The Authenticator

by Winsome Pinnock

seen at the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 25 April 2026

Miranda Cromwell directs Rakie Ayola as Abi, Cherrelle Skeete as Marva and Sylvestra Le Touzel as Fen in a short play in which Abi and her research assistant Marva are invited by Fen, the inheritor of a family estate, to authenticate some diaries she has discovered in a chest, which may relate to her abolitionist ancestor, a Jamaican plantation owner.

The estate is run down - gloriously indicated by Jon Bausor's inventive set, which even contrives a spooky dungeon revealed by the cunning use of a concealed stairway in the floor - and the academics, being Black, have vested interests in the project which may compromise their professional protocols, especially when it seems that the writer of the diaries may have treated slaves badly, and that the family has continued with racist attitudes down to the present day. Yet despite these weighty themes there is much humour in the piece as Pinnock sets about skewering both landed pretensions (Fen's background is belied by her plummy accent) and the clichés of haunted house mysteries with a deft touch occasionally marred by coincidences which are a little too convenient.

Les Liaisons Dangereuses

by Christopher Hampton

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 4 April 2026

Marianne Elliott directs Lesley Manville as the Marquise de Merteuil and Aidan Turner as the Vicomte de Valmont in Christopher Hampton's adaptation of the scandalous 18th-century novel Les Liaisons Dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, with Monica Barbaro as Madame de Tourvel and Hannah van der Westhuysen as Cécile de Volanges.

In a stark monochrome space dominated by a vast pastiche eighteenth-century mural of unbridled sensuality, and an occasionally appearing modernistic chandelier almost pre-figuring a glitter ball, the machinations of Valmont and Merteuil are played out in all their brazen cynicism. Dancing maidservants in opulently coloured ballgowns and footmen in white tie and tails swirl around the space creating a frisson of decadence and often expressing the underlying passions and confustions of the major characters. Fragments of elegant but austere walls with convenient doorways are wheeled on and gracefully moved around the stage to create boudoirs and salons as required in a deft choreography that allows for intimate scenes in what otherwise would be a featureless open space. Rosanna Vize's set design provides an evocative and sometimes dreamlike environment for the febrile atmosphere of seduction and betrayal unleashed by the unscrupulous due at the centre of the web.

The moral ugliness of what is essentially the grooming of the naive Cécile is perhaps too muted by all the stagecraft, but the increasing tension caused by Valmont's unexpected genuine feelings for Madame de Tourvel in the second half is magnificently served by the same techniques. Aidan Turner portrays the sensuous rake with a charismatic charm though perhaps lacking the most sinister undercurrents of the character - he does not seem quite dangerous enough. In the meantime Lesley Manville's portrait of the manipulative marquise goes from strength to strength: what would later be seen as "drawing room comedy", the sort of caustic wit deployed by Oscar Wilde or Noel Coward, gradually transforms into naked power plays driven by frustration and passion. Yet even her steeliest resolve cannot withstand the social ostracism engineered by a protegée whose eagerness to learn she has fatefully underestimated.

This production has different emphases from the one I saw many years ago in Sydney (within a year or so of its Stratford premiere in 1985), and from the Donmar's production ten years ago (see my review of 30 January 2016 posted in early February of that year), and from the celebrated film with Glenn Close, John Malkovich, Michelle Pfeiffer and Uma Thurman. These earlier productions were, for example, all presented in eighteenth-century costume. On the Lyttleton stage the visual impact was quite different, and yet wonderfully contrived to use the space to its best advantage. The play certainly flourishes even unmoored from its specific historical setting, which is a tribute to the playwright and to this production company.

Summerfolk

by Maxim Gorky

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 1 April 2026

Robert Hastie directs a large ensemble cast in Maxim Gorky's 1904 play Summerfolk in an adaptation by Nina Raine and Moses Raine who are siblings: interestingly a sibling relationship between Varvara (Sophie Rundle, wonderfully calm and inscrutable for much of the time) and Vlass (Alex Lawther, bumbling and unsure of himself and yet managing to be boyishly endearing) is one of the central interests of the play.

