Risen from the rubble

My first visit to the ‘new’ Royal Shakespeare Theatre was always going to be a bit of an event. It’s been getting on for 5 years since I’ve been to a theatre on the Waterside site, the last visit to the old theatre being Merry Wives the Musical in December 2006.

I remember the feeling of shock when I went down for The Glorious Moment and saw the shell of the theatre for the first time, and then gradually seeing the new theatre take place over subsequent visits.

The building has been open for a few months now, but the first productions specifically for the new auditorium have opened fairly recently.
As a building, it’s different, but the same. A place of mixed emotions, it feels strange to step back into what has always been the foyer, and is now the stalls bar. So much more space, now they’re not trying to cram everything onto that small area. The old fountain and the marble staircase up to the circle are back in place, but the circle bar is now accessible to all, not just to those with a circle ticket (and not, therefore, somewhere I’ve visited with much frequency). A new link corridor between the entrance to the RST and the Swan now provides shop space.

All the art deco features of the original building have been retained, the floor of the old stage has been re-laid in the public areas (and yes, I did find that thrilling), and some of the features in the old structure have been left exposed to show the history of the building. I can understand this, but am not sure I like it.

Through the doors which used to be the entrance to the stalls runs a semi-circular brick wall, the back of the new auditorium, with quick change areas for actors tucked away in alcoves. Higher up, bridges link across to the upper levels.

Inside the auditorium, it looks and feels like the Courtyard Theatre, which is slightly odd, as, if you know that theatre well, you feel like you’ve suddenly entered a different building, and one that seems very familiar. That theatre was always meant to be temporary, this isn’t, and therefore has some extra touches which make it feel finished off. None of the seats look to be that far way from the stage, and to have good sightlines.

Of course it’s the bits that the audience don’t see which have changed the most, the backstage areas, the facilities for wardrobe, technical, wigs make-up, dressing rooms . A rabbit warren of corridors that it must take actors a while to get used to. There’s depth below the stage that didn’t exist before. In the old theatre, there was so little space between the back walls of the RST and the Swan that actors appearing in each tended to bump into each other, now, it feels spacious.

At the moment, it still smells new, which feels exciting and full of possibilities. As for the Stage Door, well, of course I checked out where it was, for future reference

A Twitter Encounter (and a few memories)

I’m relating how thrilling I found The Tartuffe to Corinne, and enthusing about how great it was to see a production that actually made you want to stand and cheer. We happen to be sitting at the Globe before the performance of Henry VIII at the time.

‘You need to see the Medea I saw at the Arcola last year, they’re brining it back. That was one of those.’

The conversation reminds me of something I read on Twitter a couple of days ago. ‘Did you see where Mark Shenton asked about theatrical productions which changed your life?’

‘Yes,…’ before Corinne could develop this much further, the chap seated directly in front of us turned.

‘I’m Mark Shenton’.

I have one of those slightly heart stopping moments. Well, we had been saying good things about him. We start chatting, and he asks what our theatrical ‘moments’ were. Of course, once asked, I can't come up with any one production, and just mutter, ‘oh, probably something at the RSC’, wishing I could be more specific.

Well, in hindsight, I can, so here goes. They are all RSC, they are all 1980’s, but they’ve remained in my memory whilst later performances have faded. Life changing, in that without my visits to the theatre in Stratford, moving to work, and live, in the West Midlands wouldn't have even been a consideration.

My first is Much Ado About Nothing, RST, 1982, Derek Jacobi and Sinead Cusack. It was my first visit to see a production in the main house, and I was utterly spellbound from start to finish. It was beautiful to look at, and the main performances just stunning. For a long time, all subsequent Benedick and Beatrice's were measured against that memory, and there are still things about it which I don’t think I’ve ever seen done better. I'd seen RSC productions on tour, but I think this was the one that made me utterly fall in love with Stratford, and the RSC, and feel that I needed to go there as often as I could.

