IN THE old chestnut of a cliché  ‘Where were you when ….. happened?’

Well “Where was I on so called freedom day?” At Malvern Theatre watching Four Quartets by TS Eliot amongst a mask-free, ordinarily-distanced audience. The rear foyer doors to the magnificent patio were open for the first time and the buzz of theatre lovers returning to normality resounded everywhere – a joyous experience!

Left to own devices a few folk still wore masks around the foyer and bars but I didn’t spot one in the auditorium itself. Everyone was respectful of each others space – there was no jostling for position at the bar just smiles amongst strangers

.

Picture by Matt Humphrey. s

Apart from the end of lockdown celebrations, we were gathered to pay homage to one of our greatest theatrical practitioners – he of the green eyes and silken tones, the glorious Ralph Fiennes.

Four Quartets is a one-man show based on four TS Eliot poems, directed and performed by Fiennes himself. As the curtain rises, Fiennes, whilst the house lights are left up, struts barefoot onto a set consisting of two huge, dark-grey rectangular tablets, designed by Hildegard Bechtler. He sits and engages us in eye contact, as the lights slowly fade down. For the next hour and 17 minutes he barely pauses for breath and word perfectly takes us through the quartet of  Eliot poems – Burnt Norton,  East Coker,  The Dry Salvages and Little Gidding

The opening programme note offers TS Eliot’s quote which he gave when asked for an explanation of the poems. He replied: “It is not exhausted by explanation and means what it means to different sensitive readers.”

One could be forgiven for saying this is the language of ‘cop-out’ – in fairness I gave up trying to search for meaning and rather just let the words wash over me and enjoy the experience on a different level to that which I would normally enjoy theatre.

The tablets moved silently like living and observing entities twixt and between each segment – inventive lighting design by Tim Lutkin made them appear at times to have faces and places emerging slowly from within, illusions of course, this Pandora’s box of phantoms, visible only to the individual watcher and interpreter.

This is an evening like no other – you have to clear your mind of clutter and let Fiennes work his sorcery as he meditates on the nature of time, faith and even a personal crusade in search of spiritual enlightenment.

To my simple mind this is Eliot’s 1943 version of Don McClean’s equally mystical 1971  ‘American Pie’, which has been the subject of many interpretational debates over countless traditional rye bourbon and dry ginger ales.

On return from Malvern, ‘Four Quartets’ discussion continued in the ‘rose’ garden alongside pizza and wine late into the night.

The tour continues before moving to into the Harold Pinter Theatre in London’s West End for an season.

Four Quartets has four more days to run (it ends on Saturday, July 24).

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

****

Review by Euan Rose.

Euan Rose Reviews.

THIS OUTDOOR production of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion by The Crescent was a night of blessings and none

of them mixed – just an abundance of delights.

Picture by Graeme Braidwood. s

Take the venue on this leg of the tour, ‘Harvington Hall’ near Chaddesley Corbett – a jewel of moated house with walled gardens and secret passages. To think I’d passed the sign oodles of times but never ventured down the lane before. I shall most certainly return to explore the mysteries of the house itself.

I have said many times over the last few weeks that my job as a reviewer has allowed me the joy of sharing with casts and audiences the emergence of post-lockdown theatre and this was another first – an unmasked audience in the open air. How wonderful to observe audiences expressions and to hear unmuffled laughter.

To sit and enjoy a glass of wine and a Cromer Crab pre-show was also a hedonistic treat.

Picture by Graeme Braidwood. s

The company entered through an arch of tumbling roses and for all intents and purposes the years melted away like being in a time warp.

In the opening scene, the unwashed laughed and tried to turn a coin from the gentry who in turn were seeking taxicabs to whisk them away to their world of privilege.

Thankfully the vendors didn’t break into an opening chorus of ‘Loverly’ – Pygmalion is of course Shaw’s original song-free tale of flower girl Eliza Doolittle’s journey from gutter to manor and vulgarity to elegance.

Director James David Knapp has drilled his troupe well in the art of outdoor performance – everything a little bigger. a shake of the head rather than a roll of the eye and above all else aim your voice at the back row and beyond.

