The Snow Queen - The Nuffield Theatre, Southampton

Originally written for Exeunt

This year’s Christmas show at the Nuffield Theatre is a heart-warming tale of friendship, morality and bravery. Adapted for the stage by Georgia Pritchett, The Snow Queen tells the story of a lonely young girl, Gerda, whose only friend Kai is kidnapped by the wicked title character. What follows is her pursuit to save him, and the growth of the friendships that she makes along the way. In this, we meet some truly charming characters and see some great performances, most notably by Jack Shalloo as the Raven whose sharp delivery prompts the most giggles in the audience between both kids and adults. Nicola Munns brings a bright, sparkling energy to the stage as the Princess (Snow White) and Robber Maiden (Little Red Riding Hood), the latter of which inspiring something of a fan club amongst the girls in the audience – a great outcome for the strong, independent female character. 

Jessie Hart’s performance as Gerda is lovely, and she does a remarkable job with a character who is short on depth. For the first half of the show it is a struggle to understand why this irresistibly likeable girl is so staunchly adverse to having a friend other than Kai. In theory, this should prompt a sense of mystery to propel the story forwards, and draw an intriguing symmetry between herself and the Snow Queen. Instead, it is confusing, and would benefit from clearer, earlier indication that her reservations are because she is scared, rather than unjustifiably dismissive.  Similarly, it is difficult to decide whether or not we are supposed to warm to the Snow Queen, particularly as the performance by Natasha Jayetileke is lacking in conviction, and only reaches discernable intentions in the final moments of the show. 

In her defence, this is a family show, so we are not expecting a villain brimming with horror and menace to scare the children. Nor do we expect cartoon characters who irritate the adults, and to this extent, Pritchett has done right by the audience. But in terms of the approach to comedy, the writing hits neither mark. A joke built on the harmful stereotype that in a married couple, the husband prefers the wife when she’s not talking, lands uncomfortably. Regardless of whether the character is Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, the potential connotations of the line, “I prefer my women horizontal and unconscious” do not belong with an audience of parents and children. Likewise, jokes built around an overtly camp – though brilliantly performed – reindeer are just not useful, and I hope we laughed primarily at his performance than at the idea of a man being excited by other men. 

On the plus side, the set and lighting design by Ti Green and Mark Doubleday respectively is quite beautiful, and gasp-worthy for all ages. Spires of light stem from the stage floor and hang from the ceiling, twinkling and changing colour according to the climate of the scene. Most strikingly, while Kai is confined to the ice palace, he spends most of the show sitting on a swing hanging above the stage, gradually turning bluer and colder. His presence is a constant reminder of how much we want him to be rescued, and serves as a guiding force for act two. Credit for this effect must also go to Jos Slovick for his warm, delicate performance.

It is almost the cosy, fun production that it sometimes promises to be, and the musical numbers are catchy and jaunty, if occasionally lyrically weak. On the whole, for a fix of seasonal spirits and some uplifting entertainment, it works a treat.

http://www.nuffieldtheatre.co.uk/

HOPE by Jack Thorne - Royal Court Theatre

Recently, I had begun to have reservations about The Royal Court. After conversations with others who have much more naus than me, I was beginning to worry that as a theatre, it was not the spearhead - the trailblazer - I had always believed it to be. I worried that it produced tickbox issue plays for middle-class audiences for the sake of rhetoric, and for the good of the guffawing man in the back row of the stalls who ‘gets’ the literary references. All I could see in these highly political, provocative plays was catharsis, and any call to arms was rather preaching to the converted.

But on Monday afternoon, after enduring a day with a feeling I can only compare to the grey clouds that have dominated most of this week, I felt I needed something both familiar and refreshing to shift it. In the past, the National Theatre and The Royal Court have been my go-to remedies for the blues so within hours, I had set aside my burgeoning pre-conceptions and was sat in the stalls, waiting to see Hope by Jack Thorne.

Now, in terms of its stance as a Royal Court Play, it was just as I would have expected, complete with guffawing man in the back row. It includes the State-Of-The-Nation conversation that sounds remarkably similar to those slurred across pint glasses when it’s closing time at the pub. It is racially diverse (tick), thwarts the gender stereotype (tick), and hosts accents from across the UK (tick). It also stages a brilliant performance from Jo Eastwood, an actress with Down’s Syndrome. (I should point out - all of these decisions are also justified by the play, it is not just a case of the theatre being radically, wildly, controversially interested in equality.)

The play itself talks about cuts to funding for front line organisations, closing Sure Start centres, care for the elderly and turning off street lighting in areas already deemed unsafe. Cuts are targeted at a largely Bangladeshi area, which the council has apparently (questionably) calculated in correspondence to their data. Jobs are at risk, people’s futures are at risk. We see a man so torn apart by having to make these decisions, so constrained by what is politically or morally right, that he is nearly driven back to alcoholism.

And then we see an older man sit beside a young boy and tell him that life is going to be much worse for his generation, to which the boy retorts that it doesn’t have to be: otherwise, what’s the point of living? Through him, we are inspired to feel hope for the next generation, and the generations thereafter. We are invited to dream that perhaps they will look after our world and our society better than we have.

Hope by Jack Thorne at the Royal Court Theatre

The story is great, and moves swiftly and engagingly forwards with some really fantastic performances. Tom Scutt has of course done a great job on the design, to the extent that I thought “Eugh, what’s with the set? It looks like a really drab village hall”, which I presume was absolutely the intention.

