I really wrestled with seeing Ivo van Hove's production of Ibsen's HEDDA GABLER, his first for the National Theatre. Yes I loved his revival of Miller's A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE with it's bold performances and pressure-cooker atmosphere but I had squirmed through his production of the David Bowie musical LAZARUS.
However word of mouth that this was one to see had me scouring the sold-out seating plans on the National website until I found two returns in the stalls. I was glad I changed my mind because for all his obvious Director Theatre tropes, van Hove delivered a scorching revival.
As with his VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE, van Hove has stripped the play down to the bare bones and shone a bright, white searchlight on the characters leaving them mercilessly exposed to our view. Luckily, van Hove has still allowed for Patrick Marber's sardonic, sarcastic humour in his translation to pierce the action but as Ibsen's plot gathers momentum then his trademark high-level tension starts to ratchet up.
As usual the production is designed and lit by van Hove's partner Jan Versweyveld - I wonder if their home matches their theatrical aesthetic? Minimalist spaces and the odd chair or couch... it would be fun if the van Hove home is actually packed with kitsch. Versweyveld gives the production a soulless room with cold whitewashed walls, empty apart from a couch and chair, a table, an overly-designed table lamp, a large piano and incongruous buckets of fresh-cut flowers. Oddly enough it works, suggesting not only the new home that
Hedda is trapped in now she is married to the loving but petulant
academic Tesman but also the emptiness she feels in the relationship.
Six months married and finally back from their honeymoon, it is clear to Hedda that she has miscalculated; the spoilt daughter of a domineering General who panicked at his death and, not getting any younger, agreed to marry Tesman in the belief that he would be successful and keep her in the style she is accustomed to. To her disgust she finds he is already suggesting economies in their lifestyle and that he has been supported while growing up by his Aunt Julie whom Hedda finds a bore. Even their dream home is built on a lie - Hedda had told Tesman she would love to live there when they walked past it as she had run out of things to say!
In denial that she might be pregnant, Hedda turns her attention to manipulating the lives of those around her namely Thea Elvstead and Ejlert Lovborg. Hedda had tormented Thea while growing up but pretends to be a friend after learning that she has left her husband to help Hedda's one-time suitor Ejlert Lovborg to stop drinking and finish his academic masterpiece that could win him a coveted job over Tesman. The only person immune to Hedda's manipulations is the cynical Judge Brack, another longtime friend of hers who can match her deceptions easily.
To Thea's dismay, Lovborg gives in to Hedda's taunts and starts drinking before joining Tesman at Judge Brack's house for a lad's night out. In the early hours Tesman arrives home and tells Hedda that Brack moved his guest to the local brothel and on the way Lovborg drunkenly dropped his manuscript but Tesman found it and gives it to Hedda for safekeeping. Like her father's pistols which are never far from her side, Hedda has been handed a loaded gun but her shot ricochets back on her...
In a constant state of ferocious intensity, Ruth Wilson was magnificent as Hedda; crackling like an overhead train cable in the rain, she roamed the stage like a trapped panther, dripping scorn even when attempting to compliment others - only quiet finally when trapped by Brack in the trap of her own making. Wilson has always been a strong stage actress but this was a particular triumph.
There were strong supporting performances too from Sinead Matthews as Thea Elvstead (nasty frock though), Kate Duchene as Aunt Juliana and Éva Magyar as the ever-watchful maid Berthe. The men proved a bit more uneven: Rafe Spall was a snide, loutish Judge Brack - although he was effective against Wilson a little more shade would have been welcome, Kyle Soller's Tesman was less of a puppy-dog than usual but Chukwudi Iwuji as Lovborg was two-dimensional.
As I said van Hove's direction was watertight but for each good directorial touch - Hedda 'decorating' with handfuls of flowers and a nailgun - there were ones that stuck out as too distracting: the supporting cast took forever to board up a large onstage window before the last act for no particular reason while Brack's pouring and spitting the contents of a can of tomato juice over Hedda as a visual illustration of his final power over her was just heavy-handed. I could also have done without the blasts of Joni Mitchell's 'Blue' between scenes... how 60s.
