inarticulate but Samira Wiley invests her with a quiet steeliness which receives the blows to her expectations with painful grunts more eloquent than wordy outbursts of feeling: it is a superb performance offsetting the worldly wisdom of her landlady, the breezy self-assurance of Mayme or the entitled but unhappy bravura of Mrs Van Buren. Alex Waldmann gives Mr Marks a courteous reticence which ultimately hides a deep disappointment while Kadiff Kirwan's George moves from lyrical correspondent to domineering husband with all-too-plausible ease.

Lynn Nottage has re-imagined her forebear's experience and the cast and creative team have done her proud in bringing it to theatrical life.

Backstroke

by Anna Mackmin

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 6 March 2025

Anna Mackmin directs Tamsin Greig as Bo, Celia Imrie as her mother Beth with Lucy Briers as Carol and Anita Reynolds as Jill (two nurses) and Georgina Rich as Paulina (a consultant) in her own play about a complex mother-daughter relationship further complicated by the mother's advancing dementia and physical incapacity after a stroke.

After a brief depiction of the medical emergency that brought Beth to the hospital, she is immobilised and apparently unconscious as the panicky Bo tries to deal with the consultant's overworked briskness and Carol's old-style nursing approach (that one does what is best for the patient even if the intervention is said to be unwelcome). Unfortunately without the legal authority to impose end-of-life preferences Bo is immediately in a false position in attempting to assert her mother's views on the subject.

The situation is rendered more fraught by Bo's other responsibilities: her daughter is evidently causing disruption at school, and the drive to visit Beth takes several hours, so Bo has to keep appealing to Ted (her partner or husband) to interact with the school. Everything rapidly becomes a burden because too much is happening at once.

Fortunately Celia Imrie is not bed-bound for the entire performance. The often harrowing hospital situation is frequently interspersed with flashbacks in which she is a lively if wayward and self-obsessed single mother, having emerged at some point from communal living to bring up Bo according to her less than conventional principles. But there is an unhealthy co-dependency as it is impossible for Beth to be left alone: clearly many school days were missed (or perhaps Bo was entirely home-schooled), and as Bo prepares to leave for university the emotional blackmail is turned up several notches until she takes her mother with her.

Unsurprisingly Bo is exasperated nearly all the time, and almost unable to cope with her mother's sudden decline. The suffocating constrictions of her upbringing range from being forbidden to call Beth 'mummy' or 'mum' ("I have a name!" Beth insists), to being utterly unable to reach out to her physically in this current emergency. Bo's hand hovers above Beth's shoulder or face without daring a caress a painful number of times during her rushed hospital visits, a mute manifestation of her inner torment.

In an all-purpose setting (designed by Lez Brotherston) the hospital room is at the back of the stage and slightly raised, while in front is the memory room of Bo's adolescence and younger adulthood: a table and chairs to one side and an Aga to the other. Through the flashbacks we learn of the prickly relationship between the two women, usually involving snarky banter but occasionally exploding in rage or frustration. Bo's daughter, it transpires, is adopted, and the action is punctuated with short videos of her night terrors and tantrums. The indications of Beth's dementia creep in as they do, with increasing fumbling with words and repeated comments. The end cannot be anything but sad, despite Bo's extraordinary eulogy of her mother.

The title of the play seems to be connected to one flashback to a happier time in which the half-scared half-excited six-year-old Bo was taught by her mother to swim; this is linked to a gentle gesture (at last) of letting go which, while satisfying in its moment, is perhaps just a shade unlikely as a resolution to a lifetime of frustrated love.

The two central performances are extremely good, but the overall structure requires considerable concentration, and the minor characters are not deeply drawn. The decision to present Bo's own role as a mother largely through projected videos makes for clunky interruptions to the main matter of the play, which is so finely observed between the two women.

Macbeth

by William Shakespeare

live performance from the Donmar Warehouse (2024) screened on 11 February 2025

A chance to revisit the excellent production directed last year by Max Webster featuring David Tennant as Macbeth and Cush Jumbo as Lady Macbeth, with a supporting cast refreshingly speaking almost universally with Scottish accents (except for the children Fleance, the young Macduff, and the young Siward).

In the auditorium the audience was provided with headphones to listen to the entire play, which was performed without an interval to maximise the ongoing tension. In the cinema we heard the text through the normal speaker system, but it remained intimate and happily devoid of the jarring effect of listening in a different medium to voices projecting for the stage. The eeriness of the encounters with the weird sisters, and Macbeth's terror at witnessing Banquo's ghost, remained powerful; indeed the soundscape in general transferred well.

There were some aspects of the production that I had forgotten, but which the camerawork reminded me of. In particular a generic young boy was occasionally visible throughout the play, though generally not on stage - the back wall could be opaque or transparent as the lighting changed. This pointed up the unresolved question of whether Macbeth had a son or not (the textual evidence seems contradictory on this point); or perhaps it signified that he was betraying his personal innocence by pursuing his ambition. This culminated in a brief moment when Macbeth held the boy, perhaps MacDuff's son, in his arms only to pass him on to a murderer; and later, in grappling with the young Siward, there was another embrace in which the king broke the boy's neck.

