Matching Curtains

Where There's A Will at the Oxford Playhouse

I'm going to get all middle class and highbrow on your asses now as I have a theatre review for you good people.

Peter Hall’s version of Georges Feydeau’s Where There’s a Will is on at the Oxford Playhouse until Saturday 11 April and I cannot think of a better way to spend an evening this Easter break. A distinctly French farce set in turn of the century Paris, it takes a satirical look at the marriages and (more pertinently) infidelities of bourgeois society in a fashion not dissimilar to the work of Oscar Wilde. The script is full of witty, pithy aphorisms which seem to have lost nothing in translation; Christopher Wood’s costumes and set can best be described as sumptuous, designed in an art nouveau style which I instantly fell in love with; and the performances were faultless. All the action takes place in one room, and the cast of six had plenty of verbal sparring to keep them on their toes, so it’s to their credit that they retained our interest throughout, navigating the play’s wordiness with a real joie de vivre. I particularly enjoyed the asides to the audience, which gave proceedings a real sense of proper, old fashioned theatre. Special mention must be made of Tony Gardner’s thwarted lover Thommereux, who added an especially comic touch skilfully avoiding mere pastiche.

When this play was first performed I can imagine its licentious themes were far more shocking to a less liberal society (in principle at any rate, if the play is anything to go by) than to today’s theatregoers. However in spite of this the play still serves to entertain, its sparkling wit making much fun of people’s foibles and the madness which desire provokes – surely something people from any generation can relate to, however cynical the play’s outlook and finale may seem.

The last play I saw directed by Peter Hall was the markedly different Whose Life is it Anyway, starring Kim Catrall as a women paralysed from the neck down and arguing for the right to end her life. This movie, with its focus on all things lusty and vernal, couldn’t be more different, which just goes to show that Sir Peter’s already considerable talents are still a force to be reckoned with.

Life and Beth at the Oxford Playhouse

I must confess that before seeing this play I was a complete newcomer to Alan Ayckbourn. Sure, I knew he was a renowned playwright and theatre director, but his reputation is such that I’d always just assumed I must have seen something by him before. Alas, it was not the case. So when review tickets came my way, what else could I do?!

Life and Beth, Ayckbourn’s seventy-first(!) play, is a relatively recent project; a slight, whimsical study of an ordinary woman’s response to widowhood which is perhaps not quite what is expected …. Although it won’t change anyone’s world, it is, I must add, a rather entertaining production and for an Ayckbourn newbie like myself, probably a suitable introduction to his work. Rooted thoroughly in the mundanities of daily existence, the play nonetheless has a supernatural element, as the title’s pun hints. We meet middle-aged Beth (Liza Goddard) as she prepares for her first Christmas as a widow, joined by son Martin (Richard Stacey), his girlfriend Ella (Ruth Gibson), and boozy sister-in-law Connie (a scene stealing Eileen Battye). Her equanimity in the face of recent bereavement seems at first strange and then stoic, but when she receives a somewhat unwelcome visitation from husband Gordon’s ghost, all becomes clear. Performed to grating perfection (if that’s not too much of an oxymoron) by Adrian McLoughlin, who clearly revels in playing such an everyday monster, we soon discover that Gordon, a former health and safety manager, is precisely the kind of person you’d hate to spend half an hour sat next to on the bus let alone a lifetime with. His ghost’s hectoring of Beth sets up some very funny moments which suggest what their marriage was like without getting too solemn. Although Beth has come to realise how she has suffered as this pedantic bore’s wife over the years, she doesn’t seem subservient or meek; she has a feistiness which promises to be given free rein if only she can get rid of that pesky apparition.

