Macbeth: Without Words (Traverse, 2nd Feb ’16) – part of the Manipulate visual theatre festival

Sandra Franco photo. Ludens Ensemble

Sandra Franco photo.
Ludens Ensemble

“A compelling, highly intelligent and creative retelling of the famous story”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Macbeth: Without Words is one of those shows you see from time to time where you can’t quite decide if you love or hate it. It’s gutsy, original, and a full-on hour long assault of the senses that I couldn’t take my eyes off.

The piece starts with one actor, in a corset and clown make-up, leaping around the stage acrobatically before picking up a microphone and making a range of strange noises. Those with a more traditional perspective on Shakespearian theatre might baulk at the very interpretative style, which I’ll admit took some getting used to, but what unfolded was a compelling, highly intelligent and creative retelling of the famous story.

It is a very physical performance, as it needs to be to convey the monstrous action. There is no spoken dialogue. The dexterity of performers was sensational, as the cast of three managed to create almost every character from the play – all identifiable through their physicality and token elements of props and costume. Stand out moments included the initial stabbing of the king silhouetted through a plastic sheet, and Lady Macbeth appearing through that same plastic sheet towards the end, in all her ghostly presence.

Although without speech, it was not without noise; and many of the sounds were created by the performers live – either vocalised into microphones or using various banging, rubbing and scraping of props and instruments. The layering and looping of these created fantastic tension and atmosphere, with a real sense of baleful magic and connection between the performers and the action. Given how powerful this technique was, especially at the beginning where a complex soundscape was created very simply, it was a shame that for some scenes the company relied on pre-recorded sound, leaving me feeling a little bit cheated. At one point a recording of bagpipes was played, and I felt the company – in Edinburgh of all places – missed a trick.

It was also disappointing that for a show pertaining to be “without words”, that short excerpts from the script were occasionally projected onto a screen to clarify the action on stage. I admit that the task to portray every nuance of Shakepeare’s work without any words at all is nigh-on impossible, but in some scenes it was done so well – the incantations of the witches, the murders, the washing of the hands, the breaking of the news – all performed using physicality, silhouette and props,  that it was such a shame that the company “copped out” in those rare moments. It seemed that with a little bit more work or development the company will have created a piece truly “without words” and fit for any European Capital of Culture.

This could have been one of those mind-blowing, life-changing performances that I’ll never forget, but unfortunately, those few flaws held it back somewhat. Still, ‘tis far from a sorry sight and overall the battle was far more won than lost.

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 2 February)

Go to Macbeth: Without Words at Manipulate

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LoopsEnd (Traverse, 2nd Feb ’16)

LoopsEnd

“A visual feast”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars: Outstanding

I have seen many spectacular aerial displays over the years, from companies all over the world,  and with their latest work, LoopsEnd, Edinburgh and LA based Paper Doll Militia is definitely right up there with the best of them in terms of risk, precision and wow-factor. However, while technically the gymnastics were great, I was a bit disappointed by the overall cohesion of the work.

A performance in two parts, the first half, Ashes, was inspired by the tearing down of an industrial estate where the group used to rehearse. The main visual element of the piece was two long ropes hanging from the rigging, twisted and weighted down with bags of powder. Even watching the ropes untwist and retwist in the empty space was graceful and compelling, and when combined with George Tarbuck’s stunning lighting design and the trademark tricks and treats of a seasoned aerial company, this piece was, at times, nothing short of a visual feast.

Throughout the performance, white powder was used in various ways to represent the “ashes” – one performer literally had a pile on his shoulders in the opening sequence, while the closing image was of the two bags attached to the hanging ropes slowly emptying as the ropes swung in the space. These individual instances were very powerful visually, but it was difficult to see the link between these, and any sort of narrative or progression within the piece. Indeed, many of the “theatrical” devices seemed under-developed and incomplete: there were too many moments of clichéd wide-eyed wonder and writhing around in angst, and at one point one performer walked back and forward many times, overtly undecided about whether to touch the rope. Such basic and overused devices unfortunately offset the splendorous vision of the other sections.

In the second piece, Unhinged XY, projection was also used, which in some ways added another dimension to the visual smorgasbaord, but in others gave a seemingly unnecessary layer of complexity and confusion to the action – again, it often wasn’t clear how the costumes, music, acrobatics, projections and design all married up.

The aerial silk work in this piece, and the use of wind and fabric combined to make some stunning visuals and standout moments. When one performer walked up a hanging piece of silk, weighted at the bottom by another, while competing with gusts around her, I was awestruck by the strength and artistry on show.

It was a bit of a shame that both pieces relied quite so heavily on overpowering recorded sound and music. While at some points it was great in setting and supporting the overall tone of each section, its constant use meant the work was unable to establish a mood for itself, so I would have preferred a more selective and sensitive approach to the aural aspects of the performance.