As in the production at the Almeida, it appeared that Lady Macbeth was discussing Macduff's absence with Lady Macduff (it is the thane Ross in the text); but the link to Lady Macbeth's mental distress so powerfully evoked at the Almeida, where she actually witnessed the massacre of the Macduff family, was not pursued here. 

I had also forgotten the updated speech of the porter, who knowingly engaged with the audience, making some disparaging remarks about London audiences (as perceived by those north of the border), and complaining that he didn't have headphones so he couldn't hear what was being said. This was a clever adaptation of a long speech which, though vital to the dramatic shape of the play, often runs the risk of being tedious for a modern audience, since its references are 'topical' to the sixteenth century rather than our own.

All in all, this was a fine opportunity to revisit an outstanding production of the play.

(See also my review of the Almeida production from October 2021, and a paragraph in the "seen in 2024" post, to see how differently the two directors approached this plays problems.)

Marys Seacole

by Jackie Sibblies Drury

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 28 April 2022

Nadia Latif directs Déja J. Bowens, Llewella Gideon, Kayla Meikle, Esther Smith, Olivia Williams and Susan Wooldridge in Jackie Sibblies Drury's new play Marys Seacole which investigates not only the career of the original Mary Seacole, a Jamaican who travelled to the Crimea in the 1850s to provide nursing assistance during the war (where she was rebuffed by Florence Nightingale), but also the wider experience of coloured people as carers and medical staff in the modern world.

In a verstile set designed by Tom Scutt we are sometimes in an NHS ward, sometimes in an anonymous park, sometimes in Jamaica, sometimes in the Crimea, and sometimes apparently in the dark recesses of the mind of the generic 'Mary' (Kayla Meikle). The transitions are often abrupt, and the play suffers from becoming too like a series of vignettes none of which have sufficient time to develop into truly engrossing drama. Everything becomes subsumed in the overarching theme of twisted mother-daughter relationships and general racial prejudice, with the individual stories never adequately resolved.

The opening, which gives the impression of being a prologue to a play focussed on Mary Seacole, turns out to be a monologue in which episodes which could have formed the following scenes turn out to be only told to us. The scene in a modern hosptial or care home which follows sets up all sorts of tensions between three generations (a resident, daughter and gradndaughter), and adds the unpleasantness of barely concealed racism towards the staff, but fades from our attention as other matters are addressed. An almost phantasmagoric scene in which broken soldiers lie scattered across the floor while fragments of the dialogue in earlier scenes jostle with each other at shouting pitch gives an alarming impression of a mind in turmoil and stress, but at the cost of wearing down the audience with relentless noise.

All in all, I was not particularly satisfied with this production. After the glorious dramatic coherence of The Corn is Green seeen a few days earlier, on this occasion I felt I was too often present at a hectoring lecture rather than a truly developed play.

Henry V

by William Shakespeare

screening of a live performance from the Donmar Warehouse seen on 21 April 2022

Although I had seen this production in the theatre itself (see my review of 10 March 2022 for a discussion of its deatails) I decided to attend the cinema transmission. It was not a live broadcast, but a live performance had been filmed during the production's run last month.

I wanted to see it again because my seat in the theatre had not been ideal. Of course the drawback with a filmed presentation is that the editor and camera personnel decide what is seen, and from what angle, but in the main this gave me a better opportunity to appreciate the forward-facing aspects of the staging. Though the visceral immediacy of the production was inevitably somewhat muted in the cinema, it remained a powerful interpretation of the play.

With many close-up shots of the characters it was possible to appreciate fine nuances of expression in Kit Harington's excellent portrayal of the King; perhaps he was in part reacting to the presence of cameras since the modulations of his half-smiles might have been harder to appreciate even in the intimate space of the Donmar. Far more potent and disturbing also was the mixture of resignation and disdain on Princess Katherine's face as she acquiesced in what was evidently an unwelcome marriage at the behest of her father and King Henry's insistence. Anoushka Lucas as the princess was no simpering lady: she learnt English while boxing with her maidservant, and gave a very cool welcome speech in the peace coference which concludes the play.

The produciton was well worth a second viewing.

Henry V

by William Shakespeare

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 10 March 2022

Kit Harington plays the King with a supporting cast of fourteen taking all the other roles in Max Webster's production of Henry V, designed by Fly Davis. On a bare stage of four marbled tiers or steps, with a featureless metallic wall at the back which occasionally splits apart in the form of a St George's Cross, the career of the hero king from wastrel prince to victorious military leader is played out with sobering attention to the darker side of his progress.