The "summer folk" - in Russian, the "dachniki" - are those town or city dwellers who rent or retire to dachas for the summer to escape the stifling weather in their usual residences. In this play the characters are not wealthy enough to own dachas - that is, they are not landed gentry. In fact they are nouveaux riches, and somewhat bewildered by their unaccustomed affluence. Yet, only one generation away from the grinding poverty of their forebears, they are afflicted by the ennui and sense of drift so familiar from Chekhov's plays. Perhaps the unstructured holiday life makes matters worse.

The result is a play full of talk - at times quite clichéd talk - with tensions simmering underneath as friends drop in to Varvara and Sergei Bassov's dacha trailing their own problems, and an idolised literary figure makes a visit, proving to be a disappointment in the flesh, not least because his younger dashing good looks have given way to baldness - hardly relevant to his literary reputation but nonetheless significant in Varvara's eyes. Naturally Vlass, the wastrel younger brother perpetually at a loose end, is attracted to Maria, one of the visitors, but she is too conscious of the age gap between them to allow matters to progress, too painfully aware that she might just become a mother-substitute. Varvara in the meantime fends off declarations of love and finally, after maintaining an apparently icy reserve for much of the time, she explodes with wrath against her overbearing husband and leads a group of women "away".

But where will they go? The play, though at many points handling the sprawling interplay of men and women chatting or sniping at one another with real skill, does have its weak points, and perhaps this dramatic exit is one of them, coming as it does after a series of declamations from various people about the impossibility of their position in the world. Agonising about one's feelings of uselessness can only go so far, and flouncing off stage at the end is all very well - but where can such people go except back to their houses in town? 

Whereas in Chekhov antagonisms rarely become explicit, here a number of them risk becoming merely melodramatic, with little scope for just papering over the cracks to carry on. The famous injunction (adapted from Chekhov's own comments about narrative economy) that if a gun is revealed then it must later be used is somewhat mangled by the fact that one character does indeed flourish a gun during a marital argument, but a completely different character wounds himself (presumably with a completely different gun) later in the play.

A more serious issue is the tone of the adaptation. We are faced with the problem of our own knowledge of subsequent history. Both Chekhov's and Gorky's characters seem to be aware that their situations are untenable, but of course they have no knowledge of what happened in Russia a decade or two afterwards, or in Summerfolk's case, just the year after publication. In Summerfolk the presentiments are sharper, not least with the presence of a couple of local watchmen who speak contemptuously of the seasonal incomers. Their comments must have been disturbing when the play was written, but they now seem grimly ironic - yet the programme note unnecessarily hammers the point home by setting the play in 1905 (the year of Russia's Bloody Sunday and failed revolution) even though the play was written in 1904.

Furthermore the adapters have at times chosen language that could hardly have been spoken in polite society (even under stress) or among those aspiring to be of the intelligentsia or the upper bourgeoisie. Some of the outbursts are unnecessarily vulgar and even references to "sex" in more casual moments are more direct than a more decorous age would have deemed appropriate. 

However, these are minor distractions. The production is finely mounted in a versatile set (designed by Peter McKintosh) which makes full use of the Olivier stage to represent a dacha and its environs, even revealing a swimming hole in the second half. The cast manage the swirling conversations and shifts of emotion with great skill, allowing us to follow the important shifts of focus even if we, as non-Russians, inevitably can get confused by the plethora of characters. It is utterly refreshing to know that modern actors can still participate successfully in a play with a large cast, when so much contemporary writing, constrained by financial restrictions, concentrates on a much smaller group of characters.

Man and Boy

by Terence Rattigan

seen at the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 28 February 2026

Anthony Lau directs this revival of Terence Rattigan's 1963 play Man and Boy with Ben Daniels as Gregor Antonescu, Laurie Kynaston as Basil Anthony (actually Gregor's son Vassili), Phoebe Campbell as Carol Penn (Basil's girlfriend), Malcolm Sinclair as the financier Mark Herries, Nick Fletcher as Sven Johnson (Gregor's assistant), Leo Wan as David Beeston (Mark Herries's accountant) and Isabella Laughland as Countess Antonescu (Gregor's wife).

