I’d like to say I won’t get sucked in this time but…

Two reality TV shows have just started. Worse, two BBC reality TV shows, for I realised some time ago that I’m a BBC reality TV snob. I can’t bear all the adverts and the ‘will be revealed after the break’ on ITV. I never did get sucked into Dancing on Ice this year, and didn’t even watch the final, which was on while I was away.

But now we have the new series of The Apprentice (which I have to say much of the time I watch to point and laugh at how inept they are) and the new Nancy and Oliver show I’d Do Anything. Apart from anything else, it means I get to see John Barrowman every Saturday night for the next few weeks (though he does tend to be on every time you turn the telly on).

I’m not keen on the audition shows, but I like to watch once the show proper starts. Of course, I’ve been spoiled by ‘Maria’ and ‘Joseph’, as I picked the winner in both cases. This time, well, I haven’t really any interest in the Olivers, (most of whom seem to be very public school), but looking at the Nancys, I don’t have an obvious winner as yet.

On last night’s showing, I’m supporting Sarah Lark*, as we saw her in Shakespeare for Breakfast at the Fringe last year, and I also like Rachel Tucker, and Francesca Jackson*. All of them are trained professionals, which I think is right and proper. I liked young Jessie from Ireland in the auditions, but thought she went over the top last night, but then again, it was the first show, and she was first out. We’ll see…

*apparently she’s played JB’s daughter on stage!
**though I think she’s hampered rather than aided by the DVO*** factor!
*** Denise Van Outen, obviously

Rozencrantz and Guildenstern are not only dead, but spinning in their graves

I do a pub quiz most Sundays. We do pretty well, though we're rubbish at any sports questions, and I usually have to rely on others for current affairs, unless it's been on the Radio 2 news headlines. I tend to be pretty good on random stuff, such as naming the year in which certain films were released.

There tends to be a shortage of literary questions, so imagine my smugness when the following came up this week:
'In which Shakespeare play do the characters Rozencrantz and Guildenstern appear?'
The landlady had difficulty pronouncing the names.

I started to listen to the debate on the next table. There were at least six of them.
'They sound German!'
'Which was the one about the feuding families? It'll be them.'
'Well, it's bound to be something well known, like Hamlet or Macbeth, it's not going to be something obscure like As You Like It!'
'Which was the Shakespeare play set in Liverpool?'
'Yes, Ronnie Rozencrantz, he played on the wing!'

Suffice to say, there were groans when the answer was announced.

Did I mention we won this week?

‘I’m going to stop saying we need to have adventures’

I’d sort of agreed with V that we’d go walking on Saturday, but was a bit doubtful about it when I saw the weather forecast. ‘They say it’s going to snow, you know!’

But we agreed that we’d go, and picked a walk out of the book. As usual, ‘walking’ started off with us stopping for lunch in Stillington, before heading through Helmsley (‘no shopping, that’s afterwards’), to Kirkdale and St Gregory’s Minster.

The sun was still shining as we set off, though it was very cold. I was looking particularly stylish (!) in a headscarf (I couldn’t find a hat, and reckoned that a headscarf was suitable ‘country set’), as we crossed a stream, or rather a raging torrent, by an old mill, and (oh yes) it started to snow.

We crossed a field in a blizzard, and walked down a very muddy track through the woods. Suffice to say, my walking shoes are looking a bit grubby these days. As we read ahead, we could see that it said that we had to cross a ford at the end of the walk, but it never occurred to us that what we were going to have to ‘ford’ was the raging torrent from earlier. Well, not until we pretty much reached the bank.

As we stood looking at it, a chap with a very large dog came by. He said that the only way round was a detour up the hill, which he reckoned would take us about 20 mins (ok, double that then), but then he waded across to see how deep it was, as at least he had wellies on.

As he crossed, it became apparent that it was going to be over the tops of our shoes. ‘I could always carry you’ – bless him, I don’t think it was a serious offer so we politely declined. We let him cross, and get out of sight, as we debated.

‘Are we going for it?’
‘Yes, I think so’.

