Posts Tagged ‘Ted Hughes’

Review – Crow – Handspring at Greenwich Dance Borough Hall

June 21, 2012

A world famous puppetry company, singlehandedly responsible for the National Theatre’s currently positive balance sheet. The poetry of one of Britain’s most famous 20th century writers. Put them together, and you’d get something magical, like Cats.

Or maybe not.

Two days after seeing Handspring Puppet’s Crow, I amazed that no one saw fit to stop this train wreck. There are some puppets, if this is what you came for. I recall a moment of naturalistic beauty as one first lifted its shiny black head to look upon the world. And there is some interesting poetry that, early on, gave hope that the evening might soar.

However, it’s the eye-burningly bad modern dance that drags the show down. The movement is not so much uninteresting as actively ugly, only tangentially related to the spoken word (which is actually in short supply). Watching the actors shuffling around on the floor, disassembling puppets, smearing grease on each other, feigning amorous interest, and generally giving their best, I feel sure their sincerity meant they had yet to figure out they were involved in a monsterpiece.

The crow puppets actually made it all worse. Was the emotional climax of the play really the moment when the pale penis of a man-sized crow creature becme erect? It’s an image that is burned in my mind, to be sure, in part because it marked the point of when I realized the evening was lost. As the crow chased a long haired actress lustily around the stage, finally disappearing into a cavern with her, I wondered if it could get any worse. Then the dome at the center of the stage cracked, and a giant crow beak poked out. The night tipped into pure absurdity for me, as I relived the key moment of an amateur production of HP Lovecraft’s “The Shunned House,” in which all of the evil of a small town is made clear by the grand reveal of an ELBOW of some giant monster, rather unconvincingly rendered in carved foam. (Read the full text here and imagine the moment.) Crow had crossed into parody, and I let myself giggle away the rest of the evening.

It’s amazing how a really bad show can make one hour and ten minutes seem like an eternity, but I knew it had to end soon enough; many of the other audience members were unable to wait even that long, however. We walked out in silence. Will it be revived? I think: nevermore.

(This review is for a preview performance that took place on Tuesday, June 19th, 2012. Crow continues through July 7th. If it helps, imagine this show at the performance given my the gang of bankrobbers to the old ladies’ art society in The Ladykillers. It kind of works!)

Review – Phedre – National Theatre

June 9, 2009

Tonight was my birthday treat to my friend Cate, a trip to the National to see Phedre. I didn’t know much about it (I love it when the first viewing of a show is a complete surprise, though I seemed to remember a bit of the plot) and had mostly purchased tickets on two points: first, that this was the play mentioned by Proust over and over in In Search of Lost Time, and, second, for some reason the National was restricting ticket purchases to four seats per person. Fine, then, it must be something special, or so I reasoned – possibly the fact that Helen Mirrim is playing the lead role. So I got seats long before the show opened – and for a preview performance, natch! (NOTE: It’s been pointed out that I spelled her name wrong. Oops. I’ll correct it for the rest of the review but I feel I need to leave it as stands to support the criticism.)

As we approached the theater, such good luck! Who was on the astroturf sipping a French red but Andrew and Phil of the WestEnd Whingers! Phil attempted to point out what they called “real celebrities” to me (some Dame Shawn somebody and someone from an American sitcom I never watched, details on their review), but it couldn’t distract me from the fact I had two of the funniest guys in London sitting around and shooting the breeze with me. It was really a good start to the show.

After which … well, if you’ve never seen a Greek drama, you should know there is a kind of formula they follow. A proud character announces that he is going to go against the will of the gods, and, once he leaves the stage, a messenger appears and tells you that he’s met a terrible fate pretty much before he reached the wings. It’s rather like working at a start-up web company, really, listening to people talk about how rich they’re going to be or the CEO promising what a success his unresearched product will be once it hits the market “and is properly monetized.” Phedre actually has two ridiculously proud characters (Theseus – Stanley Townsend – and his son Hippolytus – Dominic Cooper), and two characters with heavily conflicting emotions (Phedre and Hippolytus) requiring them to go against the will of the gods. All of the “action” takes place off stage, and there is (as is usual) no intermission (leading to a two hour running time, which meant no pre-show wine with Phil and Andrew).

I think a lot of your ability to enjoy Phedre will depend on how you like this formula. I remembered partway through the show that the last time I saw one of these plays, even the presence of Alan Cumming half naked could not save the evening for me. Consider yourself warned; God knows I found myself wishing I had remembered this earlier.

While there are certain problems with Greek drama in general that afflict this play, Helen Mirren has the disadvantage of representing her incestuous step mother as just too old to be convincing as a person that Hippolytus might ever consider, making all of her mewling utterly unresonant. (A Mrs. Robinson would have actually been a contender as someone with enough juice to make a lusty spring/autumn fling a possibility). Furthermore, even though her character is supposed to be mentally unbalanced, Mirren herself was having a hard time riding the line between hysteria and calculation, especially at the balancing point that would have caused me, as an audience member, to be truly sympathetic to her plight. I didn’t feel sorry for her and she didn’t seem to have a grip on the impossibility of what she wanted even if there were no husband in the way – how could I get involved in her emotions enough for this to resonate as a tragedy? I’m hoping that after the show has a bit of time to settle down she’ll draw back the performance to the right level to pull the audience in, to make them care more about Phedre (and less about “Ooh, it’s Helen Mirren on stage” looking very much like herself). Time will tell.

Meanwhile, Hippolytus is arrogant but almost immediately brought into human scale by his love of Aricia (Ruth Negga, pretty and strong); but his blustering father is utterly unsympathetic as the “I shall curse thee immediately for pissing me off” king. (It’s required for the plot, but when you see someone acting so quickly without thought, you kind of want them smacked down a bit.) That meant of the three leads, only the son was sympathetic, despite initially being a prig. He is truly an innocent in this drama, but is also, I think, the more compelling of the three actors, hitting a good middle ground between GLOOM and DOOM and just being flat. At any rate, I didn’t find him painful, which is hardly an overwhelming thumbs up but, well, it was a bit hard at times to notice him while the people around him were tirading.

Brilliant in the midst of all of these histrionics is Theramene (John Shrapnel), the messenger who comes in to tell of Hippolytus’s death. His outrageous tale of a wave that becomes a sea monster that doesn’t kill Hippolytus but instead leaves him free to be dragged to death by his horses (a tale so drawn out I was sure it was providing cover for Hippolytus to actually get off of the island) reallly came to life, finally providing a sharp moment for all of Ted Hughes’ glorious verbiage (especially alliteration). Sadly it was brought down almost immediately by Theseus, who fell to his knees and said, in stentorian tones worthy of the Prince Vultan of the Hawkmen, “My son!” (Later Aricia drags his bleeding, bagged body onto stage for the final scene, and when the curtain open for bows, my comment was, “My, he sure did get out of that bag quickly!” But, you see, we were all in need of some laughs at that point.)

My companions said: “It was painful, but I’m glad I got through it – kind of like a mammogram.”
And: “Phedre – is that Greek for ‘house full of nutters’?”

Afterwards we sat down and actually had some wine, and it was very pleasant. Soon, the experience will fade from all of our minds, though hopefully I’ll remember that I really just don’t enjoy Greek drama and shouldn’t go, no matter how much Proust has written about the play in question.

(This review is for a preview performance seen on June 8th, 2009. Phedre continues at the National through August 27th.)