Basil and Carol, in a not entirely satisfying relationship, are unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of Basil's estranged father; his machinations turn out to be the primary focus of the play, presented here in an extraordinary production designed by Georgia Lowe. Rattigan's reputation for stolid settings (here, of a 1930s New York apartment) is blown away, replaced by an almost bare stage with a billiards-green baize carpet and functional tables and chairs such as one might find in a community hall. Furthermore the theatre has been reconfigured so that the stage is in the middle with banks of seats on either side. The acting style is also transformed. Gregor in particular slinks and prowls like a wild, not to say feral, animal, moving with a catlike grace that is at times extremely menacing. The tables are pushed and pulled around the stage and frequently mounted by one or more characters in moments of acute emotional stress.

Watching all this as the unsavoury plot unfolds - Gregor is shamelessly prepared to pimp his son out to a financier as a bribe to forestall the collapse of a business merger threatened because the accountant Beeston has found suspicious transactions in the Antonescu empire - is an intoxicating experience. The entrapment of Mark Herries, bamboozled by fast talking and fatefully corrupted by the tantalising offer of a young man's services (with no idea that Basil is related to Gregor), is a horrifying spectacle, while the level of exploitation involved seems too grotesque for the somewhat naive Basil to grasp.

But the irrepressible Gregor can after all be crushed: momentarily by Basil's excoriating put-down, and more fatefully by the unravelling of his business dealings (though not directly the affair elaborated in the first half of the play). As the background to Gregor's personality and his conflicted attitude to Basil becomes clearer we are on the more familiar Rattigan territory of strained relationships and family dysfunction. The mesmerising intensity of the first half perhaps slackens, and Basil's quixotic attempts to save his father despite his obvious flaws (because it is "the system" that is at fault, as Basil the good socialist maintains) is perhaps not entirely convincing. 

Ben Daniels puts in a superb performance as Gregor, ably matched by the rest of the cast whom he manipulates with consummate ease while his star is in the ascendant. When his world collapses his anguish is equally overblown; we may not be sympathetic after being exposed to his ruthlessness, but it ids easy to recognise his nihilism as the obverse of his frenetic energy.

 All in all this revival only serves to enhance Rattigan's reputation as a first-rate dramatist. 

The Corn is Green

by Emlyn Williams

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 23 April 2022

Dominic Cooke directs this revival of Emlyn Williams's semi-autobiographical play The Corn is Green, first staged in the West End in 1938. Nicola Walker plays Miss Moffat, the inspirational schoolteacher who blasts her way like a whirlwind into the stratified society of a Welsh mining village and sees enormous promise in Morgan Evans, one of the miner's sons, played by Iwan Davies.

In a startling move Cooke and his designer ULTZ have imagined the play being created on a bare stage in front of our eyes, as if in the mind of Williams himself (Gareth David-Lloyd) who recites the detailed description of the set so typical of the play texts of the time, and then narrates the entrances and exits, the taking of cups of tea and setting out of lesson books, and so forth, with accompanying sound effects. At first this seems distracting and over-clever, but gradually the idea comes to be a brilliant way of showing the recollection and re-shaping of precious memories in action. It is therefore even more startling to find, after the interval, that the room so painstakingly described in words at the beginning has been given a physical manifestation on stage, in keeping with all those 'drawing room comedies' of its time.

Nicola Walker is excellent as Miss Moffat, inhabiting a character who brings all the force of her personality and convictions to bear on a society that expects women of her class to do nothing if they do not marry and produce children. Even on a cavernous stage with bare concrete walls she dominates and controls, blithely unaware of the way she rides roughshod over the personal cost to her star pupil, or the feelings of other lesser beings. Inevitably Morgan rebels, and the social pressures of the time are set to trap him: the energy of the play and of this production almost distract us from the somewhat distasteful moral dilemma posed and the extremely arbitrary solution adopted to 'save' him.

The play remains a powerful expression of gratitude to a life-changing event in a young boy's life, and the intense conviction that a sharp mind will flourish with education shines through the circumstances that tie the story to a particular time and place. The whole thing was a joy to watch.

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.

