'Hamlet' at the Almeida Theatre

Last week we went to see the new 'Hamlet' on the block at the Almeida Theatre. It's Andrew Scott's turn to play our sweet prince with Juliet Stevenson as his mother, Gertrude. 'Hamlet' is a funny old play by Mr Shakespeare and one that many actors feel they have to do when they're successful and in their 30s. I've seen a few productions over the years and my first was Derek Jacobi back in 1978. I've seen bad versions (yes, you Michael Sheen, that was an awful production), versions I can't remember (the production with Jude Law in 2009 - I blogged about it so I was there but can't recall it at all) and blockbuster versions (Benedict Cumberbatch at the Barbican a couple of years ago).  And now the Almeida with Andrew Scott.

This new production is set in the here and now and has the added challenge of using technology, video screens, computers and video cameras beaming live to the big screen that raises and lowers occasionally. I don't actually have a problem with that provided it works and is done well. I don't think this is done well. For some of the critical scenes the court is sitting off stage with snippets beamed to the screen which means that we - most of the audience - can't really see them or what they're doing, especially if you're in the circle (which I was). So every now and then the main cast would vanish other than the odd flash of them. As well as being quite annoying it's also quite lazy - doesn't the director know that we can't see what's happening? Or don't they care because it's their vision and that vision must be right?

It was particularly annoying especially in the sword fencing scene when we need to see Gertrude's realisation that the wine is drugged and she will drink it herself (as this production plays it). We see snatches of this on stage as she drinks the wine but the moments before when she finally understands the position are missing. I call that shabby production.

On the plus side, I thought the cast were largely very good and spoke the verse well. Not all, but most hit the mark. I thought Juliet Stevenson was great as the happy newly married queen and later as the harassed queen trying to do the right thing. But then, of course, she would be. Peter Wight was good as Polonius, played on the verge of altzheimers but he brought life to the character. Angus Wright was the big let down playing Claudius, the murderous, ambitious, power-hungry wannabe king who played it all so diffidently I sometimes couldn't even make out what he was saying. How is that Claudius? Imagine John Le Mesurier in 'Dad's Army'.

And Andrew Scott? I thought he got it right, the right mix of madness and scheming prince, even catching glimpses of why characters like Horatio seem to believe in him and love him, something very difficult to achieve. But even he had some downer moments, like when he jumped up and down like a toddler in a temper tantrum beside Ophelia's grave (sorry, should it be a spoiler for anyone that she dies?). Hamlet has been sent to England, grown up and come to his senses by that stage of the play so the toddler impersonation made little sense.

The thing I really *hated* about this production was the final scene that someone has written when we see the dead characters hand over their watches to the gateman and enter the ongoing party in the afterlife... yes, I mean what? What on earth was that about? I couldn't believe what I was seeing or how trite it was. It spoiled the whole thing for me. And I'm starting to get angry just remembering it. Experiment with the play, bring new angles to it and keep it fresh by all means but, good grief people, at least have some taste and style and understanding.

The whole run is, I think, sold out so I'm sure it'll be a great success. Andrew Scott is clearly attracting his fan base to the show so it'll be good for him. Me? I wouldn't go again even if I could get a ticket.

The more I think about it, the more I think Rory Kinnear's 'Hamlet' at the National Theatre is possibly the best 'modern' production but, even with that, I had my doubts (bouncing on the bed with a duvet, anyone?). 'Hamlet' is a great play with some gorgeous poetry and excellent critical thinking and I hate to see it spoiled. Maybe I need a break from the play for a few years...?

Mind you, on the plus side for using the video camera and projecting it on the big screen, it meant that I saw Vanessa Redgrave in the audience. I last saw her in 'Richard II' at the Almeida last year so it's nice to see she's a patron as well.

'Poems That Make Grown Women Cry' at the National Theatre

On Friday afternoon the National Theatre hosted a small event in the Olivier Theatre before that evening's performance of 'As You Like It' (I still hate the ugly opening set). A new collection of poetry has just been published called 'Poems That Make Grown Women Cry' and, for 45 minutes, we'd hear some of the women who chose the poems in the book read them and talk for a few minutes about them.

