FILM REVIEW: Life of Pi

Directed by Ang Lee

It was said by many that this unusual novel could not be adapted cinematically - so if it was going to be done, it had to be done in style. Luckily, Ang Lee came along and did just that, creating a film that is rich, beautiful and exhilirating to watch. It's ironic that a film demonstrating the awe-inspiring majesty and horror of the natural world could only be achieved through the very different magic of CGI, yet in this case computer wizardry has done our planet proud, and great forces of nature are displayed in sublime colour and impressive 3D.

As a rule, this reviewer is left significantly disappointed by the supposed excitement of 3D technology; usually only adding the smallest of novelty factors to the film, it has in the past appeared an unnecessary and expensive addition. Yet The Life of Pi has certainly changed all that, as for the first time I saw its potential not only to enhance a film, but generate a whole new dimension (literally) of enjoyment. The chaos of the ocean storm is exhilarating and genuinely rather frightening, as the crashing waves and enormous volume of water feels tangible and dangerous. Similarly, Richard Parker is sublime (that's the tiger of course, before I get accused of lusting over some poor man...) and totally, frighteningly believable. The best thing about this CGI production is the realism that somehow pervades the film, even as the most extraordinary of events unfold, largely down to the extraordinary attention to detail shown by the animators.

Of course, it's not all about computer animation. Untrained newcomer Suraj Sharma deserves huge credit for carrying the large majority of the film's action independently, delivering a performance of sensitivity and maturity, but not missing the wry humour which gives them - and indeed the novel - its warm heart despite great loss and desperate circumstances.

Photo: GBPUBLIC_PR

Charm is also offered in the 'present day' scenes, as the older Pi (Irrfan Khan) and his visitor (Rafe Spall) provide the framing narrative, enhancing the illusion of reality. Spall once again demonstrates his incredible variety of skills as an actor, never typecast or repetitive from role to role. He is a solid support for the storytelling of Khan, whose mature and reflective Pi adeptly links the two parts of the film and delicately portrays the effect of this miraculous adventure.

This film could easily have become too long, or too flashy. Yet Lee has balanced it skilfully, creating what could more accurately be described as a work of art, as cinematography rather than acting steals the show. As the ocean around Pi glows with mysterious life forms, the scene feels weird and fantastical, yet the cruelty and harshness of life in the wild is never far away. This may not be a film to watch again and again - its strength is in its initial impact of beauty, majesty and at times oddity - but it is an undeniably impressive piece of cinema which successfully manages to blend the latest technology with a respectful awe for largely unseen phenomena of our world.

THEATRE REVIEW: Twelfth Night

Apollo Theatre

5 January 2013

Following its sell-out run at The Globe last summer, the transfer of this all-male, traditionally-staged Twelfth Night - playing in rep with the equally lauded Richard III - really has been the hot ticket in the West End this winter, and it's not hard to see why. On paper, the combination of stage star Mark Rylance and screen darling Stephen Fry, in his first return to stage for 17 years, is enough to attract the crowds. In practice, it is more than big names that have marked out this performance - this comes close to a masterclass in how to do Shakespearean comedy.

This is the Bard in all his glory - not stuffy, not incomprehensible and certainly not dull. In a similar way to other Globe productions which have toured or transferred, the house lights are never fully dimmed, diffusing that invisible fourth wall and creating an atmosphere of camaraderie between audience and performers. It is one of many signs that director Tim Carroll is harking back to London's golden age of theatre in Shakespeare's own time. While the traditionally designed poster is charming if gimmicky, the lighting, traditional music and seating on stage are far from it, resurrecting a spirit of companionship and riotous fun which so embodied Renaissance comedy. If this all sounds a bit corny and you're beginning to doubt the keenness of my critical eye, I apologise: but this is a joyous comedy which invites giggles and warmth at every turn.

