Rosmersholm review: Hayley Atwell and Tom Burke are superb ★★★★
Ibsen's darkest play feels like the ideal one for our times, says Nick Wells
“Is there not nobility in not taking a side?” asks John Rosmer, in a passage that goes to the heart of this transfixing update to one of Henrik Ibsen’s lesser-performed plays. “Everyone has a side”, is the unflinching reply. Or, as becomes increasingly evident, everyone insists you have a side. Preferably theirs, otherwise you’ll be seen to be in cahoots with the enemy. The drama revolves around Rosmer (Tom Burke), a former pastor, and his companion, Rebecca West (Hayley Atwell). Secluded inside his estate, both are haunted by the memory of Rosmer’s late wife, who took her own life a year earlier. Having lost his faith and abandoned his conservative political ideals, Rosmer has decided to pursue a more socialist outlook of equality for all, encouraged by the emancipated Rebecca. Change, however, as it so often proves, is more easily spoken of than come by. Alienated from his lifelong friends, and pressurised by his ideological former brother-in-law, Andreas Kroll (Giles Terera), Rosmer is buffeted by both dissenters and supporters alike and suffers a crisis of identity that consumes both himself and Rebecca. It may have been written in the late nineteenth century but director Ian Rickson and writer Duncan Macmillan (People, Places and Things) have found many compelling contemporary parallels that ground the politics in those of today. In particular, the combustible nature of debate and disagreement. Kroll, affronted by Rosmer taking an opposing view to his, doesn’t just question his arguments but his motives for having them, suggesting that he is either weak and under coercion or in it for personal gain. Kroll’s intolerance to other’s voicing different opinions, it turns out, even extends to his wife and children, with whom he has irreparably fallen out. The notion that people aren’t just wrong but nefarious is one we now see all too often (just spend five minutes on Twitter), though rarely is it this eloquent and entertaining. The play originally focused on the tension between traditional and modern values, in light of the demise of Christian religiosity. The strength of this production, though, is that while it weaves in more familiar societal conflicts it never loses sight of their effect on the people involved. What’s important, it suggests, is not just what we debate but the manner in which we do so. The production emphasises how Rosmer and Rebecca are damaged by the hostility around them. He is persuaded by her spirit of freedom and her his propriety and decency. But, even as they come to understand one another’s differences, the rancour and intransigence surrounding them prove inescapable. The most powerful idea put forward is the impossibility of being a moderate in such an incendiary environment, and it’s a sobering one. The performances of the central trio are simply superb. People may be more used to seeing Tom Burke and Hayley Atwell on the small screen, but their stagecraft is exemplary and the relationship between them is sparkling. Giles Terera, an Olivier Award winner for Hamilton, is equally as impressive as the zealous Kroll and the rest of the cast offer admirable support. It may not be performed all that often, but this adaptation feels like a play for our times. Playing until 20 July 2019 Box Office: 0844 871 7627
Three Sisters review: An exquisite take on Chekhov's classic ★★★★★
Patsy Ferran stars in this new version, which beautifully conveys the sense of hopelessness and harsh reality of the sister's lives
Rebecca Frecknall’s Summer and Smoke was last year’s surprise smash-hit play and recently picked up Olivier Awards for best revival, with the heart-wrenchingly good Patsy Ferran winning best actress. Since you can’t have too much of a good thing, the director and lead actress have reunited to bring us an exquisite version of Chekhov’s classic about disillusioned youth, with an updated script from Cordelia Lynn. Ferran plays Olga, the eldest of the sisters, who after the death of their father has become a matriarchal figure to the younger Masha and Irina, and their brother, Andrey. Life in their provincial Russian town feels increasingly hopeless, and they yearn to return to the culture and sophistication of Moscow, where they believe their best lives await them. It’s only the company of the more erudite military officers, stationed nearby, that gives them any escape from their humdrum existence, and an opportunity to explore their purpose and where they fit into the world. The stark stage, with its bare bulbs and wooden chairs, perfectly captures the emptiness that the youngsters feel in their lives. There's a palpable sense that they are struggling to fill the void both in them and around them, if only by giving voice to their idealistic hopes and ideas. The heart of the play, perfectly captured with some captivating performances, lays bare a harsh reality many people feel – the poignant gap between heartfelt desires and everyday life. Frecknall and Lynn have done a great job making the production feel vital and relevant. Not only does the theme of disaffected youth have a timely resonance – the press night taking place on a day when large numbers of young protesters have taken to the streets of cities across the world – but it emphasises other contemporary tensions, such as between rural and urban communities, and those of class and education. There isn’t a weak performance among the superb ensemble cast, but if any deserve special mention it’s Ferran and her stage sisters, Pearl Chanda (Masha) and Ria Zmitrowicz (Irina), who show a brilliant empathy for the titular characters. The next awards season may be a long way off, but don't be surprised if this fabulous production is occupying many of the shortlists when they do roll around. Nick Wells The Almeida Running until 1 June 2019 Box Office: 020 7359 4404
the Lehman Trilogy: A beautifully told tale of fortune and ruin ★★★★
Sam Mendes directs a riveting drama about the collapse of the financial world
At first look, the 2008 financial crisis wouldn’t appear to offer promising artistic opportunity. Credit default swaps and the convoluted workings of subprime mortgages would seem more at home between the pages of the Financial Times than on the stage of the National Theatre. And simply hearing the words ‘collateralised debt obligation’ is enough to send the best of us into an instant coma – which probably helped get us into trouble the first place. But, thankfully, Sam Mendes sees things a little differently from the rest of us, otherwise we wouldn't have this hugely entertaining epic drama spanning more than 160 years. He reportedly first saw Stefano Massini’s play in Milan, and loved it so much he approached The National Theatre about staging an English-Language version. After Mendes’s phenomenal success with The Ferryman, not to mention the small matter of a couple of critically-acclaimed Bond films, you can’t imagine there was much hesitation. And he doesn't disappoint, with Ben Power's adaptation being a real triumph. The trilogy draws us a long way away from the shiny glass towers of Wall St. Harking back to 1844, when the three Lehman siblings were Bavarian Jewish migrants newly arrived in America. The play opens with Henry Lehman, fresh off the boat with the earnest hope of opportunity in his eyes. He sets up a modest fabric business in a tiny store, and his brothers, Mayer and Emanuel, soon follow his lead from Germany. From such meagre beginnings unfurls an almost poetic story that maps their travails as they move from fabrics to cotton brokering to banking – in the process leaving they rural origin for New York. Surviving the civil war and the Great Depression their enterprise somehow spawns the multi-billion dollar empire of this millennium. But this is more than a simple recounting of the series of decisions that led to the collapse of the financial world and of one of its largest institutions. Such stories have already been well told elsewhere, in films such as The Big Short. The Lehman Trilogy doesn't concern itself with the mechanisms. Instead, it places the events within the context of a longer arc of time and asks us the more profound question, how did we get to this point? At it's outset, the tale is the epitome of the American Dream. The brothers honest endeavour lifts them from nothing - they spot opportunities to make money, but by filling a need from the industry they know so intimately. It's beautifully told and genuinely heart-warming. Companies love to play up their heritage in order to be seen as relatable. And it could be said that reviving the company's homespun history merely serves to paint a humanising layer of gloss over the damage it subsequently wrought. But here it works to a greater purpose, as it's drawn into starker and starker contrast from what it becomes as we move forward in time. As sons inherit from fathers, having been brought up in vastly different and more privileged environments than their elders, the play smartly shows how easy it is for guiding principles to shift as companies are handed down. And the dynamics between generations becomes its most interesting aspect. The young strive to push in their own directions as their elders, even with those with great success behind them, are deemed past it. For all the gains, though, it's palpable how different events feel is as it draws towards modern day. The humane warmth of the brothers lost - in it's place a coldness, and an overriding impersonal detachment. For all the drama does to play out the failures within the company, it doesn't lay the entire blame at it's feet. It also cleverly shows how societal changes bore some responsibility. With the birth of the stock market came the revolutionary notion that a business's worth was not just in it's material assets but in an idea of it, and in people's confidence in that idea. You're left to ask whether everything that happens after is the inevitable conclusion of this fundamental change in the human psyche. And it's interesting to wonder whether without it, financial institutions would have followed the path they did. The performances of the three leads are absolutely first class. Simon Russell Beale (Henry), Ben Miles (Emanuel) and Adam Godley (Mayer) not only play the brothers and their offspring, but also morph in and out of all other characters – a menagerie of seasoned plantation owners, nubile nineteen-year-old wives, whiny three-year-olds, and husky rabbis. It means they're all onstage throughout the three hour-plus duration, no mean feat. But it provides for great humour and breaks up the narration by which the characters tell the story. Es Devlin's set is expertly constructed. The revolving glass-walled office is set in front of a giant panoramic screen, transporting you from downtown Manhattan to the cotton fields of Alabama. By the close you still won't be able to explain the difference between a credit default swap and a collateralised debt obligation, but you'll have a fascinating and unexpected new perspective on a story you thought you knew all too well. And you'll have been thoroughly entertained into the bargain. Nick Wells The Lehman Trilogy is on at the National Theatre until 20 October 2018.