So we rolled the trousers up, and advanced into the river, with me in the lead. ‘It’s ok, still dry, yep, still okay…right, now I’m not’.

It was flowing pretty strongly, and was also green underfoot, so there was a risk of falling, but by this time there was quite a bit of shrieking and we were laughing hysterically.

Amazingly, we both made it safely to the other side, and squelched up the hill and back to the car, with feet that actually felt quite warm. As I sat and wrung the water out of my socks, we both admitted that what drove the decision to cross was the fact that we needed to have time to shop. Shame that when we went in the lovely Italian shoe shop, I daren’t take my shoes off to try any of them on.

‘And gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here’

I wake on Sunday to another dull morning. After the intensity of the last couple of days, and practically eating on the run, I actually have time…and discover that there really isn’t a lot to do in Stratford on a wet Sunday morning in March!

There’s no show till 3pm, but first we have brunch and a talk from Michael Boyd. I’m fascinated to hear what he has to say about it all. I wish there’d been more of this, as I could have listened to him talk for hours, or that it had come at the beginning, as it throws a different light on the productions.

He talks about bringing back the ensemble to the RSC, and I realise that this is what I’ve missed. It’s the ethos on which the company was created, and for the last few years it hasn’t felt the same without it. But Boyd trained in Russia, and strongly believes in the ensemble. In fact, he has plans for the next one, starting in January 2009. I’m excited already.

After this, there’s a palpable buzz as Richard III starts, at the same point where we left it, only now the bundle Richard holds is a napkin, as the prince is about 10 years old. We also have modern dress, suits and guns – more modern elements have been gradually introduced, with battledress reminiscent of WWI in the Henry VI’s, but this brings us up to date, although some characters, Margaret, and Elizabeth, retain their original costumes.

It’s fabulous. Richard is repulsive, volatile, intelligent, vicious, even charming. It’s a marvellous part, and Jonathan Slinger seizes it with both hands. He’s been a real star of the cycle, playing so many different parts, but always convincing. It feels intensely emotional all the way through, for us as well as for the actors.

There are so many highlights in this one:
James Tucker’s Clarence trying to defend himself against the murderers; the court of Edward IV circling round each other round each other, spitting hatred, until Margaret enters, travel stained, and carrying the bones of her dead son, which she proceeds to lay out before the court; Chris McGill, as Grey, saying to Margaret of York’s death, ‘Northumberland, then present, wept to see it’ which he did, as the same actor was playing Northumberland; the death of the princes – when Richard asks ‘didst thou see them dead?’ Tyrrel takes out a digital camera, and shows him the picture.

Geoffrey Streatfeild catches the eye again in the small part of Rivers, reaching out to his dead brother before he too is shot.

Julius D’Silva is impressive as Catesby, Richard’s stage manager, particularly in the gulling of the Lord Mayor and citizens of London – we happily join in with ‘God save Richard’.

Richard waking from his ‘dream’ without his deformities, and the ghosts forcing them all back on him.

The ending feels too quick, in that Richard doesn’t get to fight, but is quickly despatched by Richmond (Lex Shrapnel again, but not even his performance will ever make me like Henry Tudor).

As it finishes, the whole audience are on their feet, people are throwing roses onto the stage, and the whole ensemble, plus crew, plus Michael Boyd are on stage. Some of the actors have brought cameras with them, and are taking shots of the audience. This is as big a deal for them as it is for us. There are tears, as I feel I’ve been privileged to be present at something very special.

Afterwards, there’s a reception for the company, and all those who had bought the ‘Glorious Moment’ pass. A chance to mingle, and chat to the actors about the experience. Some people are getting programmes and posters signed, but for me, it isn’t about that. It’s about thanking people, but also getting their thoughts on what it has been like. Many of them also seem a little choked up, and also sad to be leaving Stratford. It isn’t the end, for they still have a two month run at the Roundhouse, but I guess it feels like the beginning of the end, as they’ve spent over two years in Stratford.

