Image courtesy of Richard Gamper

“An elegant design from Gus Munro, and some emotive acting – particularly from an impassioned Kathyrn Pogson – can’t save it from an over-embellished yet under-developed plot”

Even if you’re up to speed on the history of science, you may never have heard of Caroline Herschel.  A woman working in a world dominated by men, she’s eclipsed by her famous brother William; yet even during her own lifetime, she was recognised as a talented astronomer in her own right.  Using that most time-worn of framing devices – a modern-day woman reading a diary – Stella challenges our ignorance, telling the tale of Herschel’s career as she joins her brother in England.  But if you’re expecting a detailed insight into the unique achievements of this female pioneer… you may well be disappointed.

The clue’s in the subtitle, really.  Stella is “a story of women, their men and astronomy”, very definitely in that order.  We hear a lot about Herschel’s relationship with her brother, whose marriage and fatherhood late in life sets the scene for some classic familial discord, but there’s regrettably little assessment of what she truly contributed to her field of study.  The script skips oddly quickly over her independent discoveries, essentially casting her as a diligent but put-upon helper – and while the notes on the back of the programme go some way towards justifying that choice, the play itself could do much more to explain the nuances and contradictions of her role.

On the plus side, both script and actors convey a fine sense of the mysteries of the cosmos, not least the incomprehensible wonderment surrounding the Herschels’ surprise discovery of the planet Uranus.  Some gentle humour works well, and at the heart of the plot there’s an excellent hook – a black hole of torn-out pages from Caroline’s meticulous diary.  But the script never quite sells that mystery, instead choosing to plod chronologically onwards, always displaying perfect confidence that matters will be revealed in time.

Perhaps because the main storyline’s so conspicuously short on drama, the production adds a second string: a neat parallel between the violence of the Arab Spring and the burning of the ancient Great Library of Alexandria.  It’s rounded out by some telling quotations from the martyred fourth-century female philosopher Hypatia, which serve well to keep things thematically complete.  There’s enough in that clever concept to support a whole separate play, but here it feels like an afterthought – especially since its emotionally-wrought conclusion is so strikingly different to the rest of the tone.

Stella is a missed opportunity.  Rather than exploring what’s distinctive in Herschel’s story, it diverts all too frequently onto expository sidelines, or less-than-subtle parallels with the present day.  An elegant design from Gus Munro, and some emotive acting – particularly from an impassioned Kathyrn Pogson – can’t save it from an over-embellished yet under-developed plot.

Reviewer: Richard Stamp (Seen 19 November)

Image courtesy of http://www.traverse.co.uk

“Ciphers’ emotional software is not stripped down but it is obviously engineered. The best scene, I thought, because it is securely plausible, is ‘in a pleasant suburban garden’ where Justine’s father is ‘pottering about sweeping leaves’”

A while back I watched a London Duck Tour run its amphibious vehicle off the Albert Embankment slap bang alongside the MI6 building. The tourists on the DUKW whooped and hollered but that happy eager sound was never going to carry into the showy headquarters of the British Secret Intelligence Service. Accept that Ciphers would take you down a similar edgy slipway and – despite appearances – you get much the same subdued effect.

Ciphers is by Dawn King, whose outstanding debut play Foxfinder won her an 2012 ‘Offie’ award for most promising new playwright. Ciphers has the same director, Blanche McIntyre, but it is very different – check out Michael Billington’s review of ‘Foxfinder’ to see how different – although just as ambitious and it will do King’s CV no harm at all. However, whilst to write a drama about a young woman whose life is taken over by her work for the secret service is superficially attractive – if you can, just think ‘Homeland’ for a moment – it gets a whole lot more demanding when the action and the psychology have to be live and convincing for two hours on a bleached stage. And this is one production that really does not need the distraction of an interval break, let alone ice-creams.

So Justine steps out in defence of the realm but without much protection, mental, physical or electronic. Ciphers’ emotional software is not stripped down but it is obviously engineered. The best scene, I thought, because it is securely plausible, is ‘in a pleasant suburban garden’ where Justine’s father is ‘pottering about sweeping leaves’. His other daughter, Kerry, is on an angry mission. She wants to know why ‘if [Justine] was an analyst why is she fucking dead!’ Neither father nor daughter knows what Justine did all day: ‘Sometimes I imagine her, doing … I don’t know. Spy things …’. Yet there unfortunately is the lameness of Ciphers. The euphemistic ‘intelligence community’ does not do ‘At Home’; its windows are one-way, and its best plots are kept secret.