After the famous Prologue apologising for the paucity of stage effects when dealing with such weighty military and political actions, the low expectations of the new king's character are underscored by the interpolation of part of the first tavern scene between Prince Hal and Falstaff from Henry IV Part One, and the crushing rejection of the latter by the former from Henry IV Part Two. Only then are we presented with Hal's full transformation into King Henry as he listens to the Archbishop of Canterbury's interminable lecture about the Salic Law in France (or properly belonging somewhere further east, as the case may be), its tediousness underlined by a confusing Powerpoint presentation projected onto the back wall. The Dauphin's insulting gift of tennis balls does far more to kindle the King's ire and to convince him to invade France to claim his right to the kingdom.

The play veers beween high politics and the less glamorous life of the ordinary soldiers. Indeed, some of the named infantry were once Prince Hal's tavern friends, and two of them come to a bad end, Bardolph in particular singled out for a judicial hanging which the King watches with apparent impassivity. For this production, which is in modern dress, movement director Benoit Swan Pouffer brought in Tom Leigh, a former Royal Marines Commando, to teach the cast basic military drill and to discuss with them the often traumatic impact of combat. The result can be seen in the intimidating manoeuvres on stage, but also in the pained reactions to some events (in particular the order to kill all the French prisoners at Agincourt, which is brutally performed onstage) and in the wild partying following the battle.

All this helps to sharpen the contrast between the high flown rhetoric of the famous speeches, which are wonderfully delivered by Kit Harington, and the sordid reality of close combat. The mutual incomprehension of the two sides (English and French) is emphasised by having the French characters speak French among themselves, with English translations provided on a screen. This cleverly extends the device used in the scene with Princess Katharine as she struggles to learn English, which is often played for laughs. Here, it is not a matter for laughter, and later the Princess has a decidedly unromantic encounter with the King whose plain-speaking wooing is not the bumbling effort of a stranger to flirting (as he suggests), but rather nothing more than a steely determination to consolidate a business deal no matter what the Princess thinks.

Indeed several scenes often used to lighten the tone here receive a more sober and disturbing turn. Captain Fluellen, usually portrayed as an amusing pedant, is here more of an obsessive, and his baiting of Pistol, forcing him to eat a leek, is is an exercise in sadistic bullying. Luckily for the hapless soldier Williams, who had unwittingly wagered to box the King's ear (not knowing who he was talking to before the battle), the scene in which the King asks Fluellen to bear the exchanged glove was omitted: this Fluellen would probably have shot Williams out of hand. Instead the King and Williams resolve the matter directly without the intervening 'joke'. Everyone is clearly very skittish after the victory; the atmosphere is credibly febrile and the King himself erupts in brittle laughter when he is presented with the account of the slain.

It was inevitable that the play would resonate with the current crisis in Ukraine. 'Once more unto the breach' is the rallying cry of a leader besieging an enemy town, and the King's later threats to the governor of Harfleur are a chilling reminder of what a victorious army can do to a town that did not surrender. It is not possible in view of the shelled urban areas in Ukraine to shrug this off as an example of medieval babarity which the modern world has outgrown. By contrast the great St Crispin's Day speech is the exhortaton of a leader in the face of overwhelming odds (a fact perhaps obscured by the unexpected outcome of the Agincourt battle). This too has its parallel in the events unfolding; the outcome is not yet known. 

In frank acknowledgement of the uneasy parallels between art and life, Kit Harington interrupted the audience applause at the end of the play to explain that there would be a retiring collection for the Red Cross, to which we were invited to contribute. It was generously supported.

Force Majeure

adapted by Tim Price from Ruben Östlund's film

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 6 January 2022

Michael Longhurst directs Rory Kinnear as Tomas, Lyndsey Marshall as his wife Ebba, Oliver Savell and Bo Bragason as their children Harry and Vera (in the performance I saw) and Siena Kelly and Sule Rimi as their friends Jenny and Mats in this inventive stage adaptation of the Swedish film Force Majeure released in 2014.

On a fantastically inventive stage designed by Jon Bausor Tomas and his family arrive in a ski resort for a family holiday. The children are fractious, young Harry whining and teenage Vera chilled out, while Ebba ruefully acknowledges to another guest that it is almost imposible to separate her husband from his phone and work commitments. 

Anything could trigger a crisis: an avalanche does the trick, causing Tomas to flip into panicked survivalist mode and then, afterwards, denying his reaction until a video forces him to realise that his memory of events cannot be correct. The impending collapse of his marriage, built as it is on a wearied acceptance of disappointment on the part of his wife, finally forces him to confront his insecurities. In a brilliant counterpoint to his agony, his friend Mats has a soul-searching night arguing with his partner which is a comic tour de force of psychobabble.

