Kenneth Branagh Theatre Company's 'The Winter's Tale' at the Garrick Theatre

Christmas came early for me this November in form of Kenneth Branagh Theatre Company's The Winter's Tale. And I didn't even have to faff about with wrapping paper.

Tom Bateman as Florizel and Jessie Buckley as Perdita. Photo by Johan Persson.

Under Branagh's excellent direction, The Winter's Tale comes to life as the play of contrasts it ought to be. The staging, for example, carries this juxtaposition through the production. We open to a Winter Wonderland; the Sicilian court is aglow with twee, miniature Christmas village details and mildly laughable ice-skating.  The second half curtain ascends to its antithesis; the polar  (or, rather, solar) opposite of a steamy, dusky Bohemia. The production in this respect moves nimbly with the play's own jarring tonal shift from tragedy to comedy. The Bohemian festival was a particular highlight; Jessie Buckley and Tom Bateman were breathtaking as the passionate young lovers Perdita and Florizel. Their endearing and playful promiscuity built to a dance sequence which was nothing short of a festive gypsy orgy. If our first half in Leontes' court of Sicily sparks the fuse of an uptight, mistaken jealousy, Bohemia stands apart as the embodiment of free love in its uninhibited and fiery full blaze.

Naturally, Branagh excelled in his role as the rapidly-jealous, rapidly-repentant patriarch. With a tactile affection for both Hermione and Polixenes, the emotional attachments and sense of betrayal when his mistaken jealousy erupts were genuine - and genuinely moving. Branagh was bravely physical in his portrayal, visceral and vicious towards Hermione (Miranda Raison), the infant Perdita and particularly Paulina (Judi Dench). What I loved about the scenes of Leontes' uncontrollable rage was the text came to life on stage in shades far beyond Branagh's performance. For example, that fantastically acrid introduction of father to newborn daughter took place over a fire pit, making all Leontes' imagery of burning babies and Paulina an all-to0-real threat.

The tension and sparring between Leontes and Paulina was a further treat to watch. Occasionally, however, it felt as if Branagh was rushing through some of his smaller speeches; those whose purpose was more exposition than the poetry of his character's soul. (Shakespeare's admin, as I like to call it.) This was compensated for slightly, however, by his effortless relish in Leontes' more poignant and aggressive scenes. His senseless rage in the opening half turned to a numbing regret and Branagh was able to negotiate this vast range with style.

Hadley Fraser as Polixenes and Kenneth Branagh as Leontes. Photo by Johan Persson.

Given the calibre of this production's headlining duo, the standout performances of Jessie Buckley's captivating Perdita, Hadley Fraser's affectionate yet explosive Polixenes and John Dagleish’s charismatic Autolycus are particularly commendable. 

In his direction, Branagh has the sense to spot what is usually missing from Shakespeare's plays and bring it to the fore in this production; mothers. Judi Dench (Paulina) and Miranda Raison (Hermione) each lace their portrayals with a measured, maternal composure. As Branagh's Leontes descends into a destructive, childlike rage their roles were not to scold or beg - as is often played - but rather to appease. Calmly, gently, this mothering stillness nursed the production's mounting sense of heartbreak. This characterisation suited Dench's stage presence particularly well. Like a silent storm, Dench commanded the stage with a masterful mix of power and composure.

Visually, Branagh's penchant for translating Shakespeare onto the big screen gives this production a tangible, dynamic flavour. Particularly in the blaze of Leontes' jealous rage, scenes fly hot on the heels of one another with an agitated soundtrack, like quick fire shots in a film. The pace of Branagh's impetuous Leontes is a driving force as he rushes around the stage, spiraling physically as well as mentally out of control and using this rashness to flesh out the often under-motivated imprisonment of Hermione. 

Branagh's Leontes has jumped stumbled, blind, onto a runaway train and this is fully embodied within the cinematic flurry of this production.

