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Don Juan in Soho – Wyndhams Theatre

David Tennant in Don Juan in Soho by Helen Maybanks

‘Satan in a Savile Row Suit’, Patrick Marber’s leading man is devious, debauched and morally bankrupt, without a single care for anything except the pursuit of his own pleasure and without a single scruple of conscience for all the people he hurts along the ways. He is all these things, a man we are warned right at the top of the show not to love, a man with no soul and seemingly no heart to save even himself. But he’s also irresistible, living, by his own admission, as a man in his purest natural state, away from the façade of modern life, driven entirely by instinct and want and desire. He is Don Juan.

We are fascinated by villains, by people who live to extremes in a way none of us would dare. We baulk at the outrageousness of their lifestyle while inwardly admiring the sheer bravado of their choices. And deep down it’s all about our relationship with morality, where it comes from – either socially constructed or religiously imposed – and how it changes as society evolves, which explains the continual revivals of plays about Don Juan and his counterpart Faustus, and it is no coincidence in our more than troubled modern times that both have been seen in London’s playhouses numerous times in the past couple of years.

Marber wrote Don Juan in Soho a decade ago and has updated it slightly for this wonderful new production which has its press night at the Wyndhams Theatre tomorrow. Before we meet the man himself the audience is offered a none-to-flattering character sketch by his Butler/ Chauffeur, Stan, who waits in the lobby while “DJ” is in the penthouse with a Croatian model. Cheating on his wife of only two weeks, this is a man whose appetites are rapacious, having worked his way through three women a day for twenty years, what follows are a series of comic scenarios as Don Juan pursues his need for wine and women. But high on drugs in Soho one night he thinks a statue has come to life warning him he has one more day to live. Will he repent at last?

This new production, which Marber also directs, is a riot, full of life and full of fight. This Don Juan is not a man who apologises or kowtows to social influence but fights every second for his right to do whatever he pleases, and between scenes Marber fills the stage with swirling projections, light, music and colour, with images of Soho flashing onto the screens. For Don Juan this is his life, a constant sensory experience, the only thing he craves to keep him alive.

Yet Anna Fleischel’s multi-purpose set brings out a battle between old and new, tradition and modernity, tapping into a single melancholy moment as Don Juan half regrets that Soho is not the decadent place it once was. The worn marbled effect of the tomb-like rooms reflects Don Juan’s moral decay and the ultimate journey to the grave that awaits us all. Even in the park scene he is surrounded by mildewed benches and cold grey statues. His experiences may be explosively colourful but when they stop, all that’s left is a dark emptiness – a truth about himself Don Juan never wants to face but also accepts.

Tennant’s glorious performance leaves us in no doubt that Don Juan is not a man to feel any sympathy for, someone who will do anything to anyone so long as he has a good time – no regrets, no guilt and absolutely no shame. This is an interesting role for Tennant because one of his hallmarks as an actor is finding the humanity and sensitivity in his characters, creating a layered understanding of why they behave as they do. But Don Juan is without those kinds of depths, he is a lothario living entirely on the surface and has no moral compass of any kind, which is a different kind of challenge for actor who usually conveys depth so well. Instead he revels in the gluttony of Don Juan’s sexual escapades with some beautifully timed comic moments, particularly in a notorious but shockingly hilarious scene in a hospital waiting room which has to be seen to believed.

And there’s lots to admire in the pure certainty of Tennant’s leading man; he doesn’t swagger artfully so much as stumble from each lust-fuelled incident to the next, often looking wrecked from his activities but unable to stop himself or others from pursing the next opportunity however immoral or inappropriate. And Tennant lures you in before pulling the rug from under you – as Stan warns us he would – with some deeply dubious games like attempting to bribe a devout man to sully the name of his God. There is some nuance of course and Don Juan clearly fears his foretold death but not enough to go against his own nature and change his lifestyle – however unpleasant, he is always entirely conscious of what he is and unyieldingly true to it.

But best of all is the complete blankness with which he receives the opinions of others, particularly his wife and father, who tell him in detail how badly he has behaved and the pain he has caused. Lesser actors would have to prove they were reacting with a head shake or eye roll, but Tennant receives each lambast without expression and perfectly still, as if every word were flowing right over him without making the slightest ripple. It’s very skilled work to convey so much without a flicker, but none of it touches him and it speaks volumes about his lack of morality.