My second is Les Liaisons Dangereuses at The Other Place in 1985. Again, a first visit, this time to TOP, when it was still a tin hut. An incredible cast, Alan Rickman, Lindsay Duncan, Juliet Stevenson, Fiona Shaw, Lesley Manville. At times I felt I was holding my breath for how the story would unfold. Looking back at my diary from the time, I described the experience as ‘like eavesdropping on the private intrigues between the protagonists’*. I’ve seen Les Liaisons a couple of times since, but I doubt any production will have the impact and power of that first production.

My third is The Fair Maid of the West in the Swan Theatre, 1986, it’s first season. An ensemble production of a not particularly great play but so full of energy and the sheer joy of life that it was another standing ovation show. It used the Swan space brilliantly taking the audience from shore, to shipboard, to pirate attack, to Morocco and back to Cornwall. Wonderful also because it was so unexpected. Again a great cast, Imelda Staunton, Sean Bean, Simon Russell Beale, Pete Postlethwaite. For many years it held the record of the show I’d seen the most, as I saw it 6 times.

There are many others which I’ve loved. Nicholas Nickleby, (the revival, not the original, as I wasn’t lucky enough to see that), The Plantagenet’s, through to The Glorious Moment of all the History plays. I know I’m incredibly lucky to have seen some of the great productions, and performances, of the past 25 years** but often it isn’t the individual performance which stays in the memory, it’s the company, the ensemble.

*which goes to show that I’ve been a diarist for a long time, and also a long term theatresnob
** which however you look at it is a pretty scary time span (and yes, I do know that it’s 28 years since 1982)

A little bit of Stratford

I stand on the tramway bridge looking at the Avon in, at last, the Spring sunshine, and take a moment. The new theatre is finally taking shape, and from this distance it looks almost finished. Despite what the others said about its appearance yesterday, to me it isn’t about what it looks like. The building has never been attractive, and the main house was always a difficult space where you could feel miles away from the action, but the theatrical history, the memories of performances past, along with the hope for what will be to come, makes it so very special. When it opens we will finally have more than one theatre again.
From the same bridge, as the river curves away, I can see the spire of Holy Trinity. This is Shakespeare’s town, and oh how I love it. I’ve said it before, but there is just something about this town which lifts the spirits. It’s always been a place of escape for me, away from any stresses and pressures of the day to day. I’m someone who hates going into a pub on my own, but in Stratford I’m quite happy to go to the Duck, where there’s usually an actor or two in sight. It’s a small town, so you do tend to trip over members of the company. Yes, in many ways it’s commercialised, and you’re always within a stones throw of a ‘Hathaway’ tea rooms or a ‘Shakespeare’ bookshop, but somehow the mass tourism doesn’t matter. To visit the houses where he lived, and, this time, even the deer park where he allegedly did a bit of poaching, and to hear his words spoken on stage is just magical.

It breaks my heart slightly to leave it. I don’t want to return to the ‘real’ world, where I’m still trying to adapt to the new job. But I know it’s never goodbye. I just have to plan the next opportunity to visit.

It’s just 'farewell', until the next time.

What a difference a few years makes

I nearly went to see Griffin tonight. When I say ‘nearly’, J and I had plans to walk through the snow from hers to the Vicky Vaults for an acoustic gig. I set off from home, it was snowing, and once I hit the main roads which are usually clear, it was lying fast, and there wasn’t enough traffic to keep it clear. It was pretty scary.

I made it to Monkgate, before deciding I was being foolish, and if I made it to the pub, I might not make it back. I turned round, and drove back home, sliding back down the roads.

Later, I was on the phone to Corinne talking about this:

‘You went to Cardiff in awful weather and with overturned lorries not to see John, and we went to Liverpool that time, not to see James.’
‘Yes, and I also went to Stratford in snow when I got there and some of the actors didn’t’
‘In the past, you’d have abandoned your car, and walked. But now you wouldn’t cross town for him’
‘I know. It feels rather strange. I knew you’d understand’. We laughed.

Pause

‘Imagine if it had been this week last year*!’
‘Oh God!’

*That is the week of the last DT Hamlet, and Barrowman in panto

I have been called obsessive about Shakespeare…

But to me, it seems entirely reasonable to see two plays by the RSC, in two days, in two different parts of the country over two hundred miles apart. If the opportunity presents itself, take it.

