plays
Othello, Union Theatre. Review by Barbara Lewis.
Othello
Venue and town: Union Theatre, Southwark
Writer: Shakespeare
Director: Phil Wilmott
Cast includes: Matthew Wade, Carlotta De Gregori, Rikki Lawton, Jerome Dowling, Claire Lloyd, Maximilian Marston, Megan Grech, Jeremy Todd, Kit Carson
Dates of run: Until April 6
Running time: two hours, 45 minutes, including interval
Almost exactly 100 years ago on April 13, in Amritsar, the British Indian Army fired into a crowd of unarmed Punjabis, killing and harming hundreds.
Director Phil Wilmott marks this appalling example of man’s inhumanity to man by transporting Othello from Venice and Cyprus to the India of the British Raj, making the Moor a Sandhurst-trained officer and his lieutenant Cassio a fallible army chaplain prone to women and drink.
In so doing, he creates a realm where the word “honest” that resonates tauntingly throughout the play has only the depth of British hypocrisy.
It’s also a heady atmosphere in which we can well believe manipulated men lose all sense of judgment as unfamiliar forces reign and it’s appropriate that the Union flags draped around a piano look flimsy, while the renditions of Jerusalem and Rule Britannia are sadly out of tune.
So far, so good and for the first half, we charge through the action building to by far the strongest scene in which Iago (Rikki Lawton) transforms Matthew Wade from an upright Othello, the confident general blissfully in love with his wife into a physical wreck as wretchedly jealous as Iago himself.
Lawton’s Iago, short but muscular beside the tall, lean Othello, shares with us the exhilarating, nerve-racking challenge of executing his malicious plot. It’s expertly paced as every time Othello’s love nearly saves him, Iago’s hateful determination prevails.
But once Othello is caught, the momentum dwindles into a second half that drags and the character interpretation, however well-acted, doesn’t convince. Rather than making the play topical and relevant, politically incorrect assumptions leap to the fore. The Raj setting confuses our response to Shakespeare’s most emotionally direct play and a tale that confirms the prejudice against mixed marriages makes uncomfortable viewing for a contemporary audience.
Casting Cassio (Jerome Dowling) as a chaplain with a mistress who treats his Bianca (Megan Grech) with mocking contempt strips him of the nobility Othello had seen in him. Bianca is a dispensable strumpet or whore – a word Desdemona cannot bear to pronounce.
Desdemona (Carlotta De Gregori) combines modern physical strength with girlish wiles. With a power built up over 14 years of dance training and work as an “advanced combatant”, collaborating with fight directors, De Gregori’s fascinating Desdemona puts up a mighty struggle with Othello.
But she doesn’t win it. The victor is Lawton’s Iago, maddening, even triumphant, when cornered, in his refusal to say a word as an evil we cannot get the better of.
Barbara Lewis © 2019.
Medea, The Barbican. Review by Julia Pascal.
Medea
International Theater Amsterdam
Barbican
Ends 9 March
Preview Blueprint Medea at the Finborough Theatre, May 21-June 9.
Julia Pascal
Medea is perhaps the most potent myth for the #MeToo generations. First-performed in 431 BC, Euripides’ drama has had countless interpreters. The action is horrifyingly compelling. Medea, the foreign princess and sorceress from Colchis –which is present day Georgia and Turkey- enters the Greek world to help Jason find the Golden Fleece. She falls in love with him. They have two sons. However, Jason is ordered to marry King Creon’s daughter Glauke. He abandon Medea. Medea sends a wedding dress as a gift to her rival. The robe is poisoned. Glauke dies. Medea’s further revenge is to kill her sons and, it is this act, which has horrified audiences from antiquity to today. The children are innocent, why should they pay for their father’s sins? This myth has no redemption or happy end. Medea is unpunished by Euripides and her outrage at her ill-treatment is her expression of her pride and honour. Here ‘honour killing’ is not an expression of patriarchy but one of self-respect and pride. We do not know if it can ever be defended but we see its roots in the injustice of male-domination.
Simon Stone, as writer-director, changes the names of the characters: his version is also inspired by the case of Deborah Green who has served 22 years in a US prison for the attempted poisoning of her husband and her three children. Stone loses the concept of Medea as a foreigner within the narrative but that does not matter in his wonderful production. Medea is now Anna. Jason becomes Lucas. Glauke is renamed Clara.
