Angels in America (Part One), NT at Home, ★★★★

Having experienced the disappointment of The Normal Heart last night at the National Theatre, I decided to re-visit another successful show, that I failed to see on stage at the Lyttelton Theatre in 2017, Angels in America. Thanks again to NT at Home, I was able to relax and watch the first part of this six-hour epic drama (in two parts) from the luxury and warmth of my home. 

I first saw these two parts by Tony Kushner, at the Lyric Hammersmith in 2007, a few weeks after I moved to London. It was quite an event at the time, and quite a struggle to think about sitting in a theatre for close to seven hours! Since then, with other shows like The Inheritance, Harry Potter and The Cursed Child and Hillary Mantel’s adaptations for the RSC, these two-parters seems to be quite popular. 

The iconic, and much praised Angels in America has been a hit amongst the gay community ever since it was first staged on Broadway as two parts, in 1993. Unlike the ranting, fact-filled, drama-documentary of Kramer’s The Normal Heart, Kushner’s Angels has a warmth of characters that you feel an instant attraction too, and therefore far easier to empathise with. 

The first encounter is a mixed bag of scenes and characters to set the pace, and feel  of New York in 1985. A city where an unknown disease or virus is affecting gay men, by the appearance of legions on their skin. We are introduced to the hypocritical Ray Cohn (Nathan Lane) a highly successful and feared, bully of a lawyer, and self proclaimed ‘heterosexual man’, who simply has ‘sex with men’, and therefore claims defiantly he ‘…is NOT ‘homosexual’. 

Joe (Russell Tovey) is the second character we follow, a married Mormon, who works for Cohn, but cannot bring himself to accept the suspicion that he is also gay. Trapped in an unhappy, sexless marriage with a clearly unhinged, hallucinating, valium-popping wife Harper (Denise Gough), who also suspects he prefers sex with men, despite being more worried about the hole in the ozone layer. 

Prior (Andrew Garfield) and his boyfriend Louis (James McArdle)'s story completes this first act called Bad News, of a broader Part One named Millennium Approaches, and again introduces us to two loveable characters who are facing a fight with this unknown virus. Prior is a flamboyantly dressed, fabulous drag queen, who prefers to embrace his femininity over his dull male embodiment. He's in a relationship with a troubled, Jewish, administrator Louis, who also works at Cohn’s company, with the aforementioned Joe.

The second act, In Vitro, moves the story on with Ray Cohn trying to get Joe to help him save his career and reputation, by going against all of his moral and theological beliefs. It also introduces us to Prior's mother, Hannah Pitt (Susan Brown) who sells her home in Salt Lake City, and relocates to New York, to care for her dying son. 

Joe and Harper’s relationship falls apart, as does Prior and Louis', and this introduces us to nurse and long-standing-friend of Prior, Belize (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) who tries to heal the rift between his friends.

But the third Act, Not-Yet-Conscious, Forward Dawning is way-out, off the register of making sense. It starts with Prior coming face to face with his dead ancestors of the same name, one of which is reputed to have appeared in the Bayeux Tapestry. Another scene,  sees loopy wife Harper in Antartica, trying to make sense of the ozone! 

Nurse Belize has a long-rambling scene with Louis, which began to make me suspect that all American dramatists enjoy showing off their knowledge, ranting on political, theological and philosophical theories, for paragraphs and pages on end. Maybe this is why Red Light Winter is equally admired in the USA?

This mass and messy, confusing series of scenes, reminded me of Anthony Nielson's first Act of his unforgettable The Wonderful World of Dissocia. My attention, patience and ability to take in this epic tale of these tormented souls, began to waver, as the past catches up with these characters and the lines between reality and imagination, good and evil, past and present become blatantly blurred. Too many ‘mad scenes’ and ‘talking nonsense’, as one of the characters commented.

The main problem with iconic, idolised plays, is that sometimes the emotion of the piece, blinds us to the weaker links. We forget these confusing moments and are scared of admitting we’re not sure what’s going on (or we don’t understand certain scenes), just because everyone else thinks they're great. Like the glossy and glitzy, expensive and expansive production of The Last Five Years I saw a week ago, I doubt I will ever see such a large-scale and spectacular production of Angels in America, as Marianne Elliot has given us here. Using her unique theatrical tool kit, and the powerful portrayals of her company, peppered with an amazing soundscape, music, set and lighting, this is the kind of production this epic vision and story deserves. 