After Life

by Jack Thorne

seen at the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 8 July 2021

Jack Thorne has adapted this play from a 1998 Japanese film of the same name (at least in English: 'Wonderful Life' or 'Wandafuru Raifu' in Japanese) which was devised by Hirokazu Kore-Eda. The play is directed by Jeremy Herrin with the set and costumes designed by Bunny Christie, and it features a cast of twelve: five 'guides' and seven 'guided' with some of these seven doubling up in ancillary roles. It is presented by the National Theatre in conjunction with Headlong Theatre.

The action takes place over one week in a facility where guides are assigned to the recently dead to encourage them to identify a memory from their lives which they are happy to take with them (to the exclusion of all other memories) into eternity. The guided have three days to decide on their memory, after which the team of guides will reconstruct and film the memory for the onward journey, which must take place before the end of the week. On Sundays the staff tidy up and prepare for the next week's arrivals on Monday.

For some the memory to be chosen is fairly obvious, but a teenage girl is somewhat put out to discover that her choice (a visit to Disneyland) is all too common for her age group; eventually she chooses something more personal. But should she have discovered this? The knowledge came from one of the guides, despite the fact that guides should only be facilitators; the apprentice guide (Millicent Wong) has yet to learn the constraints of the job.

For others, making a choice is extremely difficult; a young man (Olatunji Ayofe) is shocked to discover he is not in a place of judgement, and he prevaricates. An older man(Togo Igawa), perhaps playfully given the same forename as the director of the film, feels his life has been too much on an even keel for him to make a valid choice. The guide assigned to each case tries to encourage reflection without forcing the issue.

There is something rather haphazard about the whole arrangement, brought to the fore when a couple of the memories are reenacted. The stage manager - or would it be production designer? - is frustrated  in re-creating a memory for a young pilot who was happiest flying a Cessna through clouds - the props department can only provide the wrong sort of plane. Equally, there are difficulties in arranging for the right quantity of cherry blossom to fall for the childish memory of an idyllic spring afternoon.

Jack Thorne's adaptation skilfully blends a number of characters from the film and makes clear through dialogue what was achieved in the film by indirection and voiceovers. While there is a lightheartedness about the presentation of some of the memories, an older lady Beatrice Killick (June Watson) reveals a deeply affecting life story when she is finally able to acknowledge the emotional cost of her experience. Likewise the interaction between the older man Hirokazu Mochizuki and his guide (Luke Thallon, giving an excellent performance) leads unexpectiedly to an extraordinary and moving resolution for them both while at the same time revealing to us more of the workings of the facility. The guides, while trying to be professional and discreet, have their own stories after all, which can all too easily impinge on their assignments.

The film, which I have watched again before writing this review, must have nuances connected with Japanese attitudes towards death which may well escape an anglophone viewer (there are, for example, some references to unfamilar devotional ceremonies). The play wisely concentrates on 'domesticating' the workings of the facility and imbuing some of the characters concerned with a more familiar Englishness: for example Beatrice Killick is very recognisably a type of stalwart no-nonsense Northern woman and her reminiscences of a dance hall where she danced with her brother easily evoke the bygone focus of social life in provincial towns. 

It is a great pleasure to see an intriguing but probably little known film transformed into an equally beguiling play.

Theatre in Lockdown: The 'Dream'

For those who may be interested, the Bridge Theatre's recent production of A Midsummer Night's Dream, which I reviewed on 17 August 2019 and again as a cinema relay on 17 October 2019, is being made available from today (25 June 2020) at 7 pm British Summer Time for seven days, through the National At Home free streaming service provided by the National Theatre.

https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/nt-at-home

Highly recommended - I shall be watching it again myself.

The Seven Streams of the River Ota

by Robert Lepage and others (Ex Machina)

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 6 March 2020

In contrast to the short plays currently featured at several theatres (the Bridge, the Donmar, the Orange Tree), Robert Lepage brings one of his sprawling epic productions to the Lyttleton for only eight performances - not surprising as the performance lasts for just over seven hours (including two intervals and a longer break - perhaps five and a half acting hours all told).