Marber has added some great up-to-date references to Trump which get several knowing laughs, while Tennant has a couple of fabulous comic monologues to rant about the state of the world and people’s need to be seen and heard at all times doing the most mundane things. These are few, and perhaps are not entirely plot centred, but they are an excoriating indictment of modern life and when Tennant is in full flight you don’t want to be anywhere else.

Adrian Scarborough is the perfect foil as Don Juan’s long-standingly exasperated companion and documenter of his many amours. Stan is our way into the production and in some sense its moral heart as he tries to extricate himself from Don Juan’s employ. Overwhelmed by his Master’s deceits. Scarborough shows us that the marriage, contracted merely for seductive purposes and then cast aside, feels like a final straw but that Stan is more than a cipher for Don Juan’s story, having his own frustrated desires and demands, unable to retrieve the £27,000 in owed wages or start a family. Stan talks directly to the audience on a couple of occasions warning us not to be drawn in, but at the same time Stan is us, repelled and annoyed but endlessly fascinated by Don Juan’s seductive charms.

The surrounding cast taking on a number of roles is more mixed and at times quite stagey. There are plenty of women who pass through Don Juan’s life during the play, none of whom really make their mark, which seems to be a deliberate choice, reflecting his own lack of engagement with them. Danielle Vitalis as DJ’s wife Elvira has the difficult task of playing earnest and innocent in a world of louche so can seem a little stilted, but Gawn Grainger has a small, enjoyable role as Don Juan’s buffoon parent disgusted by his son but as easily fooled by his entreaties as everyone else in a very fine comic scene.

Marber’s production feels like the cousin of Jamie Lloyd’s Faustus from 2016 with Kit Harrington that tackled similar themes about morality, death and the individual in modern times, but with a deliberately distinctive visual style that was hugely divisive. It’s probably reasonable to say if that wasn’t your cup of tea, then this might not be either and it’s likely to split the critics. As a health warning there’s lots of swearing, drug-taking, sex, violence and fantasy elements including a surprising rickshaw moment that anyone who’s seen Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on stage might appreciate. It was clear from the interval chat that some people found the content difficult but if this sounds like a perfect recipe for a night at the theatre then this is the show for you.

Don Juan in Soho is crude, lewd, shocking, morally skewed, vicious and frankly lots of fun. At times genuinely hilarious, innovative and exuberant, it’s a show that zips along with its protagonists need to keep moving, but there is a shadow of nostalgia, of a happier past that cannot be reclaimed that keeps this from being all farce and fluff. Tennant’s Don Juan may be repugnant and unsalvageable, and despite all the warnings you don’t want to love him… you just do.

Don Juan in Soho is at the Wyndham’s Theatre until 10 June and tickets start at £10 for standing seats. An age recommendation of 16+ has been added to the show and most seats at the Wyndham’s offer a good view. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1


No Man’s Land – Wyndhams Theatre

ian-mckellen-and-patrick-stewart-in-no-mans-land

Previously published by The Reviews Hub

‘I have never been loved, from this I draw my strength’; Pinter’s version of no man’s land exists in a strange purgatorial world, somewhere between love and complete solitude, between past and future, between reality and dreams. The four men, in what is probably his least straightforwardly comprehensible play, speak of the outside world, of experiences they’ve had or the life they currently live, but they are trapped in a room together which they will never escape, they are in a limbo state, they are in no man’s land.

Hirst, a man of letters, meets the chancer Spooner in a pub in north London and invites him back to his lonely home on Hampstead Heath to continue drinking where they are eventually joined by Hirst’s younger companions and employees. Over the course of that night and the following morning the men exchange numerous anecdotes in a cat-and-mouse game as memories and fiction blurs their conversation.

Pinter is not the easiest playwright to get to grips with and the absurdist nature of No Man’s Land is probably the least accessible. Yet, Sean Mathias’s production brings a deep understanding of Pinter’s rhythm, so while much of the dialogue is exchanges of nonsense, Pinter’s themes of varying sources of control, disconcerting connections to the past and the effect of an interloper on an established environment come across particularly strongly. Watching the power shift around the room as different groups of characters come together and are exposed is one of the high points of this interpretation.