These clumpy moments apart, van Hove's HEDDA GABLER blew the clutter off the usual Ibsenisms away to deliver a thrilling, highly-strung experience.
HEDDA GABLER will screen in cinemas in the UK, Europe and the US as part of National Theatre Live on 9th March - to find a cinema near you, click on the picture below:
Showing posts with label Kate Duchene. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kate Duchene. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Sunday, August 02, 2015
EVERYMAN at the National Theatre: The hits keep on comin'...
I was very worried when I first heard the line-up for Rufus Norris' opening season at the National Theatre but the more I am seeing the more I am liking. THE MOTHERFUCKER WITH THE HAT, THE BEAUX' STRATAGEM and THREE DAYS IN THE COUNTRY were all much more enjoyable than I was expecting and that feeling continues with EVERYMAN, directed by Norris in the Olivier.
The play, by an unknown author, was first performed as a Morality Play in English in the early 1500s to show the audience the error of it's ways and to fear the wrath of God. Not exactly DREAMBOATS AND PETTICOATS then. Mind you, anyone who sees that deserves eternal damnation.
It's a vibrant, full-on production with our hero descending from the flies on a wire, a huge wind machine that sprays money into the audience (I think someone must have been to see SLAVA'S SNOW SHOW), thumping music... oh and Donna Summer's I FEEL LOVE which, as Owen said, is an obvious musical shorthand for hedonistic, club culture. Not bad for a track nearly 40 years old!
Yes the medieval tale has been updated - to the streets of Hoxton it would appear - where Everyman, a sharp city wheeler-dealer has taken over a club for his 40th birthday. Chitwetel Ejiofor makes a spectacular entrance, falling slowly from the flies, suited and booted while falling through space. It looked very spectacular but what could it mean?
After a coke-fuelled rave which has the regulation fights, snogs and unspoken tensions Everyman ends up passed-out on a table. We then meet a careworn cockney cleaner, resigned to her lot of cleaning up the mess of an ugly world only to begin again the next day. But is she all she appears to be?
Actually she turns out to be none other than God and she decides to make Everyman an example of all that is wrong with human existence and she summons her colleague Death to deal with him.
But Everyman puts up a spirited fight to prove he has worth in the world and turns with increasing desperation to his neglected family, to his personal goods, to his good deeds, to anything that will prove he deserves more time. But all he finds is a down-and-out called Knowledge. Can Everyman make a justification to be allowed more time on a world whose sickness he has contributed?
The production is not a total success as it starts off with the extended, theatrical debauchery of Ev's birthday blow-out which seems never-ending, and there are other longuers that seem to tread water rather than move the action on.
But as the play reaches it's conclusion the theatrical trops fall away and Carol Ann Duffy's adaptation reaches a profound plateau that is as moving as it is simple. Her script is wonderfully dense with ideas and certain lines leap out and strike a real chord.
Norris' production although sometimes overloaded with distractions does have a core energy that draws us nearer and nearer to the final confrontation between Everyman and his two judges. As the latter Norris' production is blessed by two spiky, scene-stealing performances by Kate Duchene as the world-weary God and Dermot Crowley as a jokey and teasing Irish Death.
Norris also reunites with his AMEN CORNER actress Sharon D. Clarke who is great as Ev's loving but despairing mother and she also provides some soaring singing during other scenes. She was well-partnered in the 'home' scene by Philip Martin Brown's confused father and Michelle Butterly's angry cousin, forced to stay at home and look after ailing relatives.
The heart of the play is Chiwetel Ejiofor's Everyman, onstage throughout, who goes on a journey of ever-decreasing circles from the boastful, morally corrupt city boy to the humble, scared but resigned man facing up to his fate with a learnt stoicism. He is an actor of great power but he also has a subtle, quicksilver quality of thought and expression. It's such a shame his stage performances are so rare.
