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Posts Tagged ‘Lindsay Posner’

The four Florian Zeller plays we’ve seen here in London in the last few years have been in a different order to how they were written / first produced. We’ve had The Father, The Mother, The Truth and now The Lie in that order, but The Mother, The Truth, The Father and The Lie is how they were written. The significance of this is that The Lie follows The Truth, 18 months later rather than the three years after, and this, in my view, affects its welcome. I felt it was more of the same and I left the theatre disappointed.

The Lie concerns a couple, Paul & Alice, and their friends, another couple, Michel & Laurence (female). It’s a who’s-having-an-affair-with-whom concoction full of false trails and even a false ending, which to be honest I found irritating. It’s clever, but that’s about all. I felt I was being manipulated by a writer for his enjoyment rather than mine.

The whole thing is set in Paul & Alice’s apartment and we don’t know how much time has passed between scenes. It’s expertly performed by real-life husband and wife Alexander Hanson and Samantha Bond, supported by Tony Gardner and Alexandra Gilbreath, all of whom who also seemed to be enjoying it more than me.

There’s a fine, elegant apartment setting by Anna Fleischle and Lindsay Posner’s staging works like clockwork, but I’m afraid it left me cold. Cleverness for its own sake, it just seemed pointless. I have enjoyed this other three plays and I hope we have better to come as I’d identified Zeller as a real find. Hopefully a blip rather than a burst bubble.

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Playwright Martin Crimp has been very loyal to theatres and they to him. His first seven plays were staged at Richmond’s Orange Tree Theatre, who appear to have nurtured him. The next nine were at the Royal Court, where he was writer in residence. Another one back at OTT and one at the Young Vic and that’s it. He’s been more promiscuous with his eleven translations / adaptations, including one here at the Almeida. His plays are rarely revived here in London, with the NT’s Attempts On Her Life a notable exception ten years ago. This one was his first Royal Court main stage play in 1993 and I think this might be the first major London revival.

Anne is bullied by her husband Simon, who tapes her mouth, amongst other things. Somehow she gets to tell her story to husband and wife Andrew & Jennifer who are in the business of developing films. They may live in the same big city but Anne’s and Jenifer’s worlds are far apart. They bring on board writer Clifford and big name John and Anne’s story gets changed beyond recognition. Anne has a fling with Andrew and their sex is observed by Clifford, which makes her so mad she returns to Simon and draws him into her plan for revenge. The film gets released, but by now Anne isn’t involved, and its not her story any more. On the night of the premiere Andrew goes looking for her and Jennifer follows. Along the way the play takes a surreal turn when Anne gets a blind cab driver, who turns up again later when Clifford needs a cab! It’s a satire, but it covers a lot of other ground too.

It’s played out in a series of short scenes moving from Andrew & Jennifer’s office to their favourite Japanese restaurant to the street and the subway and eventually to Anne & Simon’s home. Fifteen ‘extras’ populate the office, street, subway and first night party. It’s a pretty bland design, so the extras brought a bit of life to the stage. It is very well performed, with Aisling Loftus and Matthew Needham excellent as Anne & Simon and Indira Varma hitting just the right satirical note as Jennifer. Gary Beadle has hot-footed it over form the Royal Court Upstairs for fine turns as John and a New York cop. The original was directed by Lindsay Posner who has passed the baton to Lyndsey Turner for this revival.

I appear to have wiped the Royal Court production from my memory, so it was good to see it again. It hasn’t dated, though it isn’t a classic, and it may provide an illustration as to why Crimp is rarely revived.

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This is the third play by French playwright Florian Zeller that we’ve had in London in less than twelve months, all translated by Christopher Hampton. I worried when the second, The Mother, was stylistically similar to the first, The Father, that he might be a one-trick pony, even though I admired both. Fear not, the third is very different and quite possibly the best.

The first scene introduces us to Michel and his best friend’s wife Alice in a hotel room. They are having an affair. What unfolds over 90 minutes in seven scenes in six locations, each involving just two of the characters, is the unravelling of their infidelity, taking many twists and turns, keeping you guessing until the final moments. It’s a masterly piece of writing and it’s very funny. To say any more would spoil it. 

Lindsay Posner’s staging is as masterly as the writing and Lizzie Clachan’s design is as clever as the play’s structure, changing location with the slide of a screen. Alexander Hanson as Michel is onstage throughout, carrying the play, and he does so brilliantly, but the other three – Frances O’Connor, Tanya Franks and Robert Portal – are terrific too.

Apparently there are six more plays we haven’t seen, including a companion piece to this, unsurprisingly called The Lie. I can’t wait. Three plays in and I’m convinced he’s a find.

This is why I go to the theatre. I’ll be very surprised if this doesn’t follow The Father into the West End. Unmissable.

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I wasn’t planning on seeing this, but it’s got Clare Higgins in it and I have no willpower, so off to the Old Vic in-the-round we go. It’s their second season reconfigured and it really is a much better space, but the play proves a bit static.