I have no doubt that the crazy confusions in the third Act are completely necessary, as the unknown new Millennium approaches, be it in the form of an angel of death or a hope of survival from this sinister illness. In the face of death, they claim the past comes back to haunt us, or to help guide us over to a better place. Are we better facing it alone, or do we question our choices and repair broken bonds before we are unequivocally pushed onwards? 

One thing I did know, despite the confusion, tiredness and theatricality of the last three hours,  I couldn’t wait to see Part Two. Just not today. Maybe I could be seduced fourteen years ago with a few wines and a meal between these epic episodes, and the hype and excitement of being in a theatre, but these days, I needed a break, time to digest and properly appreciate what I’d just experienced. 

Angels in America (Part One), NT at Home,  ★★★★

The Normal Heart (PREVIEW), Olivier - National Theatre ★★

Last night, the Broadway production of the hit play The Inheritance won several Tony Awards at the ceremony celebrating all things theatre in 2020. I was so glad to hear this, as the production I saw twice in London - first the two parts at the original Young Vic, then the transfer over the river to the Noël Coward Theatre, was an emotional rollercoaster, from start to finish. Matthew López’s play was set in New York, and explores the love between gay men a generation after the AIDS epidemic.

 

Tonight, I’m at one of my favourite theatrical spaces, the illustrious Olivier theatre, the largest performance area at the National Theatre. I was glad to be back, my first visit since before the COVID closure, and especially after my rant yesterday about the NT's unfair ticketing policy. When I found my seat, in the circle gods, I was a bit shocked at what I saw on stage. 

My initial rushed reaction was ‘oh, this play, The Normal Heart must be set in some kind of factory’ , as the vision I saw on stage, reminded me of an urban council-built setting, like the set for Everyone’s Talking About Jamie or The Commitments. It took a few seconds for me to realise that this was no set, but rather a new seating bank, in order to create a round theatrical space, as opposed to the Olivier’s normal semi-circular, end on space. This is what I loved about the original Olivier, as it was based on the glorified Home of theatre, the Epidaurus ancient theatre, in Greece, celebrated for its exceptional acoustics.  

 

My heart did sink a bit, as one of the delights of the Olivier for me was this amazing complex stage that has created some of my most memorable theatrical images. From Frankenstien to War Horse, or the recently experienced Irish landscape for Friel's Translations. I really hope this ugly eye-sore of a seating bank is temporary, as I’d hate for every show I see here to be in the round. Having already mentioned The Inheritance, my thoughts returned to the original empty grey-traversed-space at the Young Vic, with a large company to fill it. Another similarity is the theme of both plays, as HIV and tragically AIDS are key to both productions.

 

Originally written in 1985, (a year after the last scene of this chronological play), Larry Kramer’s play feels like a long rant-filled, fact-fuelled attack on the American Nation, by an angry young man, fighting his grief. Semi-autobiographical, it centres on a loud-mouthed ‘bully’ called Ned Weeks (Ben Daniels) who is invited by Dr Emma Brookner (Liz Carr) to use his ‘big mouth’ to inform and warn the gay community, of the deadly dangers of this new unknown virus, that was killing so many gay men, in 1981. 

But in an age where being gay was not as openly accepted as it (thankfully) is these days, Ned’s anger is understandably acceptable, to a certain degree. Unfortunately, the ranting never stopped, and became addictive, and eventually several other characters joined in, which by 2021, I found to be difficult to hear and watch. All the emotion of the piece was completely starved of any oxygen until the last fifteen minutes. By that time, for me, I was lost. 

Back in 1985, I can wholeheartedly understand how raw, powerful and political this piece was, to their generation. A film version was also made about 2014, and I can only imagine that this too, with its vast cinematic canvas, would have been a memorable watch. But by 2021, especially after Russell T Davies’ far more powerful recent TV series It’s a Sin, plus my recent re-visit to Kevin Elliott’s My Night With Reg, and previously praised The Inheritance,  (all of whom had far more likeable, credible characters) I’m afraid this piece didn't excite me at all. 