Translations, National Theatre review: Colin Morgan and Game of Thrones’ Ciarán Hinds star in a timely revival ★★★★
The National Theatre has dusted off Brian Friel's masterpiece about Irish-Anglo relations after the 1800 Act of Union
Colin Morgan may have played a young Merlin in the popular BBC series, but he doesn’t need any sorcery to foresee the relevance of reviving Brian Friel’s 1980 showpiece. At a time when the Irish border is once again a source of acrimonious contention “a story about drawing maps and lines across the north of Ireland is going to have an extra resonance with audiences,” says the star. Although that’s true, this shouldn’t be seen as a story about territory and borders. It’s primarily about language: its beauty, and how when it is corroded (or in this case inked away), far more than mere words are lost. The drama plays out in a hedge school (where farm families were taught) in Baile Beag in the early 1900s. Owen, the youngest son of alcoholic headmaster Hugh, returns to his small hometown with two officers of the Royal Engineer. They are mapping the Irish countryside for the first time since the Act of Union has united Great Britain and Ireland. Captain Lancey is redrawing territorial boundaries to benefit the treasury’s purse, and in the process Lieutenant Yolland is charged with anglicising the Irish town names. Owen, as their intermediary, translates between army and his indignant friends and family. Although both are speaking their mother tongue, we hear both sides in English, making for some lively comic scenes as each misunderstands the other’s woeful gesticulations. But it’s a short-lived mirth, as the harsher realities overwhelm even those with good intentions. For proud Hugh, the loss of his vocabulary is profound. Through him you see how the language is infused with a rich cultural history, without which he would lose a large part of his identity. Names hold within them myths and stories passed down for generations, which will die away when altered. He prizes them with spiritual reverence, and describes being forced to use new names against his will as linguistic imprisonment. It’s a timely reminder of the subtle ways unchecked nationalism can do damage to those it's supposedly helping. Despite all the barriers thrown up by the mismatched discourse, the play suggests that love can overcome the need for language. Romance blooms between the young and wide-eyed Yolland, and Maire, a local girl aspiring to escape her limited prospects. They delight in whatever understanding they can muster, despite its paucity. The idea does seem somewhat idealistic – almost a Disney-esque fairy tale – but it’s played so well that you find yourself believing in it. One of the most striking elements of the production is the staging. Designer Rae Smith cleverly constrains the action to the small school, marked simply with a low wall. The remainder of the vast, sloping Olivier stage is scraggy grassland over which mist slowly unfurls. Lighting Designer Neil Austin’s broad sheets of light cut through the swirling haze, illuminating an enchanting countryside. The cast are also excellent in bringing an authentic slice of rural Donegal to the London stage. Colin Morgan excels, but the standout performance comes from Game of Throne’s Ciarán Hinds as the ruddy and defiant Hugh, and Adetomiwa Edun as Lieutenant Yolland, whose bashful idealism enlivens every scene. This thoughtful revival is a reminder of the complicated legacy of colonialism, and suggests that taking the time to better understand one another could be the key to progress. Translations is at the National Theatre until 11 August Book National Theatre tickets 11 plays to see this summer - starring Aidan Turner, Vanessa Kirby, Orlando Bloom and more
Consent review, Harold Pinter Theatre: A brilliantly knotty legal drama ★★★★★
Nina Raine's play about a rape trial is utterly gripping and essential viewing, says Nick Wells
If, like me, when the last bow has been taken, you enjoy nothing more than to chew over the evening’s entertainment, then make sure you’ve been brushing well. Because Nina Raine’s latest play is going to have you wearing your molars to the root – so tough and contentious are the issues you’ll be gnawing away on. After an acclaimed opening at the National Theatre last year, Consent thoroughly deserves its transfer to the Harold Pinter Theatre. It’s a play that needs to be seen: for the quality of its writing, its performances, and its contribution to a public conversation that is only just beginning. Taking a critical look at the adversarial, point-scoring nature of the legal system, it questions whether justice in rape cases is best served in an arena where finding the truth appears less important than telling the neatest story. It shows how defining the narrative is crucial, and how it can be warped by prejudice and omission. Gayle (Heather Crane) alleges she was raped after her sister’s funeral. Her assailant maintains that it was consensual. Acting for the defence, Edward (Stephen Campbell Moore) coldly and systematically exploits her history of depression in a sharp cross-examination, fundamentally undermining her case. But the accused’s history of repeated sexual criminality is deemed prejudicial, and therefore any mention of it is withheld from the case. Tim, the prosecuting lawyer, is an unconvincing and even unwilling advocate, and Gayle is left asking whose job it is to defend her. Book tickets for Consent Raine's appraisal of the system is clear – down to how the working-class victim’s drunkenness is seen as a character flaw, even as the lawyers themselves rarely carry out a conversation without an open bottle to hand. But she also looks beyond the courtroom and examines the relationships of those charged with overseeing the law. Are their lives any more moral? Edward’s marriage to Kitty (Claudie Blakley) simmers with the strain of his previous infidelity. And his emotional detachment, which serves him so well professionally, has permeated his private life so totally that Kitty is alienated by his need to rationalise every disagreement in legal argument. Their friend Tim (Lee Ingleby) is a perennial singleton who’s been set up with the gregarious Zara (Clare Foster), but he’s always been attracted to Kitty and can’t help but act on it. Jack and Rachel, with whom they all socialise, are no more functional. She having kicked him out for his unashamed adultery. As their relationship becomes increasingly volatile, Kitty accuses Edward of marital rape, and all of the arguments from the courtroom are played out in the home. Only here all the messy emotions, irrationality, and stark human nature aren’t forced into the narrow constraints of jurisprudence. It pointedly illustrates how discerning right from wrong can sometimes come down to opinion, rather than fact. The cast are excellent. Stephen Campbell Moore and Claudie Blakley (Kitty) present a totally engrossing portrayal of a complicated, mutually flawed couple. Lee Ingleby gives Tim a resoluteness that belies his hapless nature; and Clare Foster is lively and entertaining as Zara. Adam James manages to make Jake likeable, which is no mean feat; and Sian Clifford’s Rachel is enjoyably spiky. As Gayle, Heather Craney delivers an emotional performance that can render a silence palpable. This is a play you’ll be talking about for a long time to come. Consent is at the Harold Pinter Theatre until 11th August 2018 Book tickets for Consent
Absolute Hell review: Superb performances in a seedy Soho club ★★★★
This 50s play has lost its shock value but the National's slick production is still powerful
