+3 Review: Queen Lear (Assembly Roxy: 4 – 29 Aug. 16.10. 1h)

Image. Assembly & Ronnie Dorsey productions

Image. Assembly & Ronnie Dorsey productions

“Exquisite”

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars:  Outstanding

Shakespeare’s Lear is a pathetic apologist : ‘I am a very foolish, fond old man’, who (by his frail reckoning) would have fathered Cordelia in his late sixties. And he didn’t stop there. Why should he? He’s a King of ‘wild, roaring, lecherous men’ who live for ‘war, wine, and whoring’. So, in Ronnie Dorsey’s new and exquisite piece we come to his second queen, heavily pregnant and in great pain. No Lear is to be seen but his expectation of a son, for once legitimate, is almost unbearable.

Remember Lear’s ‘Let copulation thrive’? Well, he ends that hateful, mad, speech longing for anything ‘to sweeten my imagination’. Enter Queen Lear.

Three characters: the young queen; her devoted companion Ursula; and her priest, Lawrence. Back story: the queen was married at 16 and leaves her home in the Borders for good. She is cruelly abused by a husband who, after beating her, kicks her small dog to death. Rooks caw about the castle walls (we assume that the queen’s chamber is in a castle) and in these harsh, loveless, circumstances it is doubly touching to hear Ursula call her queen ‘Sweeting’.

Dorsey writes words that hold and sustain. Queen Lear grasps sympathy where it can be found and does not let go. The queen, who knows that she will not be remembered, talks of the coming birth with dread. She would have the child but fears she will not survive the labour. In her time a caesarean section is all about cutting and not delivery. Alice Allemano plays a woman living the agony of the fact that ‘this child is killing me’, so if ever a role has to be in extremis, then this is it. Jane Goddard plays Ursula with a loving solicitude that is never familiar but always kind. Mary McCusker, as Lawrence, has ‘his’ own confession to make in a performance of great sensitivity and control.

Mark Leipacher directs. It is a tight work, physically and emotionally close, as you’d expect of a confinement and what lightness and lift there is comes from the lyrical quality of Dorsey’s lines. Three benches and an embroidered bolster are the only props required. The queen is in an elegant gown that denotes her high rank but which confers neither influence nor power. She can only hope against hope that Lear’s Fool will somehow protect Cordelia.

When resolution comes to such a forlorn situation it’s hard to take. You might not accept it, but that’s the point. For Lear’s queen there is no healing touch for her ‘female wounds’.

 

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 6 August)

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+3 Review: Molly Whuppie (Assembly Roxy: 4-28 Aug. 1030. 1hr 15)

Image. Assembly & LicketySpit Theatre

Image. Assembly & LicketySpit Theatre

“Smiling, tuneful, and big-hearted”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Nae Bad

Molly Whuppie is a pickle of a lassie. She’s bright, bonny and brave and saves her mother and sister from dying of hunger on a northern shore. She’s a fairy tale character from the Western Highlands , whom English cousin Jack – of beanstalk fame – would love to meet, for their stories are pretty close; although Molly (aka. Maol a Chliobain) steals it, as her baddie is no the giant, but one King Boris (!), who loves his meringues too, too much.

Smiling, tuneful, and big-hearted, Molly Whuppie has toured all over Scotland and has already, since 2001, delighted upwards of 30,000 people. Licketyspit Theatre Company is Edinburgh based but has decided, as the International Festival posters have it, to ‘Welcome [the]World’ so this is the company’s Fringe premier and it’s a treat.

If you’re still fortunate to be in your early years – and therefore very unlikely to be reading this! – Licketyspit is for you. If you’re alongside a young child, then you’ll appreciate the modesty of the fact that all actors do is ‘show the story’ in exciting and imaginative ways. First then, there’s fearless Molly (Amy McGregor) who keeps her pretty red beret on even when balancing for her life on the Bridge of the One Hair, and we sing “I’m Molly and you can’t scare me / I’m Molly, Hee Hee Hee!” Second, there’s Virginia Radcliffe as Ninian the Giant in tremendous sandals and as horrid King Boris with a wonderful polka dot jester’s cap. No crown of majesty for him, just fanfare by kazoo.

Radcliffe is also Artistic Director of LicketySpit and it is easy in Molly Whuppie to see hers years of experience in building drama-led work for children and their families. There’s a good strong narrative where the good and the kind – above all – prevail, constantly reinforced by repetitive elements of colour, music and song. Invention is everywhere, from the reveal of successive kind grannies to land clearance by tree hurling.