Picture by Graeme Braidwood. s

Basics established, now Knapp can let rip with the players telling the tale. The furniture is stripped to bare bones of a few representational boxes and the odd hand prop – but costume designer Stewart Snape bedecks Knapp’s production splendidly in a never-ending bevy of delightful frocks.

Naomi Jacobs plays Eliza Doolittle full pelt from the off – taking no prisoners. Her wails, whines and slovenly posture are a veritable, one-level assault on the senses. Mercifully the flower seller undergoes an early make over.  Jacobs is as delightful once her diction and deportment are perfect, as she was annoying pre-transition.

Skye Witney is quietly commanding as Mrs Higgins, Henry’s mother. Her presence is always comforting and when she speaks, even her arrogant son takes notice.

Liz Plumpton performs a pretty impressive double as housekeeper Mrs Pearce and socialite Mrs Eynsford-Hill. Her character changes were seamless as too were her quick costumes switches. Plumpton’s duos were clever and confident,cool and competent.

Picture by Graeme Braidwood. s

Ray Stafford added strength to the line-up with his intelligent, almost laid back approach to Eliza’s dustman dad. I’ve never seen it performed so uniquely.

Ella-Louise McMullan and Jordan Bird both give pleasing cameos as Clara Eynsford-Hill and her bother Freddy whilst Martin Tedd turns in a respectable outing as Colonel Pickering.

Colin Simmonds as professor of phonetics Henry Higgins ticks all the boxes and then some. He is amusing, annoying, engaging, boorish, childish and profound all on cue and all with a reserve of energy that bubbles along merrily without boiling over. Simmonds is an actor of immense talent whose Crescent performances are always something to savour.

I must give a special shout-out to the duck that decided to give his own show by nibbling at the open-sandaled toes on offer in the front row.

It was indeed an evening of magic and mirth where it was a delight to be in the audience.

Catch the next leg of the tour at Blakesley Hall on Saturday and Sunday, July 24 and 25.

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

****

Review by Euan Rose.

Euan Rose Reviews.

HEATRE followers know a play by American playwright David Mamet is not going to be a comfortable night, but rather to expect an assault on your senses.

Although it was first premiered way back in 1992, ‘Oleanna’ is no exception, indeed it has an extra relevance as it is now post ‘Me-too’ and all the changes that has brought about.

The word ‘masterpiece’ seems fitting but of course masterpieces require squeezing like a ripe orange to drain every drop and must be treated as if the writer himself were in the audience to observe and nod approval. Director Lucy Bailey does Mamet proud and so do her company of two – Jonathan Slinger and Rosie Sheehy.

Slinger plays John Pullman, a university lecturer and published writer at the top of his game. At the start of the play he is awaiting university tenure and a healthy pay rise, which he is going to use to buy a new house befitting his upcoming status. Sheehy plays Carol Styles, a student at the bottom of the educational ladder – the polar opposite to John. She feels as much a failure as John feels a success

Both Slinger and Sheehy give gladiatorial performances as the three acts take us on a journey that is a cross between a theatrical rollercoaster and a tough day at Wimbledon.

Slinger peels layer after layer from the smooth John – every students ‘pin up’ tutor. The chirpy tutor exudes confidence from every pore in act one, loses the shine in act two and descends into a train wreck in act three.

Sheehy turns from wallflower to sunflower over the same three acts as she changes into the ‘Cruella Deville’ of students.

The set, by Alex Eales, is John’s spacious, book-lined university office. At the opening John is on the phone and seated at his main desk, at his back is a much smaller desk where Carol sits cowed and awkwardly. When he turns it is to a position of dominance, over his incumbent student. Beyond Carol’s desk is a sofa and a floor lamp, which not too subtly cries ‘casting couch’.

The plot’s main theme concerns sexual harassment but Oleanna is so much more than that – it is about power, misogyny, misplaced political correctness and ultimately assassination by another name.

Oleanna starts quietly and ends in breath-taking violence. We are left to review over and over again the rights and wrongs, the lies and truths. It is oh-so clever – a masterclass in acting and direction as much as it is a masterpiece in writing. I am recommending this production highly but with a warning – it’s not for the faint–hearted.

If you were wondering, Oleanna is the title of a 19th century Irish folk song about utopia.

It runs until Saturday, July 17.

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

Review by Euan RoseEuan Rose Reviews.