‘From off this briar pluck a white rose with me’

The third day, and our second full day of productions, this time all three parts of Henry VI. Years ago, I saw the Plantagenets* over two days, and that felt epic. You have to bear in mind that these plays were written before, not after the ones that we’ve already watched. It’s early Shakespeare, and relatively unfamiliar, and therefore has the ability to surprise you. I’d also seen Michael Boyd’s production of Henry VI Part 2 in the Swan back in 2000**.

I buy a white rose lapel pin just so that no one is going to doubt my allegiance today. During the day, I realise just how much my view of the history of the Wars of the Roses is coloured by Shakespeare’s version, even though it’s not always historically accurate.

By now, the actors welcoming us to the theatre, and telling us to turn off our mobile phones are greeted with loud applause, and have to wait for it to die down before they can make their announcement. It’s beginning to feel natural to be sitting in a theatre on a Saturday morning, and as the weather is pretty dire outside, there’s no better place to be.

Part 1 begins with the funeral of Henry V, (Geoffrey Streatfeild returning briefly before his transformation into Suffolk) as his coffin is lowered into the ground and it’s mainly about the loss of all he fought for in France, as the bickering begins between the nobles, literally over his coffin.

Richard Cordery returns with an excellent performance as Humphrey of Gloucester, a good man trying to serve the country and his king, mirroring his Duke of York. It’s quite a shock to see the ‘young guns’ from Henry V now transformed into middle aged men.

Strong performances emerge. Clive Wood as Richard Plantagenet, Keith Bartlett as Talbot, Katy Stephens as Joan La Pucelle, (there’s an incredible scene where she taunts Bedford with his severed arm), followed by a fifth act transformation into Margaret of Anjou. It’s also good to see some characters continuing from Henry V, John Mackay as the Dauphin, and Matt Costain as Burgundy.

Henry himself doesn’t appear until about halfway through the play, and Chuk Iwuji plays him with a childlike innocence befitting his youth, anxious to please, but also giving doubt to whether this king will rise to the challenge.

There’s another magnificent father and son double act from Keith Bartlett and Lex Shrapnel as Talbot and his son John, and their presence echoes through the subsequent plays, as they become the pirates who capture and execute Suffolk in Part 2, and the son who killed his father, and father who killed his son in Part 3.

Geoffrey Streatfeild reappears as Suffolk, plotting to turn the king’s marriage to his own ends, and the play ends with what Michael Boyd describes later as ‘the jaws moment’, as Margaret prepares to leave for England.

Part 2 - I love it! It’s the House of York in the ascendant, and the first appearance of ‘my’ Richard, (another great performance by Jonathan Slinger).

Gloucester is betrayed and murdered, and Suffolk is banished and murdered– his head being delivered to the queen, who cradles it while standing in the ‘hell mouth’. Maureen Beattie is wonderfully dignified as the proud but ultimately duped and disgraced Duchess of Gloucester.

All hell is let loose in Jack Cade’s rebellion. It’s quite a jolt as the rebels enter from the audience, and proceed to get an unsuspecting audience member on stage. I like the fact that the rebels are made up principally of all those who have been murdered, or died in the conflict. I’m a little less sure about Suffolk’s headless body dancing around!

Part 3 – my favourite part of this trilogy, but also the most emotionally traumatic one, as York is captured and murdered by Margaret. The killing of Rutland is horrific, as Alexia Healy’s squeals are animalistic, and the death of York almost makes me cry. The later image of York’s head upon Micklegate bar (achieved simply by the actor kneeling behind the balcony) haunts me for a few days afterwards.

Richard comes into his own, throwing off his wig (similar to when he played Richard II) but this time to reveal a disfiguring birthmark upon his bald head, and sharing his ambitions with the audience. I’m thinking how much I love Richard (yes, I know I’m odd) as I leave the auditorium at the interval, when someone behind me says ‘gosh, he’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t he!’ I think you understand him better when you see the society he is a product of. He never apologises or excuses his actions, and by sharing his plans with us, we become his co-conspirators.

That ending – Richard cradling the new born prince and beginning ‘Now…’

I can’t wait for the conclusion of the story, but I have to, until the following afternoon.