Set on Christmas Eve in Palm Springs a few years after 9/11, the Wyeth family – mother, father, son, daughter and sister / sister-in-law / aunt – have assembled for the festive season. Lyman is a retired actor turned republican politician and his wife Polly a friend of Nancy Reagan. Son Trip – a TV producer – and daughter Brooke – a writer – vere to the left. Polly’s sister Silda is out of rehab, again. This game of happy families is upset when Brooke reveals the biographical nature of her next book, which triggers a real life game of truth or lie.

Jon Robin Baitz’s play examines post-9/11 American politics and sensibilities through this one family’s recent history. It’s a perfectly believable scenario and the story and writing is good, but I didn’t really like any of the self-obsessed characters and didn’t warm to the play. I admired Lindsay Posner’s staging, though, and the performances are all good. Dame Clare does her best with an underwritten role, Sinead Cusack is initially unrecognisable as Polly, all big hair and power dressing, and Peter Egan looks ever inch the actor-poitician. Daniel Lapaine and Martha Plimpton feel like real siblings; Plimpton’s role carries the play and she’s very impressive.

Though I’m glad I saw it, I’m not sure it’s worthy of such a high profile West End production. If I’d seen it Off-West End or on the fringe, I think my expectations would have been better met. The Old Vic doesn’t have a good track record with new plays, so I’m looking forward to the next pair of revivals in this great reinvented space.

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I’ve come late to this, first because if indecision (I like it, but do I want to see it again?) and then because of a cancelled performance, so you’d be forgiven if you’re by now not really interested in my view!

What struck me most about this superbly cast revival was how contemporary the play is – and always will be I suspect. A play written almost 70 years ago based on a true story some 30 years before is a completely relevant and up-to-date debate about human rights. As John Morrison points out in his excellent programme essay, it serves the same purpose as today’s tribunal and verbatim plays.

Young Winslow is a navy cadet expelled for stealing a postal order (remember them?). His father decides to clear his name at all costs. In the first act, the facts of the case itself are examined; in the second – ending in a brilliant mock interrogation which brings spontaneous applause – they decide how to proceed; in the third the real costs of fighting the case are revealed and in the fourth act we learn the outcome. We even get a topical (for the early 20th century) sub-plot about the suffragettes. It’s a perfectly formed play which holds you from beginning to end. It might sound dry, but it’s often funny, sometimes moving and a perfect balance between thought-provoking and entertaining.

You can’t help reflecting on the present debate about whether human rights have gone too far, recent responses to terrorism which fly in the face of these rights and the lengths people have to go to – and the price they have to pay – for justice and truth. We even get a bang-up-to-date snipe at the press. At one point a guilty personal reflection of an occasion where I tried to talk a friend out of pursuing fairness for pragmatic reasons popped into my head and at another point a professional reflection of a case where human rights had gone too far came back.

This is all beautifully staged by Lindsay Posner in a period perfect Edwardian drawing-room designed by Peter McKintosh. Henry Goodman was made for the part of the indignant, determined father and Deborah Finday is superb as his somewhat fluffier wife. Naomi Frederick perfectly captures the feistiness of suffragette daughter Catherine, Nick Hendrix brilliantly conveys son Dickie’s loyal but superficial attitude, and Charlie Rowe is hugely impressive as the Winslow boy himself. Add to this Peter Sullivan’s terrific barrister, with a professional exterior hiding a passion for justice, Richard Teverson’s pitch-perfect stiff upper lipness, Jay Villiers lovable love-struck Desmond and Wendy Nottingham’s delightful maid and you really do have a crack cast.

So glad I did go after all. You have 4.5 more weeks to see why.

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Though there have been numerous TV and film adaptations, there have been surprisingly few stage adaptations of Henry James’ late 19th century novella; possibly because of the difficulty (more so in the past than now perhaps) in pulling off the ghost stuff effectively. That’s actually the major strength of this production, though it still doesn’t match Benjamin Britten’s opera; conclusive proof of the power of music?

Playwright Rebecca Lenkiewicz has been faithful to her source, though perhaps more explicit, and Director Lindsay Posner and his designer Peter McKintosh have been just as respectful with their staging and design. James’ story starts with Sackville interviewing a new governess for his nephew and niece, orphaned by the death of both their parents and left with a housekeeper and governess in the family home (with infrequent visits from their uncle). As the play unfolds, we learn about the death of the previous governess and another employee, who now seem to be haunting or even possessing the children. There is more than a suggestion that in life they may have preyed on them sexually.

McKintosh’s design is excellent and Scott Penrose’s effects, Tim Mitchell’s lighting and John Leonard’s sound design are all terrific – the staging of the apparitions was good enough to get a lot of gasps and a few squeals from the audience. The performances are excellent, led by Anna Madeley’s governess (who seemed to have a cold, which somehow added something to her more emotional scenes) and Gemma Jones’ housekeeper Mrs Grose. The children, Laurence Belcher and ANO (there are three alternating as Flora!) are exceptional in what are big roles with lots of lines.