With less talk of AIDS these days, certainly as a tragic death sentence it was back at the beginning of the 1980’s, and the rise in use of PrEP which protects people from catching the HIV virus, I felt the play had lost a lot of its power. I was only ten years old in 1983, so I only caught the fear of the epidemic through horrendous gravestone TV adverts and the ‘don’t die of ignorance’ warnings. From my cosy Welsh cocoon, I was lucky enough not to know anyone who caught or painfully died from the virus, well not openly known anyway. As all the tv and theatre shows named above recall, the fear and ignorance, the shame and the forced silence that accompanied this disease, especially within families, was as deadly as the virus itself. The emotional pain of the period comes from the appalling way these loved ones were treated, from deserted hospital wards to being bagged up and left outside by the garbage, as this particular play recalls.

Despite powerful and passionate portrayals by all the company, which includes Daniel Monks, Luke Norris, Dino Fletscher, Robert Bowman, along with aforementioned Carr and Daniels, I just didn’t enjoy the constant preaching and ranting, chronologically dictated, like a diary of a disaster. The majority of the blame must be aimed at director Dominic Cooke and set designer Vicki Mortimer, whom I can only suggest were trying to match the feel of a Greek tragedy, or the intimate no-frills flavour of The Inheritance. The dull, greying, bleak performance space didn’t help, nor did the lack of any soundscape or theatrical language to lift the dried dated dialogue, to assist a modern audience. The only true emotional stab came in the latter part of the second act, but tragically, like the virus itself, it was too little and far too late.

The Normal Heart (PREVIEW), Olivier - National Theatre ★★

Under Milk Wood, NT at Home, ★★★★★

As a proud Welshman, I’m always partial to a bit of Under Milk Wood. Those alluring lyrical phrases as time passes by each beautiful memory, of this sleepy Welsh village by the sea. So I was gutted not to be able to get a ticket to experience my fellow Welsh ensemble recreating this magical world on the Olivier stage, earlier this year. 

To be honest with you, it’s about time I had a rant about the ridiculous ticketing tiers of the supposedly accessible-to-all National Theatre. When I first moved to London, (nearly fifteen years ago) I always managed to buy reasonably priced tickets for the previews, or upper back seats of the Olivier. And I really didn’t mind where I sat, as I could clearly see all the stage from any seat (take note Lord Webber and his production team on his bad Cinderella!) But now, you have to study the long-list of release dates before you can even attempt to buy one. By the time the company and cast, then friends and funders, have all pre-nabbed their allocation, (dependent on how much extra money they pay each month to gain exclusive access via the tiers), there’s hardly any tickets left, for the general public. Especially during the pandemic, when the allocation was halved at best. 

It doesn’t seem fair at all, compared to other theatres who don’t receive a fraction of the Arts Council Funding or High Profile legacies of the NT, enough to have a theatre renamed after yourself! Bye bye Mr Cottesloe, hello hello Mr Dorfman! 

There really needs to be an inquiry into these unfair ticketing policies, as they clearly do not work for all. Then, when you finally do get through, they close the sales, to force you to stand in a long daily queue outside the box office, (realistically from 5am) if you want a chance at getting a day seat. It’s doable for the London loonies (including myself (in the past!)) who have nothing better to do with their day (mostly students!) but if you live out-of-town, you can’t plan anything. 

So, then you are lured into yet another money-making decision to buy a monthly or annual subscription to watch an oxymoronic recording of a filmed stage play, on your own TV at home. On one hand, it’s a handy option, if you don’t live in London, but the whole point of true theatre is to be in the same room as the actors, to experience the smells and sounds, the intensity and the imagination of the writer and director, live before your very eyes. Greek or Elizabethan drama never had access to such an option, so if you didn’t get to see Sophocles or Shakespeare’s works performed, then you were stuffed! Unless you could read of course, and unless the play was published, or you could afford the folio! But then a play is as dead as a dodo on page, as it could be on film, unless you do it with careful consideration,  creativity and in conjunction with the original director of the stage production, who is responsible for guiding your eyes to where he wants you to experience the action or feeling or reaction. 

Anyway, enough of my ranting. Despite my preference for a live performance, there was bugger all I could do about it, so I had to compromise on my visit to LlaReggub this time, and watched the NT at Home filmed version. 