It started with us booking to see the RSC Julius Caesar in Newcastle, part of their annual residency in the city. I wanted to see this production, as it was directed by Lucy Bailey, who also directed the rather fabulous (and fabulously gory) production of Titus Andronicus which we saw at the Globe a couple of years ago. In that she’d struck me as quite an exciting director.

Then work decided at the last minute to send me to a conference in Bromsgrove. The last time this happened, in Spring, well, there was only one outcome. When I’m only 20 miles away, how can I resist? It all depended whether there were any tickets left for Twelfth Night. A quick check on line found two single tickets remaining. One of them clearly had my name on it.

So last Thursday evening I found myself in the Courtyard Theatre settling down to watch Gregory Doran’s production of Twelfth Night. You may know that Doran isn’t one of my favourite directors. It was David Tennant’s performance as Hamlet that I loved, along with the ensemble, but I had issues about some of the directorial decisions.

This time, he’d also cast a couple of very well known TV actors, Richard Wilson and James Fleet, as Malvolio and Andrew Aguecheek, alongside some seasoned RSC performers*. Such casting puts ‘bums on seats’, but it doesn’t always work as brilliantly as it did with DT. I felt that this time it was less successful, and that both actors gave rather under-powered performances, and therefore much of the comedy was lost, particularly with Aguecheek.

By casting Malvolio as quite an elderly man, it did make him a sadder character than usual, his deluded belief that Olivia loves him drawing sympathy rather than humour at his pomposity being punctured. At the end, this wasn’t a man who would seek his revenge, and perhaps wisely, his last line was delivered after he had left the stage. I think I might have been tempted to cut it, as it seemed to work against the character.

The best performances for me were from Nancy Carroll as a charming, and witty Viola, Alexandra Gilbreath as an ageing Oliva, Jo Stone-Fewings as Orsino, and Richard McCabe as a gross and manipulative Toby Belch. All experienced RSC actors, and it showed.

The eastern Mediterranean setting was very reminiscent of Bill Alexander’s 1987 production, in both set and costumes, so that I frequently felt that I’d seen it all before.

Overall, it was enjoyable, without being in any way challenging. It was ‘comfortable’ Shakespeare, but I’m not sure that that’s what he should be. It took no risks, which I find to be one of the hallmarks of Doran as a director. I need the moments, either in production, or performance, which make me hold my breath, and this didn’t have them.

*Though I guess you could call Fleet the same, as I first saw him there back in the mid 80’s

Where I discover once again that I don't have a lot in common with the people I work with

I did a lot of interviewing last week. 3 days of it. Some candidates didn’t turn up, and didn’t have the courtesy to let us know they weren’t coming, so there was some hanging around waiting, and making conversation with colleagues. The thing about work is that usually we’re so busy, we don’t actually talk to each other, not about anything other than work that is.

At one point, I find myself chatting to our medical director, who tells me that he was in Stratford last week, and went to the theatre. At least he knows enough about me to know I like theatre.

‘Oh, what did you see?’
‘As You Like It.’
‘What did you think?’

‘I really liked the theatre. As for the play, well, I have seen it before, many years ago, but I did find it hard going, trying to work out what they were saying.
We left at the interval’

I can’t actually say anything, as I’m gaping rather.

‘Well, I look at it this way. I’d enjoyed it up to that point, and felt that I’d seen enough. If I’d have stayed, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it so much. And, after all, I have seen it before.’

‘I have my shocked face on, don’t I?’

'A sad tale's best for Winter'

I love 'The Winter's Tale'. Of the late plays, it’s probably my favourite, and I’ve seen some great productions over the years. Once again, the theatre snob in me was hyper-critical, and had high expectations. That sounds as though there’s a hesitation, and there is, but overall, I really enjoyed David Farr’s production.

I’ve always thought Leontes to be a pig of a part for an actor, as the jealous rage against Hermione and Polixenes seems to come from nowhere, but Greg Hicks gave a masterly portrayal of a usually controlled man in torment. Beautifully spoken (and always audible, Patrick Stewart take note), and more frightening because of the ‘sanity’ of his madness. A man who is obeyed, even when behaving totally irrationally.

