Tag Archives: Teaching

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie – Donmar Warehouse

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie - Donmar Warehouse

While few would now agree that your schooldays are the best of your life, we would still admit to being shaped by our favourite teachers. Looking back, whether at primary or secondary level, the best classroom experiences came from discovering an aptitude for a particular subject or settling on a future career that the best teachers always encouraged, no matter how outlandish. Equally important as you grew up were the teachers who could communicate with you as individuals rather than another homogeneous set of pupils, whose intelligence, interest and enthusiasm would earn your respect. No wonder that drama has so frequently turned to the schoolroom for inspiration.

From Goodbye Mr Chips to Dangerous Minds on film, not to mention Carry on Teacher, to Rattigan’s The Browning Version and Alan Bennett’s The History Boys on stage, the teacher-student relationship is continually re-examined. While there has never been more pressure on modern teachers with strict curricula, endless testing and copious paperwork, fictional tutors are, for the most part, curiously free of such restrictions, able to use their unconventional methods to set their charges on the road to a brighter future. One of the most famous literary inventions of them all, is also the most controversial – is Jean Brodie a ‘progressive’ educator or a worrying menace to the mind of her ‘girls’.

A hundred years since the birth of novelist Muriel Spark, her 1961 tale The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie has been adapted for the Donmar Warehouse by Blackbird playwright David Harrower and directed by Polly Findlay. Page to stage adaptations can be perilous, truncating complex inner voices and motivations to fit the conventions of theatre that on the whole tends to work to a standard 2.5 hour run time, includes an interval at a suitable dramatic moment, and relies on certain expectations of conflict and resolution to propel the plot while sustaining audience attention – some theatre has moved away from this prescriptive approach, but most retains the format. All of this is the enemy of the novel, where authors have long experimented with flexible forms, shifting narratives and prolonged introspection that can seem flat and indulgent when transposed to a visual medium.

This is not the first time Spark’s book has been adapted and several theatrical versions have gone before. Yet, most people will know the 1969 film with Maggie Smith in the title role that allowed Brodie’s most famous phrases to enter the popular consciousness and become synonymous with her performance – to the point of caricature – right down the to genteel Edinburgh accent. This brings its own weight of expectation to Harrower’s new interpretation, with audience members coming anticipating a version of the novel, the film or both, with perhaps a clearly formed idea of how individuals and circumstances should be portrayed. How much viewers enjoy this may depend on their preparedness to relinquish their preconceptions about the characters.

Told in flashback, the story is Sandy’s memory, a former Brodie girl and, as the play begins, about to become a nun planning to take a vow of silence. Tracked down by a journalist who is interested in her previously published book, Sandy starts to talk about her arrival aged 11 at the Marcia Blaine School, where she and a select number of girls – Joyce, Monica, Mary and Jenny – fall under the spell of Miss Brodie, fascinated by her air of freedom, cultural knowledge and political fervour. As the children transform into young women, Miss Brodie’s influence makes its mark on all of them, while her ongoing flirtation with Music Teacher Mr Lowther and Art Teacher Mr Lloyd spills over into all their lives, exposing the extent of her effect on the girls.

While not an especially radical reinterpretation, Harrower has created a version of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie that recognisably celebrates the original novel and the charisma of its leading lady, while carefully sidestepping any parallels to the famous film. From first to last, the spectre of Maggie Smith and Celia Johsnon are banished, allowing a new cast to give shape and purpose to these roles. It’s a fairly safe production, using a conventional structure that loads the first half with praise and admiration for the inspiring teacher, while the second begins to tear at her motivation.

Harrower spends plenty of time establishing the key characters in the hour before the interval, building-up Miss Brodie as a free-spirit, a vision in scarlet, unwilling to conform to the rules and expectations of Marcia Blaine. A series of classroom scenes reveal her animated, if gossipy, teaching style, and what begins as a willingness to share stories of her life with her 11-year old charges soon includes criticisms of the headmistress and making her personal opinions the definitive response to a variety of topics when she starts to treat the girls as her confidants. Harrower’s adaptation renders this well, offering a sketch of life at the school that opens-up Miss Brodie’s method. Mirroring the girls’ experience, the kindliness of Act One becomes something more complex in Act Two.

After the interval, four years have gone by and the girls, now 15, are in the senior school and not directly taught by Miss Brodie. With so much of the real plot to now fit into the final hour of the show, this production makes clear the shifting affection of some girls has severed the closeness with their former teacher. And while it covers all the key consequences of her teaching style, the Donmar’s adaptation is slightly less successful in emphasising the political and sexual corruption that Miss Brodie advocates, actively using her girls like puppets to vicariously fulfil semi-romantic ideals she refuses to succumb to herself.

