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Posts Tagged ‘Morfydd Clark’

Why on earth has it taken 30 years for us to see Christopher Hampton’s masterpiece in London again? I’d almost forgotten how good it is. This thrilling revival is a brilliant reminder.

Based on Lacos’ late eighteenth century novel, racy by 20th century standards, let alone 18th (well, in a no doubt pruder Britain, at least), it’s a steamy tale of sexual intrigue and manipulation. The novel was written as a series of letters, but Hampton’s adaptation takes a more traditional dramatic form, beautifully structured with sparkling dialogue. It centres around the Machiavellian games played by friends and former lovers Le Vicomte de Valmont and La Marquise de Merteuil on young Cecile Volanges, Le Chevalier Danceny, who is in love with her, and Madame de Tourvel, a seemingly inaccessible married guest of Le Vicomte’s aunt. The stakes are much higher than either of the cynical game-players imagine and its conclusion is tragic.

Josie Rourke’s impeccable staging takes place in a fading period stately home designed by Tom Scutt, lit mostly by candlelight. It looks gorgeous. The original cast of Alan Rickman, Lesley Duncan, Juliet Stevenson and a young Lesley Manville is hard to follow, but Dominic West, Janet McTeer, Elaine Cassidy and Morfydd Clark are all superb, and make the roles their own. Edward Holcroft, who made a big impression on TV recently in London Spy, is just as impressive here as Danceny, and there are lovely cameos from Una Stubbs as Valmonte’s aunt Madame de Rosemonde and Theo Barklem-Biggs as his servant Azolan. The musical scene changes are a delight, thanks largely to the singing of Alison Arnopp’s servant Julie. 

A very fine and long overdue revival, surely destined for a transfer, but particularly brilliant in the intimacy of the Donmar.

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What I loved most about this brilliant but harrowing play was its unpredictability. And the terrific performances. Oh, and the superb design. In fact I liked just about everything about it.

When his mum dies of cancer, seventeen year old Liam has to move from the north to the South Wales valleys to live with his biological father Rick who he never knew and who doesn’t really want him. They are like chalk and cheese. Liam is intelligent, sensitive and quick-witted. Rick’s nickname is Viol, for Violence, which tells you all you need to know about him. He rules by fear and he’d like his son to be as tough as he is. Liam wants to grieve, Rick wants him to toughen up and get laid. Liam is obsessed with Dr Who. Rick is obsessed with alcohol and sex.

The action takes place in an evening and the following morning in Rick’s living room. Liam has been to a Dr Who convention with his school friend Jen, who’s now finding it impossible to get home in the rain. Rick has been in bed with his lover Suze. The play explores this father and son relationship as it takes some extraordinary turns, with Jen and Suze well and truly caught up in it. It’s a brilliant piece of writing from Gary Owen. The room is circular, wall waist high, with two gated entrances. We’re sat in grubby white plastic seats or on the usual ‘upstairs’ benches on ‘concrete’ behind. Cai Dyfan’s clever design felt like a bullring, which came to seem ever so appropriate given the amount of testosterone on display.

It’s a bit disconcerting when it seems like yesterday you first encountered Jason Hughes as the 20-something gay lawyer on TV in This Life and now he’s old enough to play a 40-something dad – and he’s terrific, cast against type, scaring the life out of me. This appears to be David Moorst’s second stage outing as Liam and it’s a stunning, delicate performance that squeezes every ounce of wit and sarcasm from his lines. Jen’s transition from innocent to a little bit predatory to aggrieved is beautifully handled by Morfydd Clark. Siwan Morris has her own journey from compliant to apologetic to outraged, also navigated brilliantly. It’s a fine set of performances indeed.

The play reminded me a bit of David Mamet’s Oleanna, where people left the theatre with different takes on it. It’s inconclusive, which means it continues to play in your head for some time. Great theatre. Go!

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