Kelly Hunter’s Hermione matched him in dignity, and these two are an intelligent and articulate pairing. For the first time in my recollection the trial had me in tears.

Sicilia appeared to be set in a huge library. There’s a fabulous moment at the end of the trial scene which I won’t spoil, but it created a wonderful image.

I felt the Bohemian sheep shearing scenes worked less well. It’s a little like ‘rustic’ Shakespeare is now a bit embarrassing for the Company. There was a strange mix of accents, West Indian, Welsh and Scots, amongst Perdita’s adoptive family, which seemed odd. I did inwardly groan at yet another rustic dance with ‘comedy’ phalluses. I have to admit it all bored me a bit, so I was glad when Polixenes and Camillo revealed themselves, and it turned darker again as they headed back to Sicilia.

One of the joys of the RSC Ensemble approach is that you get to see actors in small roles who will take a greater role in other plays. Here we had Sam Troughton, who will play Brutus this summer, in the minor roles of Dion and Paulina*’s Steward. Paulina’s Steward is the one who reports the off stage revelations that Perdita is Leontes’s lost daughter. I have never seen this speech played so well, or so clearly. It was funny, touching, and had absolute clarity. Troughton** has made a bit of a name for himself on tv, and already has the theatrical credentials, and I feel we’re in for a treat when Julius Ceasar comes.

The last scene can be one of the most moving in Shakespeare, and here it was. Leontes ‘she’s warm’ is full of wonder, and regret, and remorse, and the reunion of husband and wife was very touching. Shakespeare gives Hermione no words to her husband, just to her daughter, so you have no textual clue about her response, but here the message was of forgiveness.

Overall, I would give it three stars. I think it’s a ‘grower’, but then I also think many of these productions should be seen more than once, as you can’t fully appreciate it the first time. I think the new ensemble has lots of potential, and I’m really looking forward to what develops over the next couple of years.

*’Paulina’ herself cropped up as the head of Unit in this weekend’s Doctor Who
**Also a grandson of Doctor Who, of course

Something about Stratford

It’s a fact that when I get stressed, I book theatre. I was pretty stressed last week, so when I was asked to go to a conference in Bromsgrove on Wednesday afternoon, it seemed too good a chance to miss. You see, Bromsgrove was on ‘my’ route to Stratford when I lived down there. It’s only about 20 miles away.

The next moment, I was on line checking out ticket availability. The new season has just started, and only one production has opened, so The Winter’s Tale it was.

As I set off that afternoon, it was a strange feeling. The road was so familiar. Somehow I’d thought it would have changed, as it must be 15 years since I’ve driven that route, but it all looked just the same. I could feel the grin spreading across my face as I drove, particularly as I crested the last hill, and could see the town below me.

For me, there’s something about Stratford in any season, but Spring is particularly special. For years, it was always the start of the season, and now it is again. It’s a feeling of new beginnings but also of continuity, of freshness, and of hope. As I walked along to the theatre to collect my ticket, I could see the new RST finally rising from amongst the cranes and scaffolding. Another year or so, and it will be open.

Walking along Waterside, the boats were out on the river, the passenger ferry was in service, and people were drinking outside the Dirty Duck. I’m not one for drinking on my own in pubs, but the Duck doesn’t worry me, so I bought a glass of wine and took it outside to sit on the wall and look at the river, just drinking in the atmosphere. At the next table to me I spotted a member of the RSC Histories Ensemble, who was later joined by two others. It was a pretty good place to be, and the stresses of work seemed a long way away.

Backstage

As the tour guide opens one of the Perspex screens and we peer through, I whisper to Corinne ‘this is as close as we get to David’s view!’ There’s a moment, as we let this sink in.

We’re ‘backstage’ at The Courtyard theatre, and there’s not much of it. I’m standing pretty much where David Tennant would have been standing last night before he made his first entrance.

When we called in at the theatre earlier, I’d spotted the notice about theatre tours. We’d just missed the 11 o’clock, but there was another at 12, so we asked in the shop.

