The Frontline at the Globe is sold as an edgy piece of theatre, suitable for the young, hip and happening*.
The Globe wasn’t full when I visited, and that always affects the dynamics in this theatre, making it harder to get everyone warmed up . The play is set outside a tube station, and we quickly meet some regular characters, including a hot dog salesman who performs the function of narrator and interpreter at key points. The ‘turn off your phones’ message is delivered as a rap, and the opening scene includes a happy clappy gospel number which, combined with the leaflets being handed out to the groundlings, makes the exhortation to come and be ‘saved’ feel suitably appealing and uncomfortable at the same time. There are some pretty stock characters, the tart with a heart, the young wild lad heading for trouble (actually there are a few of them!) and an aspiring actor using a phone box to make increasingly desperate attempts to get someone to attend his performances. The simultaneous storylines and overlapping speech do a good job of simulating the experience of standing in a busy street corner, catching odd sentences as they come into earshot. This certainly means you have to concentrate but made it more interesting and rewarding when you did actually catch what was being said on the other side of the stage. It reminded me a bit of Market Boy at the National theatre, but the use of the Globe performance space did take things to a new level. This is definitely a play that would be killed dead by a proscenium arch.
The programme includes a mini introduction about British imperialism and it tried hard to discuss the plight of people pitched up in the middle of London as flotsam and jetsom far from families and familiar cultures. Despite the obviousness of the some of the agenda, overall it worked, and the effect was to get me interested and involved so that I did care about the characters and what happened to them.
So, an enjoyable and interesting night out. What also struck me though is that although this play was discussing many themes similar to England People Very Nice, it largely reinforced my own views. This made it quite comfortable and reassuring, and much as that is very nice, it didn’t really challenge me in the same way. Overall, I think that is a bit of a shame.
Another thing that made me really sad was that when about half a dozen young black lads in hoodies wandered in to join the groundlings I immediately thought that they must be part of the cast. Even worse, I was right. Wouldn’t it have been great if I was wrong, and all I had to confront was my own assumptions?
*these choices of phrase may highlight how near (or possibly how far) my own finger is from the pulse of contemporary culture.
Saturday, 23 May 2009
Friday, 8 May 2009
Monday, 4 May 2009
England Person Still Bemused
Well, I've been mulling it over for a few weeks now, and I'm still no closer to a conclusion on England People Very Nice. So, I've decided just to put my thoughts down anyway.
The play we see is ostensibly written and acted by some immigration detainees awaiting letters to tell them whether they can stay in Britain, and this device is given a little shake every now and then to remind us that this is just a play and an interpretation of events.
The first half consists of a series of short episodes showing waves of immigrants to Bethnal Green being persecuted, falling in love and integrating, with the same actors playing similar characters in each scenario. Racist language and viewpoints are given plenty of airing, as are pretty much any racial or cultural stereotyping you can think of, and this is both unsettling and very funny.
The second half settles down to tell the story of immigration during and after the second world war, using similar devices as during the first half, with another series of cross cultural romances. However, this time the integration is portrayed as stuttering along, and I didn't quite know what to make of that.
Another thing I couldn't quite decide about was the drama workshop feel about some of the scenes, as if the characters and situations had been given to a group of 6th formers in Surrey to see what they could make of it. As the play is ostensibly workshopped by the immigration centre detainees, at one level this could be quite clever. That didn't stop it feeling a bit clunky though.
Does the play use unacceptable stereotypes? Yes. Does it intend to be racist? No. Is it unintentionally racist? I still don't know.
The intention seems to be to show the wider sweep of immigration and how the same pattern of the shock of the new, followed by intermingling, followed by integration and new waves heading out to Redbridge and the suburbs is followed by each succeeding group. I can see that we were supposed to put the various stereotypes in context, and the fact that this often felt very uncomfortable is probably quite important. It felt uncomfortable because many of these stereotypes are still live, but at another level it could equally be misinterpreted as revealing some kind of (quite banal) truth. And therein lies my difficulty. I can quite see how this could be taken as an attack on immigration or on various cultures.
On balance though, although (or perhaps because) the play has plenty of flaws, this was something well worth seeing. It has made me think through my cosy lefty views, and although I have ended up where I started, I have been on an interesting journey.
The play we see is ostensibly written and acted by some immigration detainees awaiting letters to tell them whether they can stay in Britain, and this device is given a little shake every now and then to remind us that this is just a play and an interpretation of events.
The first half consists of a series of short episodes showing waves of immigrants to Bethnal Green being persecuted, falling in love and integrating, with the same actors playing similar characters in each scenario. Racist language and viewpoints are given plenty of airing, as are pretty much any racial or cultural stereotyping you can think of, and this is both unsettling and very funny.
The second half settles down to tell the story of immigration during and after the second world war, using similar devices as during the first half, with another series of cross cultural romances. However, this time the integration is portrayed as stuttering along, and I didn't quite know what to make of that.
Another thing I couldn't quite decide about was the drama workshop feel about some of the scenes, as if the characters and situations had been given to a group of 6th formers in Surrey to see what they could make of it. As the play is ostensibly workshopped by the immigration centre detainees, at one level this could be quite clever. That didn't stop it feeling a bit clunky though.
