THE CRUCIBLE at the Olivier, National Theatre - Children will listen...

The last time I saw Arthur Miller's THE CRUCIBLE, I was keen to see it again.  12 years later, I have...

I was not too keen when the National's new production was announced as it was directed by Lyndsey Turner who delivered a dreary LIGHT SHINING IN BUCKINGHAMSHIRE a few years ago; I was also dreading what they were going to do with the text - set it in Ukraine or Carnaby Street - the actors holding handheld microphones or texting their lines to each other? 

I need not have worried, Turner delivered a sturdy, in-period production, stripped down to concentrate on Miller's oak-like text, there is hardly any deviation from the grim relentlessness of his narrative.  Apart from the 2010 Regent's Park production I had also only ever seen the play in a 1980 BBC version with a great cast including Eric Porter, Daniel Massey, Denis Quilley and Peter Vaughn - and Nicholas Hytner's 1996 film with Daniel Day Lewis and a chilling Paul Scofield as Danforth.

Arthur Miller wrote it in 1953 as a response to the anti-communist atmosphere that was cloaking America, mainly with the McCarthy trials in the early part of that decade when Miller was himself called to the later House Un-American Activities Commitee where he refused to name names. Mirroring this "scoundrel time" as Lilian Hellman called it, Miller found himself drawn to the 1692 Salem Witch-hunting case when twenty innocent people were executed on the evidence of some of the town's young schoolgirls.

What could be dated polemic, in the hands of Miller, becomes a play which feels as contemporary as the day it was written. Time and again we have seen a situation when what is unreal and unseen is more important that what is real and provable, as long as there is a small group of people whipping up hatred and blame based on a handy believe system, THE CRUCIBLE will be timely - the most obvious recent case being the anti-semitism scam against Jeremy Corbyn and the left-wing Labour members. Miller based his play around the real people in the case with a little dramatic seasoning to give the terrible occurrences a believable basis. 

In the hardline Puritanical community of Salem, as misogynistic as it is pious, the schoolgirls have to think fast when they are caught dancing in the woods at night so their ringleader Abigail Williams declares they were made to commune with the Devil through the spells of a black slave Tituba.

When brutally questioned by her owner and his fellow menfolk Tituba agrees that she was made by the Devil to do his work - as were the people whose names she saw written in The Devil's Book. Soon the girls are caught up in the frenzy of the moment and scream out names of older women and men who they say send their spirits to torment them at night. Abigail seizes her moment for revenge by naming Elizabeth, the wife of farmer John Proctor with whom Abigail had an adulterous liaison when she was their servant but who was thrown out when Elizabeth found out about the affair.

Slowly we watch a small community lose it's collective mind, where to question the madness means that you are a suspect and every moment of possible salvation evaporates as their world spins off into a place where every denial is an obvious admission of guilt and recriminations are fuelled by grudges and petty dislikes.

Es Devlin's bare stone-flagged set with sturdy wooden furniture is very impressive, made even more claustrophobic by walls of pouring, bleak rain obscuring the stage before and during the action. Tim Lutkin's lighting is also kept to the minimum, creating an air of oppression.

The cast are uniformly fine: Australian actor Brendan Cowell makes a sturdy John Proctor, riven with guilt at unwaringly setting the madness in place by rejecting Abigail's advances after the end of their affair although he didn't quite hit the heights at the climax of the play when Proctor realises that, in admitting his guilt, he robs himself of the only thing he can call his own - his name.   

He was well partnered with Eileen Walsh as Elizabeth, a woman whose sense of duty leads her to not only inadvertently condemn her husband in the court's eyes but to make her realise that it had stifled their life together. She perfectly captured a woman whose joy has been lost through childbearing and subsequent illnesses as well as suspicion at her husband's affair.

