somewhere between PunchDrunk and shunt Theatre company, this one man show (or should lsay experience), is cosy, comforting and compelling. To say the least, l enjoyed the hour- to say the most, it was poetically crafted and a very nurtured piece of work; l tend to find such shows of self-reflection, and, to some extent self indulgence most unnecessary. and very irritating. Here however Fergus Evans has found something more necessary and purposeful. It did not carry the same tinge of self-therapy this Kind of theatre so often can. and this is mainly due to the charisma and charm of our host. Yes, he is telling us his story, but he is not ramming it down our throat, or playing the sympathy card; he is using his experience to craft something beautiful, and perhaps more importantly enjoyable! This Kind of sensory art appears to our daring, fun-loving side, but it succeeds by remaining inoffensive. The size of the audience is perfect. One more or less would have upset the atmosphere; the space, the light, the acoustics all empower the performer, but his caressing of the text and his informal approach are what really allow us empathy. I like this because it feels selfless; it’s not, but I appreciate the honesty of it, and it makes it work. This work is not groundbreaking- I doubt very much a new movement of contemporary theatre will be born from it rib, but that’s not what it’s about; it’s pure middleclass indulgence, andI love it!

So, as I’m turning to reviewing as a creative outlet for the time being, what better way to continue than by offering my insight into a highly creative new production by Define Choice, directed by Hamish Macdougall- and what a wonderful name that is. 

The Lights, a relatively unfathomed play by Howard Korder saw its latest rendition staged at the Spring, Vauxhall. Whilst lacking a little originality, I have to say I was largely impressed by this young company, who are certainly not afraid to take bold artistic choices, even if they do not always pay off.

The Spring, an old, almost derelict warehouse space has been utilised to good effect by set designer Vicki Stevenson, and though I found the audience placement rather odd, the overall imagining of the space gave a distinct feel of the grunge of the anonymous American City (though the direction of the piece itself made it distinctly reminiscent of modern day New York). This company and creative team’s resourcefulness is admirable, and an excellent example for emerging companies in how to survive the turbulence of the economic crisis; from sourcing an unlikely venue, to reclaiming palettes, innovatively transformed into seating, they demonstrate just how far a small budget can go.

What is more, the production that then ensues is far from cheap; lively, evocative and creative, this largely impressive cast could teach Bijan Sheibani’s cast (see below) a thing or two.

The play is set, as aforementioned in an unspecified American city. We follow Frederic(Brendan Murphy) and Lilian(Frankie Haynes), who, after a heated argument splits them up, muddle through this obstreperous world, clinging onto any glint of salvation they can find. Haynes paints a beautifully troubled portrait of young Lilian, and gives a most touching performance that is simple, eloquent and innocent. Her accent also holds up rather better than many of her fellow players, who often fail to kick their RP drama school habit, instead retaining their ‘T’s far too frequently for such a portrayal of urban yank. Other good performances come from Gwilym Lloyd (Mr Diamond) and Catherine Nix Collins (Rose), but by far the finest performance came through the eclectic characters of Graham Dickinson (Art/Man With Pants/Waiter), whipping up far-fetched and yet innately human moments; indeed, not a dull moment occurred under this actor’s control of the space. Dickinson exudes poise and finesse in his characterization, but never overdoes it; he is extrovertly understated, and perfectly complements the actors around him. Unfortunately, there were weaker performances, which often left a bitter (and, to be honest, slightly cringing moments) edge to the action; Murphy lacked any real demand over the space or script, floundering at the lead of the production. In such a naturally defeated character, it is rarely good enough to simply remain cloudy with a good chance of rain; such a role must be thrown around, tenderised, released in order to find those few defining moments that allow an audience empathy (be this loving or loathsome) for the character.

It is a rare thing to see such gritty theatre given a good innings in London, such as this at The Springs. This production has grown on me over the last week, whilst writing this long and ranting review, and though I am certainly no greater a fan of Korder after watching The Lights (sometimes there is a reasoning behind rarely performed scripts), Define Choice, and in particular Stevenson, MacDougall and Dickinson should be proud of what they have achieved here; whilst far from perfect, my faith in contemporary theatre making has been at least in part restored. This production has gumption spilling out of its garters, and for that you have at least one happy customer. Good Job.

So, here it is, my first review for the blog, and what better way to start than with a show at the infamous Olivier Theatre, London.

Whenever I go to the National Theatre, I immediately become anxious; anxious because this is the place where anyone remotely interested in ‘watching a play’ thinks to start- and it worries me that the show may not be a true reflection of the incredible quality of British Theatre I know exists. So in we go…

I am instantly grabbed by the impressive grandeur the set designer Giles Cadle has managed to create. It is the kind of set that instantly tells you something of the scale of the production you are about to witness. It is immense, with an eclectic range of stoves and gas burners, all set (seemingly) on the revolving stage boasted by the Olivier. One thing niggles me at this point- a ghastly Proscenium arch conceals the back half of the stage, but patiently a persist, knowing that its purpose will become clear in time.

And so we begin. The actors begin arriving for work in this 1950’s diner kitchen, setting the scene cleverly allows you to imagine the night before’s escapades. However, it would seem director Bijan Sheibani subsequently loses all sense of originality, as the play slowly begins to burn into action. Yet again, points for Cadle as working ovens and hobs begin to burst into action, offering some relief from the doldrums played out by the ever increasing cast, and playing a soothing background ‘tsssss’ throughout the remainder of the play. The play offers very little else worthy of discussion, sadly, and whilst Wesker’s script is vivid and animated, no attempt is made to accentuate this through the performance, spare one fleeting moment as the waitresses begin to fly through the air taking orders from imaginary customers (unfortunately, the now obviously obsolete proscenium arch (yes, I know there is some lovely and pointless projections on it) blocks this from view for half the audience), which had the potential to bring a meaning to the waitresses’ hollow parts. 

Perhaps most infuriating is the fact that the cast had a cookery consultant to work with them, and yet not a single item except oil is cooked. Yes, Wesker’s notes state that food should not be used, it should all be mimed (which was equally poorly executed), but it is exactly this kind of ‘by the book’ attitude that has stunted the growth of our National Theatre for decades; imagine the endless opportunities, imagine thirty well oiled caterers in the place of the thirty rusty performers. Not only would it be unique, but tantalizing, revolutionary even.

Alas, my faith in the National has grown ever dimmer.

The Kitchen is booking until November 9th, 7.30pm+matinees @ Olivier Theatre, Southbank. Tickets start from £12

Hello Readers (if anyone is out there),

Firstly I must apologise for my dreadful upkeep of this blog; it has deteriorated rapidly over the last month or so, due to a combination of my laze and my engagements. So it is time to bring you back up to date with the world of Hodge, whilst also doing a bit of amateur reviewing on the side. Watch out- here comes a landslide of posts…