Yes, it was probably devised as a December, Christmassy show when Molly, her mum, and her sister are perishing of cold and, yes, there’s the question of how come only giants have a Never Empty Purse; but no matter really, this is a warm and generous show with stick puppets to colour in and cut out afterwards.

 

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 6 August)

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+3 Review: A Streetcar Named Desire (Assembly Roxy, 5 Aug – 29 Aug : 13.55 : 1hr 30mins)

https://files.list.co.uk/images/festivals/2016/fringe/2016STREETC-9D-300.jpg

“Consistently raw, emotional and human”

Editorial Rating: 2 Stars Nae Bad

For many years, Tennessee Williams’ immortal “A Streetcar Named Desire” conjured up two shared memories: the off-yellow, stained tooth colour of chipboard desks; and the strange, (and in hindsight, quite sad) familiarity with which my divorced, middle-aged English teacher spoke about the dangers of hiding in fantasies.Now, thanks to the Tumanishvilli Film Actor’s Company and director Keti Dolidze, it’s far easier to think of quiet intricacy, and the heartfelt ebb of Georgian on a smoke-filled stage.

From the get-go, it clear this is a production which has been undertaken with care. The monotone stamp of poverty is imprinted surprisingly well on the set. Had it not been lit up on the Assembly Roxy stage, I would have had no trouble believing it had all just been sitting in the French Quarter. But what was most admirable about the set was its clever use of shadow. Translucent material and a little light transformed what in any other production would have simply been a rearward wall into a very entertaining transition tool: whilst set is moved around, the audience is treated to dancing shadows, or the silhouette of a saxophonist. And whilst occasionally these transitory segments went on a little too long, they were nevertheless welcome. Combined with excellent, well-timed soundscaping, it was clear the overall audiovisual design had received the care it deserved.

However, the background paled in comparison to the string of strong performances. It would be difficult to place the strongest actor in what is obviously a very seasoned cast. Even sans translation, this was a show which was consistently raw, emotional and human. Nineli Chankvetadze’s Blanche in particular showed almost uncanny emotional range, bringing depth to every smile and frightened sob even when the emotions in between were few. Kudos also to Imeda Arabuli as Stanley Kowalski, who lent an almost frightening hypermasculine, bestial quality to a character who is so easily made trite by a lesser actor.

With the aforementioned strengths, then, you could be forgiven for wondering why I’ve given this show a surprisingly low rating. And whilst, clearly, many of its component parts merit celebration, it is unfortunate then that this production was completely and utterly failed by its translation. Whilst subtitling a foreign language work is a fine idea, its execution onstage was risible.

From half a line being completely cut off (which happened often), to the subtitles stalling or – even more frustratingly, skipping back and forth in an obvious effort to re-find the dialogue – and the surprisingly low quality of what should have been a simple transcription of Williams’ original transcript (Prize contenders include the immortal phrase: “I’ll never forget the colour of his yes!”), the translation of this show was consistently frustrating. Even worse, the form and punctuation of character dialogue was not so much confused as nonexistent, leaving much of the second half reading as if Blanche was having the most spectacular breakdown ever seen on stage.

But even worse was the fact that, as an audience member, I often found myself between Scylla and Charybdis: either losing myself in the wonderful performances on show and having no idea what was being said, or half-understanding the dialogue whilst being unable to see the show itself as I craned my vision to the extreme top left of the stage. Had the subtitling quality been better this may have been less of a problem, but given the internal problem-solving required to make the subtitles coherent, it was like I had simply stepped outside for half the play. I shudder at the prospect of having seen this work without first being familiar with the plot beyond cultural osmosis, as a surprising number of people are. Given that the importance that the language plays in Streetcar, I was legitimately shocked at the poor quality of its execution.

In terms of its actual materiality, Keti Dolidze has crafted a fine show indeed. And, if you’re fluent enough to understand Georgian on the stage, I’m sure it would make for an afternoon to remember. Had it been simply billed as a foreign language play, even an English speaker would be able to understand, at least, the raw emotional content from performance alone. But, as it stands, the almost fantastically poor quality of translation packaged with this show made engaging with it a chore by the final half hour. With some simple tweaks, A Streetcar Named Desire could have quite handily added two more stars. But, as it stands, perhaps the kindness of strangers is less important than the kindness of transcribers.

 

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)

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Reviewer: Jacob Close (Seen 5 August)

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THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

+3 Review: Early Doors (Pleasance pop-up @ The Jinglin’ Geordie: 5-29 Aug: 12.00: 1hr)

“A stunning piece of site-specific theatre”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

After the general bustle of buying drinks, finding seats and, of course, choosing your pub quiz team name, Early Doors opens with an introduction to each character, performed almost like an African tribal chant, which makes it feel like we (the bijou, but sell-out crowd) are being truly welcomed into their community. It’s rhythmic and theatrical but never over the top, and sets the tone for the lyrical, poetic styling of the piece as one long fable.