It is a production that is never less than compelling which is entirely due to its four performers whose interaction gives flight to Pinter’s bizarre tale. It is demanding for an audience because the dialogue is deliberately unnatural with long unbroken monologues that demand an interruption from another character that never comes. These are not Shakespearean soliloquies that deliberately unburden the speaker’s emotions or troubles, but odd rambling stories that may not even be true, giving little insight or empathy. Yet the fascination lays in watching them unfold and the momentary belief that Spooner or Hirst invests in them before they flitter away as easily as memories. In the hands of Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart they become a form of theatre gold.

McKellen, sartorially channelling David Tennant’s Dr Who in pinstriped suit and plimsolls, perfectly suits the verbosity and poetic tone of Spooner, a man who creeps gently around the room, refilling his glass and inveigling his way into the household. As you would expected, McKellen enjoys playing with the language and wringing every ounce of meaning from the lines, yet there is an obvious shrinking and wariness when confronted by the more masculine Foster and Briggs, as if afraid of being seen through or found out. In McKellen’s performance, Spooner’s version of no man’s land is being an outsider, never loved, wanted or welcomed, which leads him to a desperation that McKellen exploits well.

Patrick Stewart’s Hirst is the perfect contrast and for a long-time hardly speaks as his companion waffles on. This Hirst is initially more reserved and made morose by the copious amounts of drink, yet as the night wears on he slowly opens. For the audience, Stewart’s initial restraint is then rewarded with a couple of beautifully haunting scenes reflecting on the past and his obsession with the people in his album, saying “you find me in the last lap of a race I’ve forgotten to run”. Stewart’s Hirst is stuck in his own no man’s land, a past that will never return.

The leads receive very fine support from a whiskered Owen Teale as cook-cum-butler Briggs whose gravelly voice and hard-man image belie a genuinely caring and tender side. His first appearance in full 70s garb is deliberately gangster-like but he gets several of his own monologues in which Teale brilliantly reveals the affection for Foster while, despite his physical presence, easily accepting Stewart’s authority. Briggs’s ambiguously homoerotic relationship with Damian Molony’s younger Foster is nicely pitched, but Molony’s press night nerves meant the youthful freshness this character brings to the play was a little lost in rushed delivery. However, I did see a preview performance as well where Molony was considerably more relaxed and extremely good as the cocky young caretaker.

This production has thought carefully about its design, with Stephen Brimson Lewis’s semi-circular set creating a masculine panelled world that keeps the characters locked in, while the edges of exposed and broken beams reflect its essential rottenness. A large circular mat is slightly out of sync with the concentric circles of the floor which add to the disconcerting feel and reflect the circuity of the dialogue. And while the younger men sport obviously 70s outfits, the elder and the room itself have a timeless quality – itself a reflection of a no man’s land of sorts.

Arguably Mathias’ interpretation is perhaps a little too safe, opting for a very straight, traditional production that while extremely well executed, may not attract such a diverse audience. As someone who has always struggled with Pinter – and being unable to get to grips with a previous version of No Man’s Land with Michael Gambon and David Bradley – it wasn’t until Jamie Lloyd’s vibrant production of The Homecoming at Trafalgar Studios last January, that I really began to see why Pinter’s work has lasted so well. The sheer aggression of it and the bold design didn’t make me love Pinter but I did begin to understand his themes and style.

Now, No Man’s Land is a far more sedate and reflective play than The Homecoming, looking at a different part of life, but it could be a hard sell to a younger audience despite the brilliance of its leads. Ticket prices too may well be a problem and in the queue to collect a £10 preview ticket booked back in March on my first viewing of this, the box office only had premium day seats for £150, which as much as l love the theatre is an insane amount of money to spend, especially on what really is a very difficult work. Delfont Mackintosh do still have much cheaper tickets available, including some standing spaces for £10 but do book in advance rather than risk having to pay so much at the last minute.

