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.