Our landlord and landlady are a young brother and sister who inherited the place when their mum died. They start by sharing memories of her, and set the scene for a potentially fractious relationship between them. We also meet various other characters in the community: the pub quiz master, who can’t help but share some details of his ongoing custody battle with his ex-wife; the bouncer, who recalls the end of his relationship with one of the local punters; and the “village idiot” who brings the comedy to proceedings. The characters are flawed but lovable, and the ensemble cast do a great job of sharing their world with us.

As the show progresses we get hints of the tensions and relationships between different characters, which help bring interest and drive the story. I did feel slightly robbed in some characters having comparatively little action, while others seemed quite unconnected to the main narrative, so for me, a little further development to see clearer links between each would really make this show spectacular – but this is only a small niggle considering the quality of action and overall performance value.

The piece is performed with wonderful energy, and the writing – in particular the language – of every aspect is exquisite, giving just enough detail to hook the audience without verging on rambling. Yet while some of the transitions between each section are smooth and logical, it is a shame that in other instances the show progresses by simply having one character leave and another mysteriously appear for no apparent reason.

There are so many wonderful aspects to this performance – the characterisation, storytelling, and sense of really being “in it” really are top notch and encapsulate everything I love about the Fringe. I would have just preferred some clearer links between sections and less disjointedness between some of the characters to give the piece a bit more cohesion.

Overall, I raise a glass to Not Too Tame and this stunning piece of site-specific theatre and urge you to go and join them at the Jinglin’ Geordie for a pint, a pub quiz and an engrossing performance.

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

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Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 6 August)

Visit the Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

+3 Review: Teatro Delusio (Pleasance Courtyard: 5-29 Aug: 13.45: 1hr 15mins)

“Physical mask theatre at its finest”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

After last year’s sell-out smash Hotel Paradiso, I was excited to see what Familie Floz would come back with in 2016, and for the first 50 minutes at least, Teatro Delusio more than meets expectations. It’s physical mask theatre at its finest, with three actors playing well over 20 individual characters between them, each of whom are clearly defined, consistent and a joy to watch.

The setting is backstage at a theatre, where we see the stage crew attempt to set everything up (without killing themselves or each other in the process), and then assist various members of the orchestra, singers and ballet dancers onto stage, even though they may hate, love or just be plain bored with them.

There are tricks and treats aplenty, from simple slapstick moments of falling through ladders and playing with exploding lights, to sword fights and disappearing through trap doors. Familie Floz’s real strength, though, is their character work and dexterity of changes, from a grumpy stage manager to a diva singer, and my absolute favourite: a blind and deaf violinist who has no clue where he is. The changes are so slick you’d assume there were at least six performers constantly running around, while the physicality required to define each character was so perfect that simple gestures often had the audience howling with laughter.

Yet for all their great character work and ability to build a believable world on stage, I feel that Familie Floz perhaps tried to reach too far with this production, by introducing a few too many characters, and deliver a story that could easily have been at least 10 minutes shorter and not lost any of its power. About three quarters of the way through the performance, when ends could have been tied up and rounded off, still more new things happened, and the performance hit a new level of ridiculousness that I think lost me, and many of my fellow audience members. What began as a perfectly plausible, if a little stylised, day or two in the life of a Stage Manager seemed to turn into a dream sequence with stabbings, stage crew achieving their lifelong dream of filling in for wounded ballet dancers at the last minute and unexplained resurrections that pushed the suspension of disbelief a little too far.

A beautiful piece, but be prepared to get uncomfortable: those seats in the Pleasance Grand don’t give much wiggle room and by the end of this performance you’ll need it.

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

—

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 5 August)

Visit the Pleasance, Potterrow & Teviot archive.

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

+3 Review: Wilde Without the Boy (Assembly Hall: 4-29 Aug: 11.00: 1hr)

“Masterfully delivered by Gerard Logan”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars

In this one-man adaptation of De Profundis by Oscar Wilde, we join the infamous writer in prison, shortly before his release. What unfolds over an hour is a real-time monologue, directed at his lover, reminiscing on their relationship and the events that led him to become incarcerated.

While masterfully delivered by Gerard Logan, the script is quite tricky to follow as it jumps about in referring to different events in the past, with precious little obvious through-line or connection from anecdote to anecdote. For a theatrical adaptation I would have preferred a more linear and logical approach to his musings to make it easier for Wilde novices to engage with, and give a sense of progression and journey that could be followed. The show also contains an excerpt from The Ballad of Reading Gaol which seems to come from nowhere, while various other dramatic moments (for example, a sudden mention of his mother’s death), seem to be thrown in for dramatic effect, without a clear link to the flow of the piece.