THIS REVIVAL of Michael Frayn’s 1998 Tony award-winning drama from Theatre Royal Bath and Jonathan Church Productions is a challenging show both for cast and audience.

It is a cerebral piece surrounding conversations about complex theoretical physics and a factual meeting which took place between two atomic scientist giants, during 1941 in Nazi occupied Copenhagen. It demands concentration, skilful direction and depth of performance.

Director Emma Howlett stepped in for the original director Polly Findlay, who took it right up to technical rehearsal before the second lockdown kicked both the launch and her involvement into touch. Howlett was assistant director so was obviously in the best position to take up the reigns. The combination joins up most of the dots and makes for a unique – if fazing – piece of theatre.

It is set somewhere in some form of afterlife where our protagonists relive the same meeting over and over again without reaching agreement on what the outcome actually was.

The trio of actors offer pretty much flawless performances.

Malcolm Sinclair as Danish Scientist Niels Bohr, looking alarmingly like Channel 4’s Jon Snow at times with his ‘pay attention’ gazes, runs the whole gambit of emotions as he ponders over what was actually said at the meeting.

Philip Arditti plays Bohr’s old protégé and friend, the German-Jew Werner Heisenberg, whose main cry to fame was formulating the ‘Uncertainty Principal’ in quantum mechanics.  He is gregarious but with a soft underbelly at times revealing he is aware (though chooses to ignore) that but for the grace of physics he would be in a concentration camp.

Haydn Gwynne is the cement between the bricks as Bohr’s wife Margrethe. Sometimes scathing of the men’s bickering and then saccharine sweet at their friendship – almost in the same breath. For me, Gwynne takes the top prize. Apart from her energy and power, her delivery makes the story a little easier to follow.

Both Bohr and Heisenberg worked towards creating an atomic bomb, Heisenberg for Germany and Bohr as part of the successful team that created said bomb which brought about Japan’s surrender. We of course know that outcome now, but what if this meeting had gone a different way? What if these two giants had fused together to create nuclear fission giving Hitler the ultimate weapon of mass destruction? A sobering thought.

To be honest, I found the evening heavy going – audiences need space in which to reflect, but in this piece there was none. The constant need to try and work out whether we were now in the afterlife or back in 1941 was over challenging and my mind wondered to what was happening in the modern day man semi-final tussle between Italy and Spain rather than what might have been three quarters of a century ago. I am sure it’s a great night out for purists and I salute all those involved – but I found it more of a squib than a banger.

Copenhagen runs at the Malvern Theatres until Saturday, July 10.

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

Review by Euan Rose

Euan Rose Reviews.

AS WE come out of lockdown and the beginning of the end of artistic darkness forced on us by ‘that virus’, I am revelling in my privileged position as a reviewer, witnessing the rebirth of live theatre.

This night was even better as it heralded the launch of a brand new performance space as well – The Prince of Wales Pub Theatre in Moseley, Birmingham.

All credit to joint-impresarios Becky Jones-Owen and POW general manger Sterling Archer on this welcome initiative. Sterling? Where have I heard that name before? Ah yes, a chap doing rather well for our national football team at the moment. Ironic, then, that this first show  ‘1902’ is all about football.

It is a play about four Hibernian football fans who have tickets to the 2016 Scottish Cup Final to see their team play Glasgow Rangers  – 1902 in the title being the last time Hibs beat  Rangers.

This is though a play that uses football merely as one level of a piece which takes the audience on a 75-minute roller-coaster ride.

It all kicks off when his chums find that Derek ‘Deeks’ Longstaff  (Nathan Scott-Dunn) has borrowed £1,000 from local long shark and sadist Samuel ‘Sambo’ Donaldson (Gregor Copeland) to pay for their match tickets – without a plan B of how to pay it back. Scott-Dunn (who also wrote the play) and Copeland give superlative adrenalin-driven performances amongst a cast that exudes energy and dynamism with every word and gesture.

Sands Stirling, who also directs, plays Deeks’ hard man and drug dealing alcoholic brother Tony. Deeks’ pals comprise Johnny Tulloch as Craig Turnbull, Cameron Docker as Thomas ‘Zippy’ Collin and Josh Brock as Frank ‘Frankie’ Armstrong.