So as a number of our leading men take to the stage, Branagh’s The Entertainer and now, Mckellen and Stewart’s No Man’s Land have proven to be unmissable. It may be one of Pinter’s hardest plays but for many it will be the performances they come for which are as fine as you will see this autumn season. And while the meaning of No Man’s Land may remain as obscure as ever, this production gives clarity to Pinter’s reflections on reality, fiction and the places in between.

No Man’s Land is at the Wyndhams Theatre until 17 December. Tickets start at £10 in the balcony or standing, and there will an NT Live cinema screening on 15 December.

trh


People, Places and Things – Wyndhams Theatre

People, Places and ThingsAddiction is a parasite and something that is never fully cured. But the media impression of addiction – be it alcohol, smoking, drugs or anything else – is that it can be identified, quickly fixed and put away, with the person at the centre of it often depicted as a figure of fun. How many sensationalist stories have we seen of various popstars and actors checking into rehab before coming out and going back to exactly the same lifestyle. Addiction has become part of the soap opera of celebrity culture that fails to consider the real and ongoing struggle of the people involved.

Opening at the Wyndhams Theatre this week (home of all the great West End transfers – A View from the Bridge and Hangmen included), Duncan Macmillan’s People, Places and Things which enjoyed a sell-out run at the National Theatre last year, focuses on the real struggles, frustrations, resentment and boredom that are part of the rehabilitation process. Theatre, films and television shows tackle addiction all the time from the seminal Trainspotting to the recently relapsed Phil Mitchell creating havoc on Albert Square, we are increasingly aware of the outrageous behaviour and wider emotional damage it causes for entire families or communities. Where People, Places and Things stands out, is its focus on the long and often painful road to recovery, taking in the individual struggle against the raging parasite of addiction.

As the play opens, a performance of The Seagull is taking place and the lead actress is spiralling out of control, unable to remember her lines because she’s too drunk. A moment later she’s checking into a rehab centre, still clinging to the drugs and cigarettes that have kept her going for so long. The play is largely about Emma (or Nina or Sarah or whatever other name she gives) going through the process of seeking help and the more difficult tasks of actually choosing to accept it before she can make any kind of real breakthrough. But as the treatment progresses we learn more about her background and profession that begin to make sense of her problems.

Making Emma an actress is an interesting decision because it immediately gives this a familiar feel to the audience – as I mentioned above, it’s something everyone has seen newspaper reports about. Emma is not an A-list Hollywood Star but a vaguely-recognisable actress meaning the action focuses on her personality and is not derailed by the supposed glamour of her profession and the other characters awe at sharing group sessions with a film star. Making her an actress also allows Macmillan to play with notions of identity, not just in Emma trying to work out which of the many personas she is, but also exposing the lies and deceits addicts create to mask their cravings, and convince themselves they are in control.

Denise Gough’s performance as Emma is really as good as you’ve heard and will almost certainly win her the Olivier in a couple of months. She’s largely objectionable from the start, refusing to buy-in to the processes of the treatment centre and just wanting to wait out the minimum 28 days before she can get her certificate and leave. She’s not there because she actively wants help but because no one will employ her until she’s clean. Gough is superb in the early sequences as the drunk and high Emma is disorientated, aggressive and frustrated by the check-in process. As she fails to engage in the loathed group sessions, Gough offers small cracks in Emma’s façade, where occasional brutal truths appear among the lies. You’re never being asked to like Emma very much, and you’d probably never want to meet her, but in Gough’s intense and brittle performance you do really care about her which makes the inconclusive punch at the end considerably more powerful. It’s an extremely skilled and moving performance that deserves every plaudit.

That ambiguity about the future is something that makes this play so successful, it doesn’t wrap everything up in a nice shiny bow at the end or remotely imply that rehab facilities will ‘cure’ addicts – in fact it suggest that perhaps that the safe environment may not entirely equip patients for the outside world. At one stage we see Emma, and several other residents of the centre, ‘rehearsing’ speeches to the people they love when they go home, and later we see how entirely divorced from reality that is as Emma eventually confronts her parents. This sense of a continuous struggle against Emma’s own personality reminded me of the film Shame, Steve McQueen’s beautiful and astonishingly touching movie about sex addiction, where the isolated central protagonist is repeatedly unable to overcome his urges, however much he consciously wants to, and finds no happiness or pleasure in these acts – a troubling and amazing film that I found myself thinking about even months later. And People, Places and Things has a similar effect.