Partially, this is a desire to retain a shred of sympathy for the character, not wanting to entirely dismantle the affection that Sandy in particular, and the audience has developed for her. Although this is framed as Sandy’s story, it’s clear from the final scene, which appears out of chronological sequence, that it is Miss Brodie this production wants us to look at rather than the results of her work. The significant moment of political influence that Miss Brodie wields is lightly referenced earlier but the key conversation and its outcome are quickly dispatched in two rapid scenes, likewise the sexual encounter she encourages is glossed over rather than seen as a monstrous attempt to manipulate a young woman. These moments, and the outcomes of Miss Brodie’s intimacy with her set, could be considerably darker, leaving the audience with a more ambiguous image to take home with them.

Lia Williams is an actor who never fails to find exactly the right tone for a character and always brings something fresh to her interpretation. As Miss Brodie, Williams carefully controls every aspect of her interpretation, from the way she carries herself to the particular intonation of the soft Edinburgh accent. Dressed by Designer Lizzie Clachlan in tailored reds and greens to complement a meticulously curled strawberry blonde wig, Williams steps lightly across the stage, arms outstretched, or fingers delicately poised to emphasise her point as she imparts her wisdom to the class. Her physical presence is purposefully contrived to suggest a woman who tightly controls her image, consciously designing the impression of perfection she wants to convey to garner the exact devotional response she desires.

Beneath, there is a warmth to her exuberant tales in which Williams demonstrates how easy it would be for her to charm you, but away from the classroom hints are given of the more sullied desires beneath the surface. The way Williams looks at Edward MacLiam’s Mr Lloyd conveys a raging lust she struggles to hold in check, while actively manipulating the emotions of Angus Wright’s Mr Lowther to feed her vanity while actively dismisses his advances at every turn. As events begin to unravel in Act Two, Williams suggests something almost desperate in Miss Brodie, as her star begins to wane and the affection she ‘demanded’ from the girls dissipates. Although it’s an easy association, there’s something of Blanche Dubois about her, all affectation, secrets and delusion that make you wonder if any of the elaborate stories she’s told – even that of her deceased fiancé – were ever true.

Rona Morison has the more difficult task of portraying Sandy at three different stages of her life – aged 11, 15 and approximately 25 – which isn’t always as clear as it could be. The show’s structure allows director Polly Findlay to cut directly between the elder Sandy discussing events with the Journalist (Kit Young) at the convent and walking directly into the school, but she’s not a character you come to know. Morison does the best with what she is given, but as an observer to much of the action, Sandy’s own motivations, her continuing devotion to Miss Brodie long after the other girls have departed and her crucial role in the conclusion are left fairly unexplored.

Some of the girls are less well-defined, so in a tightly packed two hours and 15 minutes of stage time, there’s only space to see the wider set as Miss Brodie describes them, the intelligent Monica (Grace Saif), the wannabe actress Jenny (Helena Wilson) and meek Mary (Emma Hindle). Nicole Coughlan’s Joyce Emily more complete captures the childlike manner than the other performers, arriving as a sweetly self-conscious and adorable 11-year-old who desperately wants to be included, but feels the pain of not quite finding her own group, while as a 15-year-old Joyce’s political awakening could be given more room in the text, Coughlan imbues Joyce with a naïve idealism and determination that make an impact.

There is good support from Angus Wright’s puppy-dog-like Mr Lowther who only has to be reasonably dull and devoted to Miss Brodie, although his insistance on pressing his feelings in front of the girls adds a nice touch of determined awkwardness. MacLiam’s Mr Lloyd has a small role but cuts a dash as a fairly glamorous figure in his own right, artistic, surprisingly carefree despite his many children and service in the Great War which contrasts well with the staid school atmosphere and makes him a worthy flirtation for Miss Brodie. As Headmistress Miss MacKay, Sylvestra Le Touzel is a granite-like presence, occasionally a little two quiet even for the Donmar’s intimate space, yet her determination to remove Miss Brodie is as calculating as it is cool.

On Clachlan’s tomb-like set, this production of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie contrasts cold-learning, and harsh realities with the idea of life experience and vivacity, separated by the ringing of bells that hang from the ceiling signalling the end of lessons and scenes. As the play unfolds, Harrower charts how we come to know the human foibles and failings of the adults in our lives, ones which at an impressionable age can shape you in the wrong way. It’s not quite the crème de la crème, deliberately pacifying some of Miss Brodie’s dark sexual and political influences in order to retain sympathy for her, but it is an enjoyable and distinct adaptation that does make you wonder where your favourite teachers are now and how much they really influenced you.

