HIGHTIDE FESTIVAL 2014

How I saw it happen, 18th-19th April 2014

Friday 18th April

11:50am: An usher steps out of the door to the studio spaces in The New Cut Arts building and announces, in a good clear voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to HighTide 2014."

Ben Mills, My fellow HighTide attendee, turns to me and says, "Thank God, we're here in the right year."

The usher lets us know that the house is now open for the first of nine productions taking place that day – the Escalator Plays.  It’s our ten-minute call.  After the three and a half hour drive to Halesworth, fuelled as much by espresso as it was by diesel, I am relaxing into the festival with a camomile tea from the arts centre bar.  The Cut - the main venue of the festival - is lovely.  It could do with a few more chairs and tables, and food served at times other than the exact intervals within which we were watching pieces of theatre, but otherwise the atmosphere is homely and each space appears totally fit for function.  The bar itself is a constant melting pot of theatrical royalty, festival directors, cast, crew, all sharing tables, newspapers and cake plates with the eager audience.  I wasn't alone in noting the fluidity of the room: on day two Michael Billington said to me that everyone there seemed to be an actor, a playwright or a director, or something to do with the festival.  In fact, he seemed surprised to talk to me, an average, run-of-the-mill audience member.

11:55am: "Man, I'm tired.  I need to wake up."  I finish my camomile tea. 

"Good thing we're going to sit through 80 minutes of staged readings, then."

Actually, my drooping eyelids were a good substitute for the critical eye that my road-weary mind struggled to muster.  If a play lacked grip - if it was too drawn out - if it was written around a boring, inconsequential event - my eyelids drooped.  If I actually fell asleep (on one occasion, for about 5 seconds) then I knew, without a doubt, that the play paled in comparison to the brighter, clearer, more captivating 10 minute extracts produced through development with HighTide. 

The play that stood out most of all was ‘True Brits’ by Vinay Patel, a monologue from the perspective of a young British Asian whose claims to being part of British Society are compromised by the 7/7 bombings.  His showed the most promise for successful future production, and I’m looking forward to seeing the full play in the future.

2pm: Next on our schedule was Harry Melling's play 'Peddling' which is transferring to Brits Off Broadway at 59E59 in New York from 23^rd April-18^th May.  Quite simply, this piece of work is absolutely stunning.  It is a unique, absorbing monologue from a 19 year old door to door salesman on Boris' young offender's scheme, written and performed by Melling. It is composed of the sort of poetry that doesn't jar, that doesn't sound contrived - instead it resonates with the meaning of the piece, enhancing our affinity with the sentiment.  We follow this day in the life of a misunderstood, mistreated, abandoned young boy and gradually come to understand why he is so destructive, so violent.  Towards the end of the play, Melling takes the time to look each audience member in the eye, a moment that inspires the audience to lean forwards in their seats, hungry to connect with a boy we have been lead to no longer fear.

4:15pm: After lunch, we saw 'The Girl's Guide to Saving the World' by Elinor Cook.  I loved the experience of watching this play, but I’m not sure that I loved the play itself.  Really, it is a shame that it has came so close to Vicky Jones' 'The One' at the Soho Theatre, because it felt like a less sharply realised version of a similar discussion of the complexities of a relationship.  It takes a more (questionable) feminist edge, but it doesn't tell us anything new about fashion magazines, domestic violence, motherhood or fatherhood.  Neither does it tell girls “how to save the world”: instead it suggests that motherhood is a career-killer, that men are two-dimensional, and shows us how women's main issues reside with other women. 

What it does do, however, is give us a protagonist who is beautifully played by Jade Williams.  I believed in her plight from start to finish, even through the unnecessary final third of the play, and was moved to tears by the brutal honesty in her failing relationship with her boyfriend.  And, granted, this credit goes towards the writing as much as it does to Williams' performance.

5:45pm: The only problem I have with theatre is the amount of time, conventionally, that you have to spend sitting down.  By this point, I definitely wanted to get out of the building and go for a walk before returning to The Cut for a reviving glass of wine and the penultimate play of the day.  I decided, you don't have to be a hardcore theatre-lover to enjoy HighTide, but it probably helps.

