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Posts Tagged ‘Fiona Shaw’

This is the most famous of Muriel Spark’s twenty-two novels, her 6th, published in 1961, which was on stage within five years, on film within eight and a TV series ten years after that. Last seen on stage in London twenty years ago, at the National’s Lyttelton Theatre in a production by Phyllida Lloyd starring Fiona Shaw, this is a new version by Scottish playwright David Harrower. Though he’s done a lot of adaptations, he seemed an odd choice, but as it turns out he’s taken an interesting, fresh look.

Set in the thirties in a private girls school in Edinburgh, teacher Jean Brodie’s determination to teach her girls about life sets her on a collision course with Miss Mackay’s strict adherence to the curriculum. She treats them like friends, telling them about her relationships and her experiences, inviting them to her home. They are more like followers than pupils. At first it all seems mildly subversive and rather charming, until you realise how much control she exerts, her attempts to make choices for and mould her girls, not forgetting her fascist leanings. There is a dalliance with married art teacher Mr Lloyd and a long relationship with music teacher Mr Lowther, whose proposal she spurns. She is eventually betrayed and is forced to leave the school. It’s often very funny, but at times it’s sinister and dark too.

It’s told partly in flashback from post-war scenes where one of the girls, who went to Oxford and published a memoir, is interviewed by a journalist just before she enters a convent, and I’m not sure this worked that well or if was really necessary in telling the story. They’ve put in a middle aisle and swapped the front two rows of the stalls for wooden school chairs, which I’m also not sure is entirely necessary. They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to create a partly glazed back wall and ceiling, yet Lizzie Clachan’s design still seems to be missing something. I did love the use of bells, though, which emphasise both the school setting and the period.

If you need only one reason to see Polly Findlay’s revival it’s Lia Williams brilliant performance. She makes the role her own, delightful in her opinionated rebelliousness but ultimately transformed into a tragic figure. I’ve long admired her work, but this is a career high. In a fine supporting cast, Rona Morrison is terrific as Sandy, who sees the negatives in Brodie’s approach, and Sylvestra Le Touzel provides the contrasting sternness of Miss Mackay.

Good to see it on stage again, and warmly recommended.

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This was the first Beckett play I ever saw; 35 years ago, before I left Bristol for London. I’ve seen it three times since (including this one) but it’s one of those plays where your first time will probably never be repeated. A tour de force for an actress – for me June Barrie, Rosaleen Linehan, Fiona Shaw & now Juliet Stevenson – it’s still, somewhat astonishingly, more radical than anything else current.

Winnie spends the first act buried up to her waist and the second up to her neck. In previous productions, it has been a free-standing mound; in Vicki Mortimer’s striking design there is a cliff behind and an occasional light avalanche of scree. It glistens a little like gold in the bright lighting. Though we also see and hear Winnie’s husband Willie occasionally, it’s a virtual monologue as she empties her handbag and obsessively lays out its contents, including a gun, in front of her. The dialogue seems pointless, with more than a touch of sexual innuendo, though nothing is ever pointless in Beckett, just obtuse.

In this production, the contrast between the light(ish) first act and the somewhat bleak second act is greater than I remember. Winnie seemed louder and more shrill, particularly when she is barking instructions at Willie. The infamous bell has become a loud buzz. They stay frozen in character at the end as the audience applaud, presumably until we’ve all left the auditorium. This is my first exposure to director Natalie Abrahami and she makes as much impact as her former Gate colleague Carrie Cracknell did with A Dool’s House here last year.

It probably isn’t the best I’ve seen, but it’s great to see it one more time and Juliet Stevenson makes the role her own. David Beames has to take a back seat, well hole, until his big moment in the light, dressed to kill as it were, or as it maybe, at the end.

Still ground-breaking after all these years.