Some of that is down to Headlong Theatre’s vivid and dynamic design. With previous experience of provocative shows like The Nether, here the action is set in a white-tiled u-shaped stage which gives it a clinical feel but at key moments video-projection, lighting and sound are used to show Emma’s disorientation as a result of the drugs she’s taken, shown as woosy green lights and the tiles on the wall cracking and flying upwards, or in a brilliant detox scene as 5 other ‘Emmas’ crawl out of her bed and walls, moving around the stage in a frenzy of delusion. This inventiveness, which director Jeremy Herrin uses sparingly, is more than just showy technique and helps to add insight into Emma’s struggles.

There’s good support from Barbara Marten as the doctor, therapy leader and Emma’s mother, as well as Kevin McMonagle as a failing fellow patient, but arguably the cast of additional characters are thinly sketched at best. While the group therapy sessions do try to give them all a backstory and chance to explain their own problems, these sections feel a little bland because we’re not properly invested in anyone else. They do tell us that ‘normal’ people suffer from these problems too and emphasises the value of the help they get, but it’s hard not to sympathise with Emma’s strong reaction against all the touchy-feely care-bear stuff, although they do give her a springboard to rail against it all which is fascinating.

People, Places and Things is an absorbing antidote to your preconception about addiction and rehab facilities. While the story is a little flabby in places, Denise Gough’s performance and the innovative design are well worth the ticket-price alone. Ultimately, this is just Emma’s story and, although it’s full of humour, it’s never a cliché but full of pain and loneliness and fear. We never know how Emma’s story ends because, for addicts, it never does and while the ending gives you some hope that Emma finds coping mechanisms to manage her cravings, you and she continue to fear that the pressure of modern living might just be too much for her.

People, Places and Things is at the Wyndhams Theatre until 18 June. Tickets start at £15 for the Upper Circle (recommend front or very back row as this the other rows are not raked enough to guve a clear view). Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1.


American Buffalo – Wyndhams Theatre

It’s not exactly James McAvoy unicycling in his underwear, but watching Damien Lewis sporting a 70s handlebar moustache and wearing a giant paper hat that he’s just made out of newspaper, ranks pretty highly on the list of things I was not expecting to see this year.  American Buffalo has just opened at the Wyndhams and is a sure sign that 2015 is disappearing fast as this marks the fourth of the ‘big five’ performances I earmarked in my Christmas review post. That means we’ve already had 3 months of a serenely comic McAvoy in The Ruling Class; a second stint for much deserved Olivier award winner Mark Strong in the epic A View from the Bridge; Ralph Fiennes is already two months into his brilliant philosophising bachelor in Man and Superman and that brings us up to date with Damien Lewis. The only one left is Cumberbatch’s Hamlet, which although booked long before any of the above, is still several months away. Thank God Kenneth Branagh’s Garrick season is in the bag or the autumn would be looking very grim.

Anyway back to Lewis, who is joined in David Mamet’s American Buffalo by John Goodman and Tom Sturridge in this comedy-drama about three very different men planning a heist. Don (Goodman) owns a junk shop and he’s just undersold a rare coin – the American Buffalo – to a collector, except it wasn’t until afterwards that he realised his mistake. Feeling cheated, he enlisted the help of his young friend Bob (Sturridge) to find the customer’s address and steal his coin collection. As the play opens Bob has found the man and the job is on for tonight. At this point Walter or ‘Teach’ (Lewis), Don’s poker buddy and apparent local gangster, arrives and convinces Don to letting him do the job instead as Bob isn’t the brightest lad. As the three men wait for night to fall they discuss the ways of the world while their greed starts to get the better of them.

Mamet’s play is about the engagement of three very different forms of masculinity, and its central characters could not be more different. Each separated by age, but drawn together under the umbrella of ‘business’, they depict a very particular kind of male friendship – one that isn’t necessarily based on personal interactions or shared experiences, but on a level of trustworthiness. They all live and work in the same area and like colleagues have developed a reliance on one another that on the surface seems quite superficial. They play cards together, eat breakfast in the shop and complain about their friends, but never openly discuss their families, feelings or aspirations. Yet without necessarily realising it they need each other, drawn together by the limitations of their lives, metaphorically trapped in Don’s junk shop with no way out.