Although they sometimes threaten to pull the attention from Duffy's script, the production team of Ian MacNeil (design), Javier De Frutos (movement), Paul Anderson (lighting) and Tal Rosner (video design) provide memorable stage moments and they are held together by the atmospheric music score of William Lyons.
I had not intended to see EVERYMAN thinking it sounded like a dour evening out but I am glad that Owen persuaded me to come along and experience it.
The play, by an unknown author, was first performed as a Morality Play in English in the early 1500s to show the audience the error of it's ways and to fear the wrath of God. Not exactly DREAMBOATS AND PETTICOATS then. Mind you, anyone who sees that deserves eternal damnation.
It's a vibrant, full-on production with our hero descending from the flies on a wire, a huge wind machine that sprays money into the audience (I think someone must have been to see SLAVA'S SNOW SHOW), thumping music... oh and Donna Summer's I FEEL LOVE which, as Owen said, is an obvious musical shorthand for hedonistic, club culture. Not bad for a track nearly 40 years old!
Yes the medieval tale has been updated - to the streets of Hoxton it would appear - where Everyman, a sharp city wheeler-dealer has taken over a club for his 40th birthday. Chitwetel Ejiofor makes a spectacular entrance, falling slowly from the flies, suited and booted while falling through space. It looked very spectacular but what could it mean?
After a coke-fuelled rave which has the regulation fights, snogs and unspoken tensions Everyman ends up passed-out on a table. We then meet a careworn cockney cleaner, resigned to her lot of cleaning up the mess of an ugly world only to begin again the next day. But is she all she appears to be?
Actually she turns out to be none other than God and she decides to make Everyman an example of all that is wrong with human existence and she summons her colleague Death to deal with him.
But Everyman puts up a spirited fight to prove he has worth in the world and turns with increasing desperation to his neglected family, to his personal goods, to his good deeds, to anything that will prove he deserves more time. But all he finds is a down-and-out called Knowledge. Can Everyman make a justification to be allowed more time on a world whose sickness he has contributed?
The production is not a total success as it starts off with the extended, theatrical debauchery of Ev's birthday blow-out which seems never-ending, and there are other longuers that seem to tread water rather than move the action on.
But as the play reaches it's conclusion the theatrical trops fall away and Carol Ann Duffy's adaptation reaches a profound plateau that is as moving as it is simple. Her script is wonderfully dense with ideas and certain lines leap out and strike a real chord.
Norris' production although sometimes overloaded with distractions does have a core energy that draws us nearer and nearer to the final confrontation between Everyman and his two judges. As the latter Norris' production is blessed by two spiky, scene-stealing performances by Kate Duchene as the world-weary God and Dermot Crowley as a jokey and teasing Irish Death.
Norris also reunites with his AMEN CORNER actress Sharon D. Clarke who is great as Ev's loving but despairing mother and she also provides some soaring singing during other scenes. She was well-partnered in the 'home' scene by Philip Martin Brown's confused father and Michelle Butterly's angry cousin, forced to stay at home and look after ailing relatives.
The heart of the play is Chiwetel Ejiofor's Everyman, onstage throughout, who goes on a journey of ever-decreasing circles from the boastful, morally corrupt city boy to the humble, scared but resigned man facing up to his fate with a learnt stoicism. He is an actor of great power but he also has a subtle, quicksilver quality of thought and expression. It's such a shame his stage performances are so rare.
Although they sometimes threaten to pull the attention from Duffy's script, the production team of Ian MacNeil (design), Javier De Frutos (movement), Paul Anderson (lighting) and Tal Rosner (video design) provide memorable stage moments and they are held together by the atmospheric music score of William Lyons.
I had not intended to see EVERYMAN thinking it sounded like a dour evening out but I am glad that Owen persuaded me to come along and experience it.
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