Furthermore, yes, it is cathartic, and I feel no differently about the issues presented than I did before I saw the play. But what is significant is that I feel riled by them again, which is a feeling that is otherwise too easily forgotten. Beyond the theatre, beyond the meetings with the local councillors, beyond writing the letter to your local MP and signing the petition to keep the library open/save the arts centre, we bear those feelings alone. What this play, and what the Royal Court tells us through its The Big Idea discussions, video collaborations with the Guardian and by programming plays such as this one, is that we are not alone. More than that, if you have made it to the end of the play without walking out (I can’t be sure, but I think a few did), then you are more than likely surrounded by hundreds of others who feel like you. And that is what matters.

***

By the end of the night, my blue feeling had shifted. It may have been knocked out of me by squeezing passed Damien Lewis in the bar, but I would like to think that aid came mainly from my experience in the auditorium and of the play itself. I think it instilled in me the sense of purpose and responsibility to society which had recently began to slip, particularly after reading an article in the New Statesman noting that younger generations are becoming less and less likely to vote.  If they are not engaging with the future of their country, then what hope is there left?

And that’s just it. This play reminded me to look to the future of this country with hope, not apathy or disassociation. Of course a play isn’t going to change the world on its own, and we can only hope that those who are prone to apathy and disassociation stumble into the theatre by happy accident, or at least listen to someone who has. One evening at the theatre won’t change our government overnight, and neither is it trying to, and this is what I had forgotten. What this play - this theatre - reminds us of is that it is only by coming together that we can dare to hope, and actively pursue a clearer future.

***

Written by Jack Thorne

Directed by John Tiffany

Designed by Tom Scutt

http://www.royalcourttheatre.com/whats-on/hope/?tab=0

Far Away by Caryl Churchill - The Young Vic

Originally written for Exeunt

Caryl Churchill’s Far Away is 40 minutes long, give or take. It has three characters, one of whom is played by two actresses at different stages of her life, and it takes place in four locations.

We are in the Clare Studio, and the audience sit facing one another with a wooden promenade stage between them.

To give some background to the opening scenes, young Joan, intelligently played by Emilia Jones (alternated with Sasha Willoughby), is staying with her aunt Harper, played by Tamzin Griffin. During her stay, Joan learns things about her aunt and uncle that she is both too young to understand, and young enough to see that they are wrong. She knows that her uncle is keeping prisoners in their shed, and that he has attacked a couple of them, but her aunt convinces her that this is a positive movement that she can be part of. Joan grows up, and goes on to work in a hat industry and make hats for these prisoners.

It is here that the older Joan (Samantha Colley) meets Todd (Ariyon Bakare), and we watch as their relationship tantalisingly grows. The scenes are short, but by the time the set for the hat factory has disappeared, these characters are undoubtedly in love. Meanwhile, each scene change is punctuated with a cold, dark, mechanical soundtrack that snaps off again whenever the lights come up and the hats appear more decorated. It is an undercurrent that haunts us while Todd and Joan’s conversation weaves between their unspoken love and shared concern for the corruption of the hat industry. It threatens to erupt.

Then, a line of hats – ridiculous, beautiful, extravagant hats – begins to parade around us. There is cheering and applause from the surrounding crowds while people held together by chains whimper. A child cries. The cheering increases. Someone stumbles and puts a jolt in the rest of the line. Someone is hit. The line turn a corner and they are made to stand in front of the audience for an excruciatingly long time, crippled by the weight of their hats. The cheering continues and they are made to move again. Then there is the sound of gun fire, one bullet for each and every hat. The final bullet fires and the parade comes to an end.

In actuality, the only thing we see on stage is the hats hanging from the grid above the stage. Guy Hoare’s lighting gives them a looming aesthetic, and the sound creates the majority of the atmosphere that is so horrifying and distressing. But otherwise, there is no performance. Out of context, it is absurd to try to justify my shuddering, shaking and sobbing in response to the parade, but it is due to the direction of Kate Hewitt (the recipient of the JMK Director’s Award 2014), that it should achieve such a powerful effect so quickly. It is the contrast that is so striking: we have seen Joan as an innocent young girl in her pyjamas; the blossoming of love between Joan and Todd and the image of them posing before each other, wearing their hats, complementing each other and brimming with pride.

After the parade, and after Joan and Todd have left the hat industry, there is a sense of honesty as the cast lift a couple of the staging slabs and prop them against the wall, unveiling a light from beneath the stage and a haze of smoke. This production is ripe with similar moments that can be read symbolically, and when they’re not distracting, they highlight the depth of this play that is already a concentrated whirlwind of provocation. In particular, within the final scene, Joan has walked a vast number of miles just to be back with her husband and exhausted, she sleeps behind one of the staging slabs. Todd rests his back against this slab, waiting for her to wake. It is clear that although the removal of the staging slab – the foundations they walked on – has released light, the act has also put a barrier between them.

It is a thoughtful production of a timeless play. The play asks questions of our society, both globally and domestic, with a template that is universally recognised: the hat industry is a seemingly innocent organisation providing jobs and a service, but it is in support of a radically harmful one elsewhere. We see how the revelation of this corruption causes loved ones to be separated and forced to take sides. Like Joan and Todd, we call on our journalists to do something about the imbalance and injustice. From coffee shops, to sweatshops, to British politics and global affairs, we need only open a newspaper to recognise these characters. And so, this production maintains that timelessness in its sparse set, and you can see whatever you want hanging beneath those hats and heckling in the crowds.

Beyond this, our constant is in following the relationships between the people concerned. We have seen Todd and Joan grow in love, and Joan grow up to realise that her aunt is not necessarily right, just because they are family. Finally, this brings us to acknowledge the sideline message of Churchill’s play – what does any of the corruption and politics matter when we are confronted with love? Should it matter? it is as much an intellectual journey as an emotional one, and Hewitt’s brave move to produce one of Caryl Churchill’s plays has paid off, with sharp, moving, haunting clarity.

(I still cannot get the image of the parade of hats out of my head.)