John Goodman makes his very welcome West End debut as Don, the pseudo father figure who runs the shop and plans the job. He’s friendly and extremely tolerant of Bob’s inability to grapple with more complex thoughts, caring for him. Initially he doesn’t seem that strong or much of a criminal mastermind, but Goodman brings a quiet authority that somehow makes the others do what he says, even though Teach in particular could overpower him.  Don is the centre of the play, it’s his shop and his heist, card games take place in his place and the others come to him. But Goodman also brings out the anxiety of a man seemingly unused to criminal endeavour to great comic and dramatic effect.

Tom Sturridge has quite a small role as Bob but one he makes the most out of. There is farm-boy quality to Bob, lost in the big city and not quite an adult. Even in the course of this one day, he frequently comes to Don for money and Sturridge cleverly implies that the others have underestimated his ability to grasp what’s going on and act on it. His performance ranges from wide-eyed innocence to a slightly hard-edged need to be recognised / rewarded for what he’s done, and he makes for an interesting contrast to the two more worldly characters.

Teach completes the trio and this is Damien Lewis as you probably haven’t seen him before – the sharp aubergine suit, flares, moustache, and sideburns indicate a man who has a lot of outward confidence, as well as a love of style. A softly spoken American gangster accent pits him somewhere between John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, Christian Bale in American Hustle and a Tarantino character. His arrival onstage alone heralded a peel of laughter from the audience, but Lewis instils Teach with a dangerous quality – he may be calm and compliant among his friends, but you get the feeling that one wrong word and he would brutally lash out. And later in the play you begin to see more of his frustration about being respected come to the fore. Still, it’s interesting that Teach obeys Don and tells you something about the hierarchy operating here which comes across nicely in Lewis’s layered performance, as well as that slightly deluded sense that this man thinks he’s more important or tougher than he really is.

The set and costume designer Paul Willis has had great fun, and once you get used to Lewis’s suit you can marvel at his brilliant version of Don’s junk shop. This feels like a deeply masculine environment, echoing the themes of the play really well. It’s full of bits and pieces all over the floor and stacked around the room, with a feeling of grease and age, so imagine a garage full of old stuff but turned into a shop. Above is a dense canopy of old chairs and bikes suspended from the ceiling to emphasise how confined these men are in their little world – the can never go up because above them there’s even more junk.

American Buffalo is sure to be another hit and will have crowds flocking to see its three lead actors. We may hear about other characters, some of which are even women, but Don, Teach and Bob are drawn together by need disguised as ‘business’. Despite their differences in age, character and attitude, there is also a timeless feel to this production and you know if you came back to them in 10 or 20 years, they’d all still be here, dreaming big but always losing. They may never exactly say what’s on their minds, but they have each other so by the close of Act II you know that whatever words pass between them, however vilely they act to one another, they will always be friends.

American Buffalo is at the Wyndhams Theatre until 27 June. Tickets start at £22.25 for a seat and standing tickets are available from £17.25. For a cheap ticket if you’re going alone or don’t want to sit with your friends, I recommend Seat A1 or A26 in the Balcony – a sideways seat separated from the main block which has a perfect view and a small but private space with no one nearby. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1


A View from the Bridge – Wyndhams Theatre

Independently The Young Vic and the Wyndhams have been having quite a run of form with back-to-back critically acclaimed productions, so it was only a matter of time before they joined forces. Last year the Wyndhams played host to Cary Mulligan’s West End debut alongside Bill Nighy in the impressive Skylight, followed by the Charles III transferring from the Almeida, and will soon welcome Damien Lewis and Jon Goodman in American Buffalo. The Young Vic too had hit after hit, notably a pulsating Streetcar Named Desire and this remarkable version of A View from the Bridge, undoubtedly the best production of last year, transferring to the Wyndhams for a brief and welcome reprise.

