Bakkhai...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Bakkhai at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington.

Starring the wonderful Ben Whishaw, making his Almeida debut, this Greek tragedy was an utter joy.

Pentheus has banned the wild, ritualistic worship of the god Dionysos. A stranger arrives to persuade him to change his mind. Euripides’ electrifying tragedy is a struggle to the death between freedom and restraint, the rational and the irrational, man and god.

Using three actors and a ten-woman chorus, echoing the original performance model, James Macdonald returns to the Almeida to stage Euripides’ hedonistic tragedy in a visceral new version by Anne Carson.

Ben Whishaw's Dionysos is sexy, funny, menacing. Bertie Carvel's Pentheus is excellent and when dragged up as his murdering mother is a hoot.

Recommended.

Oresteia...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Oresteia at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington.

Starring the wonderful Lia Williams as Klytemnestra this is Aeschylus' final and greatest play. And boy it's an epic - three plays back to back - 3 hours and 40 minutes long. But worth every thrilling, chilling, terrifying, bloody moment.

The story is one of a family who are cursed. The parents are at war - in all senses - and only the sacrifice of one of their children can end it. But rather than being the end this is just the beginning of a Greek tragedy that asks whether justice can ever be done.

It is powerful stuff and Robert Icke's production is wonderfully realised and expertly performed. On more than than one occasion it bought a tear to the eye.

Oh and there are tits and willies in it too. What's not to like?

The Beaux' Stratagem...

Last night Stuart and I went to see George Farquhar's wonderful play The Beaux' Stratagem at the Olivier Theatre on London's glitzy South Bank.

This was our third Restoration comedy in as many weeks - and the funniest by far. The humour was rich, clever and bawdy. The actors played and sang not only to each other but also to the crowd. And the production rollicked along and getting the tempo just right.

Part-farce, part-comedy of manners the story tells of Archer and Aimwell, two young gentlemen, who have fallen on hard times, who plan to travel through small towns, entrap young heiresses, stealing their money and moving on. In the first town, Lichfield, they set their sights on Dorinda. Aimwell falls truly in love, and comedy ensues. And for extra comedic value Foigard, a priest and chaplain to the French officer, is actually an Irish priest called MacShane.

The two beaux are played superbly by Samual Barnett (yes, him off of History Boys and Beautiful People) and Geoffrey Streatfeild (yes, him off of The Other Boleyn Girl and The Thick Of It).

Their respective female foils are Mrs Sullen played magnificently by Susannah Fielding (yes, her off of Almeida Theatre's American Psycho and Doctor Who's Victory of the Daleks) and Dorinda played coquettishly by Pippa Bennett-Warner (yes, her off of Doctor Who's Time Heist).

The National doing what it does best.. Entertaining - top-notchly.

The Merchant of Venice...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Rupert Gould's production of The Merchant of Venice at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington.

Wow! What a show!

Set in a modern day Venetian-style Las Vegas casino complete with full-on Elvis impersonator, dancing girls, Southern-style accents and seasoned gamblers we were treated to a feast of song, dance and antisemitism. It was a brightly coloured free-cocktails-for-the-gamblers sort of night of delight, disgust and degradation.

We had been warned "that cap guns, herbal and e-cigarettes will be used in this performance." Well, that didn't even register in this high octane retelling of how the titular merchant Antonio (Scott Handy) falls foul of the Jewish moneylender Shylock (Ian McDiarmid).

Antisemitism is rife in our Las Vegas and Skylock - who has been treated and insulted terribly - defends himself and his religion not least with his powerful "Hath Not a Jew eyes?" speech.

Antonio borrows some money from Shylock to lend to his friend the valiant Bassanio (Tom Weston-Jones) so he in turn could woe fair air-head Portia (the outstanding Susannah Fielding). The woing goes well - via a hilarious reality game-show Destiny - but when the money needs to be paid back to Skylock Antonio falls short and the bond of a pound of flesh needs to be paid.

When the case comes to court Portia takes on the defense of her new husband's friend complete with Legally Blonde pink fluffy pen. Dressed as a man she delivers the famous and deeply moving speech about the quality of mercy to try and dissuade Shylock from his gruesome demand.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

But all is to no affect and the knives are sharpened - on both sides.

Last minute all is resolved in a rather distasteful way on a quibble with Skylock then sloping off utterly defeated and spat on and the lovers now mistrusting each other for their disguises and betrayals.

Suspicious Minds plays us out in the end.

Bravo. Viva Las Vegas.

Our Town...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Our Town performed at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington.

In 1946, the Soviet Union prevented a production of Our Town in the Russian sector of occupied Berlin "on the grounds that the drama is too depressing and could inspire a German suicide wave."