*A conflation of the three parts of Henry VI into two plays, Henry VI and Edward IV, followed by Richard III

**For some bizarre reason, probably related to scheduling, we saw Part 2, and therefore only the middle of the story.

Once more, unto the breach, dear friends…

It’s beginning to feel like that as, a quick snack and a quick change later, I’m back in my seat, and listening to Chorus (Forbes Masson, continuing from Rumour) welcoming us to ‘this rusty shed’, the clerics explaining the Salic law, and tennis balls are falling on everyone’s heads.

I’ve been looking forward to Henry V, as it’s the one I’ve studied most recently, for my OU course. I’ve seen some excellent Henry V’s over the years, my yardstick being Branagh’s performance, which, even now, remains very vivid in my memory, so Geoffrey Streatfeild has a lot to live up to.

It’s an excellent production, visually stunning, but this doesn’t overwhelm the performances. Four plays in, and it’s exciting to see the range of this company, as they play so many parts, from nobles to low life. I can’t see a weak link anywhere. Jonathan Slinger is excellent as Fleuellen, and Lex Shrapnel again stands out as Williams, the soldier who challenges the king.

This really is ‘3-D theatre’ as Michael Boyd describes it later. The French court descend from above on trapezes (John Mackay is excellent as a foppish Dauphin, all arrogance and flowing blond curls), and the English army burst from beneath the stage before Harfleur (though I’m not sure we feel the full horror of Henry’s threats to the town).

In the ‘St Crispin’s Day’ speech, the house lights come up, and Henry addresses us as the English army. When he says ‘he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart’, someone later says he actually wanted to go. I want to stay. I’m with him, and the ‘band of brothers’. For a moment you can feel Henry’s desperation to instil some mettle into his men and it really does feel as though we’re a part of it all. It strikes me that you could have never achieved this effect in the old RST.

At then end, despite the platform for the peace negotiations being built upon the coffins of the dead, you feel that there is hope for the future in these two young people – but Chorus is swiftly there to remind us of the failures of Henry VI’s reign – which of course, we’ll see the following day.

'Can honour set-to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound? No.'

Henry IV Part 1

It’s 10am on a Friday morning, and a crowd of people are heading down Waterside. It’s quite a sight in an otherwise pretty deserted Stratford. We’re one play down, but have a full day ahead of us, with no more than an hour an a half between each play. I’m already thinking about when I’ll find time to eat!

‘So shaken as we are, so wan with care…’ We rejoin the story with Henry still planning his trip to the Holy Land in expiation of his guilt for Richard’s death, and it’s soon very clear that the crown is not sitting easily on his head, with rebellious nobles, and a dissolute son. This Henry would clearly very much like to have the headstrong and volatile Hotspur as his son.

Clive Wood comes more into his own in this play, as the troubled king – though for me he saves his best performance for the Henry VI’s, but that’s possibly because I like his character in that more. Lex Shrapnel (a name to watch for) impresses even more as Hotspur, and I begin to warm to Geoffrey Streatfeild as Hal.

Falstaff has never been one of my favourite characters, but David Warner plays him
as a man perhaps more in tune with the new world than with the previous age. His speech on honour contrasts sharply with Hotspur, but I think we’re more inclined to agree with him, particularly when we know what is to come, and the price of ‘honour’. He’s beautifully spoken – every line, every intonation crystal clear in meaning.

Once again there are some stunning visual images. The battle between Hal and Hotspur makes me hold my breath, and I cry. I don’t cry again until the end of Richard III, even through all the murder, maiming and torture of the Henry VIs, and I think it’s because you become used to the horror of it all.

Henry IV Part 2

A quick lunch break (when I end up having lunch in the same restaurant as Hotspur), and we’re back.

Forbes Masson starts the play as Rumour, dragging Richard II’s coffin behind him, (everyone in these plays is haunted by ghosts) bringing false reports of Hotspur’s ‘victory’.

I think this one is my least favourite of the plays. It’s beautifully played, and the characterisation allows many members of the company their ‘moment’, but it’s very much Falstaff’s play, and feels like a re-run of part 1 without the dramatic tension, as the rebels are defeated by trickery rather than in battle. That said, Falstaff’s recruiting trip to Gloucestershire is very funny, and his shabby band of recruits gives us some great performances, from Katy Stephens as Feeble the ‘women’s tailor’ to Anthony Schuster’s Shadow who faints at the drop of a hat.