‘I’m sorry, it’s fully booked…but if you have a word, he might be able to squeeze you in.’ So we head into town, and back again (‘at least we’re getting exercise’), and wait. The 11 o’clock tour comes out. There are quite a lot of them. The 12 o’clock assembles. There doesn’t seem to be as many, so we’re in. Even better, it’s free, and you can take photos in the auditorium.

It proves fascinating, as he tells us about the creation of the ‘rusty shed’ as the temporary replacement for the RST, and we get to view the stage, still set for Hamlet, from each level. We decide that the top balcony will never be seats of choice, though the sightline isn’t awful. He explains that there’s only about three and a half feet below the stage, and how the actors in The Histories got calluses on their knees and elbows from crawling around underneath. Sometimes, theatre isn’t very glamorous!

He tells us we can’t go on the stage, which has a shiny black floor for Hamlet, Love’s Labour’s and the Dream – all Gregory Doran productions. Apparently they initially let groups go on the stage as long as they took their shoes off, but he objected. Someone pipes up ‘so, the clog dancers* don’t damage it then’. We curl our lips slightly in the metaphorical direction of Mr Doran.

As we pass by the back of the stalls, we spot a list of scenes

‘Look, no pirates’
‘Maybe we could just add them back in!’

It’s very tempting!

Then, we’re backstage. It’s very narrow. There are a few props, and a quick change area, and a scenery dock behind a curtain. He opens one of the screens and it’s only as I look out that I get a real sense of the size of the theatre, and just how little space the actors have. As I resist the urge to step onto the special surface, I don’t ask the guide any questions. I don’t need to. I’m just drinking in the theatre magic.

*In Love’s Labour’s – for a minute there I thought I was watching Northern Broadsides!

'Suit the action to the word, the word to the action...'

After three months, I made a return visit to Stratford at the weekend, seeing Love’s Labour’s Lost, and Hamlet. I’ve given myself a few days to reflect on it. Partly because of work, but also because I wanted it to settle in my mind.

When I first saw Hamlet, some of the directorial decisions and cuts jarred to the extent that they marred the production, and I marked David Tennant’s Hamlet as a ‘very good Hamlet, with the potential to be great’. This time, the choices and cuts didn’t bother me in the main, as I was expecting them, and therefore they didn’t detract from what was happening on stage.

And what was happening on stage was amazing. There was theatrical magic in the air, and he was everything that I’d felt he could be. It was like hearing some of the speeches for the first time. Lines I can repeat in my head along with the actors sounded new minted. He actually made me cry in the soliloquies, even ‘to be or not to be’! For a self confessed ‘theatre snob’ who is incredibly difficult to please when it comes to Shakespeare, it was mind blowing.

He seemed so young, and so vulnerable in his performance, heightening the tragedy of wasted potential. His interaction with both father and mother was very emotional, with the closet scene immensely powerful.

The strength of his performance did mean that others got less attention, though Penny Downie, Oliver Ford Davies and Peter de Jersey all impressed me. I couldn’t find the ‘smiling damned villain’ in Patrick Stewart’s Claudius though, apart from one or two flashes.

I still don’t think the placing of the interval added anything, and I still miss the pirates, ‘let be’ and Fortinbras at the end, but I almost cried as he tenderly stroked Yorick’s skull, and was in tears throughout the last scene – hence my issue with the abruptness of the ending. Yes, the rest really is silence after the loss of such a sweet prince, but I need time to mourn before the cast come on to take their bow.

As the lights went down, I glanced at Corinne. ‘I’m going to stand’, ‘Me too’, and we were on our feet. He deserved it. And he knew – he could tell that it had been a good one, as you could see it in his grin, and his face. It was once of those theatrical experiences that I want to save forever, and it’s part of the magic, but also the transience, of theatre that I can’t and it has to live in my memory*.

I don’t have the words to capture it really. It’s still not the greatest production of Hamlet that I’ve seen, but on Saturday night’s performance, he has become my best ever Hamlet.

*But come on, RSC, you know there’s going to be a market if you record it – it’s been done for lesser productions

Everybody Dies

I mention that I’m going to see Hamlet in Stratford.