In saying that, the lyricism of the language is exquisite, and the whole piece retains everything we love about how Wilde writes. It includes plenty of pertinent detail including reference to several key turning points in Wilde’s later life and many gaps in my knowledge of the writer were more than adequately filled by the depth of biography covered.

While somewhat chaotic, the script does allow to demonstrate a full emotional range, so we get to see and know Wilde in every circumstance, from emotionally fragile, to proud, defiant, smitten and everything in between. Everything’s there, it’s just a little all over the place. Following last year’s triumph in The Rape of Lucrece, Logan has certainly lost none of his craft in delivering a very emotional and compelling performance and this is another very creditable showing.

Although perhaps a slightly unfair criticism, I can’t shake the feeling that this show is playing in the wrong venue – I think a dingier room somewhere in the caves or along the Cowgate would help more easily more establish the setting as a 19th century prison than the very obvious very studio feel of Assembly Hall’s Baillie Room. On this point I must make a special mention to the sound design, which was excellent in setting the scene to start with and giving background to the court case that landed Wilde in jail, and creating atmosphere at various other points throughout.

Overall, this is a production that doesn’t quite come together as well as it could have – the pieces don’t seem to fit. An exquisite performance and an interesting story, but a little unfulfilled.

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

—

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 5 August)

THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

+3 Review: Bonita & Billie Holiday (Assembly Roxy: 4-28 Aug: 21.50: 1hr 10mins)

“An alluring performance that I couldn’t take my eyes off”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars

I wanted so much to be blown away by this performance – a tribute to one of my favourite singers, by an actor coming to Edinburgh with a very good reputation and bags of experience in the States. Unfortunately, this opening night was somewhat nervy, and while it was difficult to tell how much of that was the actor and how much was the character, either way it left me with a sense of unease that stayed with me throughout the performance.

Bonita Brisker clearly has bucketloads of talent, even though in this performance it took her a while to find her feet. She seemed to struggle with range a little bit in the opening couple of numbers, but by Good Morning Heartache she really hit her stride, with the high notes floating with all the ease of Billie in her heyday and an alluring performance that I couldn’t take my eyes off.

Bonita also beautifully captured the mood and personality of Lady Day in the spoken sections in between each number, and the script enabled her to show different sides of the singer from her career to her relationship with her family, her drug habit and time in prison. We also see her irreverent disregard for the FBI and a very touching portrayal of her relationship with drinking and her views on racial inequality, which was rife during the 1950s. Indeed, signature song Strange Fruit, which I didn’t realise had such personal and political meaning, is a standout moment of the performance, accompanied by horrifying projections of public hangings and mutilations. It is heartfelt and very powerful.

Structurally I found this show a bit peculiar, with a short opening section in Billie’s dressing room, before the bulk of the show is delivered cabaret style as Billie on stage, and then another section in the dressing room with a bizarre twist that almost subverts everything that went before. Suffering from a bit of an identity crisis, I don’t think it has quite worked out whether it is a cabaret or a theatre piece so I think there is still some work to be done to give it a real sense of completeness.

This does have the potential to be a really special show, but the performance I saw unfortunately didn’t quite live up to that potential. Look out for it over the next couple of weeks, I believe it could be a real grower.

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

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Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 4 August)

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THIS REVIEW HAS NOT BEEN SUBEDITED

Thon Man Moliere (Lyceum: 20 May – 11 June ’16)

Jimmy Chisholm as Moliere & Siobhan Redmond as Madeleine. Photo: Mihaela Bdlovic.

Jimmy Chisholm as Moliere & Siobhan Redmond as Madeleine.
Photo: Mihaela Bdlovic.

“Siobhan Redmond as Madeleine and Jimmy Chisholm as Molière are perfectly, affectionately, matched.”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars  Outstanding

In February 1662 Louis XIV sent flowers on the occasion of the marriage of Molière (40) to the seventeen year old Menou (Armande) Béjart. Perhaps the feted playwright was encouraged by the success in the previous year of his School for Husbands. And maybe those flowers were roses, for Menou draws firm, long stemmed roses in her sketch book. Wait up, they look like roses but maybe they’re …. Oh no! Surely not?

This is Liz Lochhead’s new play and she can have a garland too. Thon Man Molière is a comfortable winner. First off, it is a tribute piece to the man’s comedic genius; but second, it closely involves the women in his life, and third this play loves theatre and theatre-making.