It's incredibly ambitious to stage a piece set in a ski resort in the confines of the Donmar stage, but with a steeply raked and white carpeted floor the place is brought to life as various cast members ski unerringly down the slope and into one of the passages used by the audience to reach their seats. In the meantime the crisis afflicting Tomas and his family is played out on the slopes and in their hotel suite. Actors of the calibre of Rory Kinnear and Lyndsey Marshall can be depended on to articulate the emtional rollercoaster of Tomas and Ebba's 'holiday', allowing us to see everything from ridiculousness to self-indulgence to pain, but it is a tribute to the young actors playing their children that sibling brattishness can be so convincingly played and so easily be shown to mask deeper insecurities. Harry can whine with the best of them about his missing sunglasses, but he is clearly anxious when he senses the tensions rising between his parents, while Vera's adolescent stand-offishness masks (as it often does) a deep-seated dependance on the family not being ruffled.

There is a fragile optimism at the end when Harry accusingly asks his father whether he is smoking and Tomas instinctively denies it even while he has a cigarette in his hand. Then he quietly tells his son to ask the question again, and confesses that he is smoking but that he will give it up when they get home. For the first time in years he is not being an invincible man and we can hope that his faltering steps will lead him out of the prison he built himself.

Given the twin dangers of this play wandering into melodrama or mere superficiality it is a credit to all concerned that the balance of humour and agony was finely maintained to produce an enjoyable yet thought provoking entertainment

Love and Other Acts of Violence

by Cordelia Lynn

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 28 October 2021

Elayce Ismail directs Tom Mothersdale and Abigail Weinstock in a new play by Cordelia Lynn, designed by Basia Bińkowska and lit by Joshua Pharo, the first production in the theatre since the renovation works which were fortuitously undertaken during the enforced closures of the recent lockdowns.

Love and Other Acts of Violence charts a stormy relationship between an unnamed man and woman, he a poet and she a physicist, who meet at a party, become partners, split for a while after a searing quarrel, and get together again. Their first encounter is unpromising, the man allowing the general noise of the party to excuse his overbearing encroachment on the woman's space and to amplify a typically masculine penchant for over-explaining things. The woman is poised and reserved, ironically amused, but eventually tired of the presumption. Even so, a casual hook-up develops into a more long-lasting liaison.

The tortuous misunderstandings between two adults with strong senses of their own independence form a frutiful subject for many modern plays, but the familiar tensions are given an added twist of urgency here by an uneasy sense that the society in which these two people live (presumably our society) is shifting away from comfortable certainties about personal and intellectual freedom towards something more sinister. The man has always been an activist; his insistent 'mansplaining' at the beginning is full of political jargon and well-worn catchphrases. It takes far longer - perhaps too long - for the woman, coccooned in a university research lab, to realise that his analysis has been broadly correct. She recounts a chilling discussion with her head of department that seems at first sight just a bureaucratic absurdity, but which carries unmistakably totalitarian overtones.

Simmering underneath is a minefield set by historical events the two are poorly aware of. In a purely accidental way the two discover that their forebears hailed from a city with a dark and contentious past, a city with differing names depending on one's viewpoint: Lemburg, Lviv or Lwow. She, from a Jewish background, is uneasily aware of the ramifications. He, of Polish extraction, idly wonders whether their ancestors might have known one another, but she says decisively that it would be better if they had not.

The increasing threat of the contemporary situation is linked in an unexpected epilogue with a glimpse at the disaster that befell her family in the pogrom of 1919. Until this point the entire play had been performed on a bare wooden stage surrounded by gravel and ash, with an equally featureless wooden ceiling suspended above. This ceiling is winched down to reveal a domestic interior in which a terrified young woman attempts to warn her father (Richard Katz) of the approaching Polish troops while he reminisces about the stability of life in the shtetl the family abandoned a generation before; only she survives while a confused Polish man grapples with the horror he has helped to inflict on her family. It is an unusual insight to imagine that the casually anti-semitic young man might be as traumatised by events as the obvious victim. The young people here are clearly the ancestors of the man and woman in the present.

Abigail Weinstock and Tom Mothersdale chart the rocky relationship with skill, dependent entirely on the text since the play is uncluttered by scenery or props until the epilogue. The markers of the wider situation are presented unfussily, and therefore do not seem at all heavy-handed, allowing for the the all-too-common turbulences of a contemporary relationship to become fraught with historical resonances even as the characters remain largely oblivious of them. The woman admits to an overpowering fear of bearing children, beyond anything the man can imagine, but it is left to us to draw conclusions about why she should feel this way.

The newspaper reviews I have read find the ambition of the play laudable but the structure a disappointment. Clearly, however, the playwright did not intend to write just another romantic comedy, or just another variation of Constellations, and I found the play powerful partly because it delibertely pulled back from the intensely personal to explore the wider picture.

Constellations 3 and 4

by Nick Payne

seen at the Vaudeville Theatre on 14 August 2021

The third and fourth pairings in Michael Longhurst's revival of Constellations for the Donmar began performing at the start of the month. In the afternoon I saw Anna Maxwell Martin and Chris O'Dowd, while in the evening I saw Omari Douglas and Russell Tovey, the play having been reconfigured for them (mainly by changing names) so that it is about a gay couple.