Kenneth Branagh as Leontes. Photo by Johan Persson

I do, however, find it hard to reconcile the production's sentimental and redemptive ending with the strong portrayal of Leontes’ affection for Mamilius (Rudi Goodman) from the start. To give Leontes the role of rounded father and then to close the play with a Christmas-card family reunion necessarily jars with me. Are we to believe Leontes' and Hermione could ever gloss over the death of their beloved son as this production suggests? Hermione steps down from her icy monument and thaws the winter of Leontes' court, but the audience is undoubtedly left with the chilling remembrance of the lost Mamillius.

The unfortunate prince says himself, "a sad tale's best for winter". Through this production's side-stepping -somewhat ungracefully- the play's more honest and bitter ending, perhaps the KBTC argue a sentimental tale's best for winter. The pure strength of this production is in that it has me so close to agreeing.

York International Shakespeare Festival: The Flanagan Collective's Romeo and Juliet

I'll admit it: Romeo and Juliet is not amongst my favourite Shakespeare plays. I often find myself uncomfortable at productions which attempt to dress the young lover's "violent delights" in a suit of serious and sombre love. The play itself, for me at least, smacks of pubescent lust and attraction; an impetuous face of Shakespearean love which gets thrown by the wayside as adaptations try to emphasis a 'high tragedy' style sophisticated relationship. Thankfully, The Flanagan Collective's all female production, staged at St. Olave's church in York, was like a convincing and refreshing breath from Juliet's borrow likeness of death.

Emma Ballantine as Romeo and Amie Burns-Walker as Juliet. Photo by James Drury.

Romeo and Juliet is of course a play of first love; young, reckless, passionate and impatient. Youth and energy were a focal point of this production even from before the famous lines began running; as children and cast members broke into impromptu balloon sword fights and games of tig, leaping over pews as if we weren't about to light the fuse on a devastating romantic tragedy. It’s a bit of a cliché that Romeo and Juliet misses being a comedy by a matter of minutes, but The Flanagan Collective and the audience at St Olave’s were reminded to catch that brief comic spirit of the play. Rather, this production shone a light to argue just how young Romeo and Juliet are and how fun it is to be so young.

A highlight was the young lover’s first meeting. The narrative foreplay that Shakespeare has written so beautifully into talk of saints and palmers was manifested as a flirtatious hide and seek chase between the pews. Romeo and Juliet, like a pair of rebellious school kids on the bus, shared a first kiss whilst sat on the furthest row back. It was refreshing, endearing, playful and downright sexy. This high energy chase of excitement grew into a sophisticated and brave physical sequence for the wedding night. Rather than what may often feel like an episode of sexual voyeurism upon the young couple, The Flanagan Collective approached their heavily cut (more on this later) scene with a perceptive and beautifully choreographed illustration of their growing emotional connection.

Amie Burns-Walker as Juliet. Photo by James Drury.

Staging the production in the ornate St Olave’s Church made the space into a playground for the boundless imagination of this company. Of course I should have seen this coming, but giving the audience confetti to throw on the newly-wed Romeo and Juliet as they walked down an actual aisle was inspired.

The Flanagan Collective had taken Tybalt's ruthless fencing skills to the play's text and presented a very streamline edit. So streamline, in fact, everyone's favourite hapless suitor (sorry, Cloten) was completely ousted from the play's final scene. While this lent more tragic focus to the production’s well rounded and engaging star-crossed lovers, it rendered Paris an even more two dimensional and peripheral character than the play makes him out to be. Paris as a character seems to demand a go-kitsch-or-go-home performance. Where productions have played up the clingy discomfort with which he woos Juliet to hilarious effect,  it felt as though this one didn't quite know what to do with him (or, rather, with her).

Sarah Davies and Holly Beasley Carrigan partying at the Capulet ball. Photo by James Drury. 

Making cuts as they had done to the text does invite such fatalities, yet this slimline text made for a production in which the focus fell largely on a near flawless portrayal of young love. The Flanagan Collective went above and beyond with their interactive set, sparkling and vibrant soundtrack as well as utterly vivacious physical theatre to create the most faithful communication representation of the text’s youthful, passionate impatience. 

The Flanagan Collective will be performing a run of this production in London from the 1st-13th of London, details found on here, and here if you'd like to know more about The Flanagan Collective. As ever, all opinions are my own and not even a free party hat could corrupt me although it nearly did. 