You need to place iconic material such as the words and images of Dylan Thomas in the very capable hands of an actor, who not only understands them, but can breathe life into the piece. The lyrical melodic mass of words from this musical nation needs to be broken up, caressed and delivered with care and clarity, to make them sing beautifully. Thank the Lord for Michael Sheen. 

Bathed, if not drowned in his own visible sweat, this troubled ex-alcoholic and newly created grandson of the Reverend Eli Jenkins, in this new adaptation with 'additional material' by Siân Owen, is absolutely spectacular. Spellbinding and passionate, as was his portrayal of the Man, in National Theatre Wales’ three-day production of The Passion in Port Talbot, which I was lucky enough to experience as many minutes as we were allowed to partake of, ten years ago.

This production starts in a residential home, or a nursing home for residents with dementia. Sheen comes to visit his father Richard Jenkins (Karl Johnson) lost to this cruel illness. Despite his son's anger and determination to see and talk and ultimately seek forgiveness from his father, in this new opening scene, there were subtle hints of the original text and characters, cleverly conveyed by the elderly residents and staff. Through a clever device of an album of old photos and memories, Sheen desperately tries to awaken any kind of emotion or response from his father, who he fears does not even recognise him. Eventually, but totally credibly, enters us into the imagination of Dylan Thomas, as the original tale of this day-in-the-life of the residents of LlaReggub is reborn. 

The brilliance of Sheen’s delivery and handling of the piece, made me see and hear and understand images and words, some of which I’d not registered before. It was all underplayed with a great passion, as if the son was simply telling a story to his father, about their family and the world they both grew up in. Sian Owen’s deep understanding and ability to pull out threads of the original material and tie them into today’s story and events, was equally successful, and added a much greater emotional connection to the material on stage.

Embraced by an equally ageing ensemble of characters, both real and then recreations of the residents of this village, the whole production has an air of fresh quality and vision, on this original radio ‘play for voices’ which has soothed and swayed generations of listeners. 
 
Led by Dame Siân Phillips and other notable Welsh actors like Michael Elwyn, Gaynor Morgan Rees, Gillian Elisa and Ifan Huw Dafydd, it was an unforgettable honour for me to finally see and hear this show, be it only through a second hand televised experience. 

Under Milk Wood, NT at Home, ★★★★★

(but only ★ for the NT's unfair ticketing policy)

Relatively Speaking, Jermyn Street Theatre, ★★★★

I've visited a variety of theatres this week, from the grandiose Royal Albert Hall to the tiny fringe Turbine Theatre, hidden in the old redundant arches, near Battersea Power Station. Tonight, I descended the stairs, below the streets of Piccadilly, to visit the even smaller Jermyn Street Theatre, buried below the infamous home of the reputable menswear market, which boasts a 'worldwide reputation for high quality British artistry and craftsmanship'.

The play I chose to see can also boast to have a reputation for high quality British artistry and craftsmanship as it's the first major stage hit of the acclaimed and celebrated British comedy king, Sir Alan Ayckbourn. I first came across his four-hander play, Relatively Speaking in a Welsh translation and production at the now demolished and much loved, Theatr Gwynedd in Bangor, North Wales. What I'll always remember about this particular production, is the reveal of the set for the second scene of the first act. I shall come back to this revelation, later.

The plot appears to be a simplistic one, starting with a young couple, Ginny (Lianne Harvey) 'a young woman with a chequered past' and her 'current boyfriend', and soon-to-be fiancé Greg (James Simmons) who wakes-up in her flat, in London. Set when the play was originally written, around 1965, this gave the director Robin Herford and his set designer, the chance to introduce suitable motifs of the period to accompany the music, setting the scene perfectly. Despite the extremely limited performance space (which resulted in the producers having to remove the first row of seating after they began to sell the tickets!) the flat they aimed to convey, worked successfully. The major problem of this play is that the remaining 75% of the production is set on the outdoor garden patio of married upper-class couple Sheila (Rachel Fielding) and Philip's (Christopher Bonwell) home in Buckinghamshire. 