Overall, there’s no denying the talent and visual creativity that have earned Paper Doll Militia their excellent reputation. However, LoopsEnd left me somewhat hanging in mid-air, rather than applauding with my feet flat on the ground.

outstanding

StarStarStar

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 2 February)

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The Weir (Lyceum: 15 Jan – 6 Feb. ’16)

l to r. Lucianne McEvoy, Darragh Kelly, Brian Gleeson, Frank McCuster, Gary Lydon. Photo. Drew Farrell

l to r. Lucianne McEvoy, Darragh Kelly, Brian Gleeson, Frank McCuster, Gary Lydon.
Photos. Drew Farrell

“You will not want to let these characters go home”

Editorial Rating:  4 Stars: Outstanding

For an Irish play set in an out of the way bar, The Weir is pretty sobering. That it is also witty, articulate, and beset by place, loss and sprites is less of a surprise. Writer Conor McPherson has serious form by now when it comes to the dregs of self at the bottom of a glass,  or more cheerfully, to the poetry in the head of a creamy pint of Guinness.

Except that the Guinness in Brendan’s bar is ‘off’ because the fecking tap is broken. Jack has to help himself to a bottle (it’s that kind of village pub); Finbar’s ok because he’s become a tad more sophisticated and drinks Harp Lager; Jim, gentle soul, is happy with small chasers; Brendan is pleased to keep them company; and Valerie, well, she’s down from Dublin and might stay a while. She has a white wine – awkward – poured in a straight glass. There is no smoking ban yet and Designer Francis O’Connor has the craic curling across a wide, low beamed, space with the telegraph poles leaning drunkenly outside. There is a television above the bar but it’s a careful, appealing touch when Jack reaches up to switch off the rugby – it might have been gaelic football. The reception was bad anyway.

Nothing interferes with the story telling and there is no interval. First, Jack with his faerie road and spooky knocks at the door; then Finbar, with a terrifying old woman on the stairs; then Jim’s unwitting shocker in the graveyard that summons Valerie’s nightmare; and finally, cleverly, at the fireside, it’s back to Jack as he mournfully recalls his lost chance at love and marriage. Each tale is far too enthralling, too involving and heartfelt, to be contained as a monologue. The silence after Valerie’s story is literally stunning. Director Amanda Gaughan lets it down evocatively, rendering the men helpless in their sympathy.

McPherson’s achievement is to write bar stool conversation that is as moreish as good peanuts, wholesome against the odds. And the Irish cast are very, very good at helping themselves: Gary Lydon as Jack, sturdy, crumpled; Darragh Kelly as Jim, fond, credulous; Brian Gleeson (yes, son of ….) as Brendan, open, obliging; Lucianne McEvoy as Valerie, injured, self-possessed. And Frank McCusker as Finbar, whose equable, decent, tones stay short of the self-satisfied.

Brian Gleeson, Brendan, and Gary Lydon as Jack. Harp Lager and Draught Guinness as themselves.

Brian Gleeson, Brendan, and Gary Lydon as Jack.
Harp Lager and Draught Guinness as themselves.

‘The Weir’ was written in 1997, enjoyed immediate success and has attracted lyrical approval thereafter. Personally, I’ll play safe and just recognise how companionable a piece it is. You will not want to let these characters go home in the rain*. Single men, who know each other well, have gathered hospitably, stood each other a drink (or two), and have talked idly. However, there is the one woman amongst them and it’s Valerie who’s channeling the hard stuff.

(*Too tempting, sorry, not to cross -reference to Seamus Heaney’s Casualty from a darker period whose subject is the ‘Dawn-sniffing revenant’ plodding home from the pub in midnight rain.)

 

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 19 January)

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Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (King’s Theatre: 28 Nov. ’15 – 17 Jan. ’16)

Frances Mayli McCann as Snow White with Ensemble. Photos by Douglas Robertson

Frances Mayli McCann as Snow White with Ensemble.
Photos by Douglas Robertson

“Packed with laughs for audiences of all ages”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

I’ll admit, ever since the age of about 9, panto has never been very near the top of the list of my favourite art forms. And it’s true that I do tend to like my theatre a bit more high-brow. In saying that, this panto all but shattered my age-old preconceptions by being very, very funny, and at the same time embodying surprisingly high production values.

Where to start, but with Edinburgh’s pantomime royalty – Grant Stott, Allan Stewart and Andy Gray. Their on-stage chemistry is just as visible as they say it is, with lots of friendly jibes and presence that oozed confidence and star quality. The banter between them was great, and their improvisation and cover-up skills were spot-on. Stewart in particular impressed as Nurse May, with a dazzling array of seamless costume changes and a likeability that almost made the stage feel instantly more alive whenever he was on it.

Andy Gray, Allan Stewart and Grant Stott.

Andy Gray, Grant Stott and Allan Stewart.