Given enough time, what was once unspeakably scandalous will emerge from its subversive past with enough counter-cultural kudos to be appropriated by the mainstream. The leather biker jacket, for example. Or Johnny Rotten selling butter. Absolute Hell is a case in point. When it debuted in 1952 (then titled The Pink Room), critics branded it "a libel on the British people". Perceived as degenerate and vile by the standards of the day, writer Rodney Ackland was so affected by the abuse that he wrote next to nothing for nigh on forty years. He did, though, return to it in 1988, long after censorship laws had been relaxed. He reworked it for more broad-minded sensibilities (and didn't miss the chance to add an unsubtle dig at critics). Shortly after it was adapted by the BBC and staged at the National Theatre, which is about as establishment as it gets. It’s set in a decaying Soho drinking club at the end of the Second World War. The den – which feels impressively cosy on the broad Lyttelton stage – is inhabited by good-time girls, servicemen, misfits, bohemians and fallen artists who quaff liberally and will seduce anything on two legs. Outside in the real world, events of national importance are taking place. Conflict in Europe has come to an end and there are raucous celebrations as a socialist Labour government is about to take power from Churchill. But within the confines of the club, all anyone wants to concern themselves with is where their next drink is coming from. The question with reviving such a play is: stripped of its ability to provoke, is there substance to what remains? At first appearance, the answer seems to be "no". The large ensemble revel in their gaudy lives – flirting, arguing and intellectualising seemingly without aim. But as the overlong first half ends, there's a hint of something more substantial lurking at the edges, as reality begins to encroach on their booze-numbed enclave. And it's after the interval that director Joe Hill-Gibbins' clever production reveals the sober heart of this tragicomic drama. Harsh realities become harder for the members to ignore. The horrors of the internment camps are revealed by a passing officer; a neglected gay lover walks in to tell their dishevelled other half they're leaving them for a woman. The self-deception warding off artistic and financial hardship is stripped back. As each tries to will away what they want to ignore, the play explores how far people will go to avoid facing up to their struggles, and their how own shortcomings shaped them. With their identities and self-esteem so wrapped up in the anodyne fantasy of the bar, it asks what’s left when it starts to crumble – at times quite literally. There are some great performances. Kate Fleetwood excels as Christine, the owner of the bar, whose underlying emptiness drives her need for company. Charles Edwards exudes a manic anxiety that is both funny and tragic as Hugh, a critically panned writer chasing respect while his life is falling apart. They are ably supported by the large cast. Shock and outrage are no longer what make Absolute Hell notable, but there was always much more to it than that, and thankfully we can appreciate that now. Like former punk icons, it deserves its place among the establishment. Absolute Hell is at the National's Lyttelton Theatre until 16 June Bat Out of Hell review: A thrilling assault on the senses Chicago review: Cuba Gooding Jr turns on the charm Quiz: Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? play is a winner
Quiz review: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? play is a winner ★★★★
Quiz show fans will love this entertaining play about the ITV programme's cheating scandal
Question 1: Which prolific playwright saw their three plays of 2017 garner two West End transfers, much critical acclaim and an Olivier Award? Need to phone a friend? Is that your final answer? It was, of course, man of the moment James Graham. His newspaper drama Ink about the birth of The Sun won favourable headlines (and a best supporting actor accolade for Bertie Carvel’s portrayal of Rupert Murdoch), while Labour of Love, on the schisms of the political left, picked up the award for best new comedy at the Oliviers on Sunday evening. Now Quiz has arrived at Noel Coward Theatre, and once again sees Graham displaying his knack for entertainingly recreating a historic moment in time. Charles Ingram, forever known as "the coughing Major", appeared on ITV's Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? in 2001, walking away with the show’s top prize. Infamously, though, he was later arrested in a dawn raid, along with his wife and an accomplice, and charged with defrauding the show. Quiz sets the subsequent trial in the show's television studio, reconstructing the accusation that, via some strategic (and rather comical) coughing, they cheated their way to a million pounds. The first half sets out the case for the prosecution and the defence gets its turn after the interval. Book tickets for Quiz The mixing up of the judicial process and public entertainment is more than just a happy coincidence. Weaving the two together poses the question, voiced by the defence, as to whether people are more inclined to believe an entertaining lie over a less extravagant truth. Is justice truly being served in an era when even the news seeks to entertain? The answer, as the show demonstrates, is not clear cut. In a clever nod to one of the show’s famous lifelines, the audience is asked to cast their own vote. The question at hand isn’t a brainteaser, but whether or not they deem the Ingrams guilty of the crime, and whether a crime has even been committed. It casts the audience as jury, which fits nicely with the interactive nature of the show. Daniel Evans's production is brash and bold, with plenty of over-the-top showbiz razzmatazz. The stage is transformed into a studio set, propped with lights, cameras, crew and giant television screens. The arguments are played out with a kaleidoscopic energy as scenes unfold at pace, exaggerating the madcap zeal required to sustain a performance. Keir Charles is excellent as Chris Tarrant, overplaying his mannerisms to great comic effect. And Gavin Spokes does a great job showing us a much more humanised and sympathetic major than the infamous media characterisations. If you’re a quiz nut, then this will be right up your street. An ode to quizzing, and the people who quiz, it shows us why we fell for it. There are loving portrayals of slightly eccentric, nerdy people whose obsessive joy is not only endearing, but makes them part of a community. There's even an in-show pub quiz, and a nostalgic walk through some of the best shows from yesteryear – Take Your Pick, Bullseye, The Price Is Right – with funny pastiches of their hosts. Question 2: Should you go and see Quiz? Fortunately, this is an easy one. And if you need to phone a friend, the only thing you’ll be asking them is if they can join you. Quiz is at London's Noel Coward Theatre until 16 June Book tickets for Quiz from the Radio Times Box Office Quiz and 2-course dinner Quiz and 2-course post-theatre dinner at The Ivy
Pressure review: The weather forecast has never been so gripping ★★★★
David Haig wrote and stars in this new play about the meteorologists behind the D-Day landings