Nick Fletcher gave us a hissable Reverend Parris who uses the hysteria of the girls to gain a place in the important male power structure of Salem, Zoe Aldrich made Ann Putnam an all too-recognizable figure of provincial snobbery and venal prejudice, Fisayo Akinade was equally effective as Reverand Hale the only authority figure who eventually realises what is really being perpetrated while the doomed forces of good were well played by Tilly Tremaine and Karl Johnson as the tragic real life figures of Rebecca Nurse and Giles Corey.

Erin Doherty was fine as the calculating Abigail Williams, the catalyst for the madness who is always one step ahead of the patriarchy but she was matched by Rachelle Diedericks as Mary Warren; her swift changes from sullen stroppiness to suggesting the loneliness of an orphan in a society ruled by the family to her defiance at facing her co-accusers in court and attempting to clear the name of the Proctors. Her terror was palpable when she in turn is accused by them and her final capitulation was heartbreaking.

Also impressive was Matthew Marsh as Deputy-Governer Danforth. He dominated the trial scene with his flinty determination that the letter of the law be adhered to - even as those letters were being twisted to suit the meaning he gave them: a frightening representation of power which ultimately is what the play is about - the perverting of justice and the truth by those who should be it's custodians.

Although the production had a few timing flaws - I suspect due to it being the first preview - it deserves to be seen.

 

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA at the Olivier, NT: Nothing Left Remarkable...

In 1998 I saw Sean Mathias' woeful ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA at the Olivier Theatre starring an imperious Helen Mirren and an Eeyore-like performance from the late and not-always-great Alan Rickman.  Mirren, Samuel West as Octavius and Finbar Lynch as Enobarbus have lingered in the memory but everything else sucked donkeys.  The audience included actresses like Susannah York, Janet Suzman and Sian Phillips - possibly because it had meant to be the press night which got moved to later in the run - and an odd atmosphere hung over the stalls; probably those actresses thinking "Mirren you poor cow, being in this dog-show!"  And almost 20 years to the day later... here I am in the Olivier, seeing Tony and Cleo again...

The good news is that Simon Godwin's production is better than Matthias' but it is not without it's own sandtraps.  In the more Director-Theatre moments I counted off the already-hackneyed cliches of the modern dress Shakespeare productions du jour - the suited politico costumes for the powerful, the battles staged as machine-gun-rattling, hand-grenade-throwing close-hand combat as in Iraq, a video screen appearing to deliver rolling-news tv coverage of plot that usually happens offstage and the inevitable bulk-bought combat gear.  So far, so un-original.

Luckily Godwin has the powerful combination of Ralph Fiennes and Sophie Okonedo to power the three and a half hour production along.  Feinnes was very good as Antony, whose influence and power is dwindling due to his absence from Rome while lounging with Cleopatra in Egypt.  He captured perfectly the world-weary soldier who simply cannot be bothered with the power games of Octavius in Rome but who is dragged back into that world at the death of his neglected wife Fulvia.  First seen in a pair of baggy harem pants and a little pot belly, Fiennes captured the essence of a bored man without making him boring.  I hooted when Antony cracked opened a bottle of beer while talking to his retinue at the start of the play - was Godwin aware of Sid James doing that in CARRY ON CLEO as later referenced by The Smiths in SOME GIRLS ARE BIGGER THAN OTHERS?

There is a telling segment in the documentary THERE'S NOTHING LIKE A DAME where Maggie Smith, Joan Plowright, Judi Dench and Eileen Atkins talk about their experiences with ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA and Atkins points out that she has never met an actor who didn't complain about playing Antony: namely because only when they have committed to the role, they realize that it is in fact Cleopatra which is the better role and by then it's too late to back out.  She cites Alan Bates in particular as having told her that he disliked it - to which Mags slyly adds "That's because he wanted to play Cleopatra".

The quartet also reflect on the role with Atkins saying she turned the role down four times because she didn't have the courage to take it on and Plowright saying she did not do it when Jonathan Miller asked her to perform it at the National as most people would complain she only got it as she was married to Olivier.  Maggie Smith says she didn't have the courage to play it in the UK so went to Canada to play it away from critical eyes and Dench says she only agreed to do it after asking Peter Hall did he really want his Cleopatra to be a "menopausal dwarf".  Luckily Okonedo is not a dwarf and has the courage to take it on.