Both Greg Barrowman as Prince Hamish and Frances Mayli McCann as Snow White also impressed with powerful singing voices, and their personalities perfectly balanced out those of their more esteemed cast members. But for me it was the dwarfs who stole the show, in particular the scene where they were riding an array of animals, and I was disappointed these characters were not used more often. The troupe showed fantastic energy and comic timing, and brought the ridiculous hilarity already on display to new heights every time they made an entrance (or exit!).

The script wasn’t so much littered as smothered with witty one-liners, topical references, football jokes, and a healthy sprinkling of good old-fashioned farce. Indeed, this show certainly has a bit of everything for the little’uns and their respective elders: there’s flying, dinosaurs, pyrotechnics, colourful costumes and a touch of audience interaction. I defy anyone not to giggle at at least one element of this offering.

The musical numbers were all delivered with aplomb, with dance sequences many grades above the step-ball-change choreography I was expecting. Song selection (mainly covers of popular songs) often seemed shoehorned in for the spectacle, but then again, one doesn’t go to panto for that. Still, the music was upbeat, in tune and full of fun.

I can forgive that the structure was a bit all over the place, that some of the scenes between the fab three bordered very closely on self-indulgent, and the almost never-ending rendition of a well-known Christmas song towards the end. It’s a show packed with laughs for audiences of all ages, and brings a lot of sparkle to brighten even the hardest of hearts. Oh yes it does!

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 8 December)

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The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (Lyceum: 28 Nov.’15 – 3 Jan.’16)

l.tor: Charlotte Miranda Smith as Susan, Ben Onwukwe as Aslan, and Claire-Marie Sneddon as Lucy. Photos. Royal Lyceum Theatre.

l.tor: Charlotte Miranda Smith as Susan, Ben Onwukwe as Aslan, and Claire-Marie Sneddon as Lucy.
Photos. Royal Lyceum Theatre.

“Fantastical adventure and heart”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Allegory or not, “It’s [still] a magic wardrobe. There’s a wood inside it, and it’s snowing, and there’s a faun and a witch and it’s called Narnia. Come and see.”

And enchanting it certainly is. This 2009 adaptation follows the adventures of four WWII evacuees as they travel through the wardrobe and discover the mysterious, wintry world of Narnia, encountering everything from witches to talking lions, to Father Christmas. C S Lewis’ wondrous story is expertly captured on the Lyceum stage by director Andrew Panton, and is an absolute triumph of a Christmas show.

The one thing that is immediately evident is how polished a production this is. Each scene change is almost like an smooth apparition; as if in some transitory dream, the audience move from one moment to the next without really knowing how they got there, and it’s wonderful. As the oak-panelled set opens out to reveal Narnia for the first time, one cannot help but gasp – with the younger audience – at the intricate display on stage: snow falls and coats the floor in a sparkling white blanket; tall icy trees seem to go on forever and that iconic lamp post glows in the shadows, waiting patiently for Mr Tumnus to appear. The impressive set is further complimented by sumptuous costume design, particularly in that of the animals. Mr and Mrs Beaver and Aslan the Lion are brought to life not only through their physicality but also through that wardrobe, but literally this time.

Stunning set and faithful costume aside, it is the strength of the cast that bring the real magic to this production. Special commendation must go to James Rottger, Charlotte Miranda Smith, Christian Ortega and Claire-Marie Sneddon, playing children Peter, Susan, Edmond and Lucy, respectively. As an audience member, there is often an underlying fear when watching adult actors in child roles as, if poorly performed, it can often remove you from the story. Yet this troupe executes their performances with such a warm and honest vulnerability that it is impossible not to be drawn into their adventure.

This childlike wondering proves all the more effective through the addition of song to the narrative. While some numbers do feel unnecessary, they do give the show another dimension of fantastical adventure and heart. After defeating the Witch, and the cast start singing the words, “You can’t know, but you can believe”, the spellworking in the theatre is almost palpable, and it is hard to suppress the urge to wave back at Aslan and the faun as they bid their farewell to their audience.

As stage magic goes, cutting the mustard might be up there as tricky; and evil White Witch (Pauline Knowles) has trouble living the part that is forever Tilda Swinton’s. A chilling performance works for her at times but it is often ambushed by pantomime warmth and is limited by the reach and power of the virtuous characters.

However, this is holy Advent time and this is a lovely production of a miraculous story that will delight the expectations of the children and grown-ups who come to see it.

 

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Rachel Cram (Seen 4 December)

Go to The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe at the Lyceum.

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‘The Great Train Race’ (Interchange, Galashiels: 29 Nov. ’15)

Ellie Zeegen and Simon Donaldson Photo: Firebrand Theatre

Ellie Zeegen and Simon Donaldson
Photo: Firebrand Theatre

“You might want to take sides and cheer your engine along”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Where better to stage this play of trains than in a bus and railway station? And so to the impressive Galashiels Interchange, which may have a Borders postcode, but whose track once more runs straight to Edinburgh and onto the ED49 platform. The permanent way is back – ‘Hurrah!’ – and the winding A7 is properly historic.