It’s pretty rare for me to give an unequivocal five stars to any production and to do so twice in less than a year is unheard of, which should give you some indication of how very special this production is. Some give out five star reviews quite readily, but honestly I can think of only four productions I’ve ever seen that I would say were genuinely five star. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve been lucky enough to see a lot of really great shows and some of our finest actors which I’ve really enjoyed, but a truly five star production is something more than good acting/script/production values or the frisson of seeing a famous star, it has something I can only describe as an added ‘magic’. It means you don’t just empathise with the characters you live it with them – at the risk of sounding even more pretentious, the play becomes transcendental and nothing else exists except what’s happening on that stage.

It’s interesting then having been fulsome in my praise of this production last year to have the chance to watch it again. How could it possibly live up to that expectation, surely I couldn’t feel the same about it now I’d seen all the tricks? But in all honesty, this is every bit as incredible as it was last May, gripping, emotionally wrought and utterly mesmerising. It’s the story of Eddie Carbone, a dock worker living happily in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge with his wife and teenage niece. As the play opens the niece Catherine has a new job and Eddie’s dilemma begins; he wants to protect her and has in mind a glorious future she deserves, perhaps in Manhattan – a future that a woman in her position is unlikely to attain. Their situation is further muddied when Catherine falls in love with Rodolpho who is working illegally in the US and living with the Carbones. What follows is an epic struggle where Eddie, a man who ‘never knew he had a destiny’ finds he cannot escape it.

So much about Ivo van Hove’s interpretation is so simple, just the actors and the words in a confined space to emphasise the inevitability of what is happening to them, as well as the limitations of their community. Where innovations are used, they enhance the storytelling rather than distract, and it’s great to see the design transfer so successfully from the Young Vic. There, this was performed on a three-sided thrust stage and the Wyndhams only has a proscenium arch, but the giant black-box remains with the lid rising up instead of a curtain to reveal the players caught inside. And this does mean that incredibly ending is retained– I’m not going to spoil this for you, but it’s every bit as bold and electrifying as last year. And the Wyndhams have cleverly added four rows of stage seating in the wings which means you get right up close to the action and I recommend booking these if you can for that all-involving experience as well as a bit of potential celebrity spotting- Rupert Everett was nearby when I went.

Seeing this for the second time gave me a better chance to see the various layers of performance and although I referenced the themes of masculinity and honour in my previous review, these elements came across even more strongly this time, through Eddie’s competitive boxing with the young Rodolpho and mocking his looks and singing, designed to show Catherine he’s somehow less of a man. Even a small scene when Eddie and Marco (Rodolpho’s brother) undergo a test of strength is a glimpse into their need for manly display and the battle between the generations – challenging the dominant male in the pack.

The acting is perfect and seeing it again showed how all the characters are complicit in events, from Nicola Walker’s resigned Beatrice (Eddie’s wife), quietly trying to separate her husband from her niece, to Phoebe Fox’s stifled Catherine struggling to attain the life she wants rather than the one Eddie wants her to have. Mark Strong’s performance as Eddie is sublime; a mass of contradictions utterly unaware of the fatal flaw that drives him to destruction – completely believable, blind and heart-breaking. Towards the end when the tension is at its highest point and you don’t think your emotions can take any more, Strong powers to a new level as Eddie demands respect for his name, it’s amazing.

I said earlier that you live a five star production with the characters, and this is the most compelling aspect of this show. You feel every emotional flicker, every change of tone and as the doom plays out you will want to run up to them and beg the characters to stop. You’ll want to shake Eddie until he sees what he’s doing because you just know it’s going to end very very badly and there’s no way to stop it. By the way, talking to the actors and generally involving yourself in the production is frowned upon, so you’ll just have to sit there and watch it all happen as powerless to stop it as the characters themselves.

Last year I wrote that ‘the drama in this breath-taking production thumps into you and when you’re down kicks you a few more times’ and the force of it is something that stayed with me in between. This was certainly true the second time as well and I left the theatre feeling shaken by what I’d seen. So this production has thoroughly earned its collective ten stars from me, and if you never see another piece of theatre for the rest of your life, make sure you see this. You’ll never forget it.

A View from the Bridge is at the Wyndhams Theatre until 11 April and tickets start at £19.50 for the balcony and on-stage seating, and a range of prices for the rest of the auditorium. Follow this blog on Twitter @culturalcap1


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