In truth she grew into the performance as the evening progressed: she first seemed too lightweight with her oddly-pitched voice to conquer the role - her 1970s Halston pantsuit also was an odd choice - but as we inched closer to the plateau of Act 5 where, with Antony dead, Cleopatra is the focal point of the play, Okonedo assumed the dominance needed and I felt I could not take my eyes off of her.  Our last Cleopatra was Eve Best at the Globe and she resolutely refused to grow in stature in the final scenes where Cleopatra creates and enters into her own legend: no such issues with Okonedo, who went out in an ice-cold blaze of passion.

There is fine work to be found in the supporting performances: particularly Fisayo Akinade as Eros who excelled in the scene where, rather than watch Antony die, he kills himself with Antony's sword.  Gloria Obianyo and Georgia Landers both impressed as Charmian and Iras, Cleopatra's maids who find their own niches in their Queen's legend.

Nicholas Le Prevost as Lepidus and Hannah Morrish as Octavia gave good performances in rather disposable roles while Tunji Kasim as Octavius and Tim McMullan as Enobarbus gave disposable performances in good roles - McMullan's dreary delivery pissing away the glorious "the barge in which she sat" speech.

Hildegard Bechtler's set design was impressive for the Egyptian palace with it's expanse and sunken pools - just begging for someone to be pushed into - but went for dreary corporate design for Rome... yes, we get that Rome is about Power but for God's sake give us some bling.  I am not asking for recreations of the lavish Henry Irving Lyceum productions but spend some cash for God's sake!  Evie Gurney's costumes were also drably dull.

But Godwin - who is leaving the UK to become Artistic Director of the Shakespeare Theatre Company in the US - kept the pace going through-out and the three hours plus running time was unnoticeable.

Again, another ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA falls short of being a truly great production but there is enough there to encourage a visit to see Shakespeare's play about the end of an epoch and the beginning of a legend.  The production will be shown in cinemas as part of NT Live on 6th December, probably the only chance to see it as practically all performances are sold out.  However always bear in mind that day seats are always available to personal callers from 9.30am as well as the online Friday Rush scheme.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD at the Donmar - dwindling into marriage...

The playwright William Congreve devoted only 7 of his 58 years to the theatre but he left us with a handful of plays that stand with the best of the genre of Restoration comedy: THE DOUBLE DEALER, LOVE FOR LOVE and his most famous work THE WAY OF THE WORLD, which gave the canon Millament and Mirabell, one of the most enduring and sparky of couples.

Under Josie Rourke's artistic directorship the Donmar has frankly overdone the gender-blind, non-traditionalist casting as well as modern-settings for classic plays so I was quietly worried what was going to be pulling focus from the text this time, but director James Macdonald puts no such hindrances in the way of Congreve the playwright and the production was a pure delight.

On Anna Fleischle's panelled dark wood set, we follow the twists and turns of Congreve's convoluted tale of love and money: Mirabell wants to marry the captivating Millament but there is a problem: to get her full dowry the match must be agreed by Millament's aunt Lady Wishfort - and she hates Mirabell for his licentious lifestyle (and more importantly, she is still smarting from him telling her that he wasn't in love with her when she believed he was).

It doesn't help that Mirabell was once the lover of Lady Wishfort's daughter who he helped marry off to his dashing if untrusted fellow man-about-town Fainall who, in turn, is currently having an affair with the sly Mrs Marwood.  If Mirabell's life wasn't complicated enough, he has plotted that his servant Waitwell is secretly married to Lady Wishfort's maid Foible and together they will arrange a plot: Waitwell will pretend to be Mirabell's rich uncle Sir Rowland who will then woo Lady Wishfort, marry her and then all Lady Wishfort has to do to stop any public shame in marrying a mere servant is to agree to Mirabell and Millament's marriage!  What could POSSIBLY go wrong?  Plenty.