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I’ve seen all three of these very short one-woman plays, but 31 years apart with three different actresses in three different theatres. Back in 1982, Billie Whitelaw in the UK premiere of Rockaby at the NT’s Cottesloe, in 1994 Fiona Shaw in Footfalls (diverting from Beckets strict instructions) at the Garrick and just last year Not I here at the Royal Court with tonight’s actress Lisa Dwan. Seeing all three together in an hour, with darkness and silence in between, was a very different and somewhat overwhelming experience.

In Not I you just see a mouth spouting a stream of consciousness at a manic pace. The woman is looking back on four episodes in her life. In Footfalls May is pacing (nine at a time) outside her mother’s bedroom, holding a conversation with her in between. In Rockaby an old woman sits in a chair which seems to rock of its own accord whilst we hear her recorded voice reminisce. In between, the auditorium stays in complete darkness and the audience in silence (thankfully), though there is a gentle quiet soundscape to suggest the evening continues.

It’s a trance-like occasion, where the experience predominates over the meaning. You are mesmerised by the performances, work to understand what the plays are about, laugh occasionally. There are moments of poignancy; its mysterious and highly atmospheric. It’s an experience, a unique experience. Lisa Dwan is terrific, particularly in the first play.

It’s extraordinary that these plays, written in a 7-year period 32-44 years ago can still surprise, shock, intrigue and captivate. Whatever you think of them, you have to accept that Beckett was a true original and you’ve never seen and probably never will see anything else like this.

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Contemporary Music

I didn’t consider SO Peter Gabriel’s ‘masterpiece’ until this concert. There are better songs on other albums, but somehow this one hangs together best. It was the ‘main course’ of a 140-minute meal which also included two new songs and lots more oldies. The visuals were excellent and the sound was superb. His voice sounds better than it ever did and the band of regulars were as tight as can be. There was a touch of theatricality and more than a touch of idiosyncrasy and I loved it!

I’ve waited 34 years to see Graham Parker with the Rumour again, but the wait was worth it. Always one of the great live bands, they never sounded better than this re-union. Combining songs from the new album with a whole load of oldies and no tuning and chatting time-wasting, this was 23 songs in 110 glorious minutes with his fans creating an extraordinary atmosphere at Shepherds Bush Empire. They even had The Silver Seas’ Daniel Tashian in support (though there was too much talking by otherwise excellent GP fans!)

A week / month for old rockers it seems.

Opera

The focal point of the autumn visit to WNO in Cardiff was ‘The Tudors’; a trilogy of operas by Donizetti in Italian based on British Tudor history – Anna Bolena, Maria Stuarda and Roberto Devereux – in chronological order on consecutive days! In truth, Bel Canto isn’t my favourite operatic sub-genre, but the prospect was enticing nonetheless. The orchestra and chorus were wonderful (sprightly young conductor Daniele Rustioni is a real fine) and there was some good singing but the productions, dressed almost entirely in black, were somewhat disappointing. The highlight turned out to be Tosca, added so that I could take some friends, with lovely singing from American Mary Elizabeth Williams as Tosca and Wales’ own Gwyn Hughes Jones as Cavaradossi.

Fiona Shaw’s production of Britten’s The Rape of Lucretia for Glyndebourne on tour is the darkest I’ve ever seen. The theatre in Woking was a bit big for it, but the singing and playing was uniformly excellent so I’m glad I added it to my centenary collection. It looks like there will be three operas I won’t catch this year – A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Billy Budd & Paul Bunyan, though I will catch up with that in Feb (having missed curtain up by falling asleep with jet-lag in Sept!); shame, that.

Classical Music

The LPO‘s Britten Centenary concert at the RFH put together an intriguing selection of rarely performed works. The lighter first half featured a ballet suite and a folk songs suite, but the second half was more melancholic, with the song cycle Nocturne, brilliantly sung by Mark Padmore, and the Cello Symphony with soloist Truls Mork. The orchestra under Vladimir Jurowski sounded wonderful and it made me regret not booking more of the The Rest is Noise series of 20th Century music, of which this was a part.