What astonished me about the afternoon performance was the lightness of touch brought to the piece by the two actors. Chris O'Dowd is perhaps best known as a comic actor, though he gave a remarkable performance as Lenny in Of Mice and Men on Broadway a few years ago (see my review of 20 November 2015). On the other hand I have only seen Anna Maxwell Martin in serious mode, most notably excelling in the difficult part of Esther Summerson in the BBC's 2005 adaptation of Bleak House. She brought an infectious line of self-deprecating humour to the part of Marianne in Constellations, with the most wonderful giggling laughter that could turn in a moment to a heartrending groan of despair. With Chris O'Dowd as a foil the two told the dizzying story of the relationship between Roland and Marianne as a roller-coaster ride between flirtatious humour and almost inarticulate distress: it was really impressive.

In the final version of the production, Emanuel (Manny), played by Omari Douglas, and Roland, played by Russell Tovey, brought a new dynamic to the play; Manny's flirtatiousness had a slightly camp edge, while Roland, older and more cautious, was an excellent partner (the actors are 27 and 39 respectively). The brilliance of the play at exploring the pressures of creating and maintaining a relationship, and the emotional costs involved when external factors intervene, was by no means compromised by its reconfiguration for two men to take the parts.

Inevitably, with the chance to see four versions of the same play in a relatively short period of time, there is the temptation to assert a preference. All four casts performed well, and it was fascinating to enjoy four quite different approaches to the same text - another sign of the play's inherent strength is that it can sustain such varieties of emphasis. I heard two members of the afternoon audience remark that they could not imagine seeing another cast perform it, and I think that for me, too, Anna Maxwell Martin and Chris O'Dowd gave the most satisfying interpretation - but it would be easy to imagine that other people would choose a different pair as their favourite.

Constellations 1 and 2

by Nick Payne

seen at the Vaudeville Theatre on 3 July 2021

Michael Longhurst revives Nick Payne's play, this time on behalf of the Donmar Warehouse where he is now artistic director, though in a West End theatre since the Donmar itself is currently undergoing a major renovation.

The play is well suited to the current situation in terms of its technical requirements, in that there are only two actors involved, with a small technical team to back them up; also, at only 70 minutes in length, it places a fairly minimal threat in terms of gathering strangers in an interior space for a prolonged period. Many of the seats in the theatre are in any case unoccupied due to current government restrictions.

The beguiling investigation of memory, its significance and fickleness, is further emphaised in this revival by the decision to use four separate casts to play the protagonists. On this occasion I saw Peter Capaldi and Zoe Wanamaker in the afternoon performance, and Sheila Atim and Ivanno Jeremiah in the evening performance.

Visually the production is the same as I recall seeing in 2015 (see my review of 24 June 2015 for my account of the play itself and the way it challenges the audience's expectation of following a straightforward narrative). The interest here, therefore, resides in watching two completely different pairs of people interpret the play on the same day: an older couple followed by a younger couple. Inevitably one assumes that the opening scenes in which Ronnie and Marianne tentatively get to know one another are played out with a different hinterland in each case: the nerves of older people making a connection which may or may not be comfortable being fraught, one supposes, with past possibly disappointing experience, whereas the nerves of the younger pair may only arise from inexperience. These contrasting possibilities cast very different lights on what follows.

I felt that there was a drawback with Zoe Wanamaker and Peter Capaldi. They are both distinguished actors, but their styles are also very distinctive, and in a play with so little material pointers - a stage full of balloons, for exanple, rather than any representation of a recognisable space - it is hard to distance onself from the knowledge of who the actors are. Their personal mannerisms are simply too prominent at times. Sheila Atim and Ivanno Jeremiah are not (yet) so well known, though Sheila Atim has an immensely striking physical presence. It seemed to me that the younger pair had an easier time with establishing the flirtatiousness of the two characters, whereas with the older actors the same scenes came across more as social comedy or world-weariness. Consequently I found the second performance more convincing.

The play revels in repeating scenes with slight variations of dialogue, creating multiple ways of understanding what might be happening or what is going unsaid. It is even more fascinating to watch two such different performances in quick succession, allowing even more resonances to reverberate in the mind.

Blindness

 by Simon Stephens from the novel by José Saramago

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 27 August 2020

'A socially distanced immersive experience' is being performed at the Donmar four times a day from 1 August to 5 September; it lasts about seventy minutes.

The play is based on Saramago's 1995 novel, which describes in harrowing detail the effects of an unexplained epidemic of blindness afflicting an unnamed (presumably Portuguese) city. Juliet Stevenson narrates the description of the onset of the epidemic, and then takes the role of the Doctor's Wife, who, through not contracting the disease, is able to help a small group of people survive the ensuing breakdown of civil society. For much of the time she pretends to be blind herself, until it is no longer useful to do so.