Michael Fish will forever be remembered for one forecast. In 1987, the former weatherman assured the nation not to worry; there definitely wasn’t a hurricane on the way. Unfortunately, and not just for him, only a few hours later the south coast was battered by the biggest storm in three decades. He was subsequently monstered in the press and forced into hiding. Imagine, then, the stakes in making a forecast on which the fortunes of the Second World War, and hundreds of thousands of lives, could turn. That’s the premise of this fine play both written and starring David Haig. It’s June 1944. The wheels of war are rolling and the allied forces are set for the largest seaborne invasion in history. Months of meticulous planning will culminate in a few days when conditions – including the moon and tides – will be just right. But the launch is still not a certainty. For Eisenhower to give the go ahead he needs to know the weather won’t destroy their chances. Haig is first-class as gloomy Scottish meteorologist RAF Captain James Stagg, who insists that the indicators point to an operation-halting storm. Brusque, cautious and consumed by the seriousness of his subject, he is the polar opposite of his American counterpart. Irving P Krick (the equally excellent Philip Cairns) usually forecasts for film shoots in Hollywood and is as unflinching in his certainty of fair skies as he is of his own importance. Cue an engrossing clash of wills and convictions as maps are unfurled and charts and numbers pored over. The tension is palpable and expertly maintained throughout, given the considerable jargon in the increasingly impassioned arguments. There’s real wit and warmth as well. Stagg’s wife has gone into labour, and with outward communications barred, he can only worry about her condition. This personal side reveals a vastly different man from the charmless professional at the outset. And you can’t help but be moved when, in a vividly acted scene, he is overtaken by his anxiety and breaks down uncontrollably. Haig has obviously done his research, and then smartly played with the facts for full dramatic effect. You wouldn’t think a story about predicting the weather could play like a thriller, but it does. As excellent as Haig is, though, the performances that really carry the day are those of Malcolm Sinclair as Ike, and Laura Rogers as his personal aide Kate Summersby. Sinclair commands the room with his booming presence, but also shows us the General's more moderate and mindful side. And Rogers is the backbone of the piece. Her brilliantly practical and resourceful lieutenant handles the strains borne by all others, portioning off advice and support as it’s needed. It’s a rip-roaring evening’s entertainment as the pressure of making sure they come to the right decision takes its toll on all involved. You only have to ask poor Michael Fish what happens when you get it wrong. Pressure is at London's Park Theatre until 28 April and transfers to the Ambassadors Theatre in the West End for a limited run from 6 June to 1 September Book West End tickets from the Radio Times Box Office
Cathy review: A powerful remake of Cathy Comes Home ★★★★
This modern take on Ken Loach's 60s TV drama pulls no punches
Ken Loach’s groundbreaking television drama Cathy Come Home was voted the best single television drama of all time by Radio Times readers. It was discussed in parliament and provoked nationwide concern about homelessness. More than half a century after it was first broadcast, playwright Ali Taylor’s Cathy has taken inspiration from the original and drawn on real-life experiences, to imagine how the titular character would fare today. And it’s not giving anything away to say that it’s not a heartening picture. Cathy Owen gives a heartfelt performance in the lead role, displaying a subtly rendered gamut of emotions as a mother and her 15-year-old daughter (the equally moving Hayley Wareham) are slowly submerged in a Kafka-esque system meant to help people like them. Each downward step is a gut punch. She works hard – juggling several low-paid jobs, but on precarious zero-hour contracts. When she falls into arrears on her rent, it’s impossible to catch up, try as she might. Her new landlord sees this as an opportunity to move in much more profitable, non-benefit tenants and orders them out. The welfare system that they fall into is impersonal, judgemental and demeaning, and reacting to the injustices only makes them live up to society's long-held prejudices. Anger is your worst enemy. This is visceral, documentary-like theatre, perfectly pitched. It's affecting and sympathetic without resorting to melodrama or mawkishness. The characters are sharply drawn and realistic, with no hint of caricature. It would be easy for such a piece to become patronising, but it never comes close to condescension. That’s probably down to director Adrian Jackson. His company, Cardboard Citizens, make theatre for and with the homeless community. And that close relationship to the subject matter shows in this delicately tuned production. The politics and the play are inseparable. It’s unabashedly partisan and pulls no punches, which is not to its detriment. Indeed, it’s what gives it power – putting flesh and voice to lived experiences. Effective use of video and first-person testimonies grounds the theatrical portrayals. At Soho Theatre the play is being performed as a standalone piece, but for the remainder of the tour all shows will be performed – as it was during its original run at Edinburgh Festival – in the seldom seen style of Forum Theatre. After the interval, the proceedings of the first half are revived, with members of the audience given the opportunity to suggest different ways in which the characters might deal with their situations. These are then improvised and played out by the cast and, if they wish, the audience. However you feel at the end, it will certainly not be indifferent. If Cathy Come Home is updated again in 50 years' time, let's hope it has a happier ending. And if so, this play will certainly have made a contribution. Cathy is at Soho Theatre until 14 April, then goes on tour to Cornwall, Cardiff, Swansea, Milford Haven, Aberystwyth and London’s Albany Theatre You can book West End theatre tickets from Radio Times Box Office
John review: a subtle but finely-honed chamber piece ★★★★★
Annie Baker's Gettysburg-set drama introduces rich, nuanced characters to the Dorfman Theatre
Writer Annie Baker last came to the National in 2016 with her Pulitzer Prize-winning drama The Flick. Her return, transferred from a successful run in New York, is a subtle but finely-honed chamber piece that draws you into the relationships of a quartet of the most well-drawn characters you’ll see on stage. Elias (Tom Mothersdale) and Jenny (Anneika Rose), are a quarrelsome young couple who arrive at a Gettysburg B&B late into the night. The homely establishment is run by Mertis, it’s sweet and genteel if albeit slightly kooky owner (Marylouise Burke). But every home has its eccentricities, and in Mertis's, as Elias and Jenny can't help but notice, it's her dolls. A miniature army of figurines, cuddly and porcelain, angelic and eerie, adorn almost every wall and surface. The sheer number of still eyes watching every move is unsettling. The set is meticulously detailed, and almost a character in itself: the warm and cosy period parlour with its floral prints and jukebox radio; the Parisian-themed breakfast nook; the imposing staircase which rises up its centre. But there's an air of vague discord that runs through the decor - in the stern portrait glaring reproachfully at all below, and in the surreal animation of inanimate objects. In those tiny eyes. As their stay unfolds, Jenny and Elias scratch away at each other, in and out of the view of Mertis and her spooky blind friend Genevieve (June Watson). The sense of foreboding is skilfully built. Baker is a sharp observer of people, and it shows in her characters and dialogue. Elias habitually tells Jenny what she is thinking and feeling, robbing her of her own agency. Both are guilty of ignoring signals the other is hoping they’ll pick up on. The manner in which they repeatedly push each other away with words, before timidly or passionately coming back together with gestures, is powerfully convincing. The smaller ingredients are what make this play such a delight. Mertis’s small joy and satisfaction in bestowing esoteric knowledge onto a willing listener; Genevieve’s perky evocation of being possessed by her dead husband. This is a play about seeing and being seen. Being watched, by those real or only in the imagination, alters the way each perceives themselves and how they relate to each other. Though it runs well over three hours long, it’s utterly fascinating. It would be no surprise if with this, Annie Baker repeated her Pulitzer triumph.