Life and Beth is definitely not a tragedy or a conventional ghost story, but a comic, subtle reflection on everyday lives and relationships. Set entirely in Beth’s living room, the stage resembles what could be the suburban residence of any middle aged couple and is utilised cleverly to reveal Gordon’s ghost at key points in the story. There are no puffs of smoke here; the appearance of the spectre is as naturalistic as the dialogue. Highlights were Eileen Battye’s drunken table laying (honestly – it mightn’t sound much, but it really worked), Goddard’s droll delivery and Terence Booth’s local vicar David. Booth was great as the slightly jaded cleric who gets Connie’s pulse rating, managing to make an offer of prayer sound like a come on. The only thing which felt on less stable ground was the rather forced handling of Martin and Ella’s relationship. It was clear that Martin was supposed to be an insecure man desperately trying to emulate a father whom his mother would ironically rather forget, and certainly Stacey’s comic snorting and overeager posture reflected this well. What was less clear was how his apparently ineffectual character could possibly reduce Ella to such a hysterical wreck whilst they are offstage. It’s to Ruth Gibson’s credit that she won our sympathy without uttering a single word throughout the entire play; but the couple not only seemed badly paired, their body language at times suggested domestic abuse rather than increasing irritation which was surely not the point of the comedy. If their roles were to provide a contrast to and highlight Beth’s new freedom, it would seem to do the audience a disservice. We get to know Gordon after all! I won’t dwell on this though as the play was overall a pleasant way to spend an evening, infused as it is with deadpan, homely humour and gentle emotional tugs. Showing at the Playhouse until 21 March, I would recommend this, although given it’s duration many might balk at the price of admission. I suspect the play’s situational comedy and crowd pleasing central character would do rather well on TV and wouldn’t be at all surprised if the BBC commissioned an adaptation.

That's Another Story - Julie Walters

Julie Walters, or National Treasure Julie Walters as the media often call her, holds a special place in my heart for many reasons. Firstly she makes me laugh, she's a great actress, she personally replied to letters I wrote her when I was in my teens - twice - and also looks a bit like my mum :-) The connection is reinforced by the fact she's a fellow Midlander who originates from Smethwick, just a stone's throw from where I lived in the Black Country, and is thus something of a local hero. She's also one of those celebrities who seems to appeal to everyone without being too sickly. Which is why her autobiography was the ideal gift for my mum's Christmas present.

Unfortunately travel plans prevented me from sneakily reading said gift before wrapping hurriedly commenced, but my mum's praises ('you can really hear her voice ... some of the family stories remind me of our lot') and a click on iTunes later, I have listened to the audiobook, read by Walters herself, and can report that I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was delightful hearing Walters herself discuss her childhood and experiences at the Everyman in Liverpool, amongst other anecdotes, and it was immediately clear that she has a knack for storytelling. There's a good tale about a certain Mike Leigh being asked to fish a spider out of a terrified Julie's flat for instance! I especially enjoyed listening to a family friends' malapropisms, which bought light to some of the darker moments she reflects upon. After her father's death a family friend reassures Julie that her mother has never been 'erotic' (meaning neurotic) - this is something which could easily happen amidst my own elderly relatives(!) and Walters presents this with affection and a novelists ease.

The autobiography is at its most vivid in the first half, when Walters discusses her childhood and teens in '50s and '60s Birmingham. I loved the fact that she 'did the voices'! This, along with her talent for telling a tale, really brought everything to life; That's Another Story is as moving as it is hilarious. I sobbed when she relayed a conversation she'd had with her father a short while before his death and roared with laughter at some of the experiences she'd had as a trainee nurse in Birmingham's Queen Elizabeth Hospital. The second half of the book is marked by a focus upon her career, from Acorn Antiques and Educating Rita to Billy Elliott and Mamma Mia, with her relationships and family carefully protected. Some might feel she is rather guarded about this, but I can understand that she wants to preserve something for herself alone and in the light of some of the more intrusive celebrity biographies, the lack of 'tell all' was a breath of fresh air - she's clearly a very nice person who respects her past relationships and will protect their privacy as well as that of her husband and daughter. Although the latter half felt a weensy bit rushed, as she galloped from one project and illustrious name to another, this is hardly justifiable criticism as there was an awful lot to fit in and I found myself wishing her publishers had allowed her more space!

I am generally weary of the celebrity biography but this sets a totally different standard compared to the 'woe is me' generic slebstories you see trotted out so often. I heard from Kitty at Other Stories that no less than AN Wilson has bigged it up: 'I was enthralled by her memoirs ... a celebrity memoir which is actually worth reading as a work of literature'. I can only concur with the esteemed Mr Wilson :-) Julie Walters tells stories that are vibrant and warm - just as you imagine her to be - and just like all the best storytellers, she leaves you wanting more.