Stone stages his interpretation on a white stage with almost no props. Screen techniques are integrated in to the dramatic action, for example when Anna’s sons film their parents in bed and show the video to their father’s lover, the result is comic. Stone makes us laugh before transfixing us with the horror of murder to come. But the importance of this adaptation, and the play itself to the #MeToo zeitgeist, is to reveal the abuse of a hugely intelligent woman by the ruling patriarchy. Classical Greek drama is so now.
Stone’s production is set in modern day Amsterdam. The creative team is strong and the directorial overview offers a pleasing aesthetic synthesis. Medea premiered in 2014 in Amsterdam and comes with financial support from Holland and Fonds 21. Marieke Heebink won the Theo d’Or prize for her portrayal of the main role. The myth is so strong that it regrows with each telling and with each cultural transplantation. This is subsidised state theatre at its radical best.
Blueprint Medea, my own adaptation of the myth, opens at the Finborough Theatre May 21-June 9. I have transposed the original setting to London today. Fascinated by the idea of Medea as an outsider, after all Colchis is also part of modern Turkey, the original story of woman-in- political-exile, is partly based on interviews with former Kurdish soldiers from Turkey and Iraq. My 2019 Medea is a Kurdish warrior from Turkey who comes to London on a false passport. She has fought the Islamists and arrives with a history of war. In London, her Jason is the son of an Iraqi taxi driver. They are both Muslim but their cultures are utterly different and the battleground of love, sex and patriarchy is played out against the Middle Eastern conflicts in Syria, Iraq and Turkey.
https://www.finboroughtheatre.co.uk/productions/2019/blueprint-medea.php?spektrix_bounce=true
Julia Pascal © 2019.
‘The American Clock: A Vaudeville’ by Arthur Miller. Review by Gary Beahan.
‘The American Clock: A Vaudeville’
by Arthur Miller.
Directed by Rachel Chavkin.
The Old Vic 4th February – 30th March
Of all the Miller revivals currently doing the capital’s round, ‘The American Clock’ is not the softest option for any director, actor or audience to take on. Part social documentary, part human drama, part political commentary, it can feel at times like it has bitten off more vision and message than it can theatrically deliver. Nothing daunted, Rachel Chavkin has decided to take the lumbering bull by its socialist horns and, with a nod in the direction of Peter Wood and his acclaimed 1986 NT production, opted for the energetic, jazzed-up ‘vaudeville’ version of the play, here complete with revolving stage, sharply choreographed song and dance numbers and an onstage band. A series of interlinked tableaux presenting a variety of characters reeling from the effects of the ’29 Crash and The Great Depression is punctuated by musical interludes featuring songs of the period, often juxtaposed with modern, bassy beats.
On the whole, it works; at times brilliantly (Golda Rosheuval’s bluesy vocals and Ewan Wardrop’s tap-dancing corporate executive spring to mind) confirming suspicions that the script plays better than it reads. Miller’s human panorama and heartfelt message – at its core, the inhumanity of the Capitalist System and its innate potential to destroy itself and those who play by its compassionless rules – are never allowed to congeal into heavyweight stodge nor deviate satirically into Busby Berkeley Does the Wall Street Crash. The music and movement are high quality and bear more than a passing relevance to the themes (which are powerful and plentiful) and the narrative (which is thin and patchy; not really the point of this piece) while the upbeat, kinaesthetic format lends an accessibility and coherence to the material which it would otherwise lack.
Further binding factors are the magisterial Grand Narrator presence of Arthur Robertson (a gravelly-voiced Morgan Freeman-like Clarke Peters) who opens and closes the show and introduces and comments on many of the scenes; the Baum family, our focus characters, who descend from comfortable, servant-supported middle-class affluence to cramped, mortgage debt collector-fearing penury (rather like Miller himself); most importantly, how the spectre of an unexpected fall from financial grace will pay no heed to class, family or wealth, and can affect everybody from a Wall Street mega-broker to a plain honest Midwest farmer. Only Mr Robertson escapes: prescient enough to see The Crash coming, he cashes in his investments before things turn bad and makes more money during the Hungry 30s than he has ever done before. Huh. There’s always one.