Redoubled ‘Hurrahs!’ too for the return of Robert Dawson Scott’s 2013 flag waving, whistle tooting, tale of men and locomotives (and a gender bending signal box). It is the summer of 1895 and two railroad companies – the North British and the Caledonian – are competing to run the fastest overnight service between London and Aberdeen. They take different routes – up the east and west coasts respectively – but the two eventually converge at Kinnaber Junction, 38 miles from the finish, which is where the signal box comes in – big time. And, just to add to the headlong fun, there are no speedometers in the cabs.

This is main-line ‘Play, Pie and a Pint’: three actors and 45-50 minutes long, which happily enough is almost the journey time between Gala’ and Waverley on the Borders Railway. Could The Great Train Race be performed on a moving train? Maybe director Richard Baron entertained the idea and brought it to the (Fat) Controllers of ScotRail. Well, we do get a Sir Topham Hatt character of sorts, and the piece is staged in the rectangular ‘round’. Not exactly in a carriage but the action goes from side to side, round n’ round, with the passengers occasionally buffeted by the wind from a passing train. Never mind, you might be on a ‘Grouse Express’ and the shooting parties have lobster in their hampers. You might want to take sides and cheer your engine along or – more likely – just sit forward and enjoy a show performed at speed and with great, engaging, spirit.

It is easy to distinguish the actors. When they are not sporting beards or holding balloons or dumping ‘hot’ coals in your lap, livery is all. Ali Watt is decent Norrie, railway clerk of the North British. He has the uniform, English accent, and manners of a man who believes in the rulebook and in fair competition. Dumping timetables and ‘dropping’ stations is simply not on. On the other footplate, in overalls, is Cammie (Simon Donaldson, educ. Earlston High School), a fitter in the engine sheds whose speech runs more along the lines of “Yer dancer”, which to describe a 2-4-0 ‘Hardwicke’ locomotive is going some. In-between the two and indicatively Doric, stands Kinnaber (Ellie Zeegen), whose friendly and eager narrative is the coupling rod.

It is a chuffing good story, merrily told, and with such invention and detail that the Borders Railway might wish that they were passenger numbers. Oh, sorry, there are tales of overcrowding already; which is scarcely Firebrand Theatre’s fault.

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Alan Brown (Seen 29 November)

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‘To Breathe’ (Summerhall: 24 – 28 Nov ’15)

To Breathe 1


Photography: Andrew Perry. Back line, l to r: Erin Whalley, Tiffany Soirat, Anna Elisabeth Thomsen. Front line, l to r, Adela Briansó, Lewis McDonald, Maddie Flint.

“Inventive and intriguing”

Editorial Rating: 3 Stars: Nae Bad

It’s not often you see student theatre groups perform original work with such a strong dance element, especially pieces on complex themes with so much thought behind them. They generally take hours upon hours to devise and rehearse, so one must give Theatre Paradok kudos for even getting to the startline of this show, and for packing Summerhall’s Demonstration Room to the rafters with an eager audience on a Thursday night.

Given the premise of To Breathe as a physical exploration of body and breath, to me it was a somewhat strange choice to develop it with a cast of performers with limited dance experience and training. The lack of finesse and technique on display in the more choreographed elements unfortunately detracted from what could have been a very powerful and moving (no pun intended) performance, and this was the lasting impression I took with me – a great concept, but perhaps slightly overreached.

As a theatrical spectacle, it was certainly very accomplished: it contained a lot of light and shade, tension and calm, with a good sense of progression and drive, and the performers’ ability to create changing moods seamlessly was very impressive. Early on the piece was very playful, and the performers raised several laughs in their innocent self-discovery, before moving onto more emotive storytelling. Rachel Stollery’s design really complemented the action, as did the subtle use of music, and with a healthy mix of ensemble and solo sections, structurally this show ticks all the boxes.

What the troupe may not have shown in dance technique or grace, they more than made up for in emotional intensity, concentration and sheer gumption. There was a great energy and spirit to the performance, with the whole company throwing themselves into it wholeheartedly. Maddie Flint in particular was utterly watchable throughout, with a very engaging and expressive face.

 

To Breathe 2

Lewis MacDonald and Tiffany Soirat

While choreographically it was a fairly safe piece (albeit with a few too many cliched motifs for my liking), there were moments of dramatic risk that were inventive and intriguing. In one of the duets (performed by Lewis McDonald and Tiffany Soirat) the dancers fought and tussled to cover each other in paint, in a sequence that was both passionate and very well controlled. There were some great lifts on show, and this section oozed with sexual chemistry. Later on, the dancers experimented with different movements with their hands in a pile of mud, which again showed great creativity, yet it was difficult to see the connection between this and the rest of the performance.