Meanwhile, back in the Southern Hemisphere ...

I blog today from the cosiness of my place in my tiny Oxfordshire village (well it's cosy inside), after having been dazzled by the metropolises of Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane and falling in love with the natural splendour of Northern Australia, which is most definitely the heart of the country in more ways than one. Alongside catching up with one of my bestest friends, which was just wonderful, Uluru was the holiday's other big highlight.

I thought I'd offer you a quick roundup of the trip before resuming normal service. What first hit me (other than the sun and the heat) was how big everything seemed; coming back to Oxford and the Cotswolds buildings seemed so dainty and doll-like! Melbourne was the first port of call and had a definite European flavour; I was really won over by it and particularly enjoyed Melbourne Zoo, shopping on Brunswick Street and wandering round St Kilda's streets and beach. Whilst there I even swallowed my misconceptions and in the spirit of holidaying, went to see Wicked at the Regent Theatre. Filmknitter will no doubt observe somewhat smugly that I thoroughly enjoyed it, despite my disparaging remarks about it a few years ago (hangs head - honestly, how could I?!).

From Melbourne to Sydney. Sydney's harbour and Opera House definitely had the wow factor. I love docklands areas generally,there's always such a mingled sense of melancholy and possibility about them. I also adored wandering around the superb Botanic Gardens (loved the fruitbats), but having not been blessed with great weather for some of the trip (my brolly literally snapped in two from the wind on the final day there), it was hard to venture as far afield as planned. One especially windy day we made it to one of Sydney's fantastic cinemas (dimly lit, ambient bars just off the entrance, arthouse fare on offer) just off from the Harbourside and caught Australia, as you'll have noted from my earlier blog. The symmetry of seeing it in the country it's about wasn't lost on me, as you will see from the picture below (couldn't resist) ...

The Art Gallery of New South Wales also hosted a thought-provoking exhibition on Black Australia called Half Light, which was very powerful and featured a range of different mediums. I also made an exciting new discovery there: Destiny Deacon, an indigenous Australian woman whose work deals with post-colonial politics and tackles stereotypes about what it is to be Aboriginal. I really liked what I saw, it was really challenging and confrontational. On a continuing cultural note (get me), when in Brisbane I paid a visit to it's Gallery of Modern Art, and saw an installation by the hyper-realist sculpter Ron Mueck (In Bed, see image taken from Flickr below) which I was very excited about as I've always been interested in his work. Seeing one of his creations for real really rammed home to me the true meaning of the word uncanny - I felt very strange and voyeuristic standing there looking at something so lifelike, almost like I was violating the space of the sculpture (this in spite of its size and, well, unrealness). In Bed, as with all Mueck's work, definitely raises lots of interesting questions about the physicality of what it is to view art and is a very creepy experience. Fresh from Wikipedia, I can also tell film-fans reading this that he's been a model maker and pupeteer for kid's TV and movies, including Labyrinth and The Storyteller. So there you go! Who knows when that might crop up in a pub quiz?!

And now for Uluru, Kata Tjuta and the breathtaking landscapes of northern Australia. Wonderful. If I were less of a wimpish Pom I would love to live out there - the tenacity and rawness of the landscape appealed to me like nothing before has: there's a magic about the place which you breathe from the moment you step off the plane. And lots of mosquitos, as my legs will testify. And that's why I am what our antipodean cousins would call a whinging Pom. Seriously though - I can't recommend the Northern Territory and Ayers Rock Resort enough. There is a soulfulness about the country there and you can really see why Uluru is sacred to the Aboriginal people. It was amazing to learn more about Australia's indigenous culture, a culture which has endured despite the disgusting treatment it received at the hands of white settlers and a culture which is Australia's true heart and history. I can say no more but just add this picture, which does more than any words.

