Paradise

by Kae Tempest

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 26 August 2021

Kae Tempest has transformed Philoctetes by Sophocles into a modern setting in which the titular hero is abandoned, wounded, but with an unerring bow which allows him to forage for food, on an island ironically called Paradise, shared with a chorus of women who live in some sort of refugee camp or staging post for possible release to another country, if only they had the correct papers for travel.

Odysseus, the wily captain, and Neoptolemus, the naive and impressionable son of Achilles, arrive on a mission to persude or compel Philoctetes to join them, since a prophecy has declared that the long war they are involved in cannot be won without him and his bow. Philoctetes is less than willing, his suppurating wound torturing him, and his sense of betrayal (it was Odysseus who abandoned him on the island) festering into suspicion and anger after years of brooding.

So much, so Sophocles, but in modern dress, with references to papers, immigration, refugee status, and the unchanging heartbreak of women who lose men in war, much is also different (the chorus in Philoctetes are sailors accompanying the warriors, not women trapped on the island). Also, although the talismanic bow and the disposition of Achilles' famed armour are still discussed, the soldiers speak in an entirely modern way clearly referencing styles in the British Army - Odysseus the clipped oficer type, Neoptolemus the raw but enthusiastic recruit, Philoctetes the broadest cockney imaginable. The women are very Caribbean in their sensibility, including an older wise woman who speaks, or rather almost sings, in an incantatory style. 

The original play pits youthful integrity against cynical worldliness, with the hapless Philoctetes hoping against hope that Neoptolemus is not trying to trick him and constantly appealing to the young man's sense of honor, Odysseus briskly trading on his naivety, and the young man torn between duty and honour, leading to an impasse so finely balanced that only the intervention of a god (the deified hero Heracles) can resolve the problem by instructing his erstwhile companion to swallow his pride and anger and go with the other two to Troy. In Paradise, by contrast, there is a neat twist forcing the play to suggest a cycle of wounded exiles rather than a resolution of the ethical dilemma - it's a clever idea.

Elsewhere the new playwright's interventions are less successful. The weird incantations are not always easy to follow, and at a critical moment Philoctetes delivers an excoriating speech about blighted patriotism, ugly colonialism and the generally despicble state of the nation to which Odysseus demands he be loyal, which for all its passionate anger seriously interrupts the flow of the drama. It was simply too much propaganda, the character suddenly a mouthpiece for the author.

Perhaps the most startling thing about the production (directed by Ian Rickson and designed by Rae Smith) is the fact that the whole cast (not just the chorus) was female. Anastasia Hille played Odysseus, Lesley Sharp Philoctetes, and Gloria Obianyo Philoctetes. Yet there was no sense that these were female soldiers; masculine pronoun still abound in the text and masculine body language and attitudes confront us everywhere on stage. It makes for an invigorating interpretation of a play that is almost two and half thousand years old, a difficult play in itself not always perfectly presented in its new guise, but nonetheless an intriguing and in many ways timely experience.

Rosmersholm

by Henrik Ibsen

seen at the Duke of York's Theatre on 29 May 2019

Ian Rickson directs Hayley Atwell as Rebecca West and Tom Burke as John Rosmer in Duncan Macmillan's new adaptation of Ibsen's play, with Lucy Briers as Mrs Helseth (the housekeeper), Giles Terera as Andreas Kroll (Rosmer's brother-in-law), Peter Wight as Ulrik Brendel (Rosmer's former tutor) and Jake Fairbrother as Peter Mortensgaard (a newspaper editor).

In classic Ibsen style the oppressive traditions of a family dynasty, the Rosmers of Rosmersholm, weigh heavily on Pastor John Rosmer, now living in the vast family mansion in mourning for his sick wife who leapt into the nearby millrace in despair (apparently) at not being able to bear children to carry on the family name. Rebecca West, sent by Kroll to be a companion to his sister in her illness, is still living in Rosmersholm, a soulmate and intellectual sparring partner of John Rosmer, a woman with an uncertain past who threatens Kroll's comfortable sense of masculine superiority. 

But there is more than simmering family dynamics here - there is a political situation as well. Kroll has not visited the house since his sister's death, but now he needs Rosmer's endorsement in the imminent elections for the governorship, in order to counter the scurrilous populists encouraged by Mortensgaard's gutterpress Lighthouse newspaper. Kroll proposes that Rosmer should become the nominal editor of the Tribune which he and his supporters have just purchased. He is astounded to discover that Rosmer wishes to remain neutral, and appalled even more when the Pastor confesses that he has lost his faith. Naturally he concludes that this is Rebecca's fault.

The free-spirited Rebecca, passionate about her right to think for herself and to control her destiny, is an obvious foil to Kroll, a man so convinced of the rightness of his views that he discounts the fact that his wife and children profoundly disagree with him. But as usual, Ibsen shows the damage idealism can cause as well as its allure - Brendel, an old tutor who doubtless first sowed the seeds of intellectual enquiry in the young Rosmer, is now a disreputable sponger, while Rebecca herself has to face unsuspected facts about her past which are truly awful: her intellectual mentor was more than he had seemed.

