L’Amore Del Cuore (Heart’s Desire) by Caryl Churchill – Coronet Theatre, Londo

Published at Plays International.

Italian company lacasadargilla bring their touring production of Caryl Churchill’s short play, A Heart’s Desire, to the Coronet Theatre, home to quality European theatre. Very few venues in the UK specialise in drama from the Continent. Arguably there are none beyond the Edinburgh Festival, so we should be very grateful to Artistic Director Anda Winters. The quality of stage work outside the UK, in countries such as Belgium, Ireland and Germany, is often very high. The instinct to push expectations and explore the boundaries of the form lies at the heart of theatre culture in a way rarely seen in the UK mainstream, and lacasadargilla exemplify this spirit of challenge. So does Caryl Churchill. Undoubtedly our greatest living playwright, she does not receive the hometown love she deserves and seems more appreciated elsewhere. It falls to an excellent Italian company to revive an essentially forgotten play from 1997. L’Amore Del Cuore fully affirms the quality of Churchill’s work.

Three family members sit around a table, waiting for their daughter whose homecoming is expected any moment . The dialogue keeps starting again, as they repeat the same lines with variations in tone and content. Different versions of the scene play out, driven by the stage directions which are read out, subtitled from the Italian along with the dialogue, by a fourth character (Fortunato Leccese) who occasionally enters to play the family’s wayward son. The repetitions are freighted with suppressed violence. Francesco Villano, as the husband, is a menacing stage presence, working himself into a frenzy of accusation against his wife (Tania Garriba), sometimes in a whisper, sometimes a table banging fury. Sister-in-law Alice Palazzi is stuck awkwardly in between. As the repeated scenarios develop, the drama becomes surreal and disconcerting, combining Ionesco with Pinter. In one version, gunmen notionally burst onto the set and mow the cast down. In another, a giant, unseen bird interrupts the action leaving the cast gazing speechlessly up at the circle.

The play is very technically demanding, requiring the dialogue to be performed at double speed, or lines to be edited down to only their final word, and accompanying gesture. The cast are more than up to the job, exhibiting highly impressive timing and physical skills. Director Lisa Ferlazzo Natoli choreographs the show brilliantly, aided by a cast who accelerate unerringly from zero to sixty in a thrilling hour that is entirely involving, despite its formal experimentation. Churchill’s play is funny and disconcerting, but underneath it is an exploration of how people really think, rather than how they are conventionally presented on stage. The multiple versions of the text reflect both the writing process, constantly rethinking and redrafting, and the rehearsal process, playing lines in different ways before settling on a final version. In turn, L’Amore Del Cuore reflects the overlapping thought processes taking place when any group of people interacts. It represents the impossibility of true communication and understanding, with our true thoughts concealed by rituals and obscured by social expectations. Churchill’s writing is moving as well as clever, sharing strong bonds with Beckett. lacasadargilla’s production is a fine evening’s theatre – challenging and entertaining, leaving the audience delighted at what they have experienced.

Jo Fong and George Orange. Photo by Sara Teresa.

The Rest of Our Lives by Jo Fong & George Orange – Battersea Arts Centre, London

In the two years since I first saw The Rest of Our Lives, the trigger notice outside the theatre with its warning of ‘middle aged content’ has started to seem slightly more relevant. The excellent Jo Fong and George Orange have been touring their show about being a certain age since the 2022 Edinburgh Festival, and it remains an absolute delight. Although clearly never quite the same from one night to the next, their performances remain recognisable, and scenes return with just as much impact as they had on first viewing. The show is a serious of set pieces which appear minimal but, on closer inspection, require both significant discipline and physical stamina. Jo and George fit themselves through the frames of metal chairs, entwine , and support one another physically, illustrating themes of interdependence without ever saying so. George sometimes look as though he’s about to do something very reckless, and everyone including Jo is relieved when he doesn’t. Nevertheless, his physical presence is powerful, as is Jo’s in a more contained way.