How to make up the story then? Have large blank screens on stage to project English translations of Russian and a few chat-up lines in Japanese. Slide those screens to smart effect, move time around – a lot, and approach Justine’s story from multiple angles with demanding paired roles.

Gráinne Keenan plays Justine and Kerry, both sensitive and vulnerable; Bruce Alexander is their father, Peter with his garden broom, and is also the predatory, knowing, diplomat, Koplov. Between them Keenan and Alexander have the most reliable, natural, exchanges. It is harder for Ronny Jhutti as artist Kai and youth worker Kareem and for Shereen Martin as Anoushka, Kai’s wife, and as Sunita, an MI5 officer – could be MI6, who knows? These are the shallow roles where lines like ‘I’m shit’ or ‘We don’t have the resources’ are thin. Worse, if like me you’re trying not to decode Ciphers as subfusc Spooks, is the accidentally topical ‘Mohammad’s slipped surveillance. We don’t know where he is’.

Ciphers plays at the Bush Theatre, Hammersmith, from 14 January. That is barely two miles from the river where DUKW tours are suspended after one of the ‘Ducks’ caught fire downstream from the MI6 building. It will be interesting to follow how this spare, edgy, drama goes down. Personally, I don’t think that it rides that high in the water.

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Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 12 November)

Visit Ciphers’ homepage here.

Image by Alex Brenner

“The piece meanders between the couples’ experience of youth and old age, a personal tragedy, the war and a daily routine that proves hard to break when he is left alone.”

Editorial Rating: Unrated 

A Fringe hit in 2011 and 2012, Theatre Ad Infinitum’s Translunar Paradise has since travelled the globe, appearing everywhere from Colombia to Croatia. Last week, as part of its national tour, it swept into Edinburgh’s familiar surroundings once more.

The production’s global reach is testament to its wonderfully universal nature. The subject matter – the difficulties of losing a loved one – is one that everyone, regardless of culture, status or age, can relate to in their own way, and the delivery of this narrative entirely in mime ensures language is no barrier. Using such a universal story and no spoken word creates a space for each audience member to project their own story, their own experience of loss, onto the characters – leading to a very personal experience and not a few emotional sniffs.

Whilst this is a strength in one respect, in another it leads to a fairly predictable, if touching, story arc: we watch as a man in his twilight years struggles to adjust to daily life after his wife of many years passes away – though her spirit remains, intervening, to help her pained husband move forward. The piece meanders between the couples’ experience of youth and old age, a personal tragedy, the war and a daily routine that proves hard to break when he is left alone.

To illustrate the jumps between youth and old age, the cast employ the use of masks. Initially, these are incredibly effective, Michael Sharman (William, the husband) and Deborah Pugh (Rose, the wife) incorporate them seamlessly into their fantastically crumpled and stiff physicalities, complete with the soundscape of old age: the sighs, strains and the hrumphs. However, as the story progresses the masks begin to hinder rather than help. Once they have been removed once or twice we lose the illusion that they are part of the actors, and increasingly become aware that there is a face behind them, that they are actors playing a character – which could easily have been forgotten in the opening sequence. Moreover, the actors’ faces are so lively and full of expression that when the masks return you become acutely aware of just how much they limit expression, stuck as they are in one position. This became a particular problem in sadder moments as the female mask seems to contain just a hint of a smile.

Accompanying the actors is Kim Heron, who brings her haunting vocals, Yann Tiersen-esque accordion playing and a crucial pair of hands to the production (having actors limited to just one hand while the other holds the mask makes carrying and staging quite tricky. Luckily, Heron’s knack for multitasking – simultaneously singing, playing the accordion and carrying props around for the actors – helps keep the production moving). The accompaniment is beautiful and effectively highlights the mood and period of a scene, for instance using war time classics such as ‘We’ll Meet Again’ ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’. However, its continuous use and somewhat samey feel means it loses effect. By the time the final moments arrive, where a well-placed accompaniment could convert a few sniffs to flowing tears and a much greater emotional climax, it is so familiar that it lacks the impact it could so easily have.

At the moment Translunar Paradise errs on the slower, more drawn out side –not helped by the predictability of the story. However, it is also a warming, gentle piece of theatre, with interesting staging, a lovely universality to it and the potential to do even more.