The Birthday Party: Wonderful performances - but does Pinter's classic work in 2018? ★★★
Toby Jones and Zoë Wanamaker star in a production that's both funny and uncomfortable in equal measures
It's funny to think that when The Birthday Party first opened in London in 1958, at what is now The Lyric Hammersmith, it lasted just eight performances before it was unceremoniously shut down. Given a critical savaging, it’s said that Pinter was so downhearted he resolved to give up theatre for good. Only a glowing review that appeared in The Sunday Times the weekend after it closed convinced the young playwright to persist with a career that went on to include the small accolade of a Nobel Prize in Literature (what do critics know, eh?). It was an inauspicious start for a play now celebrating it’s sixtieth anniversary. It does so with a notable revival that includes more stars than The Sky At Night. Ian Rickson, who directed Pinter in his final appearance as an actor, takes the helm. Set in a sleepy seaside town to the sounds of seagulls and gently rolling surf, the story focuses on Stanley (Toby Jones) the sole lodger of a rundown boarding house run by Petey and Meg (Peter Wight and Zoë Wanamaker). It’s his birthday. At least, that’s what the kindly Meg insists, despite Stanley’s protestations to the contrary. Intrigue arrives in the guise of two sinister strangers, Goldberg (Stephen Mangan) and McCann (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor), the first new lodgers for a year, who insist if there’s a birthday then there must be a party. Lulu (Pearl Mackie) is invited to join the celebration, but it soon becomes apparent that the pair are more familiar with Stanley than they initially let on. An ominous atmosphere of thinly-concealed threat follows. But, despite the entertainment of the considerable talent on display, it has to be said that this isn’t a play that has aged well. Yes, there’s plenty of the brooding menace and ambiguous characters that you expect from Pinter, and it’s executed it’s expertly. But audiences in 2018 may quite rightly ask why the reverence for a play in which two such considerable actresses such as Zoë Wanamaker and Pearl Mackie inhabit characters whose only reason seemingly for existing is to either gratify or exasperate the men around them. In the few short scenes that Mackie appears she’s propositioned, leered at, groped repeatedly, and assaulted, all whilst smilingly reassuring the guys what fabulous company they surely are. She serves no other purpose to the story. Wanamaker’s character by contrast is barely tolerated. For much of the time she’s simply a loveable but hectoring matriarch, sniggered at by the more knowing and unquestionably authoritative men. At times it can make for uncomfortable watching, especially in the light of the myriad recent stories of the maltreatment and misrepresentation of women. Defenders may say it’s a timely revival of an important early work by a playwright of great renown. And that may be true. But surely now is the time to take a good long look at even celebrated work with a new critical eye, and ask whether these are still characters that offer vitality to our cultural conversation. That’s not to say that the play isn’t without any merit, nor that it isn’t entertaining. It is by turns both funny and suspenseful and there's real joy in watching such a fabulously talented cast. But, as obviously good as the performances are, it’s difficult to see what The Birthday Party has to say that’s relevant to an audience in 2018. And although there’s no doubt that, on this run, it will see it’s way past eight performances, after that, maybe it would be best to blow the candles out for good. At Harold Pinter Theatre until 14 April. Book tickets for The Birthday Party and other West End shows from the Radio Times box office.
A Christmas Carol review: Rhys Ifans makes a fabulous Scrooge ★★★★★
The Old Vic's festive show is a family-friendly, cockle-warming take on Dickens' timeless tale
Some might suggest that there’s something spookily portentous about Matthew Warchus’ choice of programming this year. For the ghost of Christmas past – Kevin Spacey – has been all too real for the Old Vic in the lead up to the opening of this year’s festive offering. Dickens himself was originally inspired to write A Christmas Carol by the ills he saw around him. Not least the anger he felt at the plight of poor working-class children exploited by the Industrial Revolution. Given the current public debate about the wealthy’s contribution to society, Dickens’ 1843 tale of personal conscience and moral responsibility might be more relevant that ever. Writer Jack Thorne, who also brought both Harry Potter & The Cursed Child and Let The Right In to the stage, has balanced this production perfectly. He doesn't shirk the anger at social attitudes towards poverty, but also delivers a rousing festive feast that will leave even the most miserly curmudgeon filled with redemptive joy. Rhys Ifans makes a fabulous Scrooge. Rakish in his long coat and straggly hair, and with an air of personal neglect, he gruffly barks at those around him. But his Ebenezer is not a wholly evil man. Thorne has woven in a poignant backstory in which his loveless, money-obsessed father sees only naked financial worth in his son, and shows how the emotional damage wrought during childhood gives birth to the uncaring man of the future. And Ifans excels at bringing pathos to a usually unsympathetic character. Despite the miser at its core, this is a play full of heart and affection. Without giving away its secrets – of which there are many, including a provocative twist to the traditional ending – it shows how love rather than fear can be the greatest driver of compassion and goodwill. The staging is simply exquisite. The stage snakes the full length of the Old Vic's grand auditorium, while Scrooge's counting house is framed by four hollow door frames, beneath a canopy of flickering lanterns. The spectral visitations and carol singing are beautifully rendered. There's not a weak link among the cast. John Dagleish is a fine Bob Cratchit, and Erin Doherty is particularly moving as Ebenezer's lost love Belle. A special mention must go to the three ghosts of Christmas, Myra McFadyen, Golda Rosheuvel and Melissa Allan, for their refreshing take on the well known spirits. This is a lovely production that all the family can enjoy. Dare I suggest it, it could even rival that obvious pinnacle of Dickens' adaptations, The Muppet Christmas Carol. Book tickets for A Christmas Carol from the Radio Times Box Office
Heisenberg: The Uncertainty Principle - heartfelt and entertaining ★★★★
Anne-Marie Duff and Kenneth Cranham are beguiling, unlikely lovers in Simon Stephens's new play at Wyndham's Theatre
Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle states that you can’t know both the precise location and the speed or direction of travel of a particle at any one time. As soon as you stop to take a measure of one, you lose a firm grip on the other. Don’t panic, though. That’s the all theory out of the way. And, luckily, you won’t need to understand it, nor to dust off and brush up that old maths GCSE to enjoy this heartfelt new play from writer Simon Stephens and director Marianne Elliott. The creative duo behind the phenomenally successful stage adaptation of The Curious Incident Of The Dog In The Night Time. The play follows the unlikely relationship of Alex and Georgie. He (Kenneth Cranham), 75 and never married, is self-contained, habitual and unassuming. Comfortable with his narrow place in life, if not without regrets. She (Anne-Marie Duff), thirty-odd years his junior, wears her exuberant but fragile emotions like a technicolor coat. Constantly in motion with a beguiling but erratic energy (and a joyously foul mouth) she crashes into his life in a chance encounter at a train station. Watching these two supreme actors search their way around the hazy edges of their burgeoning relationship is never short of entertaining. Cranham imbues Alex with a sense of rigidness, in his formulaic way of life and his highly cultivated sense of self. Duff’s Georgie, by comparison, is a constantly shifting proposition. You’re never sure where you are with her, whether she’s inventing stories or lurching between timid insecurity and unabashed forwardness. There are some lovely moments as each draws the other into uncharted territory. Such as when Alex, after Georgie has torn herself up over her seemingly multiple personalities, assuages her in his belief that there are no such things as personalities. According to him, there are only the appearance of them in the accumulation of our actions, and our actions are free to change. In the process, he frees himself to become someone he didn’t expect. Bunny Christie’s ‘box of light’ set works wonderfully well. Growing and shrinking around the characters as the boundaries of their lives contort in a constant state of flux. At the heart of the play is the intriguing suggestion that people, like the core of nature in the theory of subatomic particles, are inherently fuzzy. If you concentrate solely on who and where you are, you’ll lose sight of the direction you’re heading. Conversely, if you’re only ever looking ahead, the beauty of the finer details of life disappear in the blur of perpetual motion. The theory might say you can’t know where you’re at or where you’re going at the same time, but you’ll know you enjoyed the journey. Until January 6, Wyndham's Theatre
