An Ode to the Royal Court

A couple of weeks ago I developed a major crush. There were butterflies in my stomach; I couldn’t keep the smile off my face; I remained calm on the outside to save any embarrassment, but on the inside I was squealing and bounding around. The object of these great affections? No dashing charmer or hunky heartthrob, but a red brick building on the edge of Sloane Square. That’s right, I’m in love with the Royal Court Theatre.

Photo: Ben Sutherland

The Court has long been on my list of Places I Must Visit; I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to get there – it’s hardly on the far side of the world – but I finally made it towards the end of the run of Caryl Churchill’s Love and Information. I do indulge in literary tourism on the not-too-rare occasion: I have seen the sofa on which Emily Brontё (supposedly) died, the house in which Shakespeare was born and the room in which Hardy wrote some of his most famous novels and poems. Yet I would not say I stand in too much awe of this hallowed ground – it’s interesting, it’s reasonably exciting, but it doesn’t violently thrill me. I’d never kiss the ground. Of course, I love going to the theatre (obviously, as this whole blog would be a bit of a weird charade…), and nearly every time I am met with that same excited tingly feeling. But even the electricity of my beloved Les Mis or of Trevor Nunn’s King Lear, the first time I saw Shakespeare on a grand scale, had me buzzing in quite the same way that I was as we drove through the sheeting rain through west London. This was different – something more to do with the place than with what I was about to see: because, quite honestly, I had no idea what to expect from what I was about to see. (Incidentally, you can find out more about that here: http://laurapeatman.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/theatre-review-love-and-information.html).

As soon as I walked in, there was something about the Court that got to me; something about being in arguably the most important place for British modern drama. The place that the Angry Young Men caused a stir, to say the least. Where John Osborne, Shelagh Delaney, Edward Albee, Caryl Churchill, Timberlake Wertenbaker, David Mamet , Edward Bond, Samuel Beckett, Sarah Kane and so many other had presented their works which were to shape the face of theatre in this country. If I hadn’t been in the role of responsible staff member on a school trip, I might’ve actually danced for joy.

Maybe you’ll think this fangirling is ridiculous. But even if you manage to keep a bit more of a cap on your emotions than me, there is something undeniably cool about the place, even if it has lost its controversial edge of 50 years ago. The lack of a spacious foyer, the comfy and familiar-seeming brown leather seats, the scripts that are sold as programmes, the principle actors’ low key presence in the bar afterwards: it’s all about the drama, not about the affluent West End punters.  This genial atmosphere was evident during the technical glitches that halted the performance of Love and Information which I attended: there was real sympathy for the cast, real encouragement for the techies fixing the issue, no complaints and no impatient tutting – just a good-natured enthusiasm for the theatre to continue, and a hearty cheer when it did.

Perhaps it was partly my inner expectations that I had built up about the place. But I felt the Royal Court’s atmosphere, its history, its effect and its draw more keenly and more fiercely than I have for any other venue. If you ever see a bedraggled blonde girl attempting to camp outside the doors – it might be me.

THEATRE REVIEW: Love and Information

by Caryl Churchill

Royal Court Theatre

5th October 2012

There’s something about seeing Caryl Churchill’s work at the Royal Court – especially for the first time visitor like myself – that brings great expectations of something momentous. This could be it, the drama to once again revolutionise modern British theatre. Love and Information, however, is not it. This is not to say that Churchill’s latest piece is not highly enjoyable: it is, in turn, witty, sweet, heart-breaking, confusing and uproariously funny. Yet despite the range of emotions it takes you through, the play feels as if it is missing a solid enough spine to make it truly memorable and to understand what Churchill actually wanted to achieve with this work.

The show is divided into a series of short scenes: snippets of conversation, snapshots of events, moments of interaction, all intercut with strident sound effects and often bathed in harsh lighting. There is great variety, from the revelation of a boy’s parentage and discussions of terrorism, to virtual relationships, Facebook and memory improvement techniques.  Most impressive is the instant characterisation which the script and the performances achieve, instantly pitching the audience into each scene: although we want to know more, we never feel we need to in order to appreciate it. The sparky dialogue holds our attention flawlessly, and has the power to be raucously funny – a discussion of the word ‘table’ in many different languages – or desperately sad – a silent, depressed mother – in just a few lines or words; or sometimes, none at all. For the most part, Churchill resists the temptation to give each scene a ‘punchline’, which prevents them from becoming trite: indeed the episode that did, that of two dancers contemplating the inevitability of their imminent affair, was disappointingly weak. Movement and stillness are important here, and each gesture, twitch and look has been delicately perfected. This intelligent direction from James Macdonald is supported by an excellent cast who are really responsible for making the likeable script come alive. Susan Engel and, in particular, Linda Bassett offered exquisite comedy and frequently had the audience in stitches, while Laura Elphinstone refused to be typecast, demonstrating great range in her performances – and not just in the many different accents she adopted. The young talent of Josh Williams was equally impressive and delivered each line with perfect timing; to tell the truth, there was no weak link here.

At least, there was no weak link amongst the cast. Unfortunately the technical mechanics of the show refused to play ball on this particular performance, leading to an unplanned halt early on. It was a shame that the hitch allowed the audience to see the method of entrance and exit on and off stage, which rather marred the mysterious nature of the cuboid and apparently sealed cell-like set. However, the audience remained good-natured, and Justin Salinger and Joshua James eventually restarted their scene with impressive composure.

The problem here is it’s almost a bit too random: there are evident themes, of course, but the overriding premise is: people. It’s that simple. Yet it doesn’t really tell us anything new, and it’s hard to tell if that is because Churchill isn’t thinking anything that’s particularly new, or if it’s just not being communicated. The piece would have benefited from a stronger thread throughout, not necessarily in terms of specific plot or character, but in something of a mainstay to lead us through. However well thought out Love and Information is, its ostensibly haphazard nature becomes an onslaught of character, theme, idea, tone: this is constant and brilliant, but it means that by the later scenes the audience are in danger of forgetting the earlier vignettes. Without anything to link them, our minds are simply unable to retain all the scenes at once. Perhaps this makes for a more personal experience: certain sections stick with each person, and what one viewer remembers most vividly may be very different from the person sitting next to them.

Yet this implies that for all audience members who don’t have a superhuman memory, parts of Churchill’s sparkling work will be lost from their memories through saturation. This is undeniably a shame, for nearly all scenes are worth remembering and there is no doubting that Churchill still has a keen eye, ear and voice for theatre. It suits the Royal Court perfectly; it would just be nice if it had a little more backbone. This play may not go down in history as her most influential, but it is yet a highly enjoyable and entertaining work demonstrating a sense of joy in the variety of humanity.