Strangely enough, given that much of the play’s content is based on Miller’s memories of his New York adolescence and the moving personal accounts of The Great Depression recorded in Studs Terkel’s ‘Hard Times’, it is the human side of the story which does not quite gel and convince. Miller has always had the ability to sum up an entire attitude, generation or sector of society in a line or two of dialogue which avoids either the vacuity of aphorism or the narrowness of mundanity. Yet here, characters vacillate uneasily between Individuals you want to invest in emotionally, and Types whose situation carries a message you want (or feel you need) to understand. Intellectually, you can buy this angle. Types are not bound by the context in which they are presented, so can achieve wider relevance in meaning and message than Individuals unravelling their poignant human story in a kind of thoughtfully constructed, socially-sensitive soap opera. In terms of connection and empathy, however, it’s a harder sell.
The same thinking applies to the production’s dramatic configuration of characters and their roles. The Baum Family, which spans three generations and includes cousins, aunts, uncles and in-laws, is our focal point in a narrative sequence which frequently jumps in time and space. Various members appear and overlap in a kaleidoscope of related but contrasting situations as they gradually age in the course of the play, but character continuity and recognition are compromised further by having the three core roles (Moe the Dad, Rose the Mom and Lee the Son) played by three different sets of three actors who travel the ethnic spectrum from White to Asian to Black. Each also plays one or more other, different roles. (Hang on a minute – wasn’t he Lee’s dad? And now he’s a sheriff in a bar in the Deep South?). One effect of this deliberate mechanism of alienation is the separation of actor from character and role. We’re back to Types and Universality, and the championing of message over messenger. Another potential effect is audience confusion and distraction caused by the very superficial inconsistency they are meant to see through and rise above.
So to the ending. ‘The American Clock’ is a play about belief: the erosion of old, familiar, long-held beliefs and the desperate, humanly needful search for something to replace them. Lee Baum, accused by his father of not believing in anything, is attracted to Marxism, a philosophy with which he cannot find fault but cannot commit to, because it lacks a natural and sympathetic understanding of the mentality of the white working class. What he does believe by the end is that there is a ‘system’ which controls his life. Yet the ending is upbeat. Arthur Robertson is left to deliver Miller’s final word. What saved the country; the net (and possibly unintended) result of Roosevelt and his New Deal was that “the people came to believe that the country actually belonged to them.” Really? Could this sound a little hollow or contrived after a three-hour procession of characters in the grip of a system beyond their control; corporate financiers who shoot themselves in executive washrooms; men too proud to stave off starvation by going onto welfare; families living in fear of debt collectors; land repossessed and auctioned for a song to pay off loans; the rise of extremist politics? They ended up believing the country belonged to them? Well, good – who else would want it?
Gary Beahan © 2019.
‘The American Clock’ plays at The Old Vic 4th February – 30th March 
The Good Person of Szechwan, By Bertolt Brecht. Review by Julia Pascal.
The Good Person of Szechwan
The Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre
By Bertolt Brecht
Translated into Russian by Egor Peregudov
Directed by Yury Butusov
Barbican Theatre
Julia Pascal
It is rare to see productions of Brecht in London today. It is even rarer to see them performed in Russian. This jewel from Moscow came only briefly to London but it showed audiences that there is an antidote to endless naturalism. Here is an international style that is brazen and brilliant. It is loud and it is risky.
Brecht’s parable on whether a person can be ‘good’ in a corrupt society offers huge scope to directors and here Yury Butusov seizes the text and roughs it up as an extraordinary spectacle that engages on every level. There is music and dance, there is Expressionism and there is carnival. There is Brecht’s Verfremdungseffekt which makes the audience think as well as feel. It is a total theatre experience that is constantly surprising.
Brecht’s anti-parable is set in an imaginary China. We know that in 1935 he saw performances of Chinese Opera in Moscow and that this influenced his own thoughts on epic theatre and contributed to the creation of his theory on the Verfremdungseffekt. Butusov’s production also has an operatic element. He uses Paul Dessau’s score but there are additions of jazzy compositions by Igor Gorsky’s band Pure Music.
Adding to the alienation effect, I liked that the text was in Russian but the songs were sung in German. It gave an edge to the vocal soundscape and reminded us that Brecht wrote the play in exile beween 1938 and 1942. Uncredited in the programme are Brecht’s co-writers actor, writer, translator Margarete Steffin and writer, director, photographer Ruth Berlau.
The story is simple but the text is a complex interrogation of morality. Its protagonist is Shen Teh, the prostitute visited by the gods in search of one good person. Jewish tradition requires 36 wise men to save the world. Brecht’s gods are less ambitious.