Overall, the heart and soul of this performance were absolutely in the right place – but I would have liked to have seen more focus on the dance elements to make it more complete.

nae bad_blue

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

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 26 November)

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“Few episodes of cultural collision in Victoria’s reign were more extreme.” – Author Paul Thomas Murphy discusses Shooting Victoria

In June 1840, when Victoria was pregnant but had no living children, the succession would have passed to Ernest, her widely-loathed eldest uncle. I can’t help but wonder, then, whether, hearing of the news of the failed attempt, Ernest thanked God – or cursed.

At about 4 p.m. on 10 June 1840, a young man took up a position on a footpath at Constitution Hill, near Buckingham Palace. He had with him a pair of poor quality pistols. Two hours later a young couple drew alongside seated in an open carriage. It was the moment Edward Oxford had been waiting for. He discharged his firearms but missed both the young (and pregnant) Queen Victoria as well as her Consort Prince Albert.

What could have proved a national calamity instead became a public relations coup, helping Victoria and Albert reshape the monarchy and its role.

Oxford became the first of a surprisingly long line of assailants who took pot shots at Britain’s second-longest reigning monarch. Each was an eclectic mix of poverty, grandiosity, and mental disorder. For the first time, author Paul Thomas Murphy has drawn together the threads of each case – criminal, medical, and political – into a single narrative. The result is an ever-shifting landscape portrait of Victoria and the age to which she gave her name.

Paul Thomas Murphy is the author of Shooting Victoria, a 2012 New York Times notable book. He holds advanced degrees in Victorian Studies from Oxford and McGill Universities and the University of Colorado, where he taught both English and writing on interdisciplinary topics. He currently resides in Boulder, Colorado.

Shooting Victoria (published by Head of Zeus (January 2013) To find out more click here.



Why Victoria and her assailants?

I strongly believe that one of the most effective ways to gain insight into a culture is to focus upon its episodes of extreme cultural collision. And few episodes of cultural collision in Victoria’s reign were more extreme, in terms of social, political, legal, and gender conflict, than these eight attempts by the Queen’s seven assailants. More than this, these attempts occurred throughout Victoria’s reign—the first occurring when she was twenty-one, newly married and newly pregnant, and the last when she was sixty-one and a great-grandmother.

By focusing on all of the attempts, therefore, I am able present a portrait of the era from an entirely new perspective – a sweeping depiction portrayal both of the endlessly fascinating Victoria, Queen and Empress, and of some of the darker aspects of her age in the stories of the seven malcontents who bedeviled her.

Seven boys and men attempted attacks on Queen Victoria between 1840 and 1882. What, if anything, did they have in common?

Every single one of them was an outsider, removed from society for a variety of reasons: two identified themselves as Irish, one suffered a painful and discernible physical disability, and several clearly suffered from mental impairment. More than this, with one possible exception each of them had an aching desire to be somebody: a desire to force themselves upon the collective consciousness of Britain and of the world through one dramatic act that at least temporarily placed them on a level with Victoria, the ultimate insider of the time.

The one possible exception—the one who apparently had no desire to be somebody — was the fourth assailant, the Irishman William Hamilton, who in 1849 made his attempt in order to trade his free but impoverished life for the social security of a long stint in prison. He got exactly what he wanted.

The first assailant was Edward Oxford, who had a uniform, military rules of conduct and a manifesto for a revolutionary organisation called Young England – of which he was the only member. Did you ever find yourself wondering if there was more to Oxford’s assault, the autocratic hand of Victoria’s reactionary uncle Ernest Augustus I of Hanover for instance?

That is certainly what Edward Oxford wanted the world to think, and he succeeded—for a few days, at least. And even when it became abundantly clear to the police and to the government that Young England was entirely a figment of Oxford’s fertile imagination, some people—Irish nationalist and politician Daniel O’Connell, for instance—continued to believe that dark and reactionary forces were at work behind Oxford’s attempt. Clearly, Oxford was not a pawn in a right-wing conspiracy, vast or otherwise. But it is equally clear that in inventing his backstory he was influenced by extreme political currents of the time. And although Victoria’s uncle Ernest was certainly innocent of any direct involvement in Oxford’s crime, he certainly would have profited by it: had Oxford succeeded: in June 1840, when Victoria was pregnant but had no living children, the succession would have passed to Ernest, her widely-loathed eldest uncle. I can’t help but wonder, then, whether, hearing of the news of the failed attempt, Ernest thanked God – or cursed Oxford.

The key statesmen of Victoria’s reign appear through the course of the narrative, from Wellington via Peel to Gladstone and Disraeli. What light do the attempts throw on them and their policies?