Lochhead is an artist with the man’s biography. Born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, her MacMolière is ‘Pokey’ indoors. Scaramouche is a pal but the fortunes of the ‘Illustrious Theatre’ company are dire to the point of collapse (and imprisonment for debt). There is rarely enough money and there are too few commissions until the king: “Vive le Roi!” – tires of the tragedies of Racine and Corneille. Tartuffe may well be a great play – and Pokey is inordinately proud of it – but it took nearly five years to get its revised version past the Archbishop of Paris. Molière’s first child is named after his royal godfather but Louis dies at eleven months.

There is a sub-title to shape the facts: ‘Whit got [Pokey] intae aw that bother …’ – and it’s sex; not so much sex with his teenage wife but the naughty fact that Menou is the daughter of his former lover, business partner and bestie, Madeleine, and that Madame Béjart will not – under any circumstances – have her daughter tread the boards. Siobhan Redmond as Madeleine and Jimmy Chisholm as Molière are perfectly, affectionately, matched. She has the reserve, bearing, velvet voice and wide skirts of a grande dame. He has the effrontery, the wit and the audacity of his celebrated character.

Ever around and about the principals is the troupe, historically verifiable and altogether mischievous. Gros-René (Steven McNicoll), in streaked green wig, gives a command performance in lugubrious drinking and losing his breeks. Therese (Nicola Roy) is his bed-hopping wife, who would be so much more than the maid in yet another farce. James Anthony Pearson is Michel Baron, the huge star-to-be, lithe and cocksure, but who is still unable to seduce the naïve Armande, very engagingly played by Sarah Miele. At a guess, only the more than capable, laconic and kind Toinette (Molly Innes) is entirely the writer’s invention.

Tony Cownie directs with an assurance born of his previous productions at the Lyceum of Lochhead’s ‘Molières’: Tartuffe (1986!), Miseryguts (Le Misanthrope) in 2001, and Educating Agnes (L’Ecole des Femmes) in 2011. Musical entr’actes by Claire McKenzie, a la Lully, are accompanied by sweet mime and when the drapes lift the action resumes, ‘at home’ or backstage where outsize greyscale putti come second to the wooden stool, wicker baskets and some splendid costumes that were too much even for the Comédie – Francaise, aka. ‘La Maison de Molière’.

Dinnae think Thon Man Molière is daft. The script is too sharp for that and its composed effect is almost tender, which, with all those satiric impulses flying around, is some achievement.

The theatre programme contains an excellent ‘Who Was Molière?’ by Liz Lochhead herself and there’s a helpful preview article by Neil Cooper in the Herald.

 

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Alan Brown  (Seen 24 May)

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“I sensed that if I could draw solace from these two stories, then so might an audience.” – Author Mark Farrelly discusses Soho Lives

Mark-Farrelly-in-Quentin-0141

“I hope Patrick is not revived. I much prefer him to be a cult that only a small number of us know about. In this sense he is the literary equivalent of “Withnail and I”. Pass the secret on – but not too loudly.”

Soho Lives is a collection of two hit solo plays exploring the extraordinary lives and losses of two great Soho writers, Patrick Hamilton and Quentin Crisp. Greeted with huge acclaim since their debut productions, Mark Farrelly’s plays offer actors and audiences laughter, heartbreak, and an urgent, passionate reminder that the only thing that ever matters is being true to yourself.

Patrick Hamilton (1904 – 1962) was a shooting star playwright and novelist. His stage thriller Rope made him a hit on both sides of the Atlantic by the age of 25, and the play was later filmed by Hitchcock. Patrick repeated his success with the Victorian chiller Gaslight, while his highly regarded novels include Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky, Hangover Square and The Slaves of Solitude. His output – witty, cynical and beguilingly empathetic of all those “battered silly by life” – was cut brutally short by the loss of his battle with chronic alcoholism.

Quentin Crisp (1908 – 1999) was variously a rent boy, artist’s model and full time layabout. Shunned and beaten by London society for his flamboyant effeminacy, he concentrated simply on Being, and spawned a philosophy which enlightens to this day. After being portrayed by John Hurt in the classic TV film The Naked Civil Servant in 1975, he became an unlikely international treasure. Moving to New York in his seventies, he spent the rest of his life telling anyone who would listen ‘How to have a lifestyle’. Asked to give a young fan some life advice, he replied: “Remember – you don’t have to win”.