Does the play use unacceptable stereotypes? Yes. Does it intend to be racist? No. Is it unintentionally racist? I still don't know.
The intention seems to be to show the wider sweep of immigration and how the same pattern of the shock of the new, followed by intermingling, followed by integration and new waves heading out to Redbridge and the suburbs is followed by each succeeding group. I can see that we were supposed to put the various stereotypes in context, and the fact that this often felt very uncomfortable is probably quite important. It felt uncomfortable because many of these stereotypes are still live, but at another level it could equally be misinterpreted as revealing some kind of (quite banal) truth. And therein lies my difficulty. I can quite see how this could be taken as an attack on immigration or on various cultures.
On balance though, although (or perhaps because) the play has plenty of flaws, this was something well worth seeing. It has made me think through my cosy lefty views, and although I have ended up where I started, I have been on an interesting journey.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Three Days of Rain
I actually went to see England People Very Nice last night, but I'm still digesting it, so in the meantime I thought I'd tell you about Three Days of Rain instead.
This was another play seen on a bit of a whim, and another result for bargain theatre-going, with a balcony ticket bought a day earlier, converted into a circle ticket on the night.
The play is sold as jigsaw puzzle theatre, the audience being required to provide the thought (and presumably the nice padded tray) to put the pieces together. The question then becomes whether this is going to be an impossible 5,000 piecer or one designed for toddlers and clumsy fingers. Actually, although it wasn't anywhere near as tricksy as it thought it was, it was just about complicated enough to feel a mild sense of achievement at working it out.
The play starts with James McAvoy's first character addressing the audience directly in a broad american accent that threw me a bit at the start, but was soon assimilated into everything else going on. The basic structure is that the first half shows three people dealing with the aftermath of their parents' lives, and their attempts to interpret them, whilst the second half shows what actually happened. The dual roles where each actor played both the parent and child was very effective. The main revelation of the second half was easily guessed at, but there were plenty of other little lightbulb moments to keep me interested, and a very satisfying 'Ahhh... so that's it..' moment at the end which caused a little murmered ripple through the audience.
I loved the staging, particularly the curtains of rain, although I kept getting distracted by the puddles, and I thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictibility of some of the props - does the fruit roll about every night I wonder?
A family drama with enough unresolved points to keep me mulling them over for a day or so, and worth seeing for all sorts of reasons despite the critics, but James McAvoy's stammer is worth the price of the ticket by itself.
This was another play seen on a bit of a whim, and another result for bargain theatre-going, with a balcony ticket bought a day earlier, converted into a circle ticket on the night.
The play is sold as jigsaw puzzle theatre, the audience being required to provide the thought (and presumably the nice padded tray) to put the pieces together. The question then becomes whether this is going to be an impossible 5,000 piecer or one designed for toddlers and clumsy fingers. Actually, although it wasn't anywhere near as tricksy as it thought it was, it was just about complicated enough to feel a mild sense of achievement at working it out.
The play starts with James McAvoy's first character addressing the audience directly in a broad american accent that threw me a bit at the start, but was soon assimilated into everything else going on. The basic structure is that the first half shows three people dealing with the aftermath of their parents' lives, and their attempts to interpret them, whilst the second half shows what actually happened. The dual roles where each actor played both the parent and child was very effective. The main revelation of the second half was easily guessed at, but there were plenty of other little lightbulb moments to keep me interested, and a very satisfying 'Ahhh... so that's it..' moment at the end which caused a little murmered ripple through the audience.
I loved the staging, particularly the curtains of rain, although I kept getting distracted by the puddles, and I thoroughly enjoyed the unpredictibility of some of the props - does the fruit roll about every night I wonder?
A family drama with enough unresolved points to keep me mulling them over for a day or so, and worth seeing for all sorts of reasons despite the critics, but James McAvoy's stammer is worth the price of the ticket by itself.
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Not Shock, Just Awe
I found myself at the O2 with a couple of hours to kill, and on impulse I decided to be brave and head for the Body World Mirrors of Time exhibition. I have only seen occasional glimpses of Dr Gunther von Hagens’ work on tv and in the press, so although I knew roughly what I was going to see, it was with a fair bit of caution that I walked into the first gallery.
The first sight of the ‘exhibits’ certainly freaked me a little bit. I was interested, but couldn’t bring myself to get too close, so I sort of circled round it for a while in silence (I didn’t bother with the ubiquitous commentary headphones), then decided to move on. The exhibition is designed to take you through every stage of life from conception to decrepitude and death, so the very next room had foetuses of various stages of development. Alongside the flayed and preserved exhibits that provide the instantly recognisable imagery of the exhibition were display cabinets containing various dissected bits and pieces of the human body with explanations about development, growth, health and disease.
I was acclimatised by now, so was able to look much more closely at the main exhibits as I walked around the silent, almost deserted galleries. The corpses are so brightly coloured they could almost be plastic models, apart from the roughness of texture that can be seen on tendons or the ragged edge of a finger or toenail as a reminder that these are real people. The shapes of ears were particularly individual and striking. There was also humour, which rather than feeling grotesque somehow added humanity and warmth, so that far from being a freak show, it became a celebration of the wonders of the body and of being human.