The Rest of Our Lives uses music in an inspired way, from Hosier’s ‘Take Me to the Church’ which supplies ironic drama to Rage Against the Machine’s ‘Killing in the Name Of’, which the pair simply grimace along to, until Jo eventually bursts out with the single ‘motherfucker’ in the chorus. It’s very funny. The show is also an unusual shared experience, into which the audience is happy to throw themselves. A mass game of ping pongs using several bags of balls and lot of bats gets everyone in the mood and then the surtitles that seem to be in charge of the show open up the stage to the audience. It becomes an increasingly sweaty disco as pretty much everyone gets stuck in to some tunes well-chosen for the 40s plus demographic. It’s remarkably cathartic, and Jo and George have lighted upon something with their instinctive audience connection. The Rest of Our Lives is subtle and experimental, but also accessible and joyous – a rare combination.

Roger Evans and Michael-Sheen. Image by Johan-Persson

Nye by Tim Price – National Theatre: Olivier, London

Tim Price’s new play about Aneurin Bevan, directed by Rufus Norris on the Oliver stage, is a political biography told from the hospital bed which Nye will not be leaving. On morphine, his terminal cancer kept from him by his wife, fellow MP Jennie Lee, he relives a hallucinatory, often surreal version of his life, from the son of a Tredegar miner to Britain’s most successful left wing politician. As Bevan, Michael Sheen puts in a performance that the whole play revolves around, sometimes literally as nurses wheel dance bed-bound patients around the ward, fellow politicians bear him aloft, and the production threatens to break into song and dance. Sheen is powerful, expertly conveying Nye from a small boy to a dying man with nothing more than changes in physical behaviour, always wearing the same pair of pyjamas.

Norris’ direction brings an intoxicatingly surreal air to much of the production. A bullying teacher stalks the stage with two giant canes, like a spider. Parliamentarians advance on Bevan in menacing chorus line. A South Wales library comes to life, offering its books to the young Nye. The play’s main problem is that this intentionally cartoonish style works against the political analysis that provides its credibility. Political documentary plays are much harder to get right than we imagine, post-James Graham and, while ‘Nye’ is highly informative, it also begs questions. For instance, the treatment of Jennie Lee, excellently played by Sharon Small, seems reductive. It is impossible to know what basis the scenes in which she refuses to tell Nye how ill he is, before realising she way wrong, have in truth, but they seem to throw a woman who was an important politician in her own right under the bus for dramatic effect. There is also an overall sense that the play is only open to the mildest of criticism of its central hero.

Nevertheless, there is much to admire in the show. The cast have an excellent time, with some enjoyable weird performances – Nicholas Khan as a sneering Neville Chamberlain, Tony Jayawardana as a hilarious Churchill, Stephanie Jacob as Atlee in a bald wig, and Jon Furlong as a gleefully malicious Herbert Morrison. Kezrena James also stands out as a compassionate but practical nurse, the representation of the system Nye established against determined opposition, including from some in his party, and from the British Medical Association, who prioritised their members’ personal interests over the collective until the last possible moment.

Vicki Mortimer’s set, consisting of hospital screens that pull across the stage, at one point forming Commons benches, is very clever. The play’s timing is not accidental. The conflict between right and left in the Labour Party has clear messages for the current Opposition, and indeed Ed Miliband was in the audience the night I saw the play. The National Theatre has an important role in delivering new perspectives on our history to influence the way we move forward, and ‘Nye’ definitely does that. There is no bad time for a reminder of the reasons the NHS was set up, the entrenched interests that opposed it, and the benefits it has provided, but this is a production with an urgent message about the decisions we will, as a nation, make very soon.

Brian Cox and Patricia Clarkson. Photo by Johan Persson.

Long Day’s Journey Into Night by Eugene O’Neill – Wyndham’s Theatre, London

Eugene O’Neill’s most famous and successful play has a reputation as a gruelling watch, spanning nearly three and a half hours, and tracking the misery inherent in a family which closely resembles that of the author. But the best stage actors cannot keep away, drawn by two leads that are among the best parts available. The latest in the long line are Brian Cox as James Tyrone and Patricia Clarkson as Mary Tyrone, who are not an intuitive pairing but turn out to be brilliant. Jeremy Herrin’s production is set in a empty New England holiday let designed by Lizzie Clachan, which has never provided the home Mary has sought all her life. Cox’s plays James as a bear of a man, full of the actor’s charisma that drew Mary to him when she was young, but also of desperation, which breaks through when he picks up a whisky glass. He commands the stage with an actorly presence which carries echoes of Olivier, one of whose last great stage performances this was. Tyrone’s failure to play the great roles he craved, having settled for the easy money, also carries interesting echoes when spoken by Cox, whose career has veered away from the stage.