The scene between Henry IV and Hal is very intense, with Clive Wood’s Henry desperate for his crime of usurpation to die with him. This has been a tremendous portrait of a man weighed down with guilt. Once again, we get the continuity of the story carrying through as he advises Hal to ‘busy giddy minds with foreign quarrels’.

At the end, there seems barely time to draw breath before we have to prepare for Agincourt.

'Within the hollow crown'

There was a real buzz as we settled down to Richard II, the first play in this cycle, and also probably the one that I know best, having studied it twice, (and one therefore on which I have very definite views on how I see Richard). This was an excellent production, without it being ‘my’ Richard.

Jonathan Slinger’s Richard was very clearly the personification of Elizabeth I, ‘Gloriana’, complete with Elizabethan costume, painted face and red wig. Just in case you missed this, it was also highlighted in the programme, with Elizabeth’s famous quote ‘I am Richard II, know ye not that?’

This was Richard not just as actor, but as drama queen, for whom all the world was a stage with himself as leading player. Ultimately his destruction was self inflicted, as he effectively deposed himself. There was no chance that this gilded butterfly could stand up to the might (and the bulk) of Clive Wood’s Bolingbroke.

What this Richard lacked was the insight to make him a tragic figure. In the abdication scene, as he threw off the wig, and wiped the paint from his face, we finally saw the man, but it wasn’t clear who he was. His fall and his death were moving, but not tragic, and his parting from the queen, which has often moved me to tears, didn’t this time, as the relationship between the two just didn’t convince. The shower of sand which fell upon his head during this scene was a stunning visual image, but my head was struggling to attach significance to it*.

Initially I was dubious about the decision to dispense with Exton, and to make Bagot, the surviving favourite, the murderer of Richard, but this decision actually made more sense in later plays, because of the other parts taken by Forbes Masson. I was also disappointed with the speed of Richard’s death, in that he wasn’t given his moments when he truly does fight for his life, (in the play, he kills two of Exton's henchmen) just as he is about to lose it.

Richard Cordery was excellent as York (part of his impressive trio of Dukes), an honourable man torn between loyalty to his king, and his belief in justice, and Lex Shrapnel also impressed as Hotspur, in a part given more focus because of what was to come in later plays.

An excellent start, and great anticipation of what was to come, as we saw a Bolingbroke who was already beginning to bow under the weight of his guilt.

*I’ve since read that it was scouring him of his kingship, but if that’s the case, I’m afraid it passed me by.

The Glorious Moment

Or, rather, the glorious 24 hours or so of theatre, that made this up. I knew when I saw it advertised in the advance booking information about a year ago that I had to go. Yes, it was expensive, (I could have had a decent foreign holiday for the price!) but it was a one off opportunity to see the histories*, in chronological order, in Stratford. I booked so far in advance, that it had always seemed like something in the far future.

I did wonder how many others would be as mad as me, and buy the pass that assured you the same seat for all performances**, and the extras such as drinks vouchers, programmes, brunch, and post show reception. When I went into the Courtyard Theatre for the first time to register, I began to realise that there were a considerable number of us. We were all given a canvas bag, emblazoned with ‘The Histories’ and these bags became a very familiar sight in the restaurants and cafes over the next few days. Almost like a badge, a way of identifying others sharing the experience.

When I took the seat that would be mine for the next few days, I looked around. There was a family next to me, who, for some reason missed Henry VI Part 2, and the first half of Richard III (!!), and couples in front and behind. Later in the run, the woman in front commented, ‘I feel like this seat belongs to me now’, ‘well, for the price we’ve paid, perhaps it should’, I replied.

The set for all the productions remained the same. A rusty metal backdrop, in keeping with the ‘shed’, which could be both ‘hell mouth’ for entrances and exits, and balcony. The productions used the whole space, however – truly 3-D theatre, with ropes and trapezes, and even picture frames for the actors to descend on and in, often to stunning effect.