I came out from the exhibition moved and exhilarated, and I am sure that if you are a believer in intelligent design it would have confirmed your views. For me, the experience meant ninety minutes of meditation on the amazing complexities that keep us alive and functioning, and left me with a sense of awe that still hasn’t quite faded.
The first sight of the ‘exhibits’ certainly freaked me a little bit. I was interested, but couldn’t bring myself to get too close, so I sort of circled round it for a while in silence (I didn’t bother with the ubiquitous commentary headphones), then decided to move on. The exhibition is designed to take you through every stage of life from conception to decrepitude and death, so the very next room had foetuses of various stages of development. Alongside the flayed and preserved exhibits that provide the instantly recognisable imagery of the exhibition were display cabinets containing various dissected bits and pieces of the human body with explanations about development, growth, health and disease.
I was acclimatised by now, so was able to look much more closely at the main exhibits as I walked around the silent, almost deserted galleries. The corpses are so brightly coloured they could almost be plastic models, apart from the roughness of texture that can be seen on tendons or the ragged edge of a finger or toenail as a reminder that these are real people. The shapes of ears were particularly individual and striking. There was also humour, which rather than feeling grotesque somehow added humanity and warmth, so that far from being a freak show, it became a celebration of the wonders of the body and of being human.
I came out from the exhibition moved and exhilarated, and I am sure that if you are a believer in intelligent design it would have confirmed your views. For me, the experience meant ninety minutes of meditation on the amazing complexities that keep us alive and functioning, and left me with a sense of awe that still hasn’t quite faded.
Monday, 2 March 2009
Sunday, 1 March 2009
On Stalin, Dancing and Ice-cream.
I had one of my favourite seats at a preview of Burnt by the Sun at the National Theatre yesterday. The play is set in Russia in 1936 during the Stalinist purges, and Ciaràn Hinds and Rory Kinnear play the two main protagonists, one as a gruff revolutionary soldier, the other as a golden prodigal boy. I have to tell you that there were no surprises in the casting, so I expect you can guess who played which character.
So, back to telling you about my favourite seats. This was a day booking, taking a chance by ringing the box office after the queue at the box office had subsided, but for a tenner I got a seat in the slips. Although the view is slightly restricted I get a individual seat, with tons of space and a balcony to lean over, sharing this little haven with only two other people. It means that I can wriggle, lay my head on my arms, even spread out a tiny picnic if I want to without disturbing a soul. The sense of being in a little haven also means that the others are always happy to chat, which is great for a single theatre goer like myself, and means I get to be nosy about other people’s lives, another of my favourite pastimes. This time it was two friends getting together for a catch-up day, but quite often it is people visiting London from any number of places around the world, telling me about their impressions of the play, London, politics or any number of other things that you just don’t get in conversation on the train or queue at Tescos.
Watching the play, I was slightly distracted as I had heard that there was some concern about the revolving set, due to its weight, and that meant I couldn’t help but watch the sometimes slow scene revolutions with a sense of anticipation that wasn’t quite intended. Also, they need to lose the music at the final blackout – it killed the impact of the final scene and it went on so long it had the whole audience wondering whether there was more to come. So the cast returned on stage to a slightly awkward pause before the applause.
As for the play itself, it was very good, a great evocation of a sort of golden summer before the Great Terror really got going, mixed with a bit of a political thriller and a classic triangle of sexual jealousy.
From the evening overall I can report that that Ciaran Hinds can dance, Rory Kinnear can play the piano, and that Kitkat fingers dipped into vanilla ice-cream are delicious.
So, back to telling you about my favourite seats. This was a day booking, taking a chance by ringing the box office after the queue at the box office had subsided, but for a tenner I got a seat in the slips. Although the view is slightly restricted I get a individual seat, with tons of space and a balcony to lean over, sharing this little haven with only two other people. It means that I can wriggle, lay my head on my arms, even spread out a tiny picnic if I want to without disturbing a soul. The sense of being in a little haven also means that the others are always happy to chat, which is great for a single theatre goer like myself, and means I get to be nosy about other people’s lives, another of my favourite pastimes. This time it was two friends getting together for a catch-up day, but quite often it is people visiting London from any number of places around the world, telling me about their impressions of the play, London, politics or any number of other things that you just don’t get in conversation on the train or queue at Tescos.
Watching the play, I was slightly distracted as I had heard that there was some concern about the revolving set, due to its weight, and that meant I couldn’t help but watch the sometimes slow scene revolutions with a sense of anticipation that wasn’t quite intended. Also, they need to lose the music at the final blackout – it killed the impact of the final scene and it went on so long it had the whole audience wondering whether there was more to come. So the cast returned on stage to a slightly awkward pause before the applause.
As for the play itself, it was very good, a great evocation of a sort of golden summer before the Great Terror really got going, mixed with a bit of a political thriller and a classic triangle of sexual jealousy.
From the evening overall I can report that that Ciaran Hinds can dance, Rory Kinnear can play the piano, and that Kitkat fingers dipped into vanilla ice-cream are delicious.
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