The event was introduced by Kate Mosse and, after remarks from Anthony and Ben Holden (who edited the book), featured:

Edna O'Brien (first up and looking very glam and sparkly)
Jude Kelly
Maureen Lipman
Imtiaz Dharker (who has featured in 'Poems on the Underground' and I wrote about her poem 'Carving'  a few years ago)
Mariella Frostrup (reading a lovely Yeats poem)
Juliet Stevenson (looking very posh)
Elif Shafak
Vanessa Redgrave (reading Wilfred Owen)

The event was closed by Kate Allen, a director of Amnesty International that jointly published the book. She spoke about Chelsea Manning, an American soldier serving 35 years in prison for whistleblowing who wanted to contribute to the book but couldn't.

It was a lovely way to spend a Friday early evening, hearing the women who chose the poems read them aloud and explain what they meant to them. It was short and sweet and it was quite strange to be leaving the National just as most people were arriving for that evenings performances.

I got the book on the way out and was pleased see an array of other women who had contributed to the book, including Yoko Ono, Meera Syal, Olivia Coleman, Mary Beard, Julie Christie, Annie Lennox, Joanna Lumley and Bianca Jagger (who we saw in the foyer). Miriam Margolyes was also in the foyer but as a patron (it looked like she was going to see Ma Rainey's Black Bottom').

I shall enjoy exploring this book.

'Happy Days' at The Young Vic

Chris took me to see 'Happy Days' at The Young Vic with Juliet Stevenson. A Samuel Beckett play isn't going to be a happy go lucky song and dance extravaganza so I reconciled myself to that early on. This is that rare beast, a play that went down so well it's been brought back a mere 7-8 months after it closed, with the same cast and production. That alone says it's probably worth seeing.

It's not a play I'm familiar with so it was intriguing and puzzling by turns. It's virtually a long monologue for a single actress with the odd minor interjection from a largely hidden man every now and then. And that actress is buried up to the waist in the first half and buried up to her neck in the second half. What's that about? It means, of course, that the actress is very limited in what she can do to project her character and move the story along, particularly when buried up to the neck!

The stage is set as a gravel pit with a wall of rock behind down which, every so often, gravel slips and slides. Above is a white on white canopy representing a blinding sky. And there, in her nice blue patterned frock is Juliet Stevenson buried up to her waist in the gravel. When you first come in that part of the stage is covered by a tent under which she gets into place and then it's removed and she just sits there as the audience comes in. That must be incredibly tiring to be stuck in place the whole time. At the half time the tent comes out to cover her again and when she's uncovered she's buried up to her neck. I hope she hasn't been there the whole time.

It's that 'why' moment that lasts so long (and still goes on to be honest). Why is she buried in a gravel pit and why doesn't she get out? Is she trapped? Has there been an accident? What's going on? Is it a metaphor for something or a symbol of the state of modern society? Has the world ended and these are the last survivors? It's never explained or commented on so we just have to accept that she's buried in a gravel pit and that's the way the world is. Equally odd is her (presumably) naked husband who's hidden behind a rocky outcrop and we see his sunburned red raw shoulders and head every now and then with a few grunts and phrases and then he goes quiet.

Winnie and Willie are husband and wife  and we learn from Winnie's never ending chatter that they've had a life outside the gravel pit but we don't learn how they end up there. Winnie wakes and says her prayers, brushes her teeth, worries that she can't read the small writing on her tooth brush and tells us of the contents of the black bag beside her. The black bag that reassures her in ways that Willie can't. Every now and then she reaches in to remove some item or other and, every so often, she picks up a revolver which she returns to the bag. And she doesn't stop talking and the phrase 'happy days' keeps cropping up as she remembers happier times.