All of these men were, in the fullest sense of the term, ministers to Queen Victoria, and after every attempt, each one was caught up not simply in protecting the Queen, but in protecting, in redefining, and in promoting the institution of monarchy. In the wake of Oxford’s attempt Lord Melbourne, Victoria’s first Prime Minister, successfully fought for an act to make Prince Albert regent in the case of Victoria’s death. After the two attempts of Victoria’s second assailant John Francis, her second Prime Minister Robert Peel devoted himself to strengthening her security and the security of the monarchy, and when a month later John William Bean made his attempt, Peel is said to have wept openly in Victoria’s presence.

Of all of Victoria’s Prime Ministers, however, the one who did the most not simply to protect Victoria, but to rehabilitate and promote the institution of the monarchy, was —surprisingly enough— William Gladstone. It’s worth remembering that Victoria’s fifth assailant, Arthur O’Connor, had originally planned to attack the Queen during a Thanksgiving service at Westminster Abbey to celebrate the recovery of the Prince of Wales from Typhoid Fever. Gladstone had planned that Thanksgiving service meticulously as a way to force the Queen back into public life after her ten years’ seclusion and abandonment of her responsibilities after the death of Prince Albert. And though Victoria fought him, Gladstone succeeded magnificently. Of Victoria’s Prime Ministers, Benjamin Disraeli is usually the one seen as the unabashed proponent of the modern monarchy. But I would argue that Gladstone more than Disraeli deserves credit for shaping a monarchy that has endured to this day.

You write about the assassination of US President James Garfield, but not that of Lincoln. How come?

Timing, for one thing. Lincoln’s assassination, as it happens, occurred fifteen years after the fifth assault upon Victoria, and six years before the sixth. Garfield’s, on the other hand, occurred just a year before the seventh assault. So did the assassination of Tsar Alexander II. Those two assassinations demonstrate the specific threats facing Victoria in 1882: an assault by a madman, or an attack by political terrorists. Garfield’s attempt is therefore more directly a part of the story.

Saying that, Victoria’s response to Lincoln’s death does provide true insight into Victoria’s state of mind in 1865. Last April 15th — the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s assassination — I republished in my blog Victoria’s heartfelt letter to Mary Todd Lincoln. “I cannot remain silent when so terrible a calamity has fallen upon you & your Country,” she wrote Lincoln’s widow. But Victoria showed her greatest sympathy not for the great loss to the United States, but in Mary Todd Lincoln’s sudden and devastating loss of her husband, so similar to Victoria’s own loss of Albert four years before: “No one can better appreciate than I can, who am myself utterly broken-hearted by the loss of my own beloved Husband, who was the Light of my Life, — my Stay — my all, — what your sufferings must be.”

What’s the most interesting place you’ve been in your search for Victoria’s assailants? Is there anything left to see outside the Public Records Office?

There is much to see outside the PRO. There’s the neighbourhood in Southwark where Edward Oxford lived before his attempt, and nearby Bethlehem Hospital (now the Imperial War Museum) where he was sent afterwards; there’s the Round Tower at Windsor, where Victoria’s letters and journals are archived. There’s the Museum of London, which contains, deep in its archives, a chain mail parasol created for Victoria’s protection. And then there’s Constitution Hill itself, the site of three of the attempts. But of all the places I’ve been to in researching Shooting Victoria, the oddest and the most evocative has got to be the apartment of assailant #5, Robert Pate. Pate, Victoria’s only wealthy assailant, lived in luxury on Piccadilly, four floors above what was then, and is now, Fortnum and Mason’s world-renowned shop.

Since Pate’s day, Fortnum and Mason has expanded upwards, and today—oddly appropriately—what was in 1850 Pate’s apartment is now the men’s furnishings department of that store. I visited the store as I was completing my research. By ignoring the ties, the belts, the hairbrushes and shaving kits, and by focusing on the views out the window onto the neighborhood of St James — views that Pate surely would have recognized — I never felt more as if I was seeing the world through one of Victoria’s assailants’ eyes.

Did you interview or encounter any of the descendants of any of the assailants?

I have had the pleasure of speaking with a descendant of Edward Oxford’s family—specifically a descendant of his grandparents and one of his many uncles. Interestingly, that particular uncle emigrated to India after Oxford’s attempt, and generations of Oxfords have lived in India since then. I also engaged in a fascinating correspondence with the descendant of a participant in the 1842 attempt of assailant #2, John Francis — a descendant of PC William Trounce, the officer who seized Francis after he shot at Victoria on Constitution Hill. Trounce’s act—admittedly embellished by the family with time — has become a central episode in the Trounce family mythology.

Who was the most fortunate of Victoria’s assailants and who was the least?

The most fortunate has to have been Robert Pate, poster child for the great benefits of Victorian penal sentence of transportation. Pate, in spite of his father’s great wealth and his own privileged lifestyle, was a miserable man when he smacked Victoria with his cane in 1850: solitary and desolate, suffering from debilitating mental illness. He was tried and sentenced to seven years’ hard labour in Van Diemen’s Land, and that sentence, remarkably enough, seems to have prompted something like a miracle cure: before his sentence expired he married, and for years he lived the life of a proper Hobart gentleman. When his father died Pate inherited his estate and returned to England, living by all accounts a full, stable, and happy life.