The free program provides a list of actors but no list of characters, and notes on various topics relevant to the play - the atomic bombs at the close of the Second World War and the subsequent US occupation of Japan; the Theresienstadt concentration camp; Madame Butterfly; the World Expo held in Osaka in 1970; Georges Feydeau; Yukio Mishima; Abbott and Costello; and the Butō dance tradition in Japan. From this wide-ranging list can be gleaned something of the scope of the play, which is divided (of course) into seven acts, starting in Hiroshima in 1945, moving to New York in 1965, Osaka in 1970, Amsterdam in 1985, and Hiroshima again in 1986, 1995 and 1999. These too are not listed in the program, but their number, name, location and date is projected at the start of each section.

Peter Gynt

by David Hare after Henrik Ibsen

seen at National Theatre (Olivier) on 16 August 2019

Jonathan Kent directs James McArdle in the title role of David Hare's adaptation of Ibsen's dramatic poem Peer Gynt, the story of a man consumed by the need to be and feel authentic, heedless of the effect this has on those around him. Pruned of the elevated poetry, and relocated from Norway to Scotland, the play proves to be compelling, touching and often very comic, though it certainly takes a darker turn as the evening progresses, as the irrepressible young Peter grows older and more disillusioned with life.

On the exposed Olivier stage almost every scene is set outdoors (designed by Richard Hudson), whether just outside his mother's hut, down at the village where a wedding is supposed to be taking place, even in the kingdom of the mountain trolls, and then on a golf course in Florida, or in the African desert after a plane crash, or at sea in a fateful storm. The restlessness of Peter's life is thus emphasised by the lack of domesticity: when he first visits his mother all the talk is outside the dwelling and he finishes up leaving her on the roof of her hut so that she cannot interfere with his plans, and even at her death she seems to be as much in the fields as on her deathbed.

The Lehman Trilogy

by Stefano Massini adapted by Ben Power

seen at the Piccadilly Theatre on 27 July 2019

Sam Mendes directs Simon Russel Beale as Henry Lehman (originally Hayum Lehmann), Ben Miles as Emanuel (originally Mendel) Lehman and Adam Godley as Mayer Lehman, with piano accompaniment by Candida Caldicot, in this production designed by Es Devlin, which was originally presented at the National Theatre and is now enjoying a West End run.

The collapse of the Lehman Brothers Bank precipitated the financial crisis of 2008; this play examines the history of the firm by returning to the arrival of Henry Lehman in the United States from Bavaria in 1844, followed by his brothers in Emanuel in 1847 and Mayer in 1850. The first part shows them developing a business based in Montgomery, Alabama, originally selling cotton goods, then expanding to sell farm supplies, and eventually raw cotton to northern cotton mills. In the late 1850s, after Henry's death in 1855,  Emanuel set up a New York office and gradually, partly in response to the Civil War, the firm moved into banking and eventually finance. Descendants of the brothers maintained a relationship with the firm until the 1960s.

Antony and Cleopatra

by William Shakespeare

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 2nd January 2019

Simon Godwin directs Ralph Fiennes as Antony, Sophie Okonedo as Cleopatra, Tunji Kasim as Octavius Caesar and Tim McMullan as Enobarbus in a production sumptuously designed by Hildegard Bechtler making inspired use of the famed Olivier drum revolve to resolve the difficult task of transferring quickly the scene of action across various sites in the Mediterranean world (though the programme informs us that the play is set in 'an imagined present').

Boldly, the play here opens with the final tableau of the text, Caesar pronouncing (most of) the final eulogy, and then Agrippa taking parts of Philo's opening speech as if commenting on the denouement rather than setting the scene. At this point the revolve reveals the Egyptian scene and the body of Cleopatra becomes the Queen lazily awaiting the arrival of her lover. 

Follies

by Stephen Sondheim (music and lyrics) and James Goodman (book)

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 19 December 2017

Dominic Cooke directs Imelda Staunton, Janie Dee, Philip Quast, Peter Forbes and many others in this revival of Sondheim's bittersweet 1971 musical in which the demolition of an old Broadway theatre brings a group of 'Weismann girls' to a reunion during which memories are evoked and life stories hinted at and regretted.

Impresario Weismann produced an annual variety show of 'Follies' between the wars (1918 to 1941); In 1971, with the impending demolition of his theatre, he hosts a reunion with eleven 'girls' and one 'boy' from his troupe, plus two husbands and some other guests (or staff). The older, and possibly wiser, characters are shadowed by their younger selves in full 'Follies' costumes.