Film

I sneaked off for an afternoon to make a dent in my growing film hit list and saw both Sunshine on Leith and Le Weekend back-to-back. Though I enjoyed both, the former probably suited me better. There are too few film musicals these days and I found SoL heart-warming, moving and funny. LW is a great and highly original midlife crisis film and it’s good to see Hanif Kureshi back in the screenplay saddle and Lindsay Duncan back on the big screen.

Filth also lived up to expectations – a thoroughly original and anarchic film that could only be made in Britain. James McAvoy’s range as an actor really is remarkable and here he’s a drink and drug addled copper with a past he can’t shake off.

Another sneaky late afternoon / evening double-bill paired Blue Jasmine and Captain Phillips. The former really is a career high for Woody Allen, who already has a whole load of career high’s. Cate Blanchet is superb, but in getting all the attention, Sally Phillips brilliant performance is being neglected (A Brit & a Kiwi leading a US film – what do we make of that?). I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a film which sustains tension for over two hours, but Captain Phillips certainly does. It’s a stunning achievement for director Paul Gereengrass and again, the attention on Tom Hanks (who is excellent) ignores the superb performances by the Somalian actors playing the pirates.

Art

Elmgreen & Dragset’s six-room installation at the V&A tells the story of a failed architect by letting you view his home, now up for sale. Butlers and maids occasionally engage you in conversation, telling you stories about him and you’re even given a copy of a play called Tomorrow that features him. Outside the building, a hoarding invites you to view the apartment. An extraordinary installation.

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The second-half-is-better-than-the-first pattern continues, though in this case the difference between halves isn’t so great. Howard Barker’s debate about art is an interesting and original play, but it ends up only a partial success.

Fictitious Venetian artist Galactia is commissioned by Urgentino to produce an epic canvas of the 1571 Battle of Lepanto. It’s late and when it arrives it outrages with its realistic depiction of death – the truth rather than the glory of war. The church gets involved, obviously, Galactia is imprisoned and her disloyal lover Carpeta accepts a commission to produce a suitable alternative. Urgentino is now much more hands on, something even Carpeta struggles with – and anyway he only really does Christ’s. When critical acclaim is bestowed on Galatica’s work it is exhibited to great success and our debate about art versus representation comes to an end.

The debate is sometimes stimulating, there are some excellent characterisations of artists and models and it’s often funny. Fiona Shaw is excellent (and brave) as Galactica, prancing around the stage semi-clothed like a more modern woman, Tim McInnerny is very good (and very funny) as Urgentino and there’s a fine supporting cast. The staging and design are sometimes inconsiderate to those at the front and sides and this irritated me, particularly the prison scene which was virtually invisible from the front rows. 

This was my first brush with the prolific Howard Barker’s work since a brief (and unsuccessful) introduction by an RSC Pit season in the mid-80’s. It was better than those, but he’s still not an easy playwright as he’s more concerned with the debate than entertainment. A bit to intellectual for a good time tart like me.

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The impact today of 19th century comedies like this depends more on the production and acting than the play (I remember a very mediocre London Assurance in 1989 transferred from Chichester and directed by a very young Sam Mendes). Well, here’s a terrific example of how you can breathe new life into something that’s 170 years old; I doubt it was that funny then!

Nicholas Hytner’s company get every laugh in the play, and a lot more that aren’t in it. Simon Russell Beale has extraordinary range as an actor, and comedy is one of his best hands – he’s the only person I know who can convey a reaction, emotion or opinion with just his eyes and cause a riot merely by striking an outrageously funny pose – and this is one of his best performances. He’s joined here by Fiona Shaw’s larger-than-life Lady Gay Spanker (!), comic genius Richard Briers in a wonderful cameo as her husband and a fine ensemble who appear to be having as much of a ball as the audience.

When Russell Beale and Shaw are struggling to suppress their own laughs (and at times, I wonder how it’s possible to play against SRB without corpsing) it adds rather than detracts from the fun.

Mark Thompson has built a terrific country house which fills the Olivier stage to great effect and created costumes that convey the characters perfectly.

This is an absolute gem and one of the best things to grace the Olivier stage in 30 years

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