Showing posts with label Martha Plimpton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Martha Plimpton. Show all posts

Saturday, June 15, 2019

SWEAT at the Gielgud - Hard Times...

With a Pultzer Prize for Drama tucked in it's overalls pocket, Lynn Nottage's grim tale SWEAT swaggers into the chintzy surroundings of the Gielgud Theatre from it's opening run at the Donmar; it's a juxtaposition it just about manages to transcend.


Nottage wrote her play after two years of extensive research in and around the city of Reading in Pennsylvania; this city was reported to be one of the poorest in the USA with a poverty level of 40%.  Reading saw a dizzying decline after 2007 with it's industrial jobs being decimated through factory closures and companies relocating.  Her findings which were later made into this play hold no great surprises - demoralized workers feeling used and abandoned by business but with no redress - through political or social channels - other than blame the wrong factors for the job losses.

I cannot help but feel that the play - although involving in an Arthur Miller-esque way - is quite basic and has possibly been over-praised for being what it is.  Fault lines are alluded to but are left hanging, certain characters are given more grace and favour treatment than others while issues slowly slink back to make room for the plot where we know from flash-forwarding That Something Bad Happened.


Two young recently-released prisoners are interviewed by the same probation officer and in these interviews they both mention that they have seen each other around town and are worried how that will be for their rehabilitation.  We learn that they are African-American Chris and Caucasian Jason both of whom Have Done Something Bad eight years before.  They were friends having grown up together as their mothers had been best friends and co-workers in the same pipe factory.

Their mothers Cynthia and Tracey - along with their ex-hippy friend Jessie -have a strong bond from working side by side for years and enjoying the after-work camaraderie in the nearby saloon run by Stan, an ex-Vietnam veteran - yes that old staple - who also worked with them until a factory injury made him a bar-keep instead.  Hovering in the background is also Brucie, Cynthia's ex-husband and Chris' father, once a powerful union man who after one too many brushes with the Man is now a junkie floating through life.


The plot turns on a supervisor job at the factory that both Cynthia and Tracey apply for; Cynthia gets the promotion and that, almost imperceptibly, starts the rot in their friendship as Tracey harbours a very quiet resentment at having been passed over.  Suddenly, Cynthia finds her new job is in fact Nessus' shirt - no sooner has she started the job then the management start pushing for the workers having to re-apply for their jobs, cuts in pay and longer working hours - all under the guise of streamlining productivity, and claiming their hands are tied.

Cynthia tries to keep her friends updated on all that she knows but soon realizes that the promotion probably only happened so the managers would have a patsy to filter bad news down to the shop-floor.  Tracey's anger at Cynthia catches fire and she turns against her, especially when word gets out that the management is targeting Hispanics to fill the jobs of the by-now striking workforce.  It's a situation where the only winners are the unseen managers; the former workers are left jobless, the factory vanishes to Mexico, bitter resentment is in the air when out of nowhere, a Bad Thing Happens.


There was much to admire in Nottage's play and she certainly addresses the febrile nature of workers who in the past few years, through snake-oil selling, media mis-information and their own intolerance, find themselves all too ready to lash out at anything and everything.  But I also found her plot to be fairly routine and also fairly predictable - I could sense who was going to be the victim of The Bad Thing Happening but to Nottage's credit, she changed the victim at the last second. It did however lead to a fairly obvious and clunky final image of the victim of these stupid times being the good person or people damaged forever,

Lynette Linton has certainly delivered a production that echoes the solid metal pipes and girders that tower over Frankie Bradshaw's bar-room set but it is also a monotone world where no humour is allowed to penetrate and ultimately the grim atmosphere became too one-note; as I said earlier, I was reminded of Arthur Miller's A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE while watching it - but unlike Miller, Nottage can offer no illumination of her character's lives - they are hard-working and noble or hard-working and venal with no contrast or shade.  I wonder how she would have portrayed her unseen bosses?  In this, I was also reminded of Matthew Lopez' THE INHERITANCE which was unafraid to plant a Trump-supporting Republican right at the centre of the play but also had the awareness to not make him an out-and-out villain as most playwrights would do.


SWEAT does boast some remarkable performances: Clare Perkins delivers a strong Cynthia, who watches lifelong friendships evaporate while trying to do right by them, Martha Plimpton is a coruscating Tracey whose harbouring a lifetime of resentments boils over scarring everyone including herself and Stuart McQuarrie as Stan, a man who tries to keep his bar a safe haven for all but who cannot stop the rising anger and violence from it's doors.

There were also good performances from Patrick Gibson and Osy Ikhile as the two sons who in a moment of madness assign themselves the roles that society was just waiting to throw on them, and Leanne Best as Tracey and Cynthia's friend Jessie, who allows herself occasionally to remember the idealism of her teenage years before booze overwhelms the pain.