Mark Farrelly is an actor/writer. He was born in Sheffield and graduated with a double first in English from Jesus College, Cambridge. His West End credits include Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? opposite Matthew Kelly at Trafalgar Studios. Mark is a veteran of numerous arts festivals and a regular favourite at the Edinburgh Fringe. He has performed his two hit solo plays, The Silence of Snow: The Life of Patrick Hamilton, and Quentin Crisp: Naked Hope over one hundred times. Mark’s latest project is as writer and co-star of Howerd’s End, celebrating the centenary of comedy legend Frankie Howerd.

Soho Lives: Two Solo Plays by Mark Farrelly (published by 49Knights, March 2016). To find out more click here.


Why Patrick Hamilton and Quentin Crisp?

Though I didn’t consciously know it at the time, they deeply mirrored aspects of my own life journey. Patrick’s personal life was a perpetual, drink-sodden mess (just read the highly autobiographical Hangover Square for a sense of this febrile fragility). I wasn’t in that league, but my personal life was certainly dysfunctional a few years ago. Around this time, me and my girlfriend of fifteen years split up, and I was truly on my own for the first time in life.

Horrifyingly, I found that adulthood could be postponed no longer (it seems that human adolescence now stretches to the age of 40). That’s where Quentin came in – the great guru of loneliness and laughing in the face of adversity. I was understandably drawn to Quentin’s story because it’s the tale of a man sitting in a flat on his own thinking life is over, which was very much me in 2012 /13, but then eventually things change and he ends up being the toast of New York.

I sensed that if I could draw solace from these two stories, then so might an audience… because we’re all suffering aren’t we? It’s a big part of what life is. The trick, as Quentin knew, is never to try to deal with it like Patrick – by running away.

Joining the two Lives is Soho. What was Soho like in their day and did Hamilton and Crisp ever meet there?

Soho (at least until recently) has always been what you want it to be. It’s a cipher for everyone’s inner ideal of a sanctuary from the harshness of life, but also a metaphor for the danger we like to flirt with in our younger days. So, for Patrick, it’s initially a boozy bolthole, a safe haven, idealised as a realm of “bottley glitter”. Later, as Patrick’s worldview darkened in the shadow of Hitler, Soho becomes a feeding ground for human sharks… conmen, narcissists, and also suicidal depressives.

Quentin likewise saw Soho initially as a refuge, hiding in what he called “layabout cafes”… until a “rough” or the police hassled him, angered by his brazen selfhood. Later he withdrew from it, and it existed only as a memory: “Soho used to be a more exciting place. You used to be able to get your throat cut on a really big scale”.

Did Patrick and Quentin ever meet? Unlikely. But I like to think they once unwittingly brushed past each other. Like so much of human interaction – almost connecting… but somehow never quite managing it.

Why have the novels of Patrick Hamilton dropped off the radar, and is he due a revival?

I suspect they dropped off the radar because there aren’t that many of them. He only wrote twelve books. The early ones are apprentice works, the later ones are blighted by the alcoholism that killed him at 58 (“I’ve been battered silly by life”), so for me that leaves only five flat-out great novels. They also have a narrowness of focus, compared to say E.M. Forster (another man who ‘only’ produced five great books). I hope Patrick is not revived. I much prefer him to be a cult that only a small number of us know about. In this sense he is the literary equivalent of Withnail and I. Pass the secret on – but not too loudly.

Quentin-Crisp.jpegDo John Hurt’s much celebrated portrayals of Quentin Crisp make it easier or harder for another actor to play him?

It didn’t really affect me. There have been thousands of Hamlets so I knew the world could cope with two Quentin Crisps. John Hurt (a great portrayer of victims, of whom it was rightly said “he suffers so well”) played to the hilt the bizarre upward inflections that Quentin sometimes spoke in. I deliberately toned this down for a solo play, as it would have become a bit annoying. So, at the wise encouragement of my superb director Linda Marlowe, I allowed some of my own voice to come into it. After all, the whole point of Quentin Crisp: Naked Hope is to encourage people to have the blind courage to be themselves at all times, however tough it is. Quentin said: “I simply refuse to bevel down my individuality to please other people”. Please dwell on what a great statement that is.

How do you go about researching your biographies, what sort of people do you meet, and what’s the single best insight you’ve gained?

The best research for writing a biographical piece is to have lots of psychotherapy. Find out who and what you are, what’s really going on beneath your behaviour patterns and your unexpressed wishes. Deeply explore why you are drawn to your subject, and what that says about you and the wider human “condition”. You’ll likely discover that your subject is what Jung called your shadow… some split-off, disowned part of yourself that you abandoned as a child in the face of criticism and aggression.