Death of a Salesman at the RSC

The Royal Shakespeare Company's current season engages with all kinds of dramatic outsiders. Alongside Shakespeare's Othello and The Merchant of Venice, Marlowe's Jew of Malta and Ben Jonson's Volpone lie in ostracism. Miller's 1949 play Death of  Salesman brings into this mix more a modern but equally resonant figure of isolation in Willy Loman.

This season, the RSC are doing some really interesting things with outsider figures. The posters, too, all engage the ideas of eye contact, inclusion and secrecy. 

In Miller's devastating portrayal, the tide of the American dream has well and truly drowned Willy Loman. For all his boasting of athletic and successful sons, Alex Hassell and Sam Marks as Biff and Happy present the disappointing reality as a duo of pyjama-clad despondency. Willy's self-sacrificing wife Linda bears the brunt of his poorly paid job as well as the constant frustration of their underachieving brood. Her forbearance seems to be holding the family together, until Willy's erratic behaviour unearths echoes of the past that threaten to disrupt the household's shaking foundations.

"Shipping clerk, salesman, business of one kind or another. And it’s a measly manner of existence"
Biff, Act I

Salesman is a play full of echoes. Structurally, we flit between idyllic scenes of Biff's hopeful adolescence and land back with Willy desperately begging a response from the voices in his head. The vivacious and devoted Biff, the overweight and awkward son-in-the-shadow Happy and the elusive Uncle Ben are figures who all haunt Willy Loman. These dynamic changes in theatrical pace are some of the play's hardest to navigate, however the company's artful lighting and agile set kept transitions at once smooth and devastatingly contrasting. As is expected from the RSC, the set and staging compliments the performances spectacularly. The Loman house sits on stage like a dolls house cracked in two, parodying the play's images of the American dream life. Commendation is due, also, to the company for being able to dance so confidently across the changes of dramatic tempo in these scenes.

"Willy Loman never made a lot of money... He’s not the finest character that ever lived. But he’s a human being, and a terrible thing is happening to him."
Linda, Act I

Of course with a company of big names, new faces and with the RSC's artistic director Gregory Doran at the helm, I was hopeful for some impressive performances. Where this production truly excels is, suitably, where the play's most powerful scenes come to life; in private, family relationships. A tragedian of the domestic, Miller's Loman family have scene upon scene of hard-hitting dialogue, at which Walter, Hassell, Marks and Sher absolutely excelled. Where Willy's relationship with his wife Linda can often seem uncomfortably fractious and volatile, Harriet Walter and Anthony Sher masterfully communicated an intimate sense of understanding alongside Willy's crippling dependence on his saintly wife. These characters have a lifetime of history with each other, parts of which we see regurgitated through Willy's rosy tinted memory. The beauty of the RSC's production, particularly from veterans Sher and Walter and wonderfully from the young Hassell, is in the nuanced hints towards the history that we don't see.

Alex Hassell and Anthony Sher in rehearsal for Death of a Salesman. Photo by Ellie Kurttz, courtesy of the Royal Shakespeare Company. 

Straight off a West End run of playing near-father-and-son figures Prince Hal and Falstaff in Shakespeare's Henry IV Parts I & II, the stage chemistry of Sher and Hassell proves this production's greatest asset. Sher and Hassell together are a dramatic powerhouse. The duo bulldoze through scenes between Willy and Biff Loman with an intensity that is harrowing but never threatens to dissolve the highly charged dialogue into melodrama. With Miller, this distinction is a fine line to tread.

"The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell"
Charley, Act II

The play itself tosses Willy Loman straight into a torrent of devastating introspection, challenging its actors with a fragmented structure and some of Miller's most dramatically taxing interactions (and we're dealing with the playwright of The Crucible... Hamlet riding through a Lear storm on a flaming tiger could hardly be more dramatic). What the RSC evoke within this production is the play's force to close in upon Willy with the full brunt of complete isolation. Harrowing, powerful and even bitterly comic, Death of A Salesmen is the perfect requiem with which to birth a season filled with dramatic figures of alienation.

Death of A Salesman is running at the Royal Shakespeare Company's RST until the 2nd of May.
As ever, all opinions are my own. 