Well, I guess people were easier to depress back then. **Spoiler alert** Not everyone makes to through Act III.

Thornton Wilder's play often gets described as "stark, pure and unforgettable theatre" what with it's post-modern fourth wall-breaking Stage Manager character addressing the audience directly and sign-posting the hum-drum plot with the subtly of a peacock on the pull.

We beg to differ.

For us the play certainly was "stark" - as per the stage directions there was little by way of props or scenery. As for "pure" - it was certainly purely an actor's play in as much as we could see why actors would like to be in it. They have to pretend to wash up, delivery milk, eat food, etc. A sort of miming workshop. Very drama school. But as for "unforgettable" we do have to disagree. The plainly told story of a small out of the way American town is utterly unremarkable. People go about their lives, go to school, people get married, bring up kids. We get it. And then when people die they didn't realise what they had until it was gone. We really do get it.

Now this Almeida production was good. But only "good". Any ensemble piece like Our Town requires top notch actors in every role and here one or two just weren't up to scratch.

Sad, really as maybe the short-comings of the play could have been made up by better acting by some of the cast.

Another rather disappointing piece from the Almeida . Luckily not as awful as Mr Burns though.

Mr Burns...

Last night Stuart and I went to see Mr Burns - a new post-electric play by Anne Washburn - at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington.

We had high hopes having recently seen American Psycho, 1984 and Charles III there. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What a load of crap.

The play was in three acts.
Act I - boring
Act II - underwritten
Act II - waste of talent

Act I
Set in a post-apocalyptic world a group of survivors sit around a camp fire trying to remember the details of The Simpsons episode Cape Feare. A rather good episode that we were personally very familiar with having recently watched it and being big Simpsons fans ourselves. Occasionally they are joined by another survivor who they welcome by reading aloud names of ten missing people who they are looking for. They then return to trying to remember The Simpsons episode. Forty minutes later they are still doing the same thing. And? We get it!

A few people left at the first interval shaking their heads.

Act II
Seven years later the same survivors are performing various Simpsons episodes for money as a travelling troup. They buy lines from episodes to use in their show. They also perform the adverts between the shows. Good idea. Woefully underwritten though. It should have been funny, clever and insightful. It was none of these. It was frustrating, over-long and repetitive. Audience members near us were sighing, tutting and yawning. Which is a mean trick if you can do all three at once.

Most people on our row left at the second interval. We were tempted.

Act III
Seventy-five years later The Simpsons has become a cult / an opera / a performance. It has taken over the lives of the performers. And it is crushingly embarrassing. The squandering of the obvious talents of the actors, technicians, wardrobe, make-up and other professional people involved at the theatre was shameful. I was embarrassed for everyone involved. How this show ever got made is astonishing. I have seen some awful productions on the stage - very few of which I've wanted to walk out of - but this was the worst. By far. We couldn't even bring ourselves to laugh at it - as many people around us were. We were just sad.

Putting on such awful rubbish hurts the Almeida Theatre brand (we'll think twice about booking there again), The Simpsons brand (how did they every agree to it?) and the night's out at the theatre in general. Stay in and watch TV folks - when it's good TV is better written and presents ideas in a more cohesive way than this tosh.

Avoid.

1984...

Last Thursday Stuart and I went to see 1984 at the Almeida Theatre in London's glitzy Islington. It was a slightly confusing production as it repeated traveled from a book reading club in 2050 back to the events of 1984 and back again without much indication of the time jump.

There was no interval so the production had a chance to ramp up the tension as Winston Smith gradually began to realise the doublethink/thoughtcrime/newspeak hell he was living in. The final half a hour got quite harrowing with the torture scene although we were assured no rats were harmed in the making of the show.

My review: Brave but rather confusing.

American Psycho...

On Friday night Stuart and I went to to see American Psycho The Musical at the Almeida Theatre in London's trendy Islington.

Based on the controversial 1991 novel American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis the tale is set in Manhattan during the Wall Street boom of the late 1980s, We follow the daily life of wealthy young investment banker Patrick Bateman whose thoughts turn to murder.

Matt Smith (yes, him) plays Bateman with a suitably (and suited) devilish charm. He can't perhaps hold a tune to quite the same high standard as his colleagues but that aside he carries the day.

The musical perhaps arches its eyebrow rather more than either the book or the film in that it plays it for laughs. But we like a show when the black humour is as dark as the blood is red.

A bevy of original songs are accompanied by a string of 1980s hits; Hip to Be Square, Don't You Want Me, Everybody Wants to Rule the World, True Faith and In the Air Tonight.

If it gets a West End transfer (which is rightly deserves) you should get ticket.