Review: I Am A Camera (Rosemary Branch Theatre)

New company Cornelius Cooke Productions make a vivacious debut with a rare revival of John Van Druten’s 1951 play I Am A Camera.

It is based on Christopher Isherwood’s autobiographical novels set in Berlin during the rise of Nazism – which in turn inspired the musical Cabaret.

The play is set in the bedsit occupied by aspiring writer Christopher and nightclub singer Sally Bowles, and Van Druten excels at making these hedonistic characters likable. Director Owen Calvert-Lyons maintains a fast, farcical pace, rather like a sitcom punctuated with moments of bleakness, while Amy Yardley’s set beautifully evokes seedy bohemianism. These friends, preoccupied with partying and cultivating Americans with unlimited wealth, fail to realise that they are living in extraordinary times, the hideousness of the growing gangs of Nazis in the streets only hitting home when witnessed first-hand.

The heart of the piece is the somewhat one-sided friendship between Chris (Mark Jackson) and Sally (an entrancing Vicki Campbell), who talks faster than she can think and leaves others to tidy up the debris she leaves behind. Jackson is equally impressive as her less flamboyant counterpart, particularly when hinting at Chris’s ambiguous love life.

Caroline Wildi is deliciously clipped as Sally’s mother and arch-nemesis. Erika Poole also impresses as Fraulein Schneider, the ever-helpful landlady with a heart of gold who fortunately knows the local abortionist’s telephone number – alongside the fact that she also represents the brainwashed majority that helped Hitler rise to power.

This is a sparkling tribute to mark the 25th anniversary of Isherwood’s death, a captivating snapshot into another world that’s delivered by a remarkable team who have set themselves a very high standard.

Written for Islington Gazette. Disclaimer: the print version was really kind of savaged.

Review: Autumn and Winter (Orange Tree Theatre)

All things Scandinavian seem to be quite ‘in’ at the moment: Swedish crime drama is all the rage and there was a Woman’s Hour feature last week about how Nordic cuisine is currently the most fashionable in the world. In the Orange Tree Theatre’s latest production, Swedish playwright Lars Norén is given a rare English-language outing with this angsty and shrill family drama directed by Derek Goldby and translated by Gunilla Anderman.

Norén’s writing and emphasis on domesticity are somewhat reminiscent of the nervous hysteria found in Alan Ayckbourn (of whom I’m not a fan) and Mike Leigh’s mixture of character driven humour and gloom. This slice of middle class misery takes place after the two adult daughters drop in on their parents for a family dinner and all kinds of resentments are brought to the fore. The premise is perfect for the Orange Tree, where the audience is gathered around the perimeters of the living room (designed by Sam Dowson – the uncomfortable-looking sofa is a fitting touch), but it is let down by the clunky writing, with a sense of the characters competing as to who can be the most miserable and ‘issues’ being ticked off as if on a shopping list; abortion, divorce, eating disorders, etc.

The main perpetrator of the misery is the dungaree-clad Ann, a down-on-her-luck single parent obsessed with her supposedly horrible childhood, who blames all her misfortunes on her mother. In contrast, her elder sister, Ewa, is a linen-suited, French-pleated and frightfully smug corporate high flier, who chimes in with the cracks in her seemingly ideal life, and Mum follows suit by blaming her husband for everything. Everybody is keen to have their say but no one is willing to listen, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that the same points go around in circles and no one reaches any kind of understanding by the end.

Lisa Stevenson, in the showiest role, is at times ferociously volatile as the ever hard-done-by Ann and Kristin Hutchinson is perfectly pinched as overachiever Ewa. Diane Fletcher’s Mum is harder to pin down, presenting an icily detached façade, but gradually reveals herself to be just as much of a drama queen as Ann. If Osmund Bullock (splendid in The Thunderbolt) as Dad spends much of the show blending in with the furniture, it isn’t really his fault as his ineffectual character has so little to do.


With six bottles of wine imbibed by the end of the evening, plus various nightcaps of port, whisky and brandy, it’s remarkable that anyone can string a sentence together – and no one bats an eyelid at Ewa driving Ann home. Ultimately, a fairly aimless wallow in Nordic angst.

Written for A Younger Theatre

Review: Uncle Vanya (Arcola Theatre)

 

 Following on from their production of Anna Karenina (by Birmingham’s Piano Removal Company), the Arcola remains in Russia with Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya (a co-production with Coventry’s Belgrade Theatre), a play, which like Tolstoy’s novel, also features a young wife in an unfulfilling marriage with a much older husband.

This new version by Polish-born director Helena Kaut-Howson and Jon Strickland, who plays the title role, aims to move away from the “fossilising reverence” often found in English translations of Chekhov, extracting the full potential of the farcical elements that run concurrently with the disillusionment of so many wasted lives. Kaut-Howson’s fluid approach, strong performances from the entire cast and the detailed period design offer a glimpse into a long vanished world of country estates and lace parasols, but much of it is universal, particularly the frustration felt by the characters whose purpose in life is to do supposedly cleverer people’s work for them.

Sophie Jump’s three quarters in the round design helps to break down some of the potential distance between the characters and the audience, perfectly evoking the clutter of a picturesque but slightly distressed country estate. Alex Wardle’s atmospheric lighting hints at the heady indolence of a balmy summer afternoon full of familial and erotic tensions that can only be hidden under a mask of ennui for so long. The use of incidental music (by Boleslaw Rawski) gives the busier scenes an effectively cinematic quality, but is a little overly emphatic in some of the more reflective moments.

The return of Professor Alexander Serebreyakov (a suitably curmudgeonly performance by Geoffrey Whitehead) and his beautiful wife Yelena to his country estate interrupts the order maintained by the estate managers, his daughter, Sonya and brother-in-law, Vanya. Vanya’s misplaced hero worship is perhaps what’s most hurtful of all, being deceived that dedicating his life to the service of a genius was a noble thing to do, and the devastation of discovering that his brother-in-law’s ‘talent’ was based on delusion. Likewise, the environmentalism of Sonya’s unrequited love Dr Astrov (a charismatic Simon Gregor) is equally in vain, in which pioneers of change, rather than making improvements, simply repeat the same mistakes of the past.

Jon Strickland’s nervy Vanya is not a repressed genius, but a man who, like anyone given the right opportunities, could have achieved more. Marianne Oldham is luminously languid as the “regrettably faithful” second wife with “mermaid blood.” She has the power to set all the male hearts aflame, initially appearing to be something of an unknowable ice queen, but provides one of the most emotional moments with the burst of joy when she and her stepdaughter fling their arms around each other and finally come to an understanding.

Most poignant of all is Hara Yannas’s Sonya, who seems unbearably young to have her dreams crushed so completely. She’s imbued with a grim determination to get on with the dull work she’s been sentenced to, which prevents her from appearing like a victim. On the contrary, there is something heroic about her refusal to give in to self pity, particularly when she is surrounded by pervading melancholy that seems almost contagious.

Written for Exeunt