Lady Wishfort has arranged for Millament to be married to the country squire Sir Willful Witwoud who arrives at the same time as Waitwell disguised as Sir Rowland but more disastrously, Mrs Marwood overhears Foible and Mrs Fainall discussing Mirabell's plot and she tells her lover Fainall who sees the perfect opportunity to enact revenge on them all and lay claim to the Wishfort fortune and Millament's dowry.

The plot spins so fast that I admit at times I sat back and waited for it to come round like a carousel and so jump on again but the ride made it all worthwhile.  James Macdonald keeps the characters spinning like giddy tops as everyone's plans fly up in the air only to land finally in a pattern that suits everyone; indeed there are so many resolutions to tie up in the final scene that the engine does finally run down as exposition tops exposition... and then a dance... and then another few lines... but coming so soon after his revivals of WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF and GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS, it's nice to see Macdonald turn his laser-like direction on an English classic.

Macdonald's cast has also had to face some twists since rehearsals: Linda Bassett had been cast as Lady Wishfort but dropped out of the cast for personal reasons a month before opening night and then shortly after the play opening, Alex Beckett who had been playing Waitwell died unexpectedly.  That is enough to throw any cast off-kilter but that they have banded together and are giving such a fine ensemble performance is to their credit.  Standouts included the very funny double-act of Fisayo Akanade and Simon Manyonda as the fops Witwoud and Petulant who excel at getting drunk, Sarah Hadland as the mischievous Foible and Robin Pearce who has taken on the role of Waitwell in such unhappy circumstances.

Jenny Jules and Tom Mison gave us a pair of very hissable villains as the icy Mrs Marwood and the conniving Fainall.  However one of the main joys of the evening was Haydn Gwynne as the aristocratic Lady Wishfort.  As I said she was a replacement during the rehearsal period for Linda Bassett - who I always thought an odd choice - but Haydn Gwynne rose to the challenge superbly.

Lady Wishfort could easily be played as a gorgon but Gwynne gave her a human dimension as well as being very funny - she was in her element in the scene where Lady Wishfort runs through her options in seducing Sir Rowland, should she lie seductively on the couch affecting a languid air or wandering around her room lost in her thoughts - all of which are acted out in increasing giddy desperation?

Mirabell and Millament are on a par with Shakespeare's Benedick and Beatrice - a couple you know will end up together but they have to get over the plot's hurdles!  I must admit it took a while for me to warm to Justine Mitchell's performance as Millament as she played it on a seemingly different beat to the rest of the cast; her slightly arch, hesitant delivery gave me the idea that she was commenting on a performance rather than actually giving one.  Her slight Irish lilt was intriguing too.

However she shone in the play's famous 'proviso' scene, Millament then Mirabell lay down conditions which must be agreed to before a marriage is contemplated. Millament will not get up early, not be addressed to as 'dear' or 'darling', not have her liberty curtailed because she is married, to have her own letters, to keep her tea table for herself.... if he grants them, then she may - in the play's most famous line - "by degrees, dwindle into a wife".  Mirabell then counter-offers that he wants a wife who will not keep company with scandalous women or fops, will not use excessive beauty products, won't partake in strong drinks etc.  It is a gloriously written scene - sparkling, teasing, well-argued, and utterly modern.

Luckily the wonderful Geoffrey Streatfeild was playing Mirabell, and he was a delight from start to finish; his Mirabell could play the dandyish man-about-town but he was also the cleverest man in the room, secretly holding all the cards and, although the final scene where all the subplots are resolved, was a bit long-winded, he pulled the surprise resolutions out of his hat with great style.  He is a class act and his dry, witty performance was excellent.

I am glad my first time seeing this Congreve classic was with such a fine production, one that any future versions will have a hard time measuring up to.