Yet perhaps this works against the performance in an odd way when it comes to the portrayal of Malvolio. Stephen Fry is...well, he's Stephen Fry as we know and love him, complete with adorably pompous manner and Melchett-esque laugh. Capturing Malvolio's affected superiority and subsequent ludicrous behaviour perfectly, he has the audience in hysterics in his efforts to impress Olivia, with levels of leering sycophancy rivalling the great David Bamber in the 1995 BBC adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. However, enjoyable as Fry's performance is, it certainly shies away from truly exploring the darker elements of this play. Ostracised, imprisoned in a cell and labelled a dangerous madman, Malvolio is indeed "most notoriously abused", and his plot arc can elicit discomfort as well as laughter. Does he deserve such treatment? Should such cruelty be entertaining? Is his promise of revenge something to be laughed at, or does it throw a gloomier shadow over the closing moments of the play? Perhaps dwelling on these questions for too long is not in keeping with the overall tone this production is taking, but it would have been more satisfying to see a little more nuance and shading in Fry's portrayal. He will always be a crowd-pleaser, but - at risk of repercussions from his army of adoring fans - his Malvolio is excellent, but not exceptional.

At the other end of the spectrum, Mark Rylance succeeds in making a rather dull part seem extraordinary. His Olivia is by far the best I have seen on stage or screen, transforming the role from a fairly forgettable moping mourner into a figure of charming hilarity. Rylance's movement around the stage is fascinating and hilarious in itself: seeming to glide rather than to walk, there is a constant sense of hovering which lends energy to the part, even when silent. This is of course heightened by the wonderful expressiveness of voice and face, often simultaneously mournful and comic. Above all, Rylance's success comes from his ability to appear utterly natural in the role, embodying it whole-heartedly - given he is playing a countess in full Renaissance make-up in a somewhat ludicrous comedy, this is a pretty amazing feat, and a privilege to see first-hand.

Rylance might steal the show, but a regular scene-stealer also comes in the form of Maria (Paul Chahidi). As confusion and farce are milked to their fullest comic effect, Chahidi certainly rivals Rylance in gliding abilities and comic timing. Together with a superb array of frowns, simpers and wicked grins, he is a delight to watch and displays unfailing exuberance for the role. Another surprise of the evening is Fabian, as James Garnon shines in an often rather overlooked role which brings a much-needed dose of solidity into the raucous madness of Sir Toby (Colin Hurley) and Sir Andrew (Roger Lloyd Pack). Garnon however does not fall into the trap of making this straighter role too straight, with an impressively strong performance delivering comedy and thoughtfulness.

Director Tim Carroll must be congratulated on a production which delivers the essence of Shakespearean comedy with lightness, joy and sparkle. The styling may be traditional, but we are a thousand miles away from dusty old books and dry rhetoric. The bard may be known for his lengthy speeches, but with some cunning timing this Twelfth Night demonstrates the hilarity of the Shakespearean one-liner. With music, physical comedy, beautiful costumes (including a truly fabulous array of hats, I might add) and an Olivia who is nothing short of brilliant, this is a superb production proving that a comedy from 1602 really can - and deserves to - stand the test of time.

THEATRE REVIEW: Shibari

Abbey Theatre, Dublin

3 November 2012

Photo: Fiona Morgan

The Irish are rightly proud of their strong literary and dramatic tradition - wherever you go in Dublin, allusions to Joyce, Beckett, Wilde and Shaw abound. So the prospect of some new Irish writing was an irresistible one for a visiting theatre-lover, as director Tom Creed and playwright Gary Duggan make their Abbey Theatre debuts as part of the Dublin Theatre Festival. Shibari is an odd piece full of dichotomies: its Love Actually-style interlinking of different lives has become conventional, yet its progression is unexpected; while some scenes possess a power and thoughtfulness, others feel rather dead and uninspiring; and whilst some performances entertain and even electrify, one or two would not merit praise in the most ordinary of student productions. With such a mixed reaction, the piece divided my party and left me a little confused - and more than a little frustrated every time a weak point interrupted an intriguing or entertaining element.