The acting company are magnificent. It is unfair to pick out individuals in a stunning ensemble but, as the production centres on Shen Te the prostitute and her alter ego, her male cousin Shui Ta, it has to be acknowledged that Alexandra Ursulyak’s huge dual performance is magnificent. There are moments of Chaplinesque humour and poetic beauty. The extraordinary set by Alexander Lisyansky is plastic and inventive. Although the production was Brechtian in its soul it also had a post modern feel as all staging suddenly broke down when actors sat onstage to face the audience while speaking the text.
The play has no happy end. It resolves no Christian dilemma about Good and Evil. It remains complex and disturbing as Shen Te utters a solitary cry to the audience ‘Help!’
My only regret is that this production had such a short run. We need to see much more of this Company and this ensemble.
Julia Pascal © 2019.
The Cherry Orchard, Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre, Barbican. Review by Vivienne Avramoff.
The Cherry Orchard
Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre at the Barbican 5-19th February 2019
The set is stark: transecting it are two oppressively massive beams of wood, one vertical. one horizontal which extend blindly into the space without ever truly defining it – a roof and wall which fail to offer the conventional associations of protection and permanence.
There is no permanence here, nothing is certain, everything is in flux. The Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre production opens to the stuttering, hesitant sounds of a violin. Before a word is spoken, we are plunged into a world of apprehension, of uncertainty. The Cherry Orchard lays bare, in elegiac tones, the passing of the old, entrenched aristocratic order and the emergence of the new at the expense of the old.
01. Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre, The Cherry Orchard; Victoria Isakova. Image credit: Alex Yocu
Vladimir Mirozoev’s production is anything but conventional; anyone hoping to see a gorgeous backdrop of cherry trees and lavish period costumes will be bitterly disappointed. But these are superficial considerations. The mark of a successful production is a real understanding of the major themes of the play and the art of conveying these through the characters, and in this Mr. Mirozoev is a master. His approach is daring – it is a risky business synthesising so many strands of varying theatrical styles into dramatic coherence. Mirozoev’s Cherry Orchard makes use of realism, choreographed movement, free form dance and something close to grand guignol overlaid with a Brechtian sensibility all set against a backdrop of plaintive Jewish and Spanish music to create a vision of a society in decline and another in the ascendancy. The nostalgia of the old order and the brash ideology of the new order are admirably served.
02. Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre, The Cherry Orchard; Victoria Isakova, Alexander Petrov. Image credit: Alex Yocu
There is a perennial difficulty with Chekhov’s works: it is well known that Chekhov himself described his plays as comedies. As the author, one would imagine that he knows what he’s talking about. However, even as great a talent as Stanislavski begged to differ and staged The Cherry Orchard as a tragedy, thus incurring the great author’s displeasure. Ever since that first production, academics, theatrical directors and actors alike have tussled with this apparent contradiction.
Mirozoev refuses to favour either side of the debate which, last night, resulted in more laughs than I have ever heard from an audience at a Chekhov play, while sacrificing none of its tragic elements. Is The Cherry Orchard really a comedy? I’m still not convinced, but this production reminds us all that humans can find humour in dark moments, that they can be idealistic, they can be absurd, and that sometimes that absurdity in itself is tragic. Perhaps it is no coincidence that it takes a singularly profound emotional Russian sensibility to reconcile these apparent contradictions in Chekhov and reveal them for us dramatically on the stage.
03. Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre, The Cherry Orchard; Alexander Petrov, Natalya Reva-Ryadinskaya, Victoria Isakova. Image credit: Alex Yocu
The actors play together as harmoniously as a symphony orchestra – this is ensemble acting par excellence. Alexander Petrov as Lopakhin and Anastasia Mitrazhik as Dunyasha with their dynamism and social pretensions respectively, perfectly convey the ineluctable rise of the peasant/working classes; Alexander Dimitriev as the idealistic, fiercely ideological eternal student Trofimov points the way towards the inevitable future. Meanwhile. Victoria lsakova as Ranevskaya. floating beautifully and aimlessly around the stage, dispensing money that she doesn’t have, fluttering her hands in futile gestures, covering her ears and eyes in a refusal to hear or see the obvious, wonderfully illustrates a woman who has outlived her time, and either cannot or will not confront the reality that is about to overtake her. Finally. Konstantin Pomelov as Simeonov Pishchik gives a beautifully judged performance as a man who seems to be on the brink of destruction, but whose optimism is favoured by blind chance and finds riches through the advent of the new in the shape of English investors.