So, it was finally time to 'stiffen the sinews' and 'summon up the blood', for it was all about to begin.

*well, not quite all the histories, just the two tetralogies - no King John, or (dammit) Henry VIII, which means I have yet to complete the cycle

**599 of us, so Michael Boyd tells us on Sunday.

'This rusty shed'

Of course, I already knew that the RST was being rebuilt to create a theatre space more suited to the 21st century, and I’d seen a few photographs, but it was still a shock to walk down to Waterside and see its shell. Only some of the outer walls are left. I hadn’t expected that all the gardens would be dug up too. The whole area is a building site.

As I stood there, gazing, a workman commented ‘don’t look, it isn’t finished yet’. I could see the back of what was the stage of the RST, and thought of all the productions that I’d seen there, going back over 20 years, up to the last one in December 2006. I’m sure the new one is going to be amazing, and the Swan remains, though closed at the moment, but a piece of theatre history has gone.

On a more positive note, the new Courtyard Theatre* is fabulous. From the outside, it looks like a rusty iron shed, added to the side of The Other Place. It’s a prototype for the new RST auditorium, and to me feels like the Swan writ large It has a thrust stage, and two galleries. It holds over 1000 people, yet feels intimate. It allows the actors to work with the audience in a way that the old theatre never did. After some of my earliest visits, I always tried to get stalls tickets, close to the stage, as you could end up feeling a million miles away from the action. In the new theatre, you’re often so close you could reach out and touch them.

The reason for my visit this weekend? ‘The Glorious Moment’ – 8 history plays played in historical sequence, over 4 days. Of which, much more is to come, but it will take a while to get it all clear in my mind.

Handbag walking suddenly got more ambitious

V announces ‘She’s got a face on!

And I have, for V has said that we’re going to do the Dales Way! ‘It’s 82 miles’ I squeak, the pitch heading for the place where I can only be heard by dogs.

In the last mind mapping session* we said that we would work towards a longer walk, something more ambitious, which we’d do over a few days. In my head this meant about 30 miles in total, probably about 8-10 miles a day**. But this week, in the Independent, there’s an article about this walk, which goes from Ilkley to Windermere.

The plan has always been to stay in nice B&Bs along the route, and to use the company that transport your luggage between overnight stays. No rucksacks for us.

We’ve pencilled in a date to have a short trial – a two day walk, and one overnight stay. With our diaries being so busy it’s going to take a while to plan in anything longer, so at least I have a bit of respite. But still, 82 miles!!

*Yes, I know I still have to update mine

**we’re managing 5 miles pretty easily in an afternoon, and are only just getting back into ‘training’

Time of our lives

It’s been nearly 6 years. In some ways it feels like yesterday, in others it feels a life time away. I haven’t seen most of these people since the day we graduated. Their lives were at a different stage to mine when we finished, and we didn’t keep in touch. It was also in the days before Facebook, which is where I’ve rediscovered everyone. I wouldn’t have known about this reunion without it.

What surprises me is how many of them are still in York, and yet I don’t ever see them (don’t they shop?!). I guess we go to different places.

I’m also surprised that everyone looks the same. Oh, there are a few different haircuts, a little weight gained, and lost (and that’s just me), but it’s like the years have rolled back, and the same groupings quickly start forming. Some haven’t been back since graduation, and have been re-visiting college during their stay. I’m slightly horrified to be told that the Chapel Theatre is no more, and it has been converted into a soulless conference venue. Even the Grot* Suite has gone.

The chosen venues don’t allow for much catching up to be done. We start in Vodka Revolution. The last time I was in there, it was still Bar 38. It’s quite Gothic, so I like the decoraton, but sometime after 9pm, they turn the volume up, and everyone is having to shout to try and have a conversation. Eventually there’s a general consensus that we should move somewhere quieter (and cheaper). Rounding everyone up turns into a bit of an effort, and we leave a few stragglers behind.