The Tempest review: Technical wizardry and a magical performance from Simon Russell Beale ★★★★
The Barbican's production of Shakespeare's last play blends fine performances with state-of-the-art motion capture technology
Given the recent ructions over at The Globe, you could be quite forgiven for thinking that, like die-hard Dylan fans, Shakespeare audiences will scream "Judas!" the second you turn on a plug and dare go electric. But that’s far from the truth. The anticipation surrounding the RSC’s new digitally enhanced Tempest was more due to the technological wonderments than Simon Russell Beale’s return to the company after 20 years. The RSC have collaborated with Intel and digital gurus Imaginarium Studios to create a three-dimensional canvas where holograms bend and shape themselves across an imposing, stage-spanning shipwrecked galleon. The skeletal husk seamlessly transforms into the wooden sinews of Ariel’s prison within a tree, lush forestry and painterly, almost Hockney-like landscapes that are saturated with vibrant colour. It's simply gorgeous to look at, and all without a single scene change. Simon Russell Beale and Mark Quartley; main picture: Jenny Rainsford, Beale and Daniel Easton (photos by Topher McGrillis) The character of Ariel adds the most impressive hi-tech touch. The actor playing the spirit, Mark Quartley, wears a sensor-equipped suit, so his movements are translated into a digital avatar that glides over the stage. In real-time, he brings life to the magical manifestation in a fascinating way you’re unlikely see anywhere else outside of a computer game. The danger with this type of production is always that the eagerness for digital daring eclipses the power of the story and the performances. Not here. Director Gregory Doran knows when to turn it up to 11, but also when to dial it back and let Shakespeare’s fable of betrayal and forgiveness speak for itself. For all the technical wizardry it’s still those flesh and blood actors that are the most captivating. Avatar or no avatar, Mark Quarterly is great as Ariel. Moving with a dancer’s musical grace, he perfectly embodies the ethereal majesty of the bewitching sprite. Simon Russell Beale plays Prospero and proves just how finely honed his stagecraft is. He howls with primal rage as he lets out the anger of his unjust exile. But as the patriarch’s vengeance fades to virtue, his pity never feels like weakness. There is a sombre dignity in his mercy that speaks to the compassion at the heart of the story. There are also fine performances from Joe Dixon as a doleful Caliban who evokes sympathy; Simon Trinder as the hilarious Trinculo; and Jenny Rainsford as Miranda who, despite her best efforts, will always remain one of Shakespeare’s weakest female characters. The RSC has struck just the right balance between the spectacle of the new and staying true to the original intent. It reinvigorates one of the Bard’s last plays, and leaves it feeling, like that famous Dylan song, forever young. The Tempest is at the Barbican until 18 August Book theatre tickets from Radio Times Box Office
Anatomy of a Suicide review: A powerful examination of the legacy of mental illness ★★★★
The stories of mothers and daughters are cleverly interwoven in this ambitious new play starring Hattie Morahan
Last year writer Alice Birch was named one of the Creative England 50, a roll call of the country’s most accomplished up-and-coming creative talents who are not only innovative, but disruptive. One critic has described her work as "a cluster bomb of subversion". Her ambitious new play tells the stories of three generations of women dealing with the painful legacy of suicide. Rather than dealing with each individually, mother, daughter, and granddaughter’s troubled tales are played out separately but at the same time. Concurrent conversations ricochet not only across the stage but across decades. Hattie Morahan plays troubled housewife Carol whose story traverses the 70s and 80s. Her daughter Anna (Kate O’Flynn) is a self-destructive young adult growing up during the late 90s, while Bonnie (Adelle Leonce) is the head of an A&E department and wrestling with the ghosts of the past in the 2030s. Adelle Leonce as Bonnie (photographs by Stephen Cummiskey) Three stories happening simultaneously is a difficult feat and has the potential for a muddled evening. But it's brilliantly done, creating a rich tapestry as the interweaving threads dovetail perfectly. Grief and mental health are complex issues and Anatomy of a Suicide never tries to reduce them to simplistic tropes or narrow explanations. Book tickets for Anatomy of a Suicide from Radio Times Box Office Instead we see how the legacy of someone taking their life can manifest itself in subtle ways. Bonnie keeps people at an impersonal distance when, having turned up unexpectedly to a colleague’s birthday, they assume she's there to berate them about a work issue. When someone shows an interest in Anna, her instinct is to push them away and berate them for treating her as "a misery project". The scenes are deft but vivid, and the dialogue is razor-sharp. Placing the sequential stories side-by-side adds depth to the backstories of the other characters, without resorting to flashbacks or long exposition. It also brings into stark relief the contrasting cultures of the different generations. Carol is clinically depressed and is repeatedly asked whether she’s happy or told she’s bored. People talk about rather than to her, and the psychologists try to fit her into their own self-aggrandising theories. When Anna is suffers in the same way, she's encouraged to talk about what she’s gone through instead. It’s a powerful depiction of how the language of the time was woefully insufficient. Hattie Morahan, Kate O’Flynn and Adelle Leonce are superb as the three women, playing them with a keen sense of poignancy and empathy. Paul Hilton and Gershwyn Eustache Jnr move splendidly between the decades as both husbands and fathers hollowed out by despair. The rest of the cast fill multiple roles and Jodie McNee stands out as Jo, whose awkward affection for Bonnie is endearing and funny. Anatomy of a Suicide is hugely impressive. Birch manifests the difficulties of living with suicide and asks how much is inherited, even when a person is too young to remember? Is nature or nurture to blame? While never giving a definitive answer, we are asked to consider whether, in still not fully addressing the problem, we will be inflicting lasting effects on future generations. Anatomy of a Suicide is at the Royal Court until 8 July Book tickets for Anatomy of a Suicide from Radio Times Box Office
The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui review: Lenny Henry plays a Trump-like mob boss ★★★
The Donmar Warehouse's entertaining revival of the 1940s satire draws parallels with contemporary America