‘What’s it about? I’ve never seen it’

I know I look a little dumbstruck. Does she really not know? How do you sum up the greatest play in the English language in a few words?

‘Well…It’s about Hamlet’. She looks at me questioningly. ‘Prince of Denmark’. Clearly this means nothing, so I begin.

‘Hamlet’s father has died. He’s a student and he’s come back from Uni. His uncle has become king, and married his mother. He sees the ghost of his father on the battlements and he tells Hamlet he was murdered by his uncle’.

‘And was he?’

‘Yes, but at first Hamlet isn’t sure, so he pretends to be mad and tried to trap him. When the players come to court, he asks them to perform a play that’s like the murder of his father, to see his reaction. Claudius (that’s the king), does react, and Hamlet goes to kill him, but doesn’t, and is banished. Oh, and the girl Hamlet loves goes mad and kills herself because he rejected her and killed her father, and her brother comes back and challenges Hamlet to a duel, and everybody dies!’

‘Oh! So, it’s not a barrel of laughs then!’

The Stratford Effect

All the journey down, I was fine, in a haze of Shakespeare, and Stratford and sunshine. I managed to avoid being grumpy* for most of the afternoon, despite the overwhelming amount of work in front of me, and the constant bombardment of questions. Even yesterday evening, as I finally left work just after 9, I could still feel it hanging around me. The 'Stratford Effect' had restored my sanity for one day in my crazy work schedule, for I could imagine I was back there, in the theatre, in the Pimm’s Garden, or just looking at the river.

But, today, it had gone. I was irritable, and stressed, and babbling. For I’m still working at a distance, despite having had the conversation with my boss nearly six months ago that it needed to end. I think in my heart of hearts, I knew I would still be there, for to walk away just now would be letting people down, and I can’t do it.

So instead I lurch from crisis to crisis, but trying to please everyone, and pleasing no one, least of all myself. I could work 5 days a week there, and it still wouldn’t be done.

So, I need the ‘Stratford Effect’** more than ever, if I’m going to get to the end of September. I also need to have another conversation with my boss!

*believe me, when I am, even I don’t like me!

** The Stratford Effect isn’t just Stratford, it’s any theatre/art/cultural activity.

Sweet Prince

Spoiler alert – if anyone is going to see DT play Hamlet in Stratford, and doesn’t want to know about the production, do not read on.

I went to see David Tennant’s Hamlet in Stratford on Friday. It’s only about 10 months since I booked. I’ve been looking forward to it for so long, it seemed hardly believable that the day had arrived, and now I’m back home, it seems hard to believe that it’s happened.

I’d been a bit worried as the RSC had started to send out emails to ticket holders to tell them how to behave in a theatre and that they could not get any Doctor Who merchandise signed at the stage door. I’d also worried about the ‘Doran’ factor, as he’s never been my favourite director. But we got our frocks out, had a nice meal, and headed down Waterside to the Courtyard Theatre.

Into the auditorium, we were sitting round to the side of the thrust stage, which mean that we lost some of the visual impact of the reflective back drop, but gained in being close to the action.

The production was in modern dress, which for the most part worked well. They did Hamlet’s first entrance incredibly well, for I had feared there might be spontaneous applause, but because he entered as part of a group, for a moment you didn’t see him, and when you did, the action had continued, and the moment passed.

He looked so young, the grief stricken boy, so still in the midst of all the celebration, and literally rocking with grief in ‘Oh that this too too solid flesh would melt’. I loved him in the early part of the play, through the encounter with the Ghost, which clearly unhinged him briefly*.

Yet one or two soliloquies went for very little. Every actor must find it daunting to step onto a stage and start ‘to be, or not to be’, but it was difficult to tell what the intention was here. There were flashes of brilliance about this Hamlet, but there were also significant problems of pacing, and frankly odd cutting decisions.

Sometimes the action would seem to plod along, and then it would pick up speed and go really quickly. I thought DT was excellent in the scene with the players, fast, energetic and thoroughly coherent, and thought the dumb show very effective, and sufficiently different to the play to make me not wonder why Claudius doesn’t react to the dumb show. I absolutely loved how he mouthed ‘his’ speech along with the player, watching the performance, and Claudius’s reaction. And yes, I did love him in tux and bare feet!