We head to the Lowther. I smile wryly. The last time I was in here I was getting very drunk with actors. It’s not one of my drinking places of choice in normal circumstances. The bar staff leave a lot to be desired, lacking in customer service skills and, it seems, basic intelligence. It feels quite empty, but we soon fill it up, but the dynamics have changed en route. In the last place, we were all standing and circulating to catch up, now people are sitting down, and it becomes less easy to chat.

Another surprise is just how many are working ‘in the industry’. At the end of Uni, few people seemed to have plans, as many of us seemed pretty jaded at the end of 3 years, but now most of them are doing something that could be described as ‘creative’. Two are actors, one is doing the drivetime show on Yorkshire Coast Radio, others are working in tv, or in technical positions, some are teaching, one ‘works for the government’, and one is a lecturer at Uni in film and tv.

I have to admit to being a little envious, and a part of me wishes that I’d had the confidence and been brave enough to follow the dream, particularly when I tell them that I still work in personnel, and that I don’t do much theatre these days. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I'd have gone for it, rather than settle for something which now no longer exists.

*So called, not because it was grotty, (though it was a bit), but after Jerzy Grotowski – reading his biog makes you sort of understand the sort of theatre they liked at college, and you can see why, for a while, I stopped going to musicals!

Apparently Chekov is hilarious in the original Russian

I have to say I’ve never been one of his biggest fans, though I do like his style of theatre. I think it was that one about the seagull that did it!

However, when I saw that Peter Hall’s English Touring Theatre production of Uncle Vanya was visiting York, I felt I should go. It’s one of those classic plays that I’d never seen on stage, which I’d read about rather than knew, and I think you’d agree that it’s a gap for any true theatre snob. I also don’t think I’ve ever seen a production directed by Peter Hall*, which in my book is an even bigger gap, given that he was the creator of the RSC.

Owing to my frankly stupid work schedule, the only night I could go was Tuesday, which meant a crazy journey, and a dash into the theatre with about 3 minutes to spare. To say that I wasn’t really in the mood for a bunch of Russians wailing about their lives/estate/cherry orchard/the peasants is probably a bit of an understatement.

What I didn’t expect was for it to be both funny and, ultimately, moving. The cast were excellent, though I did find myself smiling at Vanya’s (Nicholas Le Prevost) pronouncement that he was 47 (and the rest) and Astrov’s (Neil Pearson) that he was 36 (and the rest). They looked like they’d both had very hard paper rounds, which I guess is one of the problems of sitting on the front row.

The translation is a new one, by Stephen Mulrine, and feels very contemporary, without being in any way wrong for the time. Astrov is played as probably the first person to fight global warming. Sonia and Vanya keep the estate going for leeches like the Professor to live off. Their lives are small and provincial and everyone suffers quite exquisitely in their own way. It’s a society ripe for revolution, and watching it, you can understand why it only lasted a few more years.

At the end, as the disruptive influence of the Professor and his wife are removed, and the others try to return to their normal routine, as though nothing has changed, whereas really nothing will be the same, I found myself in tears at Sonia’s final speech.

*Well, I don’t think I have, I could be wrong, but if I have, I don’t recall it.

I may not be Welsh but...

I do have a bit of a thing about St David’s Day. It’s four years (four years!) since a few of us set out on a journey that will forever be known as the ‘radio tour’ (well, some had set out the day before, but that story isn’t mine to tell).

I remember how cold it was, how there was the remnants of snow on the ground in Stockton, and how I thought my feet were going to freeze in Blackpool. I remember the leeks in gift bags, the pink post it notes that led us to Salford Quays, and an incredibly successful piece of ‘research’ which took us into Manchester city centre. I remember the flags, the way we all ended up in the Manchester paper, even though none of us was from Manchester, and the old man’s pub in Blackpool (somewhere past the scary roundabout) where we ended the evening.

The following year, a few of us were at the Bedford in Balham, armed once again with leeks, listening to Fox singing, and having a conversation by post-it notes, and taking comedy pics whilst messing around on the stage, with that wonderful sparkly backdrop, not realising we were live on the internet via webcam.

The last few St David’s Days have been staid in comparison. But I think I will always look back and smile at the memories.