Your Shakespeare Is Showing: How Theatre Screening Made 2014 the Year We Ditched the Shy Adaptations

I love hate to lapse into the New Year's spirit of golden nostalgia, but my memories of 2014 are ones that really do excite me. Why? 2014 was an exceptional year for theatre.

Pictured (L-R) Hadley Fraser as Aufidius and Tom Hiddleston as Coriolanus in Coriolanus. Directed by Josie Rourke, Coriolanus enjoyed a sell-out run at the intimate Donmar Warehouse before being screened to cinemas early last year. Photo by Johan Persson, courtesy of National Theatre Live.

In recent years, film adaptations of Shakespeare's plays which are bare-facedly Shakespearean have been scarce. Like, painfully scarce. The general formula for adaptations that pop up in cinemas follows along the lines of "Take the plot, lose that awfully archaic sounding title." 

This golden rule has resulted in films ranging from exceptionally cult teen flicks (anyone for 10 Things I Hate About You?) to unexpectedly flopping comedies (I'm looking at you, That Awkward Moment).

Pictured (L-R) Miles Teller, Zac Efron and Michael B. Jordan in That Awkward Moment (2014) which borrows loosely from the plot of Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost. Photo courtesy of Treehouse Pictures.

But last year was different. The Globe launched its Globe Player, branded the Netflix of live theatre. Digital Theatre exploded with sold-out West End shows such as the Tennant-Tate Much Ado to boast of. You now have just as much chance of seeing 'National Theatre Live' whilst browsing through your local Odeon screenings as you do of seeing Jennifer Aniston peddling another chick-flick. Cinemas, and even local venues (I was lucky enough to catch The Donmar's Coriolanus in a church hall) worldwide began to embrace and enjoy broadcasting  live theatre. 

Live! The night it is performed! All over the world! 

Pictured: Simon Russell Beale as the eponymous monarch in King Lear. Directed by Sam Mendes,
Lear played at the National Theatre early last year and was screened to cinemas nationwide from May. Photo courtesy of National Theatre Live.

The effect of live screenings is a whole new breed of theatre. And when I say breed, get ready to hear me crack the wind of this poor phrase. Picture if big-balls-out-box-office cinema and the intimate theatre had a baby. This wonderful child is blessed with the artistry, the ambition and the enticing trailers (as well as a few DVD extras thrown in) you might expect from the silver screen. Endowed also with the capacity for creating theatrical intimacy and the patience to indulge in truly beautiful language, this kid is going to be a shoo-in for high school prom queen.

Pictured (L-R) Edward Bennett as Benedick and Michelle Terry as Beatrice in Love's Labour's Won, or Much Ado About Nothing live from the RST which will both be showing live in cinemas this year. Cinematic release poster courtesy of Cineworld and the RSC.

It doesn't seem as if we still soon be reverting back to the kind of theatrical atmosphere that Shakespeare wrote for, one of cheers, jeers and groundling endurance (although you only need search 'The Globe Titus Andronicus 2014' to see some outrageously dramatic articles on how Shakespeare in  theatres is, in  fact, one big faint-inducing conspiracy. Shout out to Flora Spencer-Longhurst for her formidably writhing Lavinia). But 2014 definitely saw a move towards recapturing that communal spirit by bringing a true range of plays in fantastic productions to much wider audiences. The reception has been hugely enthusiastic and cinema screenings are catching that happy sell-out fever that plagues great theatre. 

2014 introduced us to real, raw theatre accessible to almost everyone and gently ushered out the shame-faced adaptations. We're living in an age where theatre is becoming a truly expansive experience and never has Shakespeare's timeless endurance (*pops a penny in the cliché jar*) felt more true. The buzz of sitting in a real theatre and watching the lights go down, knowing that an incredible group exercise of human imagination is about to unfold in front of you is undeniably a butterfly inducing excitement. But what is perhaps even more exciting is knowing that 2014 was the year theatre evolved, capturing just a touch of this magic and allowing the whole world a glimpse. 

      

To see what's coming up live from theatres in 2015, here's some links...

Digital Theatre

Live from the Royal Shakespeare Company

National Theatre Live