6:45pm: ‘The Big Meal’ by Dan LeFranc had the audience divided into two clear categories: those who were reduced to tears and those who were numb to the emotional intensity of it all.  Unfortunately, I was in this second category, and "oh!" how I longed to be in the first.  I was distracted by over-intellectualising the motifs, the imagery, the ideas of inheritance, and totally missed the heart of the piece that, quite beautifully, showed fifty years of growth across five generations of a family, with only four generations of actors.   

Despite the merit of this, I applauded meekly at the end, having gotten bored halfway through of what became a predictable storyline.  But when I turned around to gauge the rest of the audience’s reaction, I saw that the girl sat behind me was so moved by the play that she was sobbing into a huddle of arms surrounding her.  The man infront of me must have shared my sentiment, because he dismissively mentioned something about "halfway through", but in the crowd leaving the auditorium I noticed other glazed eyes and slightly shell-shocked footsteps.   

Clearly, those of us expecting to scratch our chins at the piece had entered into the play with entirely the wrong mentality, but I have yet to decide whether this is our own fault, or the fault of the director.  Or, whether it is simply a reflection of the difference between British and American theatre: the difference, as Ben pointed out, between plays that are written from the heart and those written from the head.

8:30pm: Dinner: the fish and chip shop in Halesworth is amazing.  And super friendly.  

9:30pm: We finished the evening with a cheerful little number from DugOut Theatre called ‘Inheritance Blues’ – a blues band telling the story of their first gig together with music, choreography, and tickling comedy.  It was a wonderful way to finish the day pass schedule, having been rinsed of my brain’s capacity to process much beyond easy laughs and charming characters.

I have to mention here that theatrical royalty in this audience included Penny Downie, who, by the way, glides into a room just as she did in the floor-length silk dress she wore as Gertrude in the 2008 RSC production of Hamlet, no matter what she is actually wearing.

11pm: And, sleep.

Saturday 19th April

4:30pm: The purpose of day two, primarily, was to catch the premiere of Nick Payne’s new play, ‘Incognito’.  As such, day two was fangirl day for me, because today Michael Billington was interviewing Michael Gambon on his brilliant, fantastic, amazing career.  There were many moments during this festival when I thought the building might explode for the power of the creative, intellectual minds beneath its roof, but the Face to Face interview was a true highlight.  Gambon is such a funny, warm, unassuming man with a wealth of jaw-dropping stories that shed a new light on Samuel Beckett, Princess Anne and the Harry Potter crew.   

The main piece of advice that I took away from the interview, directed at actors embarking on drama college training, was to “scream, shout, and tell lots of lies”.  I also asked him if he had ever considered playwriting, to which he retorted, “Playwriting? I highly respect those that can, but good Lord, I can’t even spell my own name”.  If I didn’t adore the man already, I certainly do now.

7:45pm: As the sun was setting on our last day, and indeed, the last day of the festival, we walked to the Rifle Hall a scenic ten minutes walk away from The Cut for ‘Incognito’.  There is such a buzz about a Nick Payne play, consistently inspired by the phenomenal success of ‘Constellations’ in 2012 and the continuing success of his work since then.  In this respect, when I see his work, I am as keen just to hear what he has to say about the world as I am to see a good piece of theatre.  His work gently discusses the place of humanity in a body, a time and a universe that renders our daily troubles, in the grand scheme of things, as insignificant.  ‘Incognito’ is no exception – we flit between three time frames, three different sets of characters, and explore to what extent our identity is tied up with our memories.   

With a similar approach as Lucy Prebble’s ‘The Effect’ in 2012, the moment that held the audience in captivation was when a jar with a human brain in it was carried from a piano on one side of the stage to rest on a piano on the other side.  Even the greatest of writers would fail to put into words how simple, how fragile we are, more soberly than a visual of our own consciousness held bare, naked, helpless before us, and I thank Nick Payne for being humbled by the vision himself enough to write it.  The play will transfer to the Bush Theatre on the 14th May, and I fully intend to see it again.  

 
Each play at HighTide had something to say about contemporary western culture, whether it was gender issues, class issues, race or age, so it was nice to end the festival on a play that took the audience beyond all of that, and prompted us to see ourselves as purely, simply, human beings.  The festival has finished its 8^th year, and this is only a two day insight of the varied, exciting schedule spread across the nine day programme.  It is a shame that Halesworth is so far away, otherwise I think I would have been there from 6pm on the 10^th April to the end of Saturday 19^th.