Six characters occupy this entwined world of coincidental connections, from widowed Japanese florist Hideo, to down-on-his-luck ordinary guy Liam, to big-name movie star Nick. With the sparse set ornamented with minimal props, it is left to the dialogue and performances to do all the work in establishing setting, scenario and character: by and large, this is successful as the audience quickly find themselves in a bookshop, florist's, nightclub or bedroom without Duggan resorting to trite exposition. Yet a script, of course, needs more than just competency of storytelling, and this one is rather lacking in depth, leaving me questioning how impressive or even interesting it truly is. Some aspects do capture our imagination but others garner little interest; for example, what should be a poignant episode - that of a young widow reflecting on her husband's death as she returns to a long-abandoned dance class - is rather clichéd and wastes the talents of the otherwise convincing Janet Moran (Marie). Ian Lloyd Anderson may not have to stretch himself too far to play up to the Hibernian stereotypes of his character, the rather lazy Liam who is endowed - by his own admission - with a substantial dose of "Irish charm"; yet he should be credited for his natural stage presence and confidence, which emerged particularly in his early wry humour, and in his sombre tête-a-tête with fiery sister Eva (an assured Kate Nic Chonaonaigh). By contrast, Michael Yare's performance as Nick has the opposite effect, in undermining the potential of his character through stilted and self-conscious delivery which jars with the supposed confidence and arrogant ease of his role. The rhythm of his speech is far from the natural realism adopted by the rest of the cast: while others embody their characters and situation without a struggle, Yare appears to be acting in a different production from the rest, under markedly different direction. By the end I was beginning to feel irritated that his role was so key to the web of plotlines, as his performance added little to the show and detracted much from its promise.

At the other end of the scale, Orion Lee is impressively sympathetic and sweetly amusing, yet progressively and ultimately unsettling, as Japanese florist Hideo. A figure of aloof sadness and poignant dedication to his art, the development of Hideo's thread of the story proves the most enrapturing, and Lee's rendering of the role is sensitively understated, and consequently the most powerful in the ensemble. It is here that the motifs of the dialogue come into force: the many references to bonds and ties may not be subtle, but they help to shape a play which is searching in vain for a strong structure and meaning. Shibari certainly leaves the best until last, as the final climactic scene is affecting in its slow, deliberate pace, shocking without crossing the line into sensationalist or gratuitous, and flawlessly played out by Lee and Alicja Ayres (Ioana). The harshness and innate threat of the ropes somehow becomes beautiful in the attention to detail of director and cast. It is an unsettling conclusion, executed with finesse - if the entire show had been of this calibre, Duggan and Creed would be on to a winner.

Yet the overall effect and the play's lingering impression is one of fragmented achievement and part-successes. There are some thoughtful and enjoyable elements here but in attempting to explore what makes this lively city tick, Duggan fails to really get under the skin of the characters he is creating. Combined with a cast who are rather varied in their ability and suitability, and Shibari ends its run at the Abbey Theatre to a soft vote of thanks, rather than a shout of triumph.

THEATRE REVIEW: Three Sisters

Young Vic

29 Oct 2012

Three Sisters trailer; courtesy of The Young Vic/Dusthouse

This is Chekhov as you have never seen it before. Raucous, dirty, vodka-fuelled, surprising, coarse, funny, uninhibited, destructive - and magnificent. Benedict Andrews' modern adaptation of the script tears down our expectations whilst breathing new life into a classic tale of love, sisterhood, despair and hope.

Under Johannes Schutz's design, the simple grey stage of the Young Vic is coldly lit and bare, a large mound of earth the only scenery. As characters make their entrances, the full space is utilised, with unusually large areas of empty stage between them: it is fragmented, jarring almost, to see a cast working together fluidly when physically so separate. The titular three sisters are introduced to us, and from her first appearance it is clear who will steal the show: Vanessa Kirby is simply superb as Masha. Her movement around the stage is so instinctive, so fluid, that not the slightest pretence is needed - she is not playing Masha, but has become her, utterly embodying the part in every toss of her head and every drawl. It is her spirit that seems to guide the production, with its irresistible mix of glamour, thrill, heartache and wretchedness. Beside this, Olga (Mariah Gale) risks appearing a little dull and anonymous, but some skilful and balanced direction by Andrews ensures her more understated performance is not overwhelmed. Completing the trio is Gala Gordon as unintentional heart-breaker Irina, whose transformation from sweet youth to hardened bitterness and despair is truly touching and at times difficult to watch in its soul-baring pain.

