Pinter Theatre’s Uncle Vanya: Chekhov’s reminder to keep going as our second lockdown hits

The first time we went into lockdown (sad to be even typing 'first time') I remember seeing an instagram post likening the situation to a Chekhov play: nothing happens, we just sit round drinking vodka. For this tiny reason, his dramas are synomonyous with lockdown, but this one is particularly so.

I was in sixth form when I realised he was my favourite writer. We were studying The Seagull and my mind was blown by the intrinsic style of drama- how every line penetrates the events, how every character is entrapped in the complexities of their motivation. A lot of time has passed since then, and my admiration for the Russian naturalist has only grown stronger, with forensic study of him at university and reading and research in my free time. I went to watch this year’s Uncle Vanya on a whim, having only read it once. If I’m honest, I was just keen to make the most of the cinemas before their imminent closure on Thursday. But, it completely knocked me for six- a piece of theatre hasn’t touched me like that in a long time.

Despite my tears at the play’s tragedy, there was definite reassurance in having such a strong reaction, as the theatre we know’s future is uncertain. This particular production was stopped mid rehearsals in March; it was an icon of the pandemic’s disruption and the government’s negligence. It was uncertain whether or not it would ever be performed. The decision was made to keep its staging at the Harold Pinter Theatre, but there would be no inside audience, just crew and a camera man. It would instead be streamed to cinemas nationwide. This alters the play’s dramaturgical symptoms: the rigidity of naturalism's compulsory fourth wall is disrupted and softened slightly, as you’re hyper aware that you’re watching theatre without audience, with actors performing soliloquy like sequences directly to a camera lens. This disturbance to Chekhov’s routine only makes the translation of Vanya’s modern implications more relevant, more haunting.

The play takes place on a provincial estate, with an esteemed, but pretentiously stupid, professor visiting. He ends up staying and residing- altering the lives of all living there ever so slightly, but also absolutely completely. The titular Vanya (Toby Jones) is a hilarious, sarcastic and quickly intelligent man in his late 40s, but a strong depression has lulled him into a state far beneath his potential. His life is one of the play’s tragedies. The professor (Roger Allam) was married to Vanya’s beloved sister, and they had a beloved daughter, Sonia (stellar performance from Aimee Lou Wood). The professor leaves Sonia in Vanya’s care and they work tirelessly to keep the estate running with the accounts in surplus. Sonia shares a love interest with her new stepmother, the beautiful, sad and enigmatic Yelena: handsome philanthropist-come-hedonist Doctor Astrov (Richard Armitage). The play orbits their little dramas over about a year’s period, until the devastating climax in the final act. 

Lou Wood’s Sonia is heart breaking. Her character doesn’t change, as much as Chekhov feeds you more about the person behind her tireless empathy and you discover her not to be innocent, but just as violently depressed as her uncle. But she is a voice of hope, of strength, and her relevance to our current time is palpable. Her and Vanya are stuck in the same house, doing the same things, whilst watching (and assuming that) everyone close to them have change in their life. They both experience crushing unrequited love, only strengthening their love and willingness to cope for each other.

Chekhov’s writing aligns with Stanislavski’s method: every line written and spoken holds an objective direct to the character’s arching agency. This means his characters can transpose time, their intentions involve other characters but are not particular to the socio-political climate, history or technology of the time. Despite being late 19^th C, his realism is not that of a history play. This production applies directly to now.

Its relevance is perfect. At its time of composure the creatives were not aware that it was going to be staged to a country on the brink of its second lockdown. It is one of the most raw, visceral and brutally accurate depictions of domestic depression I’ve encountered, on stage or screen or page.  Sonia’s final lines, about the need to push through and how to persevere, should be broadcast nationally. I was in floods of tears as the play ended, but left with a calming hope. Doctor Astrov incessantly refers to the comfort he finds in thinking of people 200 years from him ridiculing and making light of the tribulations of 19^th C life. This message holds true to now: remembering your macro insignificance to micro importance to those close to you is a key to getting through the struggles facing us all in November- it relieves the mass pressure Boris and co are criminally shifting our way. Sonia’s empathy is her strongest virtue and saviour, and it should be ours as well.

(Also, shout out to the elderly gentleman on my row in the cinema who offered me his hankie and a minstrel when I started crying. Appreciate it.)

Sea Wall Film: a short review

There is little point me attempting to write a synopsis of Sea Wall- I feel incapable as I’m not clever enough to sum it all up. The play’s official description says it best as a ‘uniquely intimate portrayal of humanity’. It is a masterful and honest monologue, written by Simon Stephens and performed by Andrew Scott, perhaps the two most talented men in their fields right now. Scott plays Alex, a man telling stories of his life’s little joys and great tragedy- he is completely open to whoever’s watching. His stories are written and told in flurries of words placed perfectly in tandem feeling, and rhythm.

Stephens once came into my school, to do a talk, and he was unforgettably fascinating and inspiring. I went home, googled him and found a 2009 Guardian review of Sea Wall at the Edinburgh Fringe. I remember the writer coining the performance ‘the most devastating 30 minutes’ you’ll ever have in the theatre. I still remember that phrase.