And now the soul burns to reconnect with all its parts. You’ve grown exhausted of listening to those dismal voices in your head, that embalmed Normal Bates gag reel of guff that keeps telling you that life is hopeless, you’re a failure and so on. It’s just a ghostly echo of everyone whose negativity you co-opted as a child, and you’ve spent years vainly trying to find the dimmer switch.

If (and it’s quite a big if) you are able to do this, then everything else will flow. Your reading, meeting surviving relatives, creating something of value… it will happen, though not necessarily in the manner you expected. The best insight (beautiful word) I had was when meeting Frances Ramsay, Quentin’s octogenarian niece. She said that whenever she was with Quentin, he would introduce her to his friends as “My niece Frances. She comes from real life”. And there it is. Quentin was an alien. Gloriously ironic that knowing yourself very deeply makes you an alien. And it does. Ninety percent of people I’ve met are phonies, imposters. I should know – I used to be one too.

14702423656_ac23f53089_k.jpgIf you had the chance to take Patrick Hamilton and Quentin Crisp to dinner where would you go and who would you also invite along?

Even after all my experience (I’ve played both men on stage over 100 times) I don’t know whether they would “click”. It would certainly be an interesting speed-date. I think we should go to the Garrick Club. Patrick (rare for him) felt at home there, and Quentin would, even today, raise eyebrows with his appearance. I would like no other diners present, I would want them all to myself. However, if I could freely subvert the known laws of space and time then I would like to be joined by Tim Welling, my dear friend who committed suicide in 2012. He helped me in the early days of these projects, and was one of the few people I’ve met who, like Quentin, was entirely himself regardless of who he was with or where he was. I miss him deeply.

You’re next project is a play about Frankie Howerd. If you’ll let us peek over your shoulder at the portrait while it’s still in progress, what’s emerging on the canvas?

I’ve realised that Frankie is the archetype of the human condition – nervous, haunted, hunted, desperately trying to keep the plates spinning before the whole lot disastrously crashes down. Of course, as Frankie’s partner of 40 years, Dennis Heymer, knew, letting the plates crash down might be a very good thing, but Frankie could never take that Rubiconic risk. This meant that he created a brilliant, brave, timeless form of stand-up comedy, but had the classic unhappy inner life. His act was a band-aid solution to the problem of being Frankie Howerd.

Next year is Frankie’s centenary, and we’ve never had a big comedic anniversary like this that I’m aware of. I think it’s extremely healthy for people to have proper goodbyes in life. I realised this when I went to see Monty Python at the O2 in 2014: we, and they, were getting a chance to say goodbye formally, and that’s very healing, allows you to move on in life. Two big romantic relationships of mine ended without a proper goodbye (“closure”) which did me a lot of damage.

So the play (Howerd’s End) is partly about how to let go properly. Dennis lived on for seventeen years after Frankie died in 1992, was often found clinging to the grave weeping, never came to terms with the loss. So what he and the audience have to learn during the course of the play is how to let go of Frankie. After all, one day we’ll have to let go of ourselves.

Above all: I want the play to be bloody funny. We’re apt to make our clowns very dark for the sake of drama. Every stranger I’ve spoken to about Frankie grins and says “Oh I loved him”, and so although I certainly want to provoke a few tears, I also want the audience to ride big waves of happiness. I asked Barry Cryer about this. He wrote for Frankie, and said that he’d seen a TV biopic about Frankie that “was so bleak you’d never have guessed Frank was a funny man”. Well, exactly. The world in 2016 is a pretty dark and frightening place, bombs seemingly going off by the hour… and I think we could all do with a damn good laugh. I know I could.

How important has your time at Edinburgh been for the development of both scripts?

Invaluable. Edinburgh is a brutal forcing house for new projects, and if you can survive it, possibly even get good reviews and interest from producers, then you’ve done very well indeed. There are three thousand shows in Edinburgh every year. When I first appeared there in 2002 it was one thousand. Gives you some idea of what you’re up against. Edinburgh to me is like the painting of the raft of the Medusa… thousands of egos fighting over a small bit of attention. It’s actually quite unpleasant, and when I performed there in 2014 I stayed away from much of the craziness by retreating, Quentin-style, to my room and listening to meditation tapes to remember how beautiful and special it is to be alive, because you can easily forget that in Edinburgh in August.

What’s the one thing anyone contemplating bringing a solo show to Edinburgh needs to consider?

Money.

What should be playing on the stereo when we’re reading Soho Lives: Two Solo Plays?

For Patrick, a selection of his beloved Ella Fitzgerald (he adored These Foolish Things).