Act 1 ended on a cliffhanger, just as Hamlet is about to kill Claudius at prayer. It seemed a brave decision, and was at least different, and made me go ‘gosh, I didn’t expect that’, but, by picking up from exactly the same moment at the start of Act 2, I felt the momentum was lost. It would have been better, as was suggested, to go back to the beginning of the speech – maybe they’ll change it during the previews?

I haven’t said a great deal so far about Patrick Stewart as Claudius, and that’s because I found it a difficult performance to judge. He was beautifully spoken, yet I couldn’t see anything of the political animal, or the ‘smiling damned villain’ about him. I thought Penny Downie was an excellent Gertrude, however. Utterly destroyed by the end. It’s a difficult part as Shakespeare doesn’t really give her the words after the closet scene to show how she responds to Hamlet’s request, so it has to be there in the actor’s performance.

Act 2 felt more disjointed than Act 1, perhaps because Hamlet is off stage for a significant period. ‘How all occasions do inform against me’ (my favourite soliloquy) went for nothing and Hamlet was wearing a frankly hideous costume, where he looked like he’d strayed onto the stage from the local ‘global gathering’ festival, complete with back pack and sleeping bag!

Having kept in the ambassadors to Norway, the production then dispensed with Hamlet’s report of the journey to England, and the attack by pirates, so when we got to ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead’ you didn’t know what had happened to them. Similarly, we got all of Osric (truly, I never realised there was that much to Osric). Having slowed the pace right down again, the production then fairly galloped through the last scene, once again cutting some of Hamlet’s final speeches, and ending on ‘flights of angels sing thee to thy rest’ with Fortinbras standing outside the huge doors.

So, my overall response? It’s a good Hamlet, it will please the million, and hopefully encourage those who are seeing it for the first time to see more Shakespeare. There is nothing to offend (well, maybe the cuts) but there isn’t as yet anything that makes you hold your breath. It will improve if some of the problems of pace and cutting are ironed out. David is a very good Hamlet, with the potential to be a great Hamlet. I look forward to reading the reviews, and seeing it again once it has settled into the repertoire.

Afterwards, we did check out the stage door, but it was crazy. Some people actually squealed at the sight of him, and they had to have barriers in place. I didn’t even try to get to the front, just snapped a couple of photos over others heads. It’s the long game.

* For the record, I don’t like a ‘mad’ Hamlet, but I don’t mind one temporarily unhinged by grief and his encounter with the supernatural.

Summer in Stratford

(with apologies for the lack of ‘holiday blogs’ – I will get back to it, but I’ve been too busy to catch up)

As we sit by the River Avon in the burning sunshine, I comment to Corinne that it’s days like this that I want to bottle, and take out when it’s dark and miserable. Yes, there are a few Stratford chavs around (the sun always brings them out, as it’s too far to go to the coast), but I love summer in Stratford. I know it well enough to get away from the crowds, and I never feel like a tourist.

There have to be few better things in the world than a leisurely boat trip on the Avon, even though the sight of the shell of the RST still gives me a pang. At least now I can see the new theatre starting to rise from the rubble. We pick out the house with the garden running down to the river, we admire the flora and fauna (I like ducks, they don’t look as if they will peck you to death) from a safe distance, and as we sail down past the church, I think of Will, who lies there. It really is my spiritual home.

We discover fabulous little shops, and I spend money on things I don’t need, convincing myself I’m still on holiday.

In the baking sun of the afternoon, the newly discovered Pimm’s Garden of the Dirty Duck is an ideal retreat. We’re not the only ones who think so. Shade is hard to come by, and I eventually resort to using my umbrella as a parasol. We’re a stone’s throw (probably literally, if you lobbed one over the wall) from the Courtyard Theatre, where, in my head at least, David Tennant is at this point receiving notes on last night’s performance of Hamlet*. At this moment, there have to be few better places to be in the world. Good wine, good company, good friends. Heaven.

*of which there is definately more to come

‘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.