Although the girls are given some simple period dresses, there is nothing much conventional about this production. As the vodka flows, the expletives rack up and before you know it the cast are dancing on the tables and belting out Smells Like Teen Spirit. It's a brave move by Andrews and it works perfectly. Chekhov and grunge - who would've thought such a bizarre marriage could be so fruitful? The scene is funny, no doubt - and indeed there is much humour across the board here, from the brash, Aussie Natasha (Emily Barclay) to the inebriated Chebutykin (the splendid Michael Feast); from the brow-beaten Andrey (a tracksuit-wearing Danny Kirrane) to the loveable, sensitive Tuzenbach (Sam Troughton). Yet it is also thrilling in its raucous energy and verve, and in its contrast to the beautiful moments of stillness elsewhere in the play in which laughter and pathos are woven together in excruciating rawness. It is also demonstrative of the importance of sound as well as visuals, as peace is repeatedly and jarringly interrupted by singing, shouting, or by the uncomfortably loud bell which cuts through the calm, jangling painfully, in the second half.

There is a wonderful sense of synergy to the piece, as one or two individual performances which alone may be quite ordinary - William Houston's rather smug Vishinin, for example - bounce off others around them and become a seemingly vital element in the ensemble. Fragmentation is certainly a powerful theme as the sisters are gradually abandoned by all, and the slow, deliberate removal of the stage itself, piece-by-piece, is a stroke of brilliance; yet the force of togetherness inherent in the final tableau of Masha, Olga and Irina embodies the powerful bonds of raw humanity in this piece.

This bolshy yet nuanced production packs a real punch, with rare intensity and focus in its wildness. It is a tribute to the show's ability to hold an audience that I could have happily sat through it all without an interval, even on some of the most uncomfortable theatre seats in London. Its breathless energy, delightfully messy stage and wonderful performances, led by Vanessa Kirby, will not be forgotten any time soon - in short, a triumph.

THEATRE REVIEW: Our Country's Good

Out of Joint

Nuffield Theatre, Southampton

16 Oct 2012
(Touring Sept-Nov 2012; St James' Theatre, London Jan-Mar 2013)

               

This latest revival of Timberlake Wertenbaker’s 1988 work conflates the old and the new, the past and the future. Max Stafford-Clark returns to the play he originally directed for the fourth time, but this time it is with an unusually youthful cast; the drama is steeped in history, yet its focus on the art of putting on a play makes it unavoidably and perpetually relevant whenever it is performed; and although death and enslavement pervade the story, somehow there is hope and salvation inherent in all its words and action. These combinations provide the magic which ensures this play remains a compelling tale of struggle, comradeship, and the power of theatre. If that sounds a little clichéd, then maybe it is; but in fact this production, after some rather weak beginnings, reveals a vitality and spark which disperses cliché and triteness and for the most part keeps things both rousing and intense.

Our Country's Good trailer - courtesy of Out of Joint/Jonny Walton/kaptur.co.uk

For the first twenty minutes or so, the show hovers on the brink of disappointment. The opening scene, with its convict ship tableau, may have appeared more avant garde in Stafford-Clark's original conception of the show, but here feels a little staid and predictable - certainly not the most gripping introduction ever performed. Yet to give the show credit, it soon came into its own as the cast sharpened their act up and got into their stride: indeed, more than a stride, rather a quickening run, as the production gathered pace and dipped and dived from hilarity to despair. The relatively young cast breathe fresh life into the work, bringing energy and vigour as well as deep pathos as, in the bold and heady Antipodean climate, the fragility of life emerges. Epitomising this is the wonderful, scene-stealing Kathryn O'Reilly as fiery Liz Morden, who brought shouts of slighted laughter yet also moments of painful, stomach-kicking silence in her dogged refusal to defend herself. O'Reilly is ably supported by Laura Dos Santos as a charming yet surprisingly steely Mary Brenham and Helen Bradbury in a forceful yet nuanced performance as Dabby Bryant. Similarly, Lisa Kerr as Duckling demonstrated Wertenbaker's talents in weaving subtle and interesting roles as she exploited all facets of the character: stroppy, coarse, empty, heartbroken and desperate, Duckling's is sometimes a tricky progression to negotiate believably, and Kerr did an impressive job of coping with the challenge, ably supported by her ageing lover Harry (Ian Redford).