The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie is at the Donmar Warehouse until 28 July, tickets start at £10. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1  

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Future Conditional – Old Vic

Education, education, education; many believe it’s the foundation of your life, the greatest time you’ll ever have and a key determinate of the subsequent opportunities offered to you. Selective, free, academy, public, grammar, comprehensive, religious, state – there are many different types of school to choose from but for parents, teachers, pupils and policy-makers navigating the various pros and pitfalls is a minefield. What is the best education system for our nation and who should parents make choices for – the benefit of wider society or just focus on their individual child?

Future Conditional, Tamsin Oglesby’s new play at the Old Vic attempts to discuss some of these issues by looking at education from the perspectives of three different groups of people; the first is a group of largely middle-class mums at the school gate trying to get their child into the best school for next term – it’s a discussion that takes them from a social campaign to support the local school and help increase its academic performance, to catchment area moves to get into the best school,  to applying for local fee-paying alternatives. A second story is that of a hardworking teacher managing the banter of his teenage pupils offering them some form of education with a social conscience, while the final group is a think tank tasked with developing a new manifesto for schools.

It’s a nice idea but somehow this play just doesn’t quite work. Each of these perspectives is potentially interesting and well performed but as a whole it’s just not quite coming together enough – it has lots of points to make but no clear overall argument or solution. Part of the problem is the dialogue doesn’t always feel natural, there’s too much of a polemic in the debates that occasionally irritates rather than informs, with characters all to obviously acting as the mouthpiece of the author rather than properly developed and rounded people. Another problem is the absence of children from any of the scenes, even though cast members and ensemble sit in school uniform around the edge of the stage, the writer hasn’t included any dialogue for them, so often actors playing parents and teachers are talking to thin air and having extras dressed as children onstage is a completely redundant design decision. Annoyingly instead they use that 70s sitcom one-sided phone call technique of repeating back what the other person said before they answer – it’s lazy writing and surely comedy has moved on a bit since then.

Two of the stories are drawn together by the experience of a young Asian student Alia (Nikki Patel) who we first see applying to an Oxbridge College where the two interviewees debate her suitability in terms of fulfilling their quota rather than her intellect. She also appears in individual scenes alongside Rob Brydon’s put-upon teacher, when she gets into trouble for hitting another pupil, and is the ‘student-view’ in the think-tank. For some reason Oglesby couldn’t come up with a way to include her among the mums which actually makes no sense if Alia is the meant to be the common factor, or child’s-view here. Having her exist and no other children is also quite a strange choice, unless Ogelsby is trying to make a point about the anonymity of individuals in our education system, in which case this is far from clear.

As I say the performances are all extremely good; Rob Brydon makes good use of his comedy and pathos skills, and despite almost never having anyone to act with delivers a touching performance as the teacher doing his best and worried that he’s letting his pupils down. Lucy Briggs-Owen has become one of London’s most reliable stage performers  and follows up on her excellent role here in Fortune’s Fool and the more recent Ayckbourne revival, Communicating Doors at the Menier, with a nicely pitched performance as a middle-class mother willing to pay for the best school even at the expense of her friend’s principles. She’s given good support from the other mums including Natalie Klamar as campaigning mum Suzy who refuses to play the game, jeopardising her child’s future.

Across at the think-tank more clichéd debates are had about the way opportunities are created for students which leads to plenty of Oxbridge bashing and a proposal that the esteemed universities take 3 pupils from every school regardless of attainment which, if there is one, is probably the key message of this piece. Again nice performances particularly from Joshua McGuire as Oliver and Brian Vernel as Bill who have a particularly juicy stand-off on this issue that results in a food fight – whenever you lose your way as a writer always include a food fight to distract the audience. The trouble with this think tank is that like the play it is a talking shop, at the end of which everyone acknowledges that tearing our education system down and starting again isn’t an option. Perhaps our entire education debate hinges on one catch-22 problem – do you change everything, even the stuff that’s good, to make it fairer, or do you find some way to raise the standard of everything else so it reaches the good stuff?

Although Future Conditional is a noble attempt to debate the perceived failings in our education system, its too simplistic approach fails to either satisfyingly bring together its multi-narrative approach or take a particularly clear view on what to do about it. All the stories are enjoyable but don’t fully engage with the complexities of the system we have and the bias of everyone’s perspective. Schooling is something we’ve all gone through and whether our experience of it was positive or negative will influence how we feel about certain types of schools. As no one is able to experience all types of education first-hand it becomes impossible to fully comprehend how effective this comprehensive is or how rigorous that grammar school may be. What is true is that there is no one winning combination for churning out perfect members of society –many decent people leave a comprehensive as they do a public school, and many terrible ones do too, so while our whole education systems focuses on the many rather than the individual these debates will rumble on. As for Future Conditional it’s a pleasant enough evening and funny at times, but in terms of what to do about our schools, it doesn’t solve anything.

Future Conditional is at the Old Vic until 3 October. Tickets start at £10.


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