Rosmer, encouraged at first to break free from the legacy of his family, finds little solace in adventurous idealism as he loses Kroll's esteem and finds even Mortensgaard precipitately keen to drop him when he realises that an apostate pastor is of no use to his cause. And of course, to add to the ironies, it was Rosmer in his earlier days who had ruined Mortensgaard's life by publicly denouncing his adultery. He also finds Rebecca an enigma to the last, and the conventional solution of marrying her is not one that she can countenance.

All this and more is superbly supported in Rae Smith's design for this production. The horror of the house is emphasised by its grey walls studded with family portraits (at first gloomily covered by grey cloths). The light pouring in from the windows reveals a chilly atmosphere. Rosmer's abandoned faith is cleverly signified when his study is revealed: the wallpaper (silvery grey of course) is faded except for where a cross must once have stood against it: now just the outline remains, and above it another painting (of his wife? of a religious subject?) has also been removed, leaving a darker patch.

Hayley Atwell imbues Rebecca with fierce passion and a self-confidence which scandalises the more conventional Kroll - and perhaps the loyal housekeeper Mrs Helseth too - but the character's nervous tension is finely drawn, making her sudden collapse at Kroll's revelations all the more convincing. Tom Burke's Rosmer is also excellently done, a man of ideals finally trapped by the vast gulf between idealism and the day-to-day grind of life. These two carry the passionate weight of the play with complete ease.

Cogent political points are easy to score in today's climate where questions of personal responsibility for political views are all too relevant: the jibes at the ignorance of the voting population and the manipulations of a cynical press were all too resonant. But at the same time the dangers of self-indulgence on the part of the idealistic John Rosmer and Rebecca West were wonderfully intimated by the constant presence of silent servants performing their duties - moving furniture, bringing in flowers or candles, providing Rosmer with his house clothes or his outdoor gear - but also listening stupefied or nervously intrigued as their 'betters' sound off about personal freedom and economic improvement.

The power of Ibsen' vision, unflinchingly revealing that nothing can be just black or just white in this complex world of women and men, was fully evident in this fine production.

Against

by Christopher Shinn

seen at the Almeida Theatre on 9 September 2017

Ian Rickson directs Ben Whishaw in this new play which investigates the ills of modern society through the mission of Luke, an IT billionaire, to 'go where the violence is'. Early in his 'project' he meets the parents of a young mass-murderer, hoping to discover something about the violence and perhaps to help them come to terms with it. In later developments, we see more of the people reacting to his 'project', rather than their direct interactions with him - indeed Luke becomes, against his will, something of a celebrity figure as his journeys across America are followed by the media.

The Red Lion

by Patrick Marber

seen the the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 4 August 2015

The play is directed by Ian Rickson and features Daniel Mays as Kidd, Peter Wight as Yates and Calvin Kemba as Jordan. It is set in the dressing room of a football club. Kidd is the ambitious and slightly dodgy club manager, Yates a one-time player now reduced to managing the club's kit (washing and ironing), and Jordan a promising young player offered a contract with the club.

The three men are all passionate about football, but being totally different personalities, each brings different loyalties to the situation. Kidd regards Yates as a loser and an encumbrance, while Yates sees Kidd as the unacceptable modern face of football as a business instead of a vocation. Jordan wishes to behave in an ethical manner and bridles at Kidd's tactical instructions - yet he fails to disclose a crucial piece of information, naively expecting that playing well in an amateur club with no further ambition bypasses the issue. Since the other two (especially Kidd) see him as a candidate for a potentially lucrative transfer, a crisis rapidly engulfs all three.

In a bare and rather run-down set, with only three actors, a wealth of tension, aspiration, frustration and anger is revealed as the two older men battle for their vision of the game and hope to recruit the youngster to their own cause, without really telling him straightforwardly what is at stake. Marber is excellent at providing dialogue which uses the situation at hand to reveal many issues of personality, status and ambition, and the three actors rise to the challenge. The explosions of energy and anger are offset by scenes of mundane activity or quiet reminiscence, through which we come to realise how heavily invested the three men are in the club. Though sport as a metaphor for life is a well-worn idea, the play uses it with great skill to reveal their characters, their weaknesses and strengths alike.

Daniel Mays brings a cocky urgency to Kidd, his pent-up energy masking an emptiness that only the wiser Yates can perceive - but Yates has neither the strength nor the authority to help resolve the problem. Peter Wight's body language, a pitiable slumped stature from which he rarely asserts himself, conveys the shattered shell of an out-of-touch romantic. Calvin Kemba convincingly sows us a young man looking to his future from a bleak past.  But, for all their shared enthusiasm, the three men are ultimately alone with their demons, which have fairly wrecked the Red Lion club.