Not everything lives up to this standard, with some scenes falling back into the suggestions of dragging stasis hinted at in the opening. With the stage heavily populated in the officers' meeting, the cast struggles to keep up the spark of interest and dynamism which is so powerfully present elsewhere: the episode feels long and drawn out, with little tension to sustain it. Dominic Thorburn's Ralph teeters on the edge of falling into a similar pattern, as his early appearances gave the impression of detachment and a lack of identification with the role; yet Thorburn gradually channels this awkwardness into a subtle depiction of the naive young officer, and, by the climactic ending, flourishes in the part. Elsewhere, Wertenbaker's titling of her scenes has felt like a problematic device for directors, and Stafford-Clark's decision to keep some, but not all, in the spoken script was not convincingly thought out, with the effect being a little stilted, rather than adding anything memorable to the performance.

These moments of uncertainty are an unfortunate muddying of the waters in a production that is otherwise triumphant in its humanity and emotional core. Just like the convicts and officers themselves, there is a sense that despite moments of difficulty, something sincere cannot help but shine through.

BOOK REVIEW: The Casual Vacancy - J. K. Rowling

Photo: Cindy Pepper

If there were any doubts that J. K. Rowling could leave behind the family fantasy world of Harry Potter, these were banished from anyone's mind on page fifteen of The Casual Vacancy: "Like f**k he does, the c**t", sixteen-year-old Andrew thinks to himself. Clearly, this is no Hogwarts. Rowling's first novel for adults steers very clear of her previous territory, but in many ways this serves to demonstrate that her astounding literary success is most definitely due to her imagination, rather than style. This is no argument to say she is a bad writer, but The Casual Vacancy would almost certainly not have been in the top fifteen bestsellers of the year if there had been no Harry Potter. In her move to realism and social commentary, Rowling has produced a decent read with strong characters, but its plot and style are a little try-hard and the result is distinctly average.

A portrayal of social differences, prejudice and petty small-town politics, The Casual Vacancy begins with a death - and it gets less cheerful from then on, with depictions of child abuse, drug addiction, illness, rape, cyber-bullying, racism, self-harm, suicide and mental illness. These are tough issues to tackle, and Rowling faces them head-on and brutally. Yet they also require subtlety, even when being hard-hitting, and this is where Rowling falls down: it is almost as if she is shouting, "Look! A book for adults! I don't just write books for kids! Look, I'm writing about ISSUES!" Yes, we get it. Of course, the gritty portrayal of 'The Fields' is an everyday reality for many people and the hypocrisy and prejudice of the Pagford characters is disturbing. However, in forcing so much into one novel, these issues stick out as plot devices intended to shock or morbidly thrill, rather than being a useful exploration of genuine social problems and the effects they have.

Rowling's characterisation has always been the strength in her work, and it remains so here: for all the wacky magic of the wizarding world, it is the people she created that captured the world's imagination, and once again Rowling draws rounded and interesting characters with ease. Some are detestable (Obbo, certainly), few are loveable, others waver on the boundary (Fats, most notably). The internal monologues are invaluable to these swift and skilled characterisations, showing the intolerance, uncertainty, fear and desire behind the masks of these social circles, and the sections of the novel which follow Andrew Price and Samantha Mollinson are particularly enjoyable, combining humour with fear and frustration. Yet overall it is troubled teenager Krystal Weedon who emerges as the most attractive figure of the work, as she possesses a spark and vitality which the novel itself lacks.

If only Rowling could deal with Krystal's story as well as she deals with her character. Her personality is given warmth and life, yet the heart-wrenching and sometimes nauseating difficulties she faces appear a little shallow, without quite enough development or testing to prove truly affecting. In particular, her rape is harrowing, yet is barely explored beyond moving the plot in a certain direction, which lends the episode an almost offensive crassness. Other moments, such as Sukhvinder's torment and self-harm, are given more subtle development; but Rowling is not consistent in her ability to handle these major themes, with the result that some can appear thoughtless inclusions - try-hard in their presence, but weak in their effect. The novel asks a number of big questions of the society which Rowling has placed under the microscope, yet with her somewhat patchy blurred lens, her novel does not give us many answers to ponder.