Although Simon Stephens began work on his adaptation some eighteen months ago, and the director Walter Meierjohann had been thinking of staging an adaptation for some twenty years, neither of them could have imagined the wider circumstances in which the production has been launched. The Donmar, like all other theatres in Britain, has been closed since late March, and it is among the first indoor venues to attempt a reopening of sorts; the industry in general cannot see how to stage live performances with massively reduced seating capacity since theatres usually rely on at least 80% capacity to break even.

The solution in this small theatre is to take out all the stalls seats and build up the floor of the acting area to be level with the fourth row (the back row), and then to place pairs of chairs around the space at socially distanced intervals, allowing for an audience of about forty members. Furthermore, each member of the audience has a set of headphones (assiduously cleaned after each performance). Above, there are ranks of tube lighting, some vertical and some horizontal, which change colour before the start. At one dramatic point, the horizontal tubes are lowered to eye level, but for much of the time thereafter, at the height of the epidemic, they are switched off and the audience is n near-total darkness - even the theatre exit signs are not lit.

Everything then depends on the sound. Juliet Stevenson is a gifted actor with a wonderfully expressive voice, and the results are startlingly effective, especially once the soundscape emerges into a full stereophonic effect. The opening narration is dry, but the Doctor's Wife's experience is by turns intimate, practical, worried, enraged, desperate and determined. One feels at times one must be the Doctor, as she whispers confidentially into one's ear; then she is off comforting a young blind boy, or even further away negotiating with soldiers or extortionists in another room. The attention to aural detail by Ben and Max Ringham is astonishingly powerful, and the result is by turns intriguing, frightening, and just occasionally uplifting. There is no point in hoping for a measured response to the crisis by the authorities, since the affliction is all but universal and civic purpose and decency collapses very quickly. Survival can only be ensured by the concentrated effort of small groups of people hoping to find food and water in a now hostile environment.

The outlook in the story is considerably more grim than what we have experienced in the last few months, but that experience itself is bound to affect our reaction to the piece, which brings into sharp focus issues of co-operation and solidarity in a particularly pointed way. It is profoundly eerie to emerge from the experience onto the streets of London at what should be peak early evening travelling time to find them comparatively empty, and to travel home on a train in which there would normally be standing room only for much of the trip in a carriage with barely twenty people in it.

Over years he novel has attracted criticism from blind people for its casual assumption that blindness in itself is a disaster. Although the focus is really on the epidemic, rather than on the blindness, its use as the defining symbol of inadequacy leading to societal collapse can only have been conceived by a sighted person for whom the onset of blindness is a terror. The production team here have not fallen into the error of merely trying to 'teach' the audience what it might be like to be blind: the darkness is in fact  richly creative space for imagining the story.

Europe

by David Greig

seen at the Donmar warehouse on 4 July 2019

Michael Longhurst, taking over as Artistic Director of the Donmar, has chosen to revive David Greig's 1994 play set in an abandoned railway station in an unspecified (but probably Eastern) European country near 'the border'. Ron Cook plays Fret, the station master, with Faye Marsay as Adele, his assistant, Billy Howle as Adele's husband Berlin, Theo Barklem-Biggs as Horse and Stephen Wight as Billy, Berlin's friends, Shane Zaza as Morocco, a local boy made good, Kevork Malikyan as Sava, a refugee, and Natalia Tena as his daughter Katya.

Written during the period in which the former Yugoslavia was being torn apart by war and 'ethnic cleansing', Europe nonetheless still packs a powerful punch. The small town is dying now that its importance as a border crossing has vanished, and automation is making its industrial workforce redundant - Berlin, Horse and Billy are now at a loose end. Stationmaster Fret appears at first to be an old-fashioned martinet swamped by the illogicality of train timetables which no longer include stops at his station, and he has no sympathy for a man and woman he finds waiting on the station, apparently impervious to his announcements that there will be no trains. Adele, stifled in her marriage to the unimaginative and truculent Berlin, dreams of glamorous foreign capitals.

Sweet Charity

by Neil Simon (book) Cy Coleman (music) and Dorthy Fields (music)

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 1 May 2019

This 1960s musical is revived by Josie Rourke as her last production as Artistic Director of the Donmar, with Anne-Marie Duff as Charity Hope Valentine and Arthur Darvill as Oscar, a doazen supporting actors in multiple parts, and a special appearance (in this performance) by Le Gateau Chocolat as Daddy Brubeck - different guest artists take this part during the run. Robert Jones designed the set, and Wayne McGregor the choreography.

Sweet Charity is based on a Fellini film in which the protagonist is constantly let down by the men in her life, dashing her hopes to gain some stability and domestic respectability. In this americanised version, Charity is a 'taxi dancer' in a nightclub where men can pay for a dance partner (with doubtless less respectable possibilities in mind); the girls put up with the job but it's not a good place to be. We first see Charity, a boundless optimist, being robbed by a cad of a boyfriend and dumped in a lake in Central Park - a clever piece of stagecraft involving a huge drum full of plastic balls - and returning to the nightclub almost unabashed by the downturn in her fortunes. An evening with a film star goes nowhere, then she meets Oscar, a shy young man who could be the answer to her dreams. If only.