The major problem is the pacing. It’s slowed down by a lot of scene changes, despite their slickness using the Almeida’s revolve, though ironically the second half – with more scene changes – is better paced! In the end, I felt that despite the quality of it all, it doesn’t transfer well from page to stage (without music, anyway) but in all fairness, I’m not really a ghost story fan and it is, after all, an up-market ghost story.

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One might have expected this 35-year-old Mike Leigh play to have aged, but surprisingly it seems to have matured – with 70’s nostalgia and retro style now an added bonus!

Given millions have seen the TV version, it probably needs little by means of description. Beverly & Laurence have invited new neighbours Angela & Tony around for drinks and nibbles (cheese and pineapple, obviously – this is 1977). They’ve also invited a more long-serving neighbour Susan, who’s teenage daughter Abigail (subject of the play’s title, but an offstage character) is throwing a party in her home. A lot is drunk, Beverly mercilessly nags Laurence & flirts with shy Tony as Anglea watches and Susan frets. Abigail’s party gets out of hand, as does Beverly’s as it moves to its tragi-comic conclusion.

Though still dark, this production seems much funnier. Perhaps familiarity has meant we are less shocked and more prepared to laugh out loud as grotesque Beverly’s hospitality morphs into control, Laurence’s  drive becomes his downfall, Tony reveals a darkness beneath his nerdiness, dull Angela proves to be the only one who’s useful when it comes to the crunch and frumpy Susan eventually fights back. It really is deliciously laugh-out-loud funny with an equal measure of cringe-making moments, all impeccably staged by Lindsay Posner (who proved himself a master of comedy with the current Noises Off revival) on a brilliant period set from Mike Britton – all shades of brown, orange & beige; G-Plan shelf units and leather sofas.

Alison Steadman’s iconic characterisation is a hard act to follow, but Jill Halfpenny’s partial reinvention of Beverly is subtly different whilst retaining the essence of the icon; she commands the stage as she does her soiree. Andy Nyman is the perfect foil, his sniping moving to rage as his wife’s put-downs become more open and more outrageous. Joe Absolom’s controlled performance as Tony means his eruptions shake the theatre when they come. Some have said that Natalie Casey is the weak link in the casting, but I was pleasantly surprised by her interpretation of Angela. Susannah Harker’s role is in many ways the toughest, but hers too is a beautifully judged performance.

It’s great to see the Menier back on form, packed to the rafters and awash with laughter. I’d be surprised if this isn’t another West End transfer for this lovely powerhouse in Southwark.

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When I first saw this play, in a production by Peter Hall c.15 years ago, it fizzed; so much so that I went back to see it again when it returned to London after an extensive tour. It seemed to me to be so much better than the play most consider his best – The Importance of Being Ernest. For reasons I cannot fathom, in Lindsay Posner’s production the first half is ponderously slow – one of the longest ‘set up’s’ I can remember – whilst the second half zips along.

Oscar Wilde’s play may be 115 years old but if you ignore the settings and costumes, its thoroughly modern – unlike contemporaries like Chekhov or Ibsen, it has hardly aged. The story is rather timely – a corrupt act in the past comes back to haunt a rising star politician. The morals of the case are explored as the events unfold, but with Wilde’s usual sharp wit, satirising the upper classes along the way.

Stephen Brimson-Lewis’ opulent gold set becomes three different rooms in the same house and with the insertion of a simple green wall transforms into a room in another house. With superb period costumes, it looks gorgeous and seems to me to capture the time and the society of the protagonists perfectly.

What makes this revival is brilliant casting. Samantha Bond is a suitably icy Mrs Cheveley, Rachel Sterling (looking mote like her mother than she ever has before) a moralistic Lady Chiltern and Alexander Hanson a somewhat ernest archetypal politician with an ability to change his stance and rationalise it seamlessly.  The star of the show though is Elliott Cowan’s Viscount Goring, a brilliant and witty creation in full flight, and there are lovely cameos from Charles Kay, Caroline Blakiston and Fiona Button.

Such a shame the first two acts didn’t have the pace of the second two, but worth a look nonetheless.

 

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This is an adaptation, by the prolific Richard Bean (whose new play The Big Fellah also opens this week), of David Mamet’s excellent film about con men.

It’s staged at the Almeida on a clever two-tier set by Peter McKintosh in an interval free 100-minute production with atmospheric electric guitar music by Django Bates played live.  Lindsay Posner’s production is well paced. There are eight good performances, with Nancy Carroll and Amanda Drew particularly effective (the latter in two roles).

I enjoyed the evening and I admired the skills of all involved, but I can’t really see how staging it adds anything to the film, so I’m left with the question ‘why?’. That’s all really!

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