04. Moscow Pushkin Drama Theatre, The Cherry Orchard; Victoria Isakova. Image credit: Alex Yocu
This is a challenging production, and let’s face it, it’s not always easy reading surtitles while watching the action. but this is a production that well repays the effort. I found myself wondering whether an English company could have conveyed so much within so minimalist a concept. I didn’t manage to come up with an answer. But it is undeniable that this company of talented actors and their equally talented director have given us, in this less than conventional reading of Chekhov’s play, a quintessentially Russian insight into a quintessential Russian masterpiece.
Vivienne Avramoff © 2019.
The Cane, by Mark Ravenhill, Royal Court Theatre. Review by Gary Beahan.
The Cane
by Mark Ravenhill
at the Royal Court Theatre, Jerwood Theatre Downstairs, till Saturday 26th January.
Directed by Vicky Featherstone.
Runs 1h 40m with no interval.
‘Why would they attack the most popular teacher in the school?’ cries the back cover of the playscript handed (OK, sold) to you by the nice young men in the theatre lobby as you enter. One of the strengths of this piece of thoughtful social melodrama is that, by the end, any credibility stretched by the child-mob scenario is less important than the way we are moved to analyse our own response to one manifestation of historic institutionalised British child abuse.
Edward (Alun Armstrong) is deputy headteacher of a local comprehensive school, retiring after 45 years’ service. He and his wife, Maureen (Maggie Steed) have been held virtual captives in their home for the past six nights by the ‘they’ of the original question: a crowd of schoolkids who, displaying a surprising level of retroactive social conscience, gather every day to protest Edward’s past use of the cane.
Into this contained domestic chaos walks their daughter, Anna (a clipped, credible and subtly sinister Nicola Walker) ostensibly to repair the ruptured relationship with her parents; really a representative of the new, liberal, best practice-focused, pro-academy educational establishment who is working to an initially hidden agenda. We learn that the cause of the parent-daughter falling-out was not her desire “to murder Daddy” as a child, but disagreement on a point of principle: the academisation of schools. The disagreement runs deep, but not so deep that traditionalist Edward cannot accept Anna’s help in composing a report which he hopes will rebut the recent damning inspection of his school. After all, “She speaks jargon” and, for a time, Old School speaks with New and the rift between father and daughter is healed.
Big Issues arise and are given voice in the often-tense three-handed dialogue, yet Ravenhill is careful not to lead his audience towards easy resolution. Opposing strands of opinion are given equal profile and assumed to have equal validity. Anna’s ‘modern’ horror at the effects on children of being beaten, for example, is balanced by Edward’s considered – at times eloquent –justification and rationale for a redundant practice. Her view of academies, at first reasonable, becomes unconvincingly idealistic, even scary; a world of juvenile automatons adhering to “eyes forward” and “silence” policies. Edward’s school may be failing, but it sounds like more of a ‘real’ school than hers.
Unadulterated discursive dialogue can get a little rarefied, and eventually the script reverts to matters more concrete. When Edward explains the confusion following the ban on corporal punishment (“there were no instructions as to what to do with the cane”) there is no attempt to explore how, if at all, it was replaced; instead, attention now focuses with almost fetishitic glee on the cane as physical object. Did he keep it? Why? Where is it? Have the protesting kids seen it? Soon, Dad digs it out of the attic and, almost inevitably, ends up demonstrating its use on naughty (rapidly becoming malicious) Anna, unwittingly affording her the means of actualising the potential violence outside and bringing it into the home.
The freshness and humour of the dialogue and present relevance of past-rooted issues are enlivened by the playwright’s aversion to didacticism. Edward, in his final monologue, suggests that the right to judge those who wielded the cane should belong to those who were caned themselves, enabling Ravenhill, in climactic summary, to do what he has done for most of the play: pose a complex moral question, juxtapose two very different solutions, and leave it entirely to the audience to decide which they prefer. Should the right to condemn oppression rest solely with the oppressed, or are some actions so heinous that their redress requires more general moral outrage – one that can legitimately thicken into co-ordinated protest, the oppression of the oppressors, and a mob baying for blood?
Gary Beahan © 2019.
Time is Love, Finborough Theatre. Review by Barbara Lewis.
Time is Love/Tiempo es Amor
Director/writer: Che Walker
Producer: Jezebel Productions and Dragon Bait Productions with Jonathan Chambers in association with Neil McPherson for the Finborough Theatre
Cast: Gabriel Akuwudike, Sheila Atim, Benjamin Cawley, Cary Crankson, Sasha Frost, Jessica Ledon
Dates of run: until Jan 26
Running time: 90 minutes
Just as Keats’ elliptic “Beauty is truth, truth beauty” is comprehensible in context, the meaning of Che Walker’s “Time is Love/Tiempo es Amor” is made apparent by this superbly acted and eloquent 90 minutes of drama.