Measure for Measure

by William Shakespeare

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 18 October 2018

Josie Rourke (the outgoing Artistic Director of the Donmar) directs Hayley Atwell as Isabella and Jack Lowden as Angelo in an intriguing production of Shakespeare's problematic play concerning the abuse of power in sexual politics and the conflicting claims of justice and mercy.

The play opens in sixteenth century dress, with the political world very masculine, not to say patriarchal. But the contemporary relevance is all too obvious - the rule of law ignored through inattention, laziness or dereliction of duty, and the opportunities for a powerful man to abuse his authority just there for the taking. And this is what Angelo, deputising for an absent Duke, does in relation to Isabella - he offers the life of her brother Claudio in exchange for sexual favours. When she protests and threatens to publicise his actions, he asks her chillingly "Who will believe thee, Isabel?"

The precariousness of Isabella's situation is both helped and hindered by the Duke's actions. Having colluded in the opening situation and then walked away from it, he has returned to Vienna disguised as a friar, and he tries to 'help' by suggesting the use of the bed trick to entrap Angelo (who has, it is suddenly revealed, himself jilted Mariana, a young woman who loves him). It seems like the usual ploy of a romantic comedy, but in the context of this play, it is distasteful. The likes of Isabella, Mariana and even Claudio take the friar at face value, but in fact he has no spiritual authority at all. Furthermore, when all is revealed and marriages are forced upon Claudio (though his fiancee never appears) and on Angelo, Isabella is begged by Mariana to sue for Angelo's life, and then further the Duke suggests that she should marry him, thus riding completely roughshod over her intention of entering a convent. No words are given to Isabella to respond to what is yet another example of male dominance in disposing of a woman's life. In this production, quite credibly, she just screams.

This is the end of the play; but we have not yet reached the interval. A good deal has been cut, the subplot with the whores and whoremasters of Vienna being stripped back almost to nothing. Just before the interval starts, we are suddenly back at the first scene, but this time in modern dress, and the Duke is deputising Isabella to act in his place while he leaves the city. What was done with parchment and wax seals at the beginning is now done with phone texts and tweets.

In an even more brief recapitulation of the play, Angelo now is the young man dedicated to a spiritual life (not conventionally monastic, but more contentiously in some sort of Christian commune), and in begging Isabella for mercy on his brother's behalf, he becomes the victim of Isabella, a predatory woman. It's an intriguing reversal, and a salutary reminder that personal relationships can be unbalanced and corrupted by a woman in power as easily as by a man. In some ways, the reversal exposes the disturbing power plays even more acutely, as the disguised Duke presses his even more obviously unwanted attentions on the naive young Angelo. But the play cannot really bear this burden, and at the last moment the Renaissance Isabella presents herself before the modern Duke with an ambiguous greeting.

Hayley Atwell and Jack Lowden play both their parts extremely well. In the first half she is an intense and self confident young woman gradually weakened, and he an austere deputy Duke with a soft-spoken Scottish accent (hinting perhaps at a Calivinistic outlook?), and each is gradually weakened by the complicating factors swirling around their personal encounters. Interestingly, Angelo's soliloquy about his predicament is given due weight, though it by no means exonerates him. In their reversed roles, Atwell is far more sensuous as the powerful woman, and Lowden has less moral authority and perhaps more naivety. It is fascinating to watch in effect two interpretations of the same speeches in quick succession, and this emphasises even more the problems which this play reveals to a modern audience. 

Aristocrats

by Brian Friel

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 30 August 2018

Lyndsey Turner directs this revival of Brian Friel's 1979 play about the decaying O'Donnell family, unusually Roman Catholic denizens of a 'Big House' in Ballybeg, County Donegal (most 'Big Houses' belonged to Anglo Protestants).

The house has seen better times - repairs are outstanding and there is virtually no money to keep it going - and the family in the 1970s is not what it was either, having descended from Chief Justice to sausage factory worker in four generations. The senescent father (James Laurenson), principally present to us through his rambling diatribes overheard through a baby monitor, still holds sway over Judith (Eileen Walsh), the daughter dutifully caring for him, and can still strike terror into is wayward son Casimir (David Dawson) when he is visiting from Hamburg, but he seems to have less effect on Alice (Elaine Cassidy) visiting with her husband Eamon (Emmet Kirwan) from London, and the youngest daughter Claire (Aisling Loftus) still living at home but about to be married.

The family has in fact gathered for Claire's wedding, but Tom Hoffnung (Paul Higgins), an American academic, is also ferreting around the house and taking notes about family anecdotes as part of a research project. The situation is thus ripe both for peculiar revelations and for some sociological theorising and analysis, and at times both seem a little forced. However, it is not so much that there are skeletons in the closet (as might be expected from the dramatic set-up), but rather that the siblings - apart perhaps from the determinedly practical Judith - are deeply strange people: Alice losing herself to drink because her marriage has soured, Claire veering between the highs and lows of manic depression, and Casimir holding himself together with inexhaustible nervous energy. When Eamon remarks to Tom that the family half believe that Casimir's German wife and three boys are a figment of his imagination we are left forever unsure of how to take anything that Casimir says, and his palpable shock when Tom presents him with incontrovertible evidence that one of his family memories is impossible only strengthens the impression that he is lost in daydreams.