The final member of the company is Ella Stokes who turns in a stellar performance as Bonnyrigg barmaid Margaret ‘Mags’ Evesham – a silent observer for the first third of the show until she explodes like a demented Jack-in-a-box that jumps right out of the box and proceeds to wreak havoc on all in her path. Her decking of Tony with a tin tray was iconic moment to savour.

A special shout out too for Sandy Bain, who links things together with his guitar-playing and vocal work.

There are many twists and turns in ‘1902’ ending in a stunning kick-by-kick, goal-by-goal narration of the legendary match itself.

This is an inspired piece of theatre, beautifully crafted by the writer and passionately performed by a flawless company. The setting is perfect – we are locked in a ‘wee pub’ ironically within a real pub.

It’s a bold and brash and I cannot recommend it highly enough, grab a ticket if you can.

1902 by The Saltire Sky Theatre Company runs until Friday, July 8.

Click here for tickets.

Review by Euan Rose.

Euan Rose Reviews.

ALAN Ayckbourn is the only notable British writer that confines his talent to purely writing for the stage. For over six decades, his people observations, viewed from a multitude of auditoriums, has made us laugh and cringe in equal measures.

‘Absurd Person Singular’ premiered in 1972 – two decades into Ayckbourn’s career and when he really started to dig his fingers deeply into the stuff of middle class souls.

Ayckbourn also sets his plays in unlikely places – here the three acts are set in three kitchens on three consecutive Christmas Eves.

The company consists of three couples – the Hopcrofts (Paul Sandys and Felicity Houlbrooke), the Jacksons (John Dorney and Helen Keeley) and the Brewster-Wrights (Graham O’Mara and Rosanna Miles). Director Michael Cabot is well served by them all – with both carefully carved individual performances and exquisitely integrated ensemble work – even through to doing their own scene changes.

The curtain opens on the Hopcrofts, who’s kitchen is so clean you could eat off the floor. It also contains the new wonder gadget – a washing machine!

Sidney and Jane maybe the ‘hosts with the most’ but it soon becomes evident that they consider themselves at the bottom of the social ladder pecking order, and their neighbours treat them accordingly. Snide comments abound as the hapless duo turn in desperate circles to please and impress their betters.

Act Two and it’s Christmas Eve at the Jacksons, where Eva sits in silence writing out suicide notes in amongst the debris of a neglected kitchen – here a giant dog rules roost. Bullish husband Geoffrey bounds in full of Christmas spirit – it transpires he told Eva at breakfast he is leaving her for a younger model – but not ‘til Boxing Day, so they can enjoy the festive season like adults. They have forgotten Christmas Eve guests coming and whilst Geoffrey answers the doorbell, Eva tries various ways to kill herself.

Enter the Hopcrofts where Jane misreads Eva staring at the oven as her desire to clean it rather than turn on the gas and end things – natural gas having not yet arrived to make this an impracticable solution.  Jane goes to work with a bottle of Vim.

The Brewster-Wrights appear and whilst Marion hits the bottle, Ronald tries to fix a broken light. Sidney brings some order to the chaos whilst he unblocks the sink , which Eva has filled with pills.

The pecking order has changed. The Hopcrofts may be the below stairs, or rather below sink and oven couple but they are issuing orders rather than taking them.

The final act is set in the plush kitchen of the Brewster –Wrights – but how the mighty have fallen – Marion is now an alcoholic rarely leaving her bedroom and Ronald has big money problems to the point of not being able to afford heating.

Eva and Geoffrey arrive on this third Christmas Eve where Eva is back in control of their relationship and a chastened Geoffrey has turned from hound dog to poodle.

The Hopcrofts are not invited but turn up anyway dressed in expensive clothes and bearing poignant gifts. They are now despised but feared and well and truly at the top of the ladder. They reduce the others to objects of ridicule, puppetry and servitude.

This is a historical as well as hysterical piece – I had forgotten that back in the early 70s you wore a suit to go for dinner at the neighbours, you invited your boss and his wife to dinner and planned the event with military precision.

Christmas was the time when offices were crammed with expensive gifts from suppliers. Husbands gave wives presents of spin dryers and irons and went to the pub on Sundays whilst the wife prepared the roast. It’s easy to forget how far society has evolved.

Today the cooking is shared whilst one of the parents takes the children or grandchildren for a swim or a kick about in the park (pre-Covid of course).