This said, The Casual Vacancy did keep me turning the pages to the end, curious as to how this melange of characters would resolve their tangled lives. Yet this is a solid enough read but not a powerful one, and certainly not one that reaches the meteoric levels of success to which Rowling has always been connected. In attempting to take on some intense and complex issues, the novel still somehow feels unadventurous, as it backs away from real, deep explorations. It is hard to argue with the cover's claim that it is "The work of a storyteller like no other"; however, this particular story is like many others and will attract attention for its author's name rather than any particular originality or brilliance.

TV: Trouble in 'The Paradise': A Complaint

As a rule, give me a period drama and you make me a happy woman. A period drama with a charming, handsome love interest? Well, of course - bonus. Add into the mix a loveable urchin? Extra points for cuteness. A period drama with a charming, handsome love interest and a cute loveable urchin, which happens to be all about SHOPPING? I'm smitten before the first episode of BBC One's The Paradise has started.

Except now I've seen four episodes I'm decidedly un-smitten. In short, our heroine's too good, our hero too bad. Now, I haven't yet watched this week's instalment so forgive me if something dramatic and unexpected has happened to render all this complaining total codswallop (I'm not actually sure how to spell that word but I've always wanted to use it...). However, from what I have seen from four episodes, Denise (Joanna Vanderham) is too perfect for me to identify with. The girl does nothing wrong! She is pretty, kind, intelligent, articulate but most of all, really a bit of a suck-up. Not to mention she has the kind of perfect blonde hair which my locks will sadly never resemble. A teacher's pet and angel all rolled into one. Even when someone does criticise her, she is usually forgiven within half an episode.

Emun Elliott's Moray, on the other hand is handsome, charming, flattering... Yet he is also shown to be motivated most strongly by money and publicity, and that is not a popular trait in the current climate, whether the show's set over a century ago or not. I'm sure the show's writers believe they are making him complex and enigmatic, with his outward attractions, tangled love life, tragically dead wife and dubious morals. Yet whilst he does not seem a particularly 'good guy', he is neither exciting nor dangerous enough to occupy the seductive 'bad boy' persona either - really he's just rather irritating. Even more irritatingly, he is slowly making the irritatingly perfect Denise fall in love with him. The show is clearly building up to this irritating romance, but quite honestly the only thing they appear to have in common so far is some sparklingly good sales patter.

There are some solid supporting characters, I will admit. Sam, Pauline, Miss Audrey, Arthur the loveable urchin and even that good looking friend of Mr Moray's who's too dull to have a memorable name all fill their roles as sidekicks and figures of comic value satisfactorily. Yet so far even their storylines are a tad predictable. Elaine Cassidy as Katherine Glendenning, chief rival for Moray's affections, is actually fairly sympathetic when she's not being mopey or flirtatious (which isn't actually that often now I think about it....). Moray appears so heartless towards her that she attracts pity rather than any ill-humour for de-smoothing the course of true love.

Of course, it's not that I require or even prefer characters to fit into a stereotype, and it would be brilliant to see a period drama avoiding what is automatically expected from the genre - if it was done well. Sadly The Paradise, in attempting to create layered and interesting characters to keep you guessing, has simply made its cast of shop workers rather drearily unsatisfying. They neither fit a formula that works, nor do they possess the bright flame of originality.

A BBC period drama set in a department store: it really should be my favourite thing ever. For a show that highlights the tricks of enticing women through the means of thrilling, exquisite, can't-live-without-them products, this show rather underwhelmingly fails to use these very mantras to its advantage. Instead it simply leaves me feeling rather flat, and all I can hope for is that the scriptwriters pull something out of the bag pretty sharpish.

(And yes, I know I can switch off if I don't like it. But of course I am still watching, because in this case, I really do want to be proved wrong.... More thoughts will follow as the series progresses!)