For Quentin, complete silence, which was the soundtrack to many years of his life in Chelsea (“If I want anything, it’s peace. Quiet. The opportunity to stay in my room and just stagger on”). Then after you’ve read it, listen to Open All Night, Marc Almond’s beautifully dark album from 1999. It’s truly atmospheric, evocative of a lost Soho that probably never existed, and I think Patrick and Quentin would especially appreciate track 3: Tragedy.


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The Iliad (Lyceum: 20 April – 14 May ’16)

Ben Turner, downstage; Melody Grove, centre; & Emmanuella Cole, upstage.

Ben Turner, downstage; Melody Grove, centre; & Emmanuella Cole, upstage.

“This Iliad is forcefully staged and has the vehemence and colour of its core story.”

Editorial Rating:3 Stars Nae Bad

Mark Thomson’s last production as Artistic Director of the Lyceum for the past 13 years.

It is unsurprising that there’s plague about. There are no zips on the body bags on this beachhead and the Scamander River is full to overflowing with the dead. There’s Achilles’ refusal to dispose of Patroclus’s corpse until after he has killed Hector and then there’s the desecration of Hector’s body by lashing it to a chariot and dragging it through the dirt for twelve days, face down. No wonder – actually, yes, a lot of wonder is required – that Apollo took pity and ‘round him … wrapped the golden shield of storm so his skin would never rip’. Some say it was rose oil.

As epic tales go The Iliad is still the catchy, highly contagious one. It has tragic, raging action, love and sex, heroes and honour. There are no villains to speak of, just the ‘terrible beauty’ of Helen and the ‘smooth, full breasts’ of Aphrodite to sing of. Communicable? Certainly. Containable? Hardly.

Emmanuella Cole, left; Ben Dilloway centre; & Rueben Johnson, right, as Diomede.

Emmanuella Cole, left; Ben Dilloway centre; & Rueben Johnson, right, as Diomede.

Fearless Mark Thomson takes writer Chris Hannan’s evocative script and directs an intrepid cast of twelve. Karen Tennent’s imposing set has broken columns and half pediments left and right with plenty of space and height for gods to take it easy in and for the Trojan women to look out anxiously over the ramparts. A massive wall of corrugated ‘bronze’ curves around them and the dust sometimes hangs in the air around a leather cuirass and plumed, hollow eyed helmet. The lighting design by Simon Wilkinson is as careful and as atmospheric as his work in Bondagers.

But there are 15,693 hexameter lines in Homer’s Iliad and probably as many ‘brazen spear points’ and slamming shields. What to do with them all? Thomson – to make an attractive prosaic point – starts his theatrical shebang with a baby’s cry and a cobbler hitting nails into a boot. (Think the traditional 3 knocks that alert a French audience to the start of a performance). More formally, several scenes begin and end as characters are dressed for their part, accompanied by near liturgical chant. No need though for Zeus (Richard Conlan) to dress up. His boxers and loose robe are as much Mustique as Olympus. Hephaestus (Daniel Poyser) has his iPad on the beach. ‘White-armed’ Hera (Emmanuella Cole) drifts in straight off Ebony magazine’s style pages and tells all. This is one all-mighty queen god who seems to owe her name to having had it up-to-here with her philandering husband (and brother BTW). We’re with you there, sister.

I worship Thetis,  because of passionate playing from Melody Grove, but otherwise these gods are the diverting side-show and narrative markers to the centre stage profiling of Achilles (Ben Turner). He stands, blood streaked, against all-comers, starting with ‘wine-mouth’ Agamemnon (Ron Donachie). There is pathos in the fine scene between the moping and vengeful Achilles and the shade of his beloved Patroclus (Mark Holgate) and the song at his companion’s funeral of his ‘head like a poppy drooping’ is an unlikely hit,  but it’s Thetis’s son vs. Hector (Benjamin Dilloway) that exercises fight director Raymond Short to his utmost. As well it might when he’s up against Brad Pitt and CGI – and a younger audience. Perhaps pounding Hector’s brains out is beyond even a screenplay.

Amiera Darwish, left, as Briseis; Ben Turner, centre; & Mark Holgate, right, as Patroclus.

Amiera Darwish, left, as Briseis; Ben Turner, centre; & Mark Holgate, right, as Patroclus.

This Iliad is forcefully staged and has the vehemence and colour of its core story. It is fiercely directed and there is a heart and soul to every performance, mortal or immortal, but it is so down to earth that it puts gods into deckchairs on a flyblown lido and so the topless towers of Ilium are levelled. I think it’s Hecuba (Jennifer Black) who says, ‘You clutch at emotions like clutching at straws’. That’s the problem when you go head-to-head with Homer.

 

nae bad_blue

Star (blue)Star (blue)Star (blue)

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 26 April)

Go to The Iliad at the Lyceum.

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