Tyrone is the still-living embodiment of a dead actorly tradition, but his wife Mary is a ghost. Addicted to morphine, she has been pushed into the background by the demands of her husband’s touring life, her own life subsumed. Patricia Clarkson is simply brilliant in the role, giving Mary a directness and realism that chills and moves. The play’s final scenes, where she describes the religious vocation she gave up to marry Tyrone, is a remarkable climax. The play’s other characters include the couple’s sons – alcoholic Jamie (Daryl McCormack) and Edmund (Laurie Kynaston), ill with tuberculosis. Jamie hovers on the brink of self-destruction, barely in denial any more, although McCormack’s portrayal sometimes lacks the unpredictable edge the character needs. As Edmund, Kynaston is vulnerable and angry. Louisa Harland sparkles in the small part of the maid, Cathleen, who she fleshes into an unmistakable character in her few scenes.

O’Neill’s play is by no means perfect – some suspension of disbelief is needed to take these people at face value – but it is fascinatingly bravura writing, which fuses the personal and the political in the tradition of Ibsen (who O’Neill acknowledges in an aside). Long Day’s Journey raises issue which, shocking in the 1950s, remain current – women’s control over their lives, the US medical system, opiates, depression, failure and families. Herrin’s production is an excellent account.

Sarah Richardson. Photo by Jacob Cox.

Sun Bear by Sarah Richardson – Park Theatre, London

Published by Plays International.

‘Sun Bear’, written and performed by Sarah Richardson, is an excellent piece of writing. Richardson, playing Katy, has nothing but an office desk and chair, and a pot of pens, and she is focused on the latter. At first, she seems amusingly furious with her work colleagues over small things – pen stealing, lunch orders, social invitations. This makes a lot of sense – after all, who hasn’t wanted to tell their colleagues what they really think of them. But we soon begin to realise that Katy’s anger crosses the blurry boundaries of socially acceptable behaviour, and that she is trying, and failing, to escape the impact of an coercive relationship. Although she has left her abusive boyfriend, fear continues to fill her head and haunt her life.

Richardson’s performance and writing work together exceptionally well. She draws the audience into her rollercoaster story immediately and keeps them on the edge of their seats for an hour, with nothing but the occasional lighting change. Not a word is wasted. She is very funny, but her writing is disciplined and everything in the service of the story. Richardson gives a gripping and entirely convincing account of what is like to live with someone who controls every aspect of your life. The play’s title refers to a species of small bear which is vicious when eventually roused, a metaphor left to do its work unexplained. ‘Sun Bear’ is just Sarah Richardson: no creatives are credited apart from the lighting operator. It is a serious achievement, a quality work of great promise. Richardson has won awards already, and will surely win more. 

Alys Williams. Photo by Ant Robling

The Light House by Alys Williams – Park Theatre, London

Published at Plays International.

The Light House is written and performed by Alys Williams, who trained at the École Jacques LeCoq clown school. It is her debut play, developed through a programme at Leeds Playhouse, and shows considerable promise. The piece is highly personal, dealing with the suicidal depression of someone close to her, and leaves some of the audience in tears. However, Williams’ achievement is to make her experience of trying to care for her friend and navigate hostile healthcare systems involving, and a positive collective experience. The purpose of the show is, she says, to be together for an evening and deal with things we usually have to handle while “adulting on our own”. Audience involvement, which Willams handles lightly and with great charm, plays a constant role, filling in the missing characters in her story.

Williams explains her experiences through the metaphor of the ‘man overboard’ procedure on ships: shouting and whistling to raise the alarm, throwing a lifebuoy and then pointing for as long as it takes. This theme is restated rather too often during the show, but acts as a neat metaphor for the terrifying experience of trying to save someone who is drowning in despair. The show, directed by Andrea Heaton, includes moments of clever physicality, including the use of an anglepoise lamp as a puppet version of Williams’ friend, and a brief sequence of expressive and moving clowning. A simple wooden box set by Emma Williams creates a neat range of spaces. Alys Williams is an immensely likeable performer, with a rare ability to hold an audience. ‘The Light House’ is focused on her personal experience, but would gain significance with the addition of some wider context (for example, the show raises, but does not answer, many questions about the Irish healthcare system). Her talent for physical expression could also be used more extensively. However, as a first time playwright Williams has a success on her hands, and her progress is clearly worth tracking.