Though there are weirdly comic moments, much of what we see instils an atmosphere of debility and even despair; the similarity to Chekhovian ennui is increasingly obvious, reinforced by the country house setting, the faded gentility of the family, and the eventual collapse of the means to keep the whole enterprise going. But the style of this particular production makes it hard to grasp the tone of the piece, with the result that it takes more time than it should to settle into the world we are witnessing. Rather than creating a realistic setting, Turner and designer Es Devlin have designed an almost featureless pale pastel green acting space with a model of a house standing in for the real thing, and stage directions at the beginning of each act read out to set the scene. Where such a model was a powerful symbol in The Inheritance here it looks a little contrived, and the constant presence of the cast hovering in the background when not required to be on stage, so masterfully effective in Matthew Lopez's play, here makes the action more difficult to follow.

This is a pity, because the individual performances are often very good, and David Dawson in particular is brilliant as Casimir; and the concluding mixture of melancholy and hope is quietly affecting.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie

adapted by David Harrower

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 14 June 2018

Polly Findlay directs Lia Williams as Jean Brodie with Angus Wright as Gordon Lowther (the Music Master), Sylvestra le Touzel as Miss Mackay (the Headmistress), Edward MacLiam as Teddy Lloyd (the Art Master), Kit Young as the journalist and Rona Morison, Grace Saif, Emma Hindle, Nicola Coughlan and Helena Wilson as the girls Sandy, Monica, Mary, Joyce Emily and Jenny respectively in this new adaptation of Muriel Spark's novel about the charismatic but unorthodox teacher at a prestigious girls' junior school in Edinburgh in the 1930s.

A hint from the novel, which itself recounts events in the school lives of the girls while also looking forward to their adult careers, provides a framing device for this adaptation, whereby Sandy, the observant prospective writer, is being interviewed by a journalist on the day before she takes final vows in a convent. The ostensible reason for the interview is the publication of Sandy's book on psychology, but the journalist is keen to explore Sandy's memories of her schooldays, and it is his probing which generates the flashbacks telling the story of Miss Brodie's extraordinary influence on 'her' girls, an influence which begins with her dazzling teaching methods when they are eleven, but which continues to affect the favoured set (the only pupils that we actually see in the play) throughout their later years. 

The Way of the World

by William Congreve

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 19 April 2018

James Macdonald directs Geoffrey Streatfeild as Mirabell, Tom Mison as Fainall, Caroline Martin as Mrs Fainall, Justine Mitchell as Millamant and Haydn Gwynne as Lady Wishfort in this celebrated comedy from 1700, presented in its historical time with flowing wigs and lacy cuffs.

The language is polished and often dazzling, the social comment astute, the plot a vehicle for observing both cynical and heartfelt attempts to navigate the difficulties of relations between men and women. While urban and sub-aristocratic could be and often was portrayed as essentially the unscrupulous use of masculine power and influence to gain wealth through marriage, in this play Congreve contrasts the moral characters of the two friends Mirabell and Fainall, each of whom stands to gain from the woman (Millamant and Mrs Fainall respectively) he is connected with. Where Mirabell and Millamant are shown to be genuine in their affections, all the warmth has drained from the Fainall marriage and the husband is plotting merely for financial advantage, and in this production is shown up as a distinctly unpleasant person.

The York Realist

by Peter Gill

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 22 February 2018

Robert Hastie directs Ben Batt as George, Jonathan Bailey as John, and Lesley Nicol as George's mother in this revival of Peter Gill's 2001 play set in the 1960s when a production of the York Mystery plays is being prepared in York using local amateurs for most of the parts.

'The York Realist' is the name given to the unknown author considered to be responsible for about eight of the four dozen pageant plays which make up the entire cycle. These are the pageants dealing with the passion and death of Christ, which render the episodes in 'realistic' Yorkshire vernacular. But the title could equally well be applied to the young farmer George, who has been encouraged to take part in the modern revival by Doreen, his would-be sweetheart, but who has ceased to attend rehearsals ostensibly because his onerous farmwork and his mother's illness require his complete intention.

Belleville

by Amy Herzog

seen at the Donmar Warehouse on 25 January 2018

Michael Longhurst directs Imogen Poots as Abby, James Norton as Zack, Malachi Kirby as Alioune and Faith Alabi as Amina in this one-act ply from 2011, receiving its first London production.

Zack and Abby are a young American couple renting a flat in Belleville, a suburb of Paris. Alioune, the landlord, and his wife Amina live downstairs with their two young children. The flat is not exactly seedy, but it is rather down at heel, and untidy.