Angels in America Part Two: Perestroika

by Tony Kushner

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 7 August 2017

Marianne Elliott directs this revival of Tony Kushner's sprawling two part epic subtitled 'A Gay Fantasia on National Themes'. The second part takes up where the first part finished, with the marriage of Joe (Russell Tovey) and Harper Pitt (Denise Gough) in tatters, Prior Walter (Andrew Garfield) trying to fathom whether the Angel's visitation is real or a hallucination, Lewis (James McArdle) his ex-lover) and Joe Pitt tentatively exploring the possibilities of a relationship, and Roy Cohn (Nathan Lane) approaching death. The nurse Belize (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) provides a strange link between all these characters.

The quality of the production that I praised in the review of Part One (in May) is easily matched in Part Two, as the themes of love, loss, betrayal and fear of death are further elaborated and examined. The disparate elements of angelic powerlessness, encroaching illness, the breakdown of personal relationships, and despair at political negligence and injustice, and the glimmers of hope in the face of it all, are woven into a compelling tapestry, and once again the skill and commitment of the cast prevent the whole fantasy from unravelling into bombastic talk.

Angels in America Part One: Millennium Approaches

by Tony Kushner

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 18 May 2017

Marianne Elliott directs this revival of Tony Kushner's sprawling two part epic subtitled 'A Gay Fantasia on National Themes'. In 1992 I saw the first production (by Declan Donnellan) of this first part in 1992 in the National's smallest auditorium, then named the Cottesloe (now the Dorfman); it was fascinating to see it reimagined for the larger and more conventional proscenium stage of the Lyttleton. The grandeur and expansiveness of the conception was easier to appreciate, but perhaps some of the raw intensity was dissipated.

The play is wide-ranging and ambitious - a fantasia indeed as it follows several major characters facing (or evading) the AIDS crisis of the 1980s and their own personal struggles with loyalty, love and honesty. The cast is uniformly excellent, fully committed to the extravagances of the text and thus able to hold the audience's attention during the long speeches while being equally compelling in the tense and often agonising personal encounters that drive the action. The design (sets by Ian MacNeil and lighting by Paule Constable) marvellously reflects the disparate spaces in which the scenes take place - offices, apartments, parks, streets and a hospital ward - all managed on three independent evolves across the width of the stage.

Andrew Garfield gives an astonishing performance as Prior Walter, the young gay man facing the onset of AIDS and the cruel failure of his lover Louis (an excellent James McArdle) to stay with him as his condition worsens. Not only is he wounded emotionally by Louis's departure, he is also terrified of the illness and fearful of his grasp on sanity as strange visions afflict him. Garfield's portrayal of this central character is utterly compelling, his physical mannerisms imbuing an initially camp hand-wringing with increasingly expressive desperation, and his vocal range encompassing mounting hysteria with absolute conviction. 

James McArdle renders Louis's selfishness and introspection in bravura passages of talk, almost completely unaware of the offence and pain he might be causing, and digging himself deeper into guilt and self-recrimination as he tries to account for himself and explain his world view. Such a person could be just obtuse but somehow one senses the pain and confusion.

The only historical character presented on stage is the odious Roy Cohn, played by Nathan Lane, a man obsessed by power and influence, shamelessly predatory and manipulative. It's a dazzling display of brazen self-confidence, mesmerising and horrific to watch as Cohn refuses to accept that he has AIDS or that he is homosexual, all the time wheeling and dealing to preserve his position as a formidable lawyer. The haplessly conflicted Joe Pitt (an anguished Russell Tovey) is fatefully within Cohn's orbit, trying to adhere to his ethical upbringing as a Mormon in this professional cesspool while at the same time realising that his marriage to Harper is doomed as an attempt to mask or overcome his own sexual orientation. The marriage is not only a sham for him, but it has also driven his wife (Denise Gough) to a distracted reliance on Valium.

These deeply personal conflicts and traumas are treated with a theatrical flair that allows characters who never meet in 'real' life - such as Harper and Prior - to encounter one another in dreams, while Roy Cohn in the extremity of his illness has a conversation with Ethel Rosenberg, who was executed over thirty years before as a result of his vindictive prosecution in a celebrated treason trial. Somehow Ethel calls the ambulance for Cohn - how could this possibly be happening? - and yet in the world of this play we accept the situation as a meaningful part of the fantasia. 