This transition from a dreary small London flat to the opulence of the outdoor garden, will always pose a problem for any set designer, and despite this particular production's rather clumsy stage-hands-in-the-dark removal of props, and a bed that turns into border benches, it was successfully completed in full view of the audience. To return to my Welsh literal revelation of the garden at Bangor, it was quite spectacular, as the curtain was pulled back to reveal a whole plant-filled conservatory, which took my breath away, and earned several "wows!" and applause for the audience.

The apparent simplicity of the plot then turns into a genius complex collection of miss-understanding and confusion, brilliantly conveyed by this excellent cast. I won't divulge any further plot clues, as it would ruin the experience, but I was again reminded of how clever this whole play is, carefully selecting just the right amount of words and dialogue, to make it completely credible and incredibly comic.

The only unexpected issue that arose at this performance, was the imminent and rather embarrassing departure of one highly-offended female audience member, who was unfortunately sat in the seat in front of me. Throughout the first act, she and her friend seemed to be really enjoying the comedy elements, laughing out louder than anyone else at Ayckbourn's entertaining comedy. But something clearly triggered her in the second act, which resulted in her determined departure through a fire-exit, mumbling something about having "had enough of this sh*t...", clutching her wine bottle and handbag, as she went. The only part of the dialogue that I can assume really offended her, was when Phillip was playfully and jokingly reminiscing about calling his 'daughter' rather unfortunate names, as a child. Naturally far more aware with the dated dialogue in the rest of the play, my relaxed entertained ears began to listen more carefully, and there were other minor references to what is now viewed as questionably non-politically-correct office behaviour by older males, towards their younger secretaries, too.

A rather unfortunate incident, which could have been caught at the previews. I do hope it will be remedied and removed before the next performance, in view of the delicate Me Too current climate. Surely these lines should have been discussed and amended at the read-through stage, as they clearly have the potential to offend.

Despite the additional drama in the second act, I really enjoyed this intimate interpretation of this clever comedic classic.

Relatively Speaking, Jermyn Street Theatre, ★★★★

Red Light Winter, Turbine Theatre ★★

If I haven’t heard of a play, or its author, I will always give them the chance to impress, or the benefit of my dramatic doubt. Off I went to the Turbine Theatre, hidden in the arches, nearby Battersea Power Station, to experience not only the work of a ‘finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for Drama’ but also the newly opened tube station, on the Northern Line.

The first disappointment was the discovery that the new tube station was not connected to the main Battersea Power Station social-hub of homes and restaurants. That meant an extra fifteen minutes rushed walk (with no signage) to try and find the theatre. Luckily, I had previously visited this colourful hidden gem, so knew where it was, which helped, but the major disappointment was the unexpected and unplanned distance from the station, which resulted in a rushed dash, and a just-in-time arrival. 

The second disappointment was the play, Red Light Winter by American playwright Adam Rapp. The play started in a hotel room in Amsterdam, shared by friends, writer Matt (James Burman) and party animal Davis (Freddy Sawyer). The play opened with a verbal vocabulary-fuelled vomit of ranting and American theorising which felt like an inexperienced author trying to impress. It was as unfortunate as the opening suicidal attempt by depressed writer Matt, clearly included to shock, without giving us time to understand why. 

The next unexpected and completely unnecessary action was the return of Davis, who immediately stripped naked, just to change his boxers, before getting dressed again. This clearly was also meant to shock, tantalise or even just to lure an audience, and to justify the warning in the hype of the play of the ‘scenes of an adult nature, strong language and nudity’ which always sells (especially male nudity, which seems an important selling point of all the productions I’ve seen at this theatre!) 

The tirade of tiresome American ranting about everything and nothing, was a complete turnoff, which explained the need for the unneeded nudity. The major fault of such an opening was to create two characters which I didn’t give-a-damn about. Eventually, we were introduced to the third character Christina (Tian Chaudhry) one of the ‘window women’ of Amsterdam, who had been paid by Davis to cheer up depressed Matt, with her sexual seduction. Again, unfortunately, the amount of cannabis and cocaine consumed by Davis and Christina made the whole scenario unconvincing, and would have resulted in both of them just crashing and burning, as this play should have done, before being published.