We may not be totally classless or colourblind yet, but those of us who are old enough to reflect on this era can look back with incredulity and not a little discomfort on how we were.

‘Absurd Person Singular’ is a highly enjoyable classic black comedy on a national tour by the London Classic Theatre Company; catch it till Saturday, July 3 at Malvern and then at many other theatres throughout the rest of the year.

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

Review by Euan Rose.

Euan Rose Reviews.

ALAN Ayckbourn is the only notable British writer that confines his talent to purely writing for the stage. For over six decades, his people observations, viewed from a multitude of auditoriums, has made us laugh and cringe in equal measures.

‘Absurd Person Singular’ premiered in 1972 – two decades into Ayckbourn’s career and when he really started to dig his fingers deeply into the stuff of middle class souls.

Ayckbourn also sets his plays in unlikely places – here the three acts are set in three kitchens on three consecutive Christmas Eves.

The company consists of three couples – the Hopcrofts (Paul Sandys and Felicity Houlbrooke), the Jacksons (John Dorney and Helen Keeley) and the Brewster-Wrights (Graham O’Mara and Rosanna Miles). Director Michael Cabot is well served by them all – with both carefully carved individual performances and exquisitely integrated ensemble work – even through to doing their own scene changes.

The curtain opens on the Hopcrofts, who’s kitchen is so clean you could eat off the floor. It also contains the new wonder gadget – a washing machine!

Sidney and Jane maybe the ‘hosts with the most’ but it soon becomes evident that they consider themselves at the bottom of the social ladder pecking order, and their neighbours treat them accordingly. Snide comments abound as the hapless duo turn in desperate circles to please and impress their betters.

Act Two and it’s Christmas Eve at the Jacksons, where Eva sits in silence writing out suicide notes in amongst the debris of a neglected kitchen – here a giant dog rules roost. Bullish husband Geoffrey bounds in full of Christmas spirit – it transpires he told Eva at breakfast he is leaving her for a younger model – but not ‘til Boxing Day, so they can enjoy the festive season like adults. They have forgotten Christmas Eve guests coming and whilst Geoffrey answers the doorbell, Eva tries various ways to kill herself.

Enter the Hopcrofts where Jane misreads Eva staring at the oven as her desire to clean it rather than turn on the gas and end things – natural gas having not yet arrived to make this an impracticable solution.  Jane goes to work with a bottle of Vim.

The Brewster-Wrights appear and whilst Marion hits the bottle, Ronald tries to fix a broken light. Sidney brings some order to the chaos whilst he unblocks the sink , which Eva has filled with pills.

The pecking order has changed. The Hopcrofts may be the below stairs, or rather below sink and oven couple but they are issuing orders rather than taking them.

The final act is set in the plush kitchen of the Brewster –Wrights – but how the mighty have fallen – Marion is now an alcoholic rarely leaving her bedroom and Ronald has big money problems to the point of not being able to afford heating.

Eva and Geoffrey arrive on this third Christmas Eve where Eva is back in control of their relationship and a chastened Geoffrey has turned from hound dog to poodle.

The Hopcrofts are not invited but turn up anyway dressed in expensive clothes and bearing poignant gifts. They are now despised but feared and well and truly at the top of the ladder. They reduce the others to objects of ridicule, puppetry and servitude.

This is a historical as well as hysterical piece – I had forgotten that back in the early 70s you wore a suit to go for dinner at the neighbours, you invited your boss and his wife to dinner and planned the event with military precision.

Christmas was the time when offices were crammed with expensive gifts from suppliers. Husbands gave wives presents of spin dryers and irons and went to the pub on Sundays whilst the wife prepared the roast. It’s easy to forget how far society has evolved.

Today the cooking is shared whilst one of the parents takes the children or grandchildren for a swim or a kick about in the park (pre-Covid of course).

We may not be totally classless or colourblind yet, but those of us who are old enough to reflect on this era can look back with incredulity and not a little discomfort on how we were.

‘Absurd Person Singular’ is a highly enjoyable classic black comedy on a national tour by the London Classic Theatre Company; catch it till Saturday, July 3 at Malvern and then at many other theatres throughout the rest of the year.

Click here for times, tickets and more information.

Review by Euan Rose.

Euan Rose Reviews.