And just as Keats drew on the classical world and reinvented it, Walker’s mix of languages and media is entirely derivative, packed with clichés, and yet strikingly new.
In other hands, the combination of Spanish and English, theatre and a cinematic backdrop might be merely bewildering. Under Walker’s direction, six actors, muscular in the fullest sense, draw us into their idiom. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Sometimes it borders on the ridiculous, but mostly it’s tense and dramatic.
The time is now and we know from the start that now is the time of catastrophe, which feels especially contemporary as we face the volatility of angry populist politics and a national sense of betrayal.
To understand “now”, we’re taken back three years to the beginning of the ongoing lies and infidelities that in a Los Angeles criminal underground setting, combining street smart with the aggression of a pitbull, are unlikely to end well.
The central story is that of Blaz, played by Gabriel Akuwudike, and Havana (Jessica Ledon). The chemistry between the pair is explosive. He is taciturn and menacing, yet also tender and agile – not least when he amazes us with his skipping skills. She is charming, sensual and expert in emotional argument. That ought to be enough.
Unfortunately, temptation is all around. Benjamin Cawley as Karl is the jealous friend, who like an alcoholic unable to bear anyone sober, won’t allow his partner in crime to go straight.
Then there is Rosa, played by the sculpted Sheila Atim, the not-quite-trustworthy best friend of Havana, and Cary Crankson as Seamus, the completely untrustworthy cop.
Sasha Frost transforms herself with a wig into Serena the sex worker. Her acting is of a piece with the general excellence but the part feels less than essential and if the play concluded with the very visual moment of dramatic suspension a few minutes before it actually ends, Time is Love/Tiempo es Amor could be even better than it already is.
Barbara Lewis © 2019.
La Malady of Love, Katie Mitchell, Barbican Theatre. Review by Julia Pascal.
La Malady of Love
Katie Mitchell
Barbican Theatre
Théâtre des Bouffes du Nord
Julia Pascal
This piece of theatre is inspired by La Maladie de la Mort, Marguerite Duras’ 1982 novella. The original text explored a homosexual’s purchase of a woman in a vain search for love. Alice Birch overturns the premise by making the protagonist a heterosexual middle aged man who buys a prostitute’s nights in an existential search for his own emotional identity. The creation becomes a philosophical study of pornography and misogyny which is brutal, unremitting and repetitive. And, that’s the point.
Mitchell’s work is played on a three-dimensional visual. The action in a hotel bedroom is the play. Simultaneously, a film crew is shooting the actors. We see the technicians wait for angles and framing. At the same time we see the black and white screening so that the aesthetic visual is triply fractured. Mitchell is the auteur and makes us think of Godard and Bataille. Her vision is a joyless autopsy of heterosexual relations. The actors are mainly naked and choreographed in a way that is shocking. Laetitia 2018. Dosch and Nick Fletcher perform with courage and integrity. It is a disturbing creation that is meant to upset the audience. And it does.
Julia Pascal © 2018.
Freely adapated after the story by Marguerite Duras, Director Katie Mitchell, Script Alice Birch, With Laetitia Dosch – the woman, Nick Fletcher – the man, Irène Jacob – a narrator. 16 Jan to 3 Feb 2018. Associate Director Lily McLeish. Video direction Grant Gee. Set and costume design Alex Eales. Composer Paul Clark. Sound Design Donato Wharton. Video Design Ingi Bekk. Collaboration Video Design Ellie Thompson. Lighting Design Anthony Doran. Assistant Director Bérénice Collet. Technical Manager John Carroll. Deputy Stage Manager Lisa Hurst. Video programmer / Operator Caitlyn Russell. Camera operators Nadja Krüger, Sebastian Pircher. Trouble Shooter Matthew Evans. Sound Programmer / Operator Harry Johnson. Boom Operator Joshua Trepte. Lighting Programmer / Operator Sébastien Combes. Assistant Stage Manager Elodie Huré. Deputy Stage Manager Marinette Jullien
The Red, Pleasance Dome. Review by Barbara Lewis.
August 19, 2019 by Barbara Lewis • plays, theatre, year 2019 • Tags: Barbara Lewis, plays, theatre •
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