The least fortunate? That’s more difficult to say. Is it #3, John William Bean? After his short but humiliating imprisonment Bean lived a long life of alienation, depression and disability, before finally killing himself with an overdose of opium in 1882. Or is it #6, Arthur O’Connor, or #7, Roderick Maclean? Both struggled with mental illness for most of their lives, and after their attempts both suffered decades of depressing confinement, O’Connor in a series of asylums in New South Wales, Australia, and Maclean in dreary Broadmoor. Both died in confinement in the 1920s.

Shooting Victoria was your first book. What’s next?

I’ve just completed another narrative of extreme cultural collision, but this time dealing with a more limited social sphere, and focusing upon a lesser-known heroine than Queen Victoria. Pretty Jane and the Viper of Kidbrooke Lane—the title taken from a penny dreadful written soon afterwards—concerns the murder in 1871 London of Jane Clouson, a seventeen-year-old maid-of-all-work. The narrative follows the police investigation of the crime and, with the arrest for murder of Jane’s young master, the remarkable legal odyssey that ensued. While Victoria’s fame will never die, and while Jane Clouson has (until now) been forgotten, I believe that the story of this young servant can reveal as much about the Victorian age as did that of the woman who gave it its name. Pretty Jane and the Viper of Kidbrooke Lane is slated for release next April.

What should be playing on the stereo when we’re reading Shooting Victoria?

I suppose the obvious answer to this would be—something by Elgar: anything by Elgar. But I would recommend something else. At the beginning of Shooting Victoria, I provided two epigraphs. The first was written by Victoria after the final attempt in 1882: “It is worth being shot at to see how much one is loved.” The second is more recent, from 1976: “Don’t know what I want, but I know how to get it.” Nothing I’ve read more succinctly and accurately captures the mindset of the seven who bedeviled the Queen: their angst, their undefined and undefinable longing to lash out for something—for anything—different than the world they discontentedly inhabited. What did they have in common? That’s what they had in common. The author of that quote is John Lydon; it’s a line, of course, from the Sex Pistols’ Anarchy in the UK. And to get into the spirit of Shooting Victoria, you could do far worse than accompany your reading with a good cranking out of Never Mind the Bollocks – perhaps balanced with the occasional Elgar track?


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The Addams Family (Pleasance: 17 – 21 Nov ’15)

Photos: Oliver Buchanan

Photos: Oliver Buchanan

“Funny to the point of tears…”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars Nae Bad

I hate The Addams Family theme song. It’s not that I think it’s bad, I think it’s too good. It’s every bit as iconic as it is catchy. No matter who you are or what you do, as soon as you hear that da da dadum *click click*, you’ll be reduced to a finger-snapping, grinning mess. Driving a car? Doesn’t matter. Operating heavy machinery? Tough luck nerd. You’re on a one way bus trip to Addams-town and there’s only one song playing on the radio.

And just as epochal is the tune’s creepy, kooky subject matter. The cemetery-dirt stained shoes of the Addams family are impossibly large ones to fill, and although EUSOG’s ambitious production fell an inch or two short of six feet under, it’s a performance so bouncy and entertaining that you’d hardly even notice.

It’s crisis in the Addams household: Wednesday (Ashleigh More) is growing up fast, and even worse, she’s fallen in love with a guy so normal he makes white bread look like a Harley Davidson. Now, his parents are coming to town, and the family needs to be on their best behaviour. It goes just about as well as it sounds like it might. It’s hardly a daring new direction in terms of plot cliché, but there are fine seeds growing in this well-trod ground.

From the outset, it’s very clear that this is a talented cast. Scott Meenan’s Gomez is an utter joy to watch, and an even greater one to listen to. His comic timing and twitchy crispness of movement enhanced an already impressively funny repertoire of gags. But even more impressive was his emotional range: it’s easy to tickle a funnybone, but less so to pull a heartstring.

And whilst Melani Carrie’s Morticia often lacked the steely, sultry smugness which forms the character’s backbone, it’s hard not to be blown away by her voice – not to mention her knack for latin footwork. She was very much the smoky family matriarch, but when next to Meenan, she seemed oddly muted. However, this never affected the performance to the point of becoming a significant problem, and all feelings of flatness were limited to the spoken portions of the show. When Carrie opens her mouth, it’s like being hit by a verbal sledgehammer.

Though perhaps more nuanced than the footwork was More’s Wednesday Addams. Although usually presented as a monotone proto-goth, I was pleasantly surprised by More’s characterization. She perfectly embodies the sense of being pulled in two directions, and manages to do so in such an entertaining and genuine way that it never falls into the usual trap of feeling hackneyed or trope-ish. This was an excellent performance in every sense – especially the oddly sweet chemistry between her and masochistic brother Pugsley (Holly Marsden).