Our Friends in the North, Oxford Playhouse

Chronicling the 1960s and 70s in the North East of England, London and what was to become Zimbabwe, Our Friends in the North charts a devastating defeat of left wing aspirations in the face of political and personal corruption. The story is predominantly told through the experiences of Tosker, Mary, Geordie and Nicky, four young people from Newcastle whose lives take very different paths. The 1990s TV version of Peter Flanery’s play was magnificent and the actors, including Daniel Craig and Christopher Eccleston, really made the characters their own, so my hat goes off to the brave individuals who decided to resurrect the story. Actors Tony Neilson and Tracey Wilkinson, who appeared in the TV series, provide a nice link between the two productions.

The ambitions of director Erica Whyman were certainly epic, in choosing to use 14 actors to play 43 characters across 17 years (!). The play has been rewritten and revised, with one of the characters stepping out of his role to provide a commentary on events at the start and finish of the production. That it begins in the 60s and ends in 1979 – the year when Margaret Thatcher became Prime Minister – is apposite and symbolic of the erosion of left wing, socialist ideals. This is a play in which the self-serving actions of those in power infiltrate and impact upon the individual, leaving the working classes most vulnerable - embodied through Nicky’s disillusionment and especially the naïve, put upon Geordie. The multiple roles assumed by the cast weave this theme together and link what is ostensibly a disparate set of characters. The corrupt actions of local builders and MPs eventually filters through to characters like Tosker and Mary, who after suffering the squalid conditions of the initially celebrated cities in the sky, made to a cheap spec, eventually stoop to the same levels of bribery to ensure they can bring their child up in a suitable home. Nicky, wanting to emulate and better his socialist father Felix, eventually sees through the machinations of local politicians and ironically becomes ‘apolitical’ despite maligning Geordie for being such at the start of the play. The death of Felix at the end of the play is enormously symbolic as we see socialist principles fall by the wayside and the working class Tosker criticise the ‘greedy’ trade unions at Felix’s funeral - the self-seeking attitude he adopts would characterise the decade to follow.

The subplot involving the Rhodesian Bush War illustrates in converse the dangers of political idealism and shows how this in itself can become warped, through the character of Joseph, a ‘Rhodesian’ who, treated like an animal by his employers, eventually becomes an extremist fighting the white government and involving himself in a war where both sides use increasingly bloody tactics. A clever use of lighting and improvisation of a realist-cum-minimal set design helps to distinguish England from Zimbabwe in a very evocative way. The statement being made here, about the UK’s complicated involvement with events in the country, is interesting and bears no small resemblance to that involving the UK and Afghanistan.

This play tackles generational conflicts through Felix and Nicky and seems to advocate that we should learn from the past – a significant message given current disillusionment with ‘new’ Labour politics and the eradication of a polarised politics as depicted through Donoghue’s reminiscing about ‘soapbox’ oratory. It also seems to address the North/South divide and for me illustrates that it hasn’t gone away totally – there is still something transgressive about hearing regional accents in the theatre and this shouldn’t be the case. The dialogue is one of the play’s strengths; by contrasting straight talking honesty with corrupt twisting of the truth and omissions, the struggle each character experiences is depicted effectively through a powerful script.

The highlights of the play were the scenes in Zimbabwe and the struggle between the moralistic cop Roy Johnson and the wholesale corruption through the Metropolitan Police – all actors in these scenes gave powerful and mesmerising performances; in particular, Paul McLeary was excellent as Roy Johnson. I must also mention Neil Phillips in the role of Donoghue, who gave a nuanced and mannered performance which totally captured a complex man as flawed as he was appealing – you could really see why Nicky would be attracted to him. However, despite an extremely impressive performance in the second Act, Craig Conway’s initial portrayal of Geordie was a little off the mark – he seemed to play Geordie’s naivety as mental deficiency in the first half, which undermined the power of Geordie’s character change by the play’s finale. There seemed a lack of subtlety to this volte-face which was a real shame as he was excellent as a man propelled forward by righteous indignation in the final scenes. There were also some rather dreadful stabs at South African accents which I will not go into further here …

On the whole this play was a thought-provoking and timely assessment of political ideals and the individual and an incredible example of many of the actors’ skills, as the audience saw them each take on multiple roles. I have focussed on the political slant of the play but there is also a warm humour and grace to many of the performances which makes each character seem like more than a vehicle for the themes the writers wanted to portray. It’s a very long play and tighter editing could have been employed, but generally I would commend this version of an epic, Shakespearean tale.