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Posts Tagged ‘Bertie Carvel’

Rupert Murdoch is my greatest bête noire. From interference in elections to invasions of privacy via oceans of tackiness & sexism and the creation of exploitive monopolies, he offends me at every turn. So I was expecting to have my prejudices pandered to in liberal Islington. They weren’t, though largely because this play about his early English adventures, in particular the rise of The Sun, takes place before he hired the evil unholy trinity of McKenzie, Morgan and Brooks, plunging his organs into even deeper moral depths. Covering little more than a year, but covering it in depth, Ink is as fascinating as it is enthralling and entertaining.

When the play starts he already owns The News of the World, but he wants a daily. He buys the ailing Sun from the Mirror Group, hires one of their own, Larry Lamb, as editor, and sets the seemingly impossible target of matching their circulation, the highest in the world at the time, within twelve months. I’d forgotten that it all started as irreverent, anti-establishment and, well, fun. Populism personified, until some tragic events close to home (which I’d forgotten) nearly killed it, only to be rescued by…..well, it’s the tits wot done it.

The relationship between Murdoch and Lamb is the beating heart of the play, and Bertie Carvel and Richard Coyle are simply terrific. I struggle to understand how playwright James Graham is so successful presenting people and events that happened before he was even born – perhaps its because he has the objectivity rather than the baggage that those of us who lived through them have. Like Our House, The Angry Brigade and the underrated Monster Raving Loony, he captures the sixties and seventies with pinpoint accuracy.

Rupert Goold’s staging owes something to his own Enron, including audacious use of music and movement to add life, and Bunny Christie’s superb set of ramshackle offices piled high, with projections behind, adds even more life. Amongst the superb supporting cast, Sophie Stanton gives another of her priceless turns as Geordie Women’s Editor Joyce, and Tim Steed is particularly good as a posh fish-out-of-water Deputy Editor.

Good to see something provide competition for The Ferryman as Best New Play! A real treat.

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I can’t begin to imagine what the audience thought of this early expressionistic Eugene O’Neill play when it was first staged on Broadway 93 years ago. It probably wouldn’t make it to Broadway or the West End today (unless it had a Hollywood star, obviously). It’s only been done here in English once in my 35 years of London theatregoing, in 2012 at Southwark Playhouse – a terrific production. So here we are just three years later in the much bigger Old Vic.

It starts in the testosterone fuelled engine house of a transatlantic liner with Yank, the central character, ruling the roost as they drink heavily. A rich girl who we first see on deck turns up in the engine house as if visiting a zoo. This has a profound impact on Yank and when he’s back in New York he’s railing against the upper class and gets arrested. Prison confirms his beliefs and he joins a union upon release, but is thrown out on suspicion of being a spy, ending up in a zoo where he talks to and releases an ape, who kills him.

It’s not a great play, but it is fascinating (as is O’Neill’s previous expressionistic piece, Emperor Jones) and way ahead of its time. A review at the time apparently said ‘before The Hairy Ape we had plays, now we have drama’. Left-wing drama on Broadway almost 100 years ago! I can’t think of a better director than Richard Jones and his use here of stylised movement (choreographer Aletta Collins!) is particularly effective. Stewart Laing’s striking design creates a claustrophobic atmosphere in the below deck scenes, with stunning and occasionally blinding lighting by Mimi Jordan Sherin.

Bertie Carvel seems taller and bigger and larger than life, with huge presence as Yank. He’s surrounded by a fine cast of twelve actors and two actresses, but its really Yank’s play and Carvel gives a towering performance.

It doesn’t have the intensity and intimacy of the Southwark Playhouse production, but its good to see it on a major stage, if a little too soon after the last outing. 

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The Almeida Greeks season goes from strength to strength with this second revelatory and intelligent production of Euripides last play, in a version by Anne Carson. It certainly does the god of theatre proud. I thought it was spellbinding.

It’s a battle between the gods, in this case Dionysos god of theatre and wine (my god!), and the mortals, in this case Pentheus, King of Thebes, whose grandfather Kadmos has passed him the throne whilst still alive as he has no son. Dionysos in human form as Bakkhos presides over all things hedonistic, with a retinue of female followers, including Pentheus’ mother Agave, partying up a nearby mountain. Pentheus foolishly decides to take him on and it all ends in a lot more than tears. It is of course playing out the conflict of human nature between rationality and instinct, with characters often describing events happening off-stage.

All of the roles are played by just three actors, as was the convention in the theatre festival where it was first performed 2420 years ago. Ben Wishaw is Bakkhos, the blind seer Tiresius and Pentheus’ servant who witnesses his demise, Bertie Carvel plays Pentheus and his mother Agave, and Kevin Harvey plays Kadmos and messengers. They all undertake brilliant transformations and they’re all terrific. The superb chorus of ten women perform with an extraordinary cocktail of speech, singing, chanting and sounds, dressed in skins and fur with headdresses of greenery and painted faces, moving and sounding as one. They are much more a part of the play than is usual in Greek tragedy.

There’s atmospheric music by Orlando Gough no less and unusual and highly effective lighting by Peter Mumford. It’s played out on a bare stage surrounded by and on top of what look like black slag heaps, which provide challenging entrances for the actors. I thought James Macdonald’s staging was masterly and it gripped me from Ben Wishaw’s prologue and never let me go for the next 110 minutes.

With the first two stunners, Almeida AD Rupert Goold has set the bar high for his own Medea in September!

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