Unfortunately for me, the box office was so overwhelmed by demand for tickets that I have to wait until August to see Part Two. An Angel has crashed into Prior's life but I have weeks to wait to find out what happens next (I did not see the original production of the second part).

Salomé

by Yaël Farber

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 5 May 2017

This play, originally inspired by Oscar Wilde's play of the same name, but much amended by the director Yaël Farber and her dramaturg Drew Lichtenberg, recasts the story of Salomé to take into account the fact that women's actions as recorded by male and prejudicial sources in the ancient world may have been very different from what is conventionally assumed.

Here, Pontius Pilate (Lloyd Hutchinson, representing Rome) and Caiaphas (Philip Arditti, representing the priestly establishment) and Herod (Paul Chahidi, a mere client king of the Romans) are all keen that Iokanaan (John the Baptist) should be kept alive, even though he has been arrested, in order to avoid any chance of a popular uprising should he be killed in custody. But the fatal promise by Herod in a moment of rashness brought on by his infatuation with his young niece is still made, the price - Iokanaan's head on a platter - is still exacted, and the rebellion occurs and is crushed (so Pilate thinks).

There are echoes of the Wilde play throughout, not least in the concentration on the fateful night of the execution, and the account of the oath and its consequences. However, the political situation is given far more explanation through the presence of Pilate, and Salomé's own motivation, and the interpretation of her significance, is completely altered, not least by the fact that her older spirit narrates the story (a white-haired Olwen Fouéré, billed as 'Nameless' in the cast list). I say spirit, because though in this version Herod does not order her death as at the end of the Wilde play, Pilate most certainly does in exasperation at her refusal to explain herself to him.

Instead of a decadent young woman obsessed with kissing the mouth of Iokanaan, Salomé is presented more as the victim of male desire and politics, and indeed in her younger version (Isabella Nefar) she does not speak at all until after her encounter with Iokanaan (Ramzi Choukair) in the cistern prison where he is being kept alive by force-feeding. The notorious dance of the seven veils is transformed from a titillating strip-tease before Herod and his dinner guests into an ecstatic preparation for a cleansing ritual after which Iokanaan baptises her in the dregs of the cistern water. Consequently, she wills the apocalyptic rebellion in order to attempt to free the people from foreign domination, and it seems that Iokanaan is more than half in love with the idea of martyrdom as well.

The production is powerful, but strange and demanding. The Olivier stage is almost bare apart from a few trestle tables and chairs; one long trestle support becomes a very effective ladder down which Salomé 'climbs' to reach Iokanaan (the production is designed by Susan Hilferty). Sand cascades from above at certain moments, reminding us of the desert setting of some scenes, and contrasting with the shallow troughs of water representing the Jordan and later the cistern. The deliberately formal and distancing language of the Wilde play (where it is used) is matched by an extremely ritualised presentation, including wordless singing by two women, and careful positioning of all the cast often on a slowly revolving stage. To add to the sense of strangeness and distance, Iokanaan does not once speak in English, but rather in Arabic (I assume) directly quoting many Old Testament passages from the Prophets and from the Song of Songs. Some of his words are translated on a screen projection, and this is generally enough to convey the import of the incantatory style of his delivery (though maybe many in a modern audience will really have no idea of the references). There is also a minor figure identified as 'Yeshua the madman' looking like a wild beggar from the desert and occasionally saying things recognisable as Gospel phrases, but his presence seems to indicate only that Iokanaan is the more significant figure in everyone's eyes. 

It's engrossing and thought provoking; the auditorium was almost full for a preview performance, and I noticed only two people leave before the end. The play runs for nearly two hours without a break and the audience was, so far as I could judge, genuinely attentive. I was certainly fascinated. At times the narrative of the 'nameless' older woman veered between being too didactic and too knowingly gnomic, with grandiose statements about 'the first and the last' and so forth. This could fall into pretentiousness, but the strength and conviction of the cast prevented this from happening. 