On second thoughts, maybe it’s for the best.

I am already looking forward to next year.  Thanks, HighTide.

http://www.hightide.org.uk/

Art and Science and Brain Scans

Poster image from 'The Effect' by Lucy Prebble

Last Friday, I volunteered for a study with MRC Clinical Sciences Centre investigating whether long-term stress has an affect on brain functioning by altering levels of dopamine in the brain.  To do this, they are looking at contributing factors such as where people live, what their childhood was like, what their occupation is, and conducting psychological and biological tests to explore the theory.  Eventually, Michael Bloomfield will pool all of this information together and draw a conclusion based on comparing the evidence drawn from individuals across the UK.  Taking part in the study was endlessly interesting, and I don’t think I have ever felt so interesting in my life, being scrutinised between multiple psychological tests, saliva swabs, blood pressure checks, a PET scan and an MRI scan.  
 

I gave all of these things without a second thought, and I don’t know how many times I said thankyou.  But in the world of science, we don’t tend to question the validity of a scientist’s wish to stick a cannula up our arm or have a sample of urine in a pot.  I knew the whys and wherefores of the study, and knew that everything I could provide, as honestly as I could, was contributing to a wider understanding of the strange things that happen in the human mind – and that was enough for me.

But while I was lying in the MRI scanner, drifting in and out of sleep for 90 minutes and intermittently listening to Chopin on the stereo, I started to consider the relationship between science and art.  Is the process of painting, of writing a play or composing a song not exactly the same process?  We only question the worth of either discipline when we start to talk about money, at which point the rebuttal is the same: its worth is enormous, it contributes to our understanding of ourselves.

The levels of dopamine in the brain - in my brain

Okay, alright.  So a piece of theatre or an art exhibition may not have the same groundbreaking effect as the potential discovery of the Higgs boson particle.  Neither does the redevelopment of the Large Hadron Collider compare with the building work at the National Theatre.  But lying in that MRI scanner with dye in my bloodstream, I couldn’t help but dwell on the similarities: I had put unreserved faith in the doctors looking after me, I was guided from beginning to end, with my emotions and comprehension checked at every crucial opportunity (science is much better at this than theatre - granted) and at the end of it all, a man will look at the results of the day’s work and seek to answer the ever-prevalent question: “why”?

What we ask that question in reference to is irrelevant, because it is simply the act of asking it that is intrinsic to our values as human beings with conscious minds.  It is because of this question that both art and science exist: why choreographers and playwrights work with scientists, and why Leonardo DaVinci hangs in a dichotomy between artist and scientist.  

Sufficed to say, drawing this parallel is absolutely nothing new.  But I was brought to thinking about it so furtively while having my brain scanned because it leadme to also ponder the question: “how?”  An artist consistently has to justify their work, as does a scientist, and if the justification doesn’t fit, then something has to change.  But once all of those justifications are in place, we look at how something happens – in the brain, in the universe, in an exchange between characters - and can finally begin to understand the larger, more domineering “why”.

But, as we are seeing with the Higgs particle, answering one question is only the catalyst for asking hundreds of more questions.  Matt Morrison, a playwright and lecturer at the University of Westminster, once said to me that what is really terrifying to ask is whether every play is actually about the same thing: what it is to be human.  Would scientists agree that the same can be said for science?  

The conversation never stops and quite frankly, I’m glad that it never will.

Review - In Praise of Love - talkingScarlet - Haymarket Theatre, Basingstoke

Terence Rattigan’s 1973 play, ‘In Praise of Love’, is the current touring repertory production by talking Scarlet.  This company are no novices to approaching the work of highly regarded playwrights, and since 2001 have produced plays by John McGrath, Michael Frayn, Samuel Beckett and Alan Ayckbourn, to name but a few.  This is testimony not only to their savvy programming choice, but also to their fearless approach to the stage: this production of Rattigan’s achingly beautiful play listens carefully to his voice as he writes of the very human fear of feeling emotion at all, and it screams it in silent looks, in tearful eyes and defensive displays of nonchalance.  