When we finally got to the story, after the author had clearly run out of things to rant about, we then entered phase two which included a completely random unrequited love-song sung by Christina, which may have been included to show-off the playwright's lyrical ability! The detailed critical song analysis that followed, by an apparently suicidal depressive, was again unneeded and just unacceptable, as was the whole plot of this bad-choice play to be produced.

Things slightly improved in the second act, but not enough to save this production from being critically slaughtered by my colleague and myself. It then turned into a play-within-a-play, with major plot holes involving timing, more out-of-the-blue cathartic preaching analysis, and a very uncomfortable misogynistic mess.

Victor Lirio's production was flawed with faults, as was Carly Brownbridge and Joel Williams' set and lighting designs, with many questionable choices about layout, period and atmosphere. Artistic Director Paul Taylor Mills must also take some of the blame for the unfortunate choice of play, and nudity policy.

At the end of September 2021, I'd much rather have a blue Indian summer than this Red Light Winter, any day.

Red Light Winter, Turbine Theatre ★★ 

(second ★ for the sincerity of the acting alone)

Blithe Spirit, Harold Pinter Theatre, ★ ★

They claim fame sells, and I can’t disagree. Theatre Producers have latched onto that notion for centuries. I was recently tempted to drag myself to Windsor to see Sir Ian McKellen’s current season at the Theatre Royal, but I couldn’t fit his last week of Hamlet into my busy week; but I am tempted to go visit The Cherry Orchard, next month. 

I too, have certainly been guilty of buying tickets because of the actors; be it a few Dames like Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, Penelope Wilton, Helen Mirren or Eileen Atkins, and a few Knights like the aforementioned McKellen, David Suchet, Michael Gambon. There are numerous others that can be included, and no doubt will soon be honoured too, like Zoë Wanamaker and Imelda Staunton.

Tonight, it was Jennifer Saunders on stage, in a role that I was lucky enough to see Dame Angela Landsbury star-in, seven years ago.  Since then, Dame Judi has also appeared in a film adaptation, so I suppose you can argue the material must hold a particular charm. When I first saw the hype about Ms Saunders appearance as the infamous Madame Arcati, (that all the dames seem to be destined for!), I did want to see this production of Noël Coward’s Blithe Spirit. To be honest, I thought this production was a continuation tour of the production I saw Dame Landsbury in, a few years ago. 

The main reason was the unfortunate similarity of the costumes and poses in the publicity shots. But it soon became apparent that this production at the Harold Pinter Theatre, directed by veteran theatre director, Richard Eyre, was a new venture.

The trouble with Coward’s plays, is the need of an English upper-class twang in the delivery, in order to make the play sing. I’ll never forget my first experience of this in the West End production of Private Lives, a eleven years ago. Get this right, and the whole play travels beautifully. But pitch it wrong, and it becomes like a spoof comedy sketch, for the BBC in the 1940’s! Unfortunately, in the first act, this is what this production felt like, and I kept expecting to see Ms Saunders comedy sparring partner Ms French, bouncing in, to complete the comedic pay-off. 

This comedic ghost story is well-known; its about widowed writer Charles Condomine (Geoffrey Streatfeild) who lives in a lavish country house with his second wife, Ruth (Lisa Dillon). In order to satisfy their curiosity in the name of research, they invite the eccentric medium Madame Arcati (Jennifer Saunders) into their home, to hold a seance. The seance is carried out after their dinner party with the local doctor and his wife, where Charles’ ethereal first wife Elvira (Madeleline Mantock) crosses over, back from the dead, in order to torment him. 

The main comedy thrust of the play is derived from the conversations between Charles and his invisible wife, which is misinterpreted and miss understood by his fellow housemates. The other comedic element is the clumsy rushing maid (Rose Wardlaw) which is a key character in the whole piece. I’m afraid that Wardlaw's attempt was as timid and weak, as the set. What should have been solid and grand, was far more flimsy and wooden, with the hardboard doors, cheap curtains and the photographic canvas garden a big disappointment. Minor errors which could have been overcome by easy remedies. 

Ms Saunders greatly improved in the second act, where her comedy timing and excellent stage presence made her stand out from the mediocre melodramatic fellow company members. But unfortunately, the dreadful choice of cheap, tv sitcom music, which crept in towards the end of each scene, amplified the cheap melodramatic mess on stage. This was unfortunate and unforgiving for such an experienced stage director. 

