With the audience sat and stood around three sides, the action regularly erupts off the stage, from projectile soiled sheets to splashes of murky toilet water. At 65 minutes, it moves along at a cracking and sometimes disorienting pace that leaves you staggering out of the theatre feeling like you’ve been assaulted (but in a good way).
McIntosh’s achievement with the set is world class, and the magical sense of the way the set changes works beautifully to mirror the magic of a world where the future can be predicted by a six foot three and one half inches white rabbit called Harvey. Nigel Haft is luminous in his short scene, a twinkle of joy in his eye, an easy, laconic verve about him. Maureen Lipman is marvellously uptight as Veta, but not even Lipman can shoulder the burden of the play on her own, even in McIntosh’s splendid set and wearing the fabulous frocks he designed for her.
The framework devised for the production is The Coup Coup Club (a clever play on the Kit Kat Club which instantly sets the groundwork for military dictators and oppression) a seedy nightclub where far-right ideologues gather to celebrate their victories over a generous tipple and crisply fried empanadas. Central to everything, and the key reason for the success of the piece, is a startlingly assured performance from Greg Barnett. As the General cum Master of Ceremonies, Barnett is the sexy, alluring face of the murderous ruling Argentinian military.
To consider The Broken Heart as a soap opera is to fundamentally misconceive it. The author seemed clear enough that it was a tragedy and the text certainly sounds like a tragedy. The cast are not the problem. Each and every one attacks the play with verve and in the style chosen by director Chridtine Steinbeis. That the attack is misconceived is not down to them.
Eschewing grandeur and wisely opting to follow that sensible motto, Less Is More, this transfer of the Tooting Arts Club production of late 2014 is a complete triumph in every way. It takes you by the throat and clasps you firmly in its thrall for its entire duration. It is shockingly powerful, brutally honest, raw and rich at the same time. A cast of eight, a band of three, clever but simple lighting, the potent power of blood and candles, economy in every department, a dedication to the text and the score: these are the ingredients of this absolute success.
Hiraeth, the story of a small town Welsh girl and her journey to the “Big City” covers well-trodden territory, but with its comedic genius, and toe tapping music, it is a completely fresh take and absolutely a must-see.
In the title role, Zoe Wanamaker is in terrific form. She is wholly believable as a woman out of place in the world but entirely at home in the confines of her abode. Lynda Baron is superbly sweet as Aunt Lion, the tough old spinster who runs the house where Stevie lives. Men played little more than an accessory role in Stevie’s life and aspects of that are summed up in the three characters played by Chris Larkin, whose best moment comes when he recites Smith’s Drowning, Not Waving, possibly her most famous poem. It’s a beautiful moment in a quietly engaging, gentle play.
Watching David Leveaux’ stylish revival at the Donmar Warehouse, Closer seems not so much a play about people who don’t have children yet as a play about grown up children. Games, set-ups, lies, betrayals, revenge, secrets – the machinations of the four characters (who are the strangers who become lovers/lovers who become strangers) resemble schoolyard activities. Marber’s dialogue is sharp, ugly and vicious; it is often very funny too.