The second half opens with Winnie buried up to her neck, looking haggard and with the revolver in the gravel in front of her. She still talks to Willie but she assumes he's either left or died since she never gets a reply. How long has she been there? She still talks in her clipped middle class accent and then Willie comes crawling out from behind the rocks, fully dressed in a morning suit and hat as if it was his wedding day and crawls slowly towards her. Is he really there or is this Winnie transposing the present and her wedding day?

We'll never know because that's when the lights go out and, when they come back on, Winnie is still buried and Willie is lying there on the gravel, both still. We clap and clap and they stay perfectly still, and then we leave and they're still there. That must be one punishing play to put on night after night and being always on display to the audience. All I can say is 'wow'. It' a marvellous performance by Juliet Stevenson, ably supported by David Beames.

We left the theatre a couple of days ago and I'm still puzzling over the play - what's it about? what's it for? what am I meant to think? That's the sign of good writing and a good production. It's made me think and ponder. I've still got no idea what it's about but can accept that it just is so that's good enough for now. Y'know what? I think I'd like to see it again.

Shakespeare's Sonnets at the Royal Festival Hall

This evening I went to a rather unique event at the Royal Festival Hall, a reading of all 154 of Shakespeare's sonnets, one after another in order. The sonnets were read by a group of actors, six of whom I've seen on stage and four of whom I've seen in Shakespeare productions (sometimes more than once):

Simon Russell Beale
Maureen Beattie
Deborah Findlay
Oliver Ford Davies
Victoria Hamilton
David Harewood
Paterson Joseph
Guy Paul
Juliet Stevenson
Harriet Walter

The evening was split into two halves. The first started at 5:00pm with readings of sonnets 1-77 and the second half started at 7:15 with sonnets 78-154. The stage was bare except for stools, tables for water and microphones for the readers. I don't think I've ever seen that stage so bare. I booked tickets for this months ago when the only name involved was Simon Russell Beale so it was nice to see the readers expanded. Simon is still doing his 'King Lear' at the National Theatre so was in his severe Lear haircut and beard.

The readers took turns reading out a sonnet, sometimes a single sonnet, other times two or three that were linked in some way, starting with sonnet one and working up. They each had a folder with the sonnets printed inside. Simon Russell Beale read the first and last poems. Each of the readers brought something different to the sonnets, their interpretation of those 14 lines, and it was interesting to see how they presented the poems. Some presented directly to us in the audience, others seemed to just read from the folders.

I particularly liked Juliet Stevenson with her fresh approach to reading the sonnets - almost like cleansing the palette after something stodgy - and Paterson Jospeh who virtually acted out the poems and treated it as a performance, putting on a show for us. Both of their voices really worked in making me listen to the words, to the rhymes, to the pace, to what the words weren't saying as much as what they were. Both were very clear and unambiguous and Paterson, in particular, brought an element of fun to the poems he was given to read.

Not all of the sonnets worked. Sometimes I felt I was sitting there with random words flying by while others drew me in and made me want to know what comes next. It was interesting to see quite a few people in the audience with books open on their lap following the readings - not quite sure why, but I assume they enjoyed it.

The readers were projected onto a big screen at the back of the stage and I'm not sure this was a good idea. I found it quite distracting. I tried to watch the reader on stage, how they stood and moved, their gestures, rather than the close-up of their head and shoulders on the screen. The screen didn't really work for those who seemed to just look down at the text and read the poems. I sometimes just closed my eyes and listened.

I really enjoyed this event. I drifted off a few times and, with some of the sonnets, couldn't help wonder what on earth it was about, but I'm pleased I was there. I assume the feat of reading all the sonnets has been done before but not that I know about so it was good to be there for the event itself. I'd estimate that at least half of the audience was older than me - and some were rather old Shakespeare fans - and it was good to hear people talking about the poems and the readers at half time. We all respond differently to things like this.

There's one of the sonnets that virtually everyone will know, or at least the first line, 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'. That is sort of the big hit of the pack. So, while Simon opened the event and read sonnet one, the hit of sonnet 18 was given to Harriet Walter to read. And here it is...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.