It is a ‘devastating’ play, but it is significant now that the devastation isn’t in a theatre. This pandemic has removed theatre, the concept, from theatre, the place. It has meant that new meanings are cast onto archived pieces of work and Sea Wall encapsulates how and why this has been successful. Watching Scott’s performance as Alex feels so centred, so direct and almost personal. This filmed version of the play isn't a live performance recording, but a film in itself that was released in 2o11. Now it can be streamed on YouTube. In this rare chance, theatre can exist accessibly as one person talking to one person listening. The residual symptoms of watching a play are eradicated and I think this makes it more intense, more true.

The way Stephens writes love, life and God makes you really, really feel something. Humanity is in one sentence ‘completely falling inside [oneself]’ and in the next merely a ‘bit of meat and air’. The rugged juxtaposition of the poetic against the literal grants Sea Wall the ability to be both grounded in a reality and elevated in concept. Stephens is able to sum up the giant philosophical pillars of existence into anecdotes about supermarket shopping, and it works really beautifully.

Scott is perfectly cast. Watching him breaks you out of any consciousness that you’re watching someone act, or even speak. His fluidity and rhythm convinces you that you’re just watching a person be. You’re entranced by his story: who Alex is, what he’s been through, or why he has chosen to tell you. The openness is so raw and so moving. Scott’s performance is dynamic, like the ambiguity of Stephens’ writing. You’re witnessing an existence that is both transient and permanent.

Sea Wall is available to watch until the 25^th of May

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j01kVmBoJW0

The Five Stages of: UK Lockdown

Having just turned the grand old age of 20 as we went into 'lockdown', I shortly embarked on a quarter-life crisis... I didn't know what to with myself, now as an adult stuck in my childhood bedroom with nothing to do. I did eventually get out of being selfishly stressed out- there is more to life than missed internships and cancelled festivals. I broke down how I was feeling into the generic 'Five Stages of *insert trauma here*', and it helped. This is an incredibly tough, weird Orwellian time that we're all in together.

1. Denial

No doubt, you sat watching the peroxide coloured man we call a Prime Minister announce lockdown in his 17:30 broadcast, and feel something like the world shattering around you. It was, of course, the right call to make and should have happened earlier. However, it is daunting to have to put every bit of your working, social and academic lives on hold for, well we don’t know how long for. It’s safest to space out and believe it’s not happening! Simply just ignore the piles of emails and attempted 'zooms' from professors, never learn what ‘furlough’ actually is and turn your phone off for a week. Deny, deny, deny…

2. Anger 

Turns out there is a limited time frame on attempting to drown out the world in crisis with TikTok. It’s time to wake up from the blissful haze of ignorance and realise that we are in a big old mess! You now watch the news like it’s a crime drama to binge and begin to spiral: spiral deep down into a tangled web of conspiracy theory, sceptical online ‘newspapers’ and angry, angry twitter threads (from your Grandad in my case). Blaming grossly rich societal figureheads (Richard Branson/Tim Martin/Victoria Beckham) for the state of our country becomes your new hobby, and tea with your family resembles those old white men booing over each other in parliament. You don’t actually know know what is going on (because who does?), but boy, are you angry about something. Very angry- thank goodness for your daily walk because it’s keeping you sane.

3.  Bargaining

I don’t think this particular stage will ever be one to get over- the stage of the ‘What Ifs’: what if lockdown hadn’t happened? The anger has melted away as, unlike a middle-aged woman (a ‘Karen’ most likely) you can’t stay full of rage for too long. Now, you’ve moved onto reminiscing life pre-lockdown. This is a highly dangerous period of vastly over romanticising anything you've ever experienced. Rogue nights out fizz in your memory as wild adventures, slogs in the library are remembered as eureka moments and hungover shifts are dazzling career highlights in your foggy recollection. In this weird time of home imprisonment, anything before it seems like a past life lived in a perfect, effervescent dream state. In reality, it was just fine. But, if it’s going to take living retrospectively to get you through the day then I think that’s okay.

 4. Depression

It’s very important to not use this term too lightly. Feeling ‘depressed’ isn’t some castaway adjectival phrase, it’s a medical condition. In the case of these stages of lockdown, I took it to mean the almighty grogginess we’ve all become victim to. Motivation has been sucked out of our systems like the last dregs of a McDonalds milkshake though those paper straws. You’re sleeping in and then staying up, succumbing to the routine of an indecisive insomniac. It's hard to be productive (whatever that means) when you've forgotten what you're working towards. As long as you’re looking after yourself and others, I don’t think one can have too many duvet days. They’re good for the soul.

5. Acceptance 

And... before you know it, you’ve reached the final stage: accepting that you have no clue on how to do things, and that is ok! Making a playlist for every single possible mood is a successful use of your time, it is ok if you didn’t run 5K in 20 mins and it is more than fine if you don’t have a politically intelligent and ethically mindful opinion for everything that’s happening (*yawns*). It is enough to just be. Message your family, talk to your friends and get outside if you can. Notice your privileges and look out for those around you who aren’t safe to just 'stay at home'. Coming to accept that you’re living through such a strange and upsetting time is hard, so congratulations. Lockdown? You’ve completed it mate.