It is a play of many layers, mainly due to the secrets that Lydia and Sebastian, a married couple, keep from each other.  Without giving too much of the plot away, it is a story of revelations that are told to everyone except the people the characters love the most, and who best deserve to know.  And in this respect, it asks how far we go to protect the feelings of the ones we love, as well as ourselves.

It is heartbreaking to watch true love unfold in this way, particularly in talking Scarlet’s production.  The characters are well considered and truthfully portrayed, allowing moments of stillness to speak in volumes.  In particular is Jo Castleton’s performance as Lydia, who needs only to stand and grip hold of the sofa to communicate everything we need to know about her emotional state.  It is an honest, vulnerable performance, enriched by the believable scarring from her survival as an Estonian refugee and turmoil at facing a terminal illness.  

Castleton is well supported by John Hester’s solid performance as Mark, her rock and confidente, and George Telfer as her impossible husband Sebastian.  It is Sebastian who has the most significant development across the play, stripped down to his true self in parallel with the pace at which the secrets unfold, a journey that is deftly played by Telfer to shattering effect.  

Rattigan’s play belongs to a strand of theatre whose main action takes place within the intricacies of the relationships between characters, comparable to the work of J.B Priestley or Mike Leigh.  That is to say, the physical world in which the characters live does not change, it is purely the atmosphere created by the dramatic tension that shifts.  In this regard, we find that even in a moment such as Lydia showing off her present from Mark, an expensive mink coat, the significance of a seemingly small moment is actually enormous.  

Unfortunately, this production did not quite hit all of these moments with full force, allowing the audience to drift away at times as if the action did not matter.  On the flipside, a moment was sometimes hit with too much force, and a character breaking down or storming out of the room would have thrived off the actors’ otherwise subtle approach. 

However, what this production achieves best of all is in telling the story of people that we believe in, delight in and are moved to tears by, and in this respect talking Scarlet do great justice to Rattigan’s play.  

For ticket and tour information, contact:

Tel: 07971 064989
E-mail: info@talking-scarlet.co.uk
@talkingScarlet

Review - The Misanthrope - Chesil Theatre, Winchester

(Reviewed for the Hampshire Chronicle)

Chesil Theatre have taken Richard Wilbur's translation of Molière's famous play 'The Misanthrope' and set it in the Edwardian era, allowing an extra flavour - a flick of a tailcoat - to permeate this story exploring the social conventions of high society.  This production feels fresh, with a clear commentary on the superficiality of society in a light, comedic tone.

Wilbur’s translation maintains the verse structure of Moliere's play and uses rhyming couplets which, through Mark Frank's direction, allows some smart comedy moments to shine through, with easy timing, smart delivery and sensitivity to the rhythm of the text.  However, although Frank directs the text very well, it is the action that surrounds the text that occasionally fails to deliver the same conviction.  Reactions are sometimes overplayed, and action on the periphery of a scene can appear unnatural. 

But altogether, the actors approach their characters with a sense of truth that allows the text to thrive.  In particular is Alec Walters as the misanthropic Alceste, whose performance is intelligently funny in his devout affection for Célimène.  Célimène's other suitors, Acaste (Andrew Leckie) and Clitandre (Michael Perrimutter) display a particularly charming double-act, competing for her attention, and Simon Irwin as Oronte, another suitor, is delightful from his first entrance.  There is a certain warmth to Rachel O'Neill's performance as Arsinoe which contrasts neatly with ­­­Sarah Andrews' performance as Célimène, highlighting the lie in her bright, loveable exterior.

This warmth harmoniously carries through to the simple set design and lighting.  Outlines of aristocratic figures are painted onto framed sheets of fabric, alongside frames that can be backlit, providing a silhouette to a character standing in front of it.  It is due to this simplicity that the final image of the play - Célimène in silhouette listening to a music box - is so striking, portraying the innocence of her character despite a (justified) attack from the rest of the party against her manipulative ways.

Undettered by this play's original inspiration from 17th Century France, 1955 translation and Edwardian setting, Chesil Theatre have found the moments that still ring true to a 21st Century audience, provoking laughs at our own hypocrisies and contradictions.  It strikes at the very human elements of the play, and is as thought-provoking as it is laughter-inducing.