Championing the side of “normalcy” is the impressive Nitai Levi; having traded his moody rocker persona a-la Rent for  wonderfully dorky fianceé Lucas, he provided a great foil for More’s Wednesday, delicately dancing the line between nerdily sincere and annoying. And it seems like the talent runs in the family: Mother Alice (Esmee Cook) and Father Mal (Patrick Wilmott) inject ever more laughter into what is already a show bursting at the seams.

Addams Family 2

But if stealing a show was a jailable offence, Campbell Keith would be going away for a very long time. Acting as the show’s narrator, Keith’s Uncle Fester dominated the stage every time his weirdly pale head popped out of the wings. It’s hard to make a man who looks like Humpty Dumpty’s goth cousin charismatic, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t succeed.

But all the talent in the world, unfortunately, can’t control a tech setup. Whilst the swell of voices (especially thanks to the ghostly chorus of Ancestors) managed to rise above the band, the microphones were simply too quiet. I lost most of the lyrics in the first half, and the problem still persisted through some numbers in the second act.  And the lights, whilst vibrant and interesting, sometimes felt oddly out of sync with the action on stage. In isolation, either of these issues may not matter. But eventually, grains of sand do become a heap.

And although the chorus should be applauded for their brilliance in terms of both movement and vocal work, the choreography sometimes felt cluttered. There were times I was genuinely afraid an overenthusiastic kick might KO the cellist. Having fewer objects and people on stage may have helped this production breathe easy.

However, I’m loathe to admit the above for a number of reasons. The first being that it would be a crying shame to lose any of the strong chorus, and the masterful musical section – the former never faltering even in the show’s faster and more energetic sections. And secondly, changing the stage would mean altering the breathtakingly Burton-esque set dreamed up by Lu Kocaurek. I’d feel more comfortable pushing over a henge.

Although blighted by a few blips, this was a show more than worthy of its pedigree. Funny to the point of tears and touching to very much the same end, EUSOG’s Addams Family is just as creepy and kooky as that damned theme song promises. Check this one out while you can: Kate Pasola and Rebecca Simmonds have conjured up a brilliant show indeed.

nae bad_blue

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

Reviewer: Jacob Close (Seen 17 November).

Go to EUSOG for The Addams Family & cast list.

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King Charles III (Festival Theatre: 16 – 21 Nov ’15)

Photographs from the West End Production of 'Charles III' by Johan Persson

Photographs by Johan Persson from the West End Production of ‘King Charles III’

“The best of Shakespeare, bang up to date”

Editorial Rating: 4 Stars: Outstanding

Given how topical this production is, I still can’t quite get my head around why someone hasn’t thought of doing a play like this before. Yes, it’s daring and bound to spark discussion on either side of the Royalist debate, but perhaps that’s what makes it utterly ingenious.

Mike Bartlett’s script really is the star of the show – conceiving an idea both dangerous and compelling, that’s also utterly believable. That’s a mean enough feat for many a playwright, but then consider it is also written in Shakespearean style blank verse (with nods to more of his works than I could keep track of), bang up to date, witty, funny and gripping to the very last stage direction.

It’s cleverly structured to allow for scenes and opinions to unfold between all characters, and pacey enough to keep the action flowing, without ever cheating the audience of any details. I would have preferred more ensemble scenes to break up the endless soliloquies and duologues (again, very Will’), while a more contrasting sense of status between the Royals and others would have gone some way to create even more tension.

The style of the performance took some getting used to early on: interpretations of well-known people seemed over-theatricalised, while showing a distinct lack of respect to each other and occasion. This made it hard to engage with immediately, as I was expecting a subtler and more faithful approach to character. For this reason, for me it was the “made-up” characters of Mr Stevens (Giles Taylor) and Jess (Lucy Phelps) who rang most true, and achieved the optimum balance between the theatrical style of the script and connection with the audience.

Charles III 2

In saying that, the very beauty and intelligence of this piece is the subtle level of detachment from presenting something real and expected, to an exploration of imagination and possibility. Once this performance was in full swing, and I could appreciate the characters as part of an intriguing story (as opposed to what I would expect to see in real life), I was all but blown away by its power and craft. Ben Righton’s William was bang on the money in terms of character development throughout, progressing from stable wallflower to dominant leader, while the descent of Charles (Robert Powell) into public ridicule was nothing short of masterful.

If the King could grant me one wish, it would be to fast forward 100 years, when the population know comparatively little of our current royal family, and see how well it is received then. My money would be on it being viewed in the same way we lap up the best of Shakespeare today.

outstanding

StarStarStarStar

Reviewer: Steve Griffin (Seen 16 November)

Go to King Charles III at the Festival Theatre

Visit the Festival Theatre archive.