I’d like to suggest it’s worth seeing, purely for the staring-role of Ms Saunders, but with the cheapest tickets at £15 in the Royal Circle (with the Balcony clearly not sold) and its incovenient restricted view of the set, and the accompanied unfortunate loud on-off sound of the follow-spot, I wouldn’t bother. Rent the new film version, and spend the evening at home with Dame Judi, with a full view, a stronger company and no jobsworth ushers!.

Blithe Spirit, Harold Pinter Theatre,  ★ ★

The Last Five Years, Garrick Theatre, ★ ★ ★ ★

When I first heard the music of Stephen Sondheim, it took a few repeated soundtracks to truly fall in love, and admire his musical language. But with musical theatre composers such as Jonathan Larson and his show Rent or Jason Robert Brown’s 13, The Last Five Years or Songs for a New World (equally passionately idolised by musical theatre students), I’m still trying to find that passion, to include them in my favourites memory box.

So when the opportunity came to revisit Jason Robert Brown’s two-hander, about a failing relationship between a husband and wife over The Last Five Years of their married life, I jumped at the chance. Originally staged at the Southwark Playhouse for two sold-out seasons in 2020, it has now transferred to the Garrick Theatre, for an ‘extremely limited run’ of four weeks. This glossy flyered production held high expectations. It was also re-staged to coincide with the annual celebration of all things musical at Trafalgar Square, the annual stagey soirée of West End Live, a stone’s throw from the theatre. 

I knew I’d seen another production of this piece, years ago, but I couldn’t remember where or by whom. Whilst queuing to enter the theatre, I suddenly recalled a production by the students at the Guildhall, back in 2010. Leading that production was a newly graduated Freddie Fox.

As expected, the Garrick was impressively full, with a predictable majority of young students. We were introduced to a soundscape of a busy urban city, most probably New York. Revolving on stage, under a circle of blue lights, was a grand piano, teasing the musical feast that followed.

The show started with a series of effective and dramatic flash-back snapshots, introducing us to Cathy (Molly Lynch) and Jamie (Oli Higginson). Lit up behind them were three impressive tall initials, L5Y, covered in hundreds of bulbs. Not only was this an illuminating production, but clearly an electrifying expensive one too. 

With a clever book and lyrics, revealing Jamie’s story from the start of their relationship to its end, while Cathy’s story is in reverse. It’s a lovely idea, especially as we build-up and then backwards, towards the collision of their paths. There  were beautifully captured moments like when Jamie opens an empty bracelet box, ready to show his fiancé, while she ends his song, by replacing the bracelet, rather than receiving it. What ties the two stories together is the grand piano, which allows the other muted partner to mimic accompanying their partners song. Another clever number was Cathy’s audition for a job as a singer, deconstructing from the final finished stage performance to the nightmare of the first audition. 

I’ve always believed you need to see a solid, credible production of any show or play, before you can  judge the merit of the material. I learned this from an early age after witnessing horrendous productions of the Shakespeare plays, which can put you off for life, missing out on the brilliance of the Bard. This is also true of musicals, and I can honestly say, with its mesmerising portrayal of the passion and heartbreak, along with their perfect diction and delivery, this is probably the best production I’ll ever hear and see. Lavishly supported by a live band that embraces their emotional journeys through their passionate playing, this is a production that will be hard to forget. 

The same attention-to-detail and praise must be given to the direction and overall designs of the show, from the set to the lighting, the soundscape and movement. An ironic successful marriage of material and masterful decisions, which shows off the best qualities of the piece.

But as I left the theatre, the only melody that stayed in my tired head was Stephen Schwartz’s Corner of the Sky from Pippin, which I’d heard at West End Live, earlier in the day. So I’d finished where I started, pretty much like Cathy in the show. A very memorable production but a mediocre unmemorable score.  This left me with another problem;  how many stars to assign?. If it was purely for the look and feel and delivery of this production, then I’d happily give five stars. But unfortunately, the score and my overall enjoyment which lapsed a little with the last five songs, I could only manage a meagre three. So I’ll be kind, and meet them in the middle, awarding a safe shiney stagey four stars.

The Last Five Years, Garrick Theatre,  ★ ★ ★ ★