Twelfth Night

by William Shakespeare

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 10 April 2017

Simon Godwin directs Tamara Lawrance as Viola, Oliver Chris as Orsino, Phoebe Fox as Olivia and Tamsin Greig as Malvolia in a fascinating and at times hilarious modern dress production designed by Soutra Gilmour.

The gender confusions of this play, in which Viola (in Shakespeare's time played by a boy) spends much of the time disguised as a boy while falling in love with Orsino and being pursued by Olivia, are given added twists here by re-shaping the part of Malvolio as a woman, Malvolia, and also having the clown Feste played by a woman (Doon Mackichan). A couple of minor characters also become women, while the boundaries of friendship and the desire for a more intimate affection are also blurred for Antonio and Sebastian, for Orsino as he befriends the disguised Viola, and, at a comic level, even Sir Andrew Aguecheek's attitude towards Sir Toby Belch.

My Country; a work in progress

prepared by Carol Ann Duffy

seen at the National Theatre (Dorfman) on 1 March 2017

Rufus Norris directs Penny Layden (Britannia), Stuart McQuarrie (Caledonia), Adam Ewan (South-West), Christian Patterson (Cymru), Seema Bowri (East Midlands), Cavan Clarke (Northern Ireland) and Laura Elphinstone (North-East) in a play comprising verbatim interviews with dozens of people in the various regions of the UK (pointedly excluding London and the South-East, apart from some politicians' statements spoken by Britannia) in relation to the Brexit referendum, with framing and connecting pieces by the Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy.

The play opens with Britannia calling the regions together for a meeting "as she always does" at critical moments of history - some previous occasions are referred to, going back to the fourteenth century. As the representatives of six regions arrive they bustle and chatter, the tensions between them veering between relaxed chaffing and more serious confrontation; Britannia is like a convener somewhat weary of the bickering. 

Amadeus

By Peter Shaffer

seen at the National Theatre (Olivier) on 31 January 2017

Just over 36 years ago, on a cold December morning of 1980, I queued outside the National Theatre in the hope of buying two day release tickets for Peter Hall's original production of Amadeus starring Paul Scofield (Salieri), Simon Callow (Mozart) and Felicity Kendal (Constanze). In those pre-electronic days the limited number of day tickets were only on sale at 9 am from a small booth near the entrance to the building, which was not open to the general public until a later more civilised time of day. Inexplicably, the couple in front of me declined the tickets on offer, and so a friend and I were able to see the play from the centre of the fifth row of the stalls. In this prime position, it seemed as if Salieri was speaking to us alone out of the whole unwieldy amphitheatre of the auditorium as he mused on the appalling mixture of joy, pain, jealousy and betrayal he experienced on first hearing the music of Mozart.

The National has now revived the play in a new production directed by Michael Longhurst with Lucian Msamati as Salieri, Adam Gillen as Mozart and Karla Crome as Constanze, with the participation of the Southbank Sinfonia to provide the musical interludes. Once again, I bought a ticket at the last moment; just by chance there was a return for the evening performance when I asked to the Box Office in the afternoon, this time in the centre of the eleventh row.

Hedda Gabler

by Henrik Ibsen

seen at the National Theatre (Lyttleton) on 25 January 2017

Ivo van Hove directs Ruth Wilson as Hedda, Kyle Soller as Tesman, and Rafe Spall as Judge Brack in a new version of Iben's play modernised by Patrick Marber. Chukwudi Iwuji is Lovborg, Sinéad Matthews is Mrs Elvsted, Kate Duchene is Aunt Juliana and Éva Magyar is the maid Berte.

The setting is a bare apartment, looking all the more bare for having large expanses of unpainted walls (plastered and awaiting attention) and comparatively little furniture. This partly evokes the Tesmans' pretensions in moving into an apartment beyond their means (ironically underscored in the text by Hedda's admission that she praised the apartment on a whim), and partly reflects the aridity of Hedda's interior life. Indeed, stripped of its late 19th century social claustrophobia, the play has to focus more intently on Hedda's trapped and disintegrating psyche. As the audience files in, the maid is seated impassively to one side while Hedda sits at the piano, back to the audience, and fiddles tunelessly with the notes.