It certainly isn't the first US play to be shown up as somewhat over-lauded in transferring to London but it is one that I suspect will niggle away at me.  What I did wonder was, would a similar play about the miner's strike or any number of factories that have closed down in the north of England or in Wales find a home on Shaftesbury Avenue or is SWEAT 'allowable' as it's Rust Belt Americana can be viewed as separate from our own angry, vindictive under-class?

I also cannot help but wonder how a production about the corrosive effects of capitalism can charge £107.25 for Premium Seating?


Wednesday, May 28, 2014

California Dreaming...

 

A few weeks ago we saw GOOD PEOPLE by David Lindsay-Abaire, a recent off-Broadway play about the echoes of the past catching up with a woman and last week we saw another recent off-Broadway play about, um, the past catching up with a woman.  I guess when it comes to American imports there are only seven stories.

The Old Vic has reconfigured it's auditorium for Jon Robin Baitz' OTHER DESERT CITIES so it is played in the round and it was great fun to sit in that familiar theatre but with a totally new viewing experience.


It was also a good choice for this play.  I suspect if the play had been presented within it's proscenium arch it might not have been too involving.

Baitz has had a career on both stage and small screen - he was the creator of the Sally Field TV series "Brothers and Sisters" - and towards the end of the play The Big Reveal had all the elements of a end-of-season cliffhanger.  For the most part I enjoyed it but, as with most plays that arrive here garlanded with awards and the praise of NY critics, the overall feeling is one of thinness.


The play takes place in the luxurious Palm Springs home of ex-actor Lyman Wyeth and his ex-scriptwriter wife Polly in 2003 against a backdrop of the first Iraqi war.  The Christmas family gathering includes daughter Brooke who has just flown in from her home in New York - immediate shorthand for 'rebellious daughter' - TV executive son Trip (oh those names) and Polly's outlandish sister Silda, who co-wrote with Polly in the 1960s and now spends most of her life checking in and out of rehab.

Brooke has not visited in six years as she has been struggling with depression while attempting a follow-up to her debut novel and she soon locks ideological horns with her Republican parents while Silda snipes from the sidelines.  Trip, who produces a courtroom reality tv series, is the voice for populism and just having a happy time.  Brooke has not arrived empty-handed however as she has brought the proofs for her new book: a family memoir that includes her older brother Henry, now dead after killing himself in a terrorist bomb plot.


Baitz' play has distinct echoes of Edward Albee's more enigmatic A DELICATE BALANCE - married, well-off couple are beset by the wife's alcoholic sister and their resentful daughter - but, while being a general state-of-the-nation play, his work mostly touches on the responsibility of the artist using their family as inspiration, the spiky relationships between siblings both old and young, and of course, the eternal push-pull atmosphere between parents and children.

As I said, Baitz delivers a plot twist towards the end which I felt reduced the play to a soap-opera but I guess it did set up a nicely poetic final scene for Martha Plimpton's Brooke.


What I enjoyed most about the production, which was directed with a good sense of pace by Lindsay Posner, was the three central female performances: Clare Higgins, Sinead Cusack and Martha Plimpton.

Clare Higgins played Silda with her usual hard-edged style but Baitz does not really give her a good meaty scene to let rip, this addicted sister was an oddly muted character for all the fireworks that were expected.  No such problems with Sinead Cusack who was excellent as the unapologeticly right-wing Polly, a mother who views her daughter as a total stranger - an addition to the Broadway cannon of unforgiving mothers.  Martha Plimpton has morphed from being a child star of the 1980s into an accomplished stage performer and, making her London stage debut as Brooke, she was always watchable and more than held her own against two of our most charismatic actresses.


The men had less chance to shine against these fine actresses but Peter Egan was less milquetoast than usual as the urbane father who cracks at the seeming betrayal of his daughter's family memoir and is the keeper of A Big Secret while Daniel Lapaine had good fun as Trip, exasperated by his warring relatives.

An enjoyable play with an excellent cast but one that seemed to choose a distinctly Hollywood ending.

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Constant Reader I am only now reclaiming the power of speech after having some face time with the Pope of Trash himself John Waters.

I have seen him twice before live and his droll take on his career and life in general always makes him great value. He was interviewed on stage by professional gay Philip Hoare who at times seemed to be trying to make it "Me And My Friend John" but Waters has been to that rodeo before I am sure and carefully maneuvered the talk back to himself deftly.


He was promoting his latest book ROLE MODELS and at the signing session afterwards I could not resist doing the fanboy thing after he signed the book and my paperback copy of CRACKPOT, a collection of his magazine articles. I am sure ROLE MODELS will be a blast.

I have been on such a Watery wave - see what I did there - I finally got round to watching his 1998 film PECKER that mate Michael had found cheap for me a few weeks back. Despite having the wonderful Christina Ricci in it I never saw it when it came out, probably down to the fact that "it wasn't Pink Flamingos".


Well it's not Pink Flamingos - but then what else is! - but it is a charming and delightful film, packed with enjoyable performances particularly from Ricci and Martha Plimpton as Baltimore's ultimate bar-room faghag!

Of course it also boasts a director's commentary and no one gives as good commentary as John Waters!