From stand-up comedian to red-nosed humanitarian ambassador, knight of the realm to serious Shakespearian actor, Lenny Henry has already orchestrated more hits than your average mob boss. Now, in a timely revival at the Donmar, he’s stepped into the shoes of an actual mobster – Bertolt Brecht’s demagogue Arturo Ui. A charismatic, self-aggrandising strongman determined to seize power by fair means or foul (although, he’s rather less keen on the fair). And the funny man who made his name with comic impersonations on New Faces makes a pretty persuasive Chicago gangster. Although he doesn’t quite achieve a truly furious menace, he effects a convincing throaty snigger, a bombastic charm, and a larger than life loping physicality that is entertaining to watch. He’s at his best when dissembling in front of dubious spectators – his natural charm shines through as he sets about selling fake news and, in due course, making the country great again. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is of course entirely deliberate. For although set in the corrupt Windy City of the 1930s, the play was written in 1941. Brecht, having fled Germany after Hitler’s ascent to power, watched as the Nazis hateful nationalism violently conquered their European neighbours. Waiting on his visa to escape the continent to America, he penned the tale of a mob boss’s takeover of the city cauliflower industry as a satire on the rise of fascism, and a warning to his new homeland of pugnacious, jingoistic leaders. Simon Holland Roberts, Lenny Henry and Philip Cumbus (photos by Helen Maybanks) Writer Bruce Norris’s adaptation has refocussed much of its ire on the rise of a more recent (and orange) head of state across the pond – with allusions to Trump liberally weaved throughout. Eliciting cheers when the audience gleefully spots them, they sail a little too close to pantomime. The parallels in the character are obvious enough, without the need to parody Trump’s own lines. Beyond the serious message, though, there’s a lot of fun to be had. It’s not often you arrive at your seat to find yourself in a makeshift speakeasy, with the star of the show standing by your chair shooting the breeze with the person at the table behind. And the playful blurring of the boundary between stage and audience continues throughout to hilarious effect, with punters engaged as corpses, defendants, voters, and even victims of the mob, marched out to meet their maker. There are some fine supporting performances too, especially from Michael Pennington as the weak, manipulated bureaucrat, and Justine Mitchell in several guises, from the exasperated lawyer to the disparaging journalist’s wife. Arturo Ui doesn’t quite manage to pull off a successful hit on this occasion, but the patrons won't be calling on Lenny to make any complaints. You never know what might befall them if they do... The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui is at London's Donmar Warehouse until 17 June Book theatre tickets from Radio Times Box Office
Obsession review: Jude Law smoulders in a fiery love affair ★★★
The acting is superb but this new adaptation of the 1943 Italian film fails to set the stage alight
Jude Law was in the middle of filming The Young Pope in Rome when director Ivo Van Hove made a transcontinental pilgrimage to pitch him the role of Gino. An individual who, one imagines, the pontiff would likely direct straight to the nearest confessional with at least a dozen Hail Marys. A charmer and drifter, a guy with no fixed place in the world, he chances upon a bar looking for a meal, but quickly finds a hunger instead for Hanna (Halina Reijn), the young wife of the owner. Trapped in an abusive marriage of convenience, she eagerly devours his licentious advances and they embark upon a lustful affair. But this isn’t the suave lothario that people might associate with the star of The Talented Mr Ripley, who first took to the Barbican's stage 22 years ago. Restraining his natural velvety swagger, his Gino is more equivocal, his amply displayed physique conceals fragility. Fighting his natural instinct to flee, he’s more interesting than your typical cocksure philanderer. Halina Reijn as Hanna and Jude Law as Gino Unfortunately, though, this adaptation from the 1943 Italian film of the same name (which itself was an adaptation of James M Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice) suffers because Gino and Hanna’s relationship feels underdeveloped, and their chemistry lacks real power. The barbarous consequences of their illicit liaison unspool at such speed that you don’t have the opportunity to immerse yourself in either character. And as their decisions lead to more compromised predicaments you struggle to empathise with either. A small cast of periphery characters flit in and out – the concerned priest, the grizzled detective, the fellow drifter – but none feel like they have enough meat on the bone. The true obsession at the heart of the play is not Gino and Hanna’s desire for each other, but for their sense of place or lack thereof. Gino is at home in the freedom of being anywhere and nowhere feels trapped by small-town life. Hanna, whose marriage had at least given her a sense of stability, is loathe to abandon that comfort for an uncertain future on the road. Both struggle between their consuming want for each other and their differing natures, and the play’s real tension is in this push and pull. Van Hove's staging is characteristically minimalist: a simple bar, a large engine suspended from the ceiling and a sink. Warm sunlight spills from a large bay window, washing the scene in the sweaty heat of summer. But at times the vast Barbican stage feels like too large a canvas; you can’t help but wonder if the play might benefit from a more claustrophobic space. If His Holiness in Rome was inclined to stop in at the Barbican to check on his young protégé, he might delight enough in this artful interpretation not to condemn the sinful couple to the fiery pits of hell. But, he’d probably agree, they haven’t quite achieved heaven either. Obsession is at The Barbican until 20 May
The White Devil review: A devilishly funny tragedy ★★★
John Webster's satire is played for laughs at the Globe's indoor candlelit theatre
Earlier this year, Annie Ryan was awarded the Amnesty International Freedom of Expression Award for her last directorial outing A Girl Is A Half-Formed Thing. With her latest play trailed as "the dark spaces between reality and nightmares" with "shadowy turns" and "monstrous murders", you'd imagine the human rights group is more likely to intervene this time, rather than dish out accolades. As with author John Webster’s other well known tragedy, The Duchess Of Malfi, the story of The White Devil is loosely drawn from the scandalous skullduggery of the Italian nobility in the late sixteenth century. In the throes of an illicit lust for Vittoria, the married daughter of another noble Venetian family, the Duke of Brachiano plots the murder of both his wife and his mistress’s husband. Suffice to say, events don't pan out fortuitously for the rest of the cast of the Renaissance court. Wives murder husbands. Brothers poison philanderers. Women are imprisoned as penitent whores. There's more amoral behaviour than your average year in Albert Square and keeping up with the plots and subplots can prove harder than trying to work out who killed Lucy Beale. Kate Stanley-Brennan as Vittoria (photos by Marc Brenner) Kate Stanley-Brennan provides the standout performance as Vittoria, the eponymous mistress to the Duke. As fiery and impassioned as those around her, she expresses it in a more contained and controlled manner. Her performance is all the more captivating in contrast to more expansive and slightly over-the-top turns elsewhere. However, Ryan's dystopian take on the Jacobean tragedy never manages to capture the darkness and cruelty at the heart of the play’s vengeful deceit. The burnt umber and flickering shadows of the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse's intimate candlelit auditorium should be the perfect setting, but too often the menace lurches into mirth. Acts of murderous violence are played for laughs, such as when the titular character's cuckolded husband is thrown from a balcony following a tussle bordering on slapstick. The characterisations are so wildly gesticulative they feel closer to parody. Ryan's background is in physical theatre, which is very much in evidence in the staging. But it seems an ill-fit for this style of play. More oft that not the audience was drawn to laughter rather than horror. The White Devil is at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse until 16 April Book tickets for The Globe from the Radio Times Box Office You might also like... Andrew Scott, David Tennant, Damian Lewis and 12 others stars taking to the stage in 2017 Dirty Great Love Story review: A thoroughly modern, achingly funny rom-com ★★★★
Lazarus review: Dexter's Michael C Hall stars in David Bowie's musical ★★★★★
Nick Wells meets a familiar Starman and has his mind blown
Shows like this don’t come along very often. But then again neither do icons such as David Bowie. Ivo Van Hove’s musical inspired by the late star’s music is strange and ethereal, but oddly moving. And you can’t help but be intrigued by the fascinating performances and underlying context. The script, by Bowie and Enda Walsh, is based upon the 1976 surreal cult film The Man Who Fell To Earth. In it, Bowie played the alien Thomas Jerome Newton, who crashed to Earth in search of a means to transport water back to his drought-ridden planet. His quest, ultimately unsuccessful, left him a broken and forlorn figure. Stuck on earth. His loved ones back on his home planet passed away. The girl who loved him here gone, married to someone else. It’s here that we find Thomas, ensconced in his New York apartment, shuffling melancholically between the television and the drinks cabinet. Hiding from a world for which he neither cares nor understands, he finds himself drawn to his living assistant, Elly, who’s own life is unfulfilled and without love, he comes to see in her the image of his lost lover. That, though, is as far as Thomas’ world is firmly based in this corporeal realm. His mind conjures a girl. A physical manifestation of its search for catharsis. Skulking ever closer from the shadows is Valentine – a mysterious dark and malevolent presence, whose unsettling nature and penchant for random violence makes him one of the more menacing characters you'll ever see on stage. As with most of Bowie’s work though, nothing should be taken at face value. At it’s heart, this is a deeply personal story. Of a man facing his own potential mortality and seeing not grievance, but instead a beauty in the bittersweet embrace of a release from a cruel and nonsensical humanity. One which he was never truly a part of. At times dream-like in quality, you feel not everything may even be meant to be understood. But in a way, it doesn’t really matter. The overall effect is captivating, tense, and emotional. The reworked songs sound great. From a soft, restrained Changes to a stripped back melancholic Heroes; old classics to brand new compositions, they are marvellous. And Michael C Hall, who can sound eerily Bowie-esque at times, gives a great performance in a role that comes with a lot of pressure and expectation. It’s a far cry from his television work on Dexter, and a testament to his credentials as a fine stage actor. Michael C Hall as Newton and Sophia Anne Caruso as Girl (photos by Johan Persson) Equally, Michael Esper is at his sinister best as Valentine. And Sophie Anne Caruso, as Thomas’ figment, and Amy Lennox, as Elly both display a delicate vulnerability that never verges on pity. And boy, can they all sing. If there’s any criticism to be found it’s that, in the sense of a conventional musical (which this definitely isn’t) the songs bare very little relation to the story, and don’t move the narrative along. Each is almost an interlude to proceedings, albeit wholly enjoyable ones. The set, a seemingly bland beige room with little adornment aside from a large central television screen winged by two plexi-glass apartment windows housing the band, is one of the most imaginative you’re likely to come across. At times utilising the entire stage as a canvas it transports you from the confines of a self-imposed prison to anywhere the imagination can take you. And that’s some quite strange places. The starman may have gone back to the sky. But we’ll be forever glad he came to meet us. And, with this musical, he was right to think he might indeed blow our minds. Lazarus is at King's Cross Theatre until 22 January Book tickets for Lazarus from the Radio Times box office You might also like... Sideshow review: Powerful musical about real-life conjoined twins Amadeus review: A gripping revival of Peter Shaffer's dark and saucy play about Mozart
King Lear review: Glenda Jackson returns to the stage as Shakespeare's tragic hero
It's been a long wait to see the former Labour MP take to the stage again, but it's worth it finds Nick Wells
The last time Glenda Jackson took to the stage, if you wanted to read the online review you’d’ve have been disappointed, or clairvoyant. For it wasn’t until the end of that year that the first web site was created, at CERN, where they smash bits of the universe together. And if things’ve changed a bit in the intervening 25 years, the 80 year-old’s acting abilities certainly haven’t. And the former Labour MP’s triumphant return to The Old Vic in one of theatre’s most demanding roles is every bit as thrilling. In a striking gender-blind performance she slips uncannily between lucidity and madness, serenity and volatility. There’s a musicality to her voice, as it lilts naturally – high and whimsical one moment, forceful and acerbic the next. There’s even the comic sight of her shambling around the stage in just a shirt, seeking enlightened advice from a man dressed in only a strategical placed bin bag. It’s an irony that her thoroughly convincing depiction of declining authority and loosening of the mind in old age only goes to disprove the prevailing idea that advancing years are an unfortunate but unavoidable hindrance to ability. She could not be more suited to the role. And with any hope, it may lead the way to an opening up to more such roles for older actresses. Jane Horrocks and Celia Imrie are suitably barbed as the wicked pair of Regan and Goneril, the King’s daughters who, having been asked to prove their devotion to him, quickly strip him of any vestiges of his stately position once they have earned their share of his kingdom. Both blend hard-nosed shrewdness with a virulent sexuality well. Morfydd Clark’s Cordelia, angrily disowned by her father after her less gushing display for his affections, contrastingly has a plainer, more innocent honesty to her. And Rhys Ifans offers a heart-warming comic touch as the fool. Half-dressed in a superman onesie, he at turns both and dons a clown mask and breaks into a rendition of Bob Dylan, as he proves to be the only person who can talk honestly to his master and tell it like it really is. Rhys Ifans in King Lear at The Old Vic (photos by Manuel Harlan) The modern dress production offers some new and creative backdrops to the well-known tragedy. Set against a sparse stripped-back set consisting of simple white boards, they turn and fall to create simple but effective transitions between scenes. The storm through which the King, scorned by two of his daughters, lumbers is created using a seemingly giant, billowing black bin bag, which ripples and bulges across the stage. Deborah Warner’s production is a distinctive take on Lear that rattles through its three hour-plus running time. And if it proves to be the last stage role in what has been a glittering acting career, it will have been a very fine one indeed. King Lear is at the Old Vic until 3 December Book tickets for King Lear from the Radio Times box office You might also like... Sideshow review: Powerful musical about real-life conjoined twins Amadeus review: A gripping revival of Peter Shaffer's dark and saucy play about Mozart
The Entertainer review: Kenneth Branagh puts his stamp on Laurence Olivier's pitiful comic ★★★
Branagh's theatre company has revived John Osborne's 1957 play - and it has a lot in common with Brexit Britain
Kenneth Branagh has been described as many things but "clairvoyant" is probably a new one. Yet the star of stage and screen must have been channelling his inner Mystic Meg when, back in 2013, he created his eponymous theatre company and decided the climax to its year-long residency at the Garrick Theatre would be The Entertainer. Maybe someone should ask him who’s going to win Strictly this year. John Osborne’s state-of-the-nation play is set at the moment of the Suez Canal crisis, when Britain invaded Egypt only to have to humiliatingly withdraw after the United Nations intervened. Almost 60 years on, Osborne's play about an ordinary family divided by geopolitics feels all too relevant to post-Brexit Britain. Branagh plays Archie Rice, a third-rate music hall comic who blithely performs in the face of growing antipathy. Off stage, he's buffeted from both sides as his dad regrets the decline of the Empire and the way Britain is pushed about by foreigners, while his daughter protests against the illegal military intervention in Trafalgar Square. Kenneth Branagh, Greta Scacchi and Gawn Grainger But the real metaphor lies in failing, outdated Archie, who was played by Laurence Olivier in the 1960 film. Branagh captures the pathos of the protagonist as he struggles through his routines, showing off nimble footwork in the tap numbers. He may not quite match Olivier's iconic portrayal, but he certainly puts his own stamp on the part and is as watchable and entertaining as ever. Book tickets for The Entertainer from the Radio Times box office The standout performances, though, come from Gawn Grainger as the comic's worn-down dad and Greta Scacchi, who gives a superb turn as Archie's put-upon, neglected wife for whom familial pride matters as much as the politics outside of the front door. It’s the scenes of domestic and intergenerational strife that have the most spirit. If there’s a downside, it’s how dated some of the dialogue and humour now sound, especially the racial epithets and highly prejudicial characterisations. Some modernisation to make it more palatable to a 21st century ear wouldn't hurt. The Entertainer is as British as a seaside postcard – and some of the characters might have stepped out of one on to the stage – but it's still a pertinent and engaging watch, with as much to say today as it did then. The Entertainer is at The Garrick until 12 November Book tickets for The Entertainer from the Radio Times box office