Places to donate to those who need it:

https://www.nhscharitiestogether.co.uk/

https://www.trusselltrust.org/make-a-donation/

https://donate.refuge.org.uk/page/51133/donate/1

https://www.refuge.org.uk/get-help-now/help-for-men/

https://www.mind.org.uk/donate/

https://england.shelter.org.uk/donate?reserved_appeal_code=20190401-DF-10&gclid=CjwKCAjwkun1BRAIEiwA2mJRWYU46TbJHbAygBeZfq4Lc_uM8jbIsQ7nigKS98xQxFU8yn--TXN8pRoCf08QAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds

Normal People: an adaptation of beauty and pain in the noncommunicable

Just as a pre-warning, this is going to be one of those posts you are probably sick of after last weekend. It’s going to be a plea to watch Normal People as soon as you can, and hopefully an ode to its story that will make you want to do so.

I am relatively new to the world of Normal People. I was aware of Sally Rooney and the accolades she’s been (rightfully) showered with since the novel’s 2018 release, but I had never read her work. That was until World Book Day this year, on the train from Nottingham to Sheffield with nothing but my Kindle to keep me company. I downloaded the book out of the blue and devoured its contents. I soon realised that the book was becoming one of the best I had recently read: one of love, class and mental state in today’s climate. It is a tale heady with rich and incessant internal monologue from the two protagonists, Marianne and Connell. Their thoughts and feelings are communicated through Rooney and then to reader, rarely direct from character to character. When the news came of BBC Three’s adaptation I couldn’t wait, and my hopes were high- I love this story.

As a pair, Marianne and Connell are joined though circumstance, but their relationship is fractured by differences in class and social circle. They are somewhat only level in their intellect and attraction to each other. Behind (heavy) closed doors, the pair become close and feelings develop- but the politics, macro and micro, of their social situation create barriers. The pair go through immense feeling, whilst their lives move at the routine pace they are expected to. Rooney is dissecting the intoxicating percolation of the Irish class system into the minds of young people. The plot, dense with literary reference, echoes the mantra of 18^th Century dramatic realism: everything is happening to the person, whilst nothing is happening to the people.

The internalisation of such a delicately subtle plot is surely a challenge to translate from literature to television- it is rarely attempted. I wondered if there’d be constant voice-over playing, or something else obvious. There is no need though. The actors’ performances, the writing, the sound and the lighting of adaption weave into each other, creating a web that communicates Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Connell’s (Paul Mescal) emotional developments. It builds beautifully, without leaving the viewer in need of a climax- we feel fulfilled to have seen and shared what we have with the two lovers. It is enough.

Whilst Rooney’s novel is great, this is one of the rare occasions when a TV adaptation is on par with, or perhaps surpasses its literary inspiration. The story feels very real, and I know I’m not alone in being unable to find the word to describe what it is that makes it feel so. The depictions of school and university are raw and gutting without overdramatising; it is the experience of ‘normal people’ and our everyday lives. Lenny Abrahamson’s direction is masterful and touching.

The production is incredibly tranquil- it is stripped back and ambient so the emotional power of the story can be communicated without question. There's one point that demonstrates this perfectly... Connell and Marianne are on a train and an acoustic cover of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ is playing: it creates a moment where the viewer and characters are being moved to the same conclusion. We are brought to the realisation that it is only love keeping the couple apart, as they have finally overcome other barriers. It feels freeing. As they physically move through Italian towns, they are understood to be moving through their fear of being together and it feels as though the song is being heard by them as well as us. It proves Normal People to be a perfect transference of storytelling, from page onto screen.

National Theatre Home: One Man, Two Guvnors

‘CRIMINALS, GANGSTERS, PRINCESS MARGARET’

In 2013, the National’s Olivier stage hosted Richard Bean’s One Man, Two Guvnors. It became The Performance that catapulted James Corden’s career and, of last Thursday, it became available for you to watch at home- on YouTube. Hailed as one of the best shows ever staged by the National Theatre, it works as a brilliant opener to the theatre’s efforts in solidarity from the arts.

Under Nicholas Hynter’s direction, the piece was an almighty hit. The play works as an English adaptation of the old and beloved, Servant of Two Masters- a piece of Italian commedia del’arte: one of the earliest forms of what we know today as pantomime , it’s a piece complete with exaggerated stock characters, gender swaps, mistaken identity and, of course, a love story. One Man, Two Guvnors has all this in abundance, but with a lovable British flair, making the well-known tale accessible to audiences up and down the country.

Corden stars as our ‘harlequin’ Francis, who gets tangled in a comedic web of lies and disguise. As the title suggests, he ends up being the one minder for two masters. The two masters are of course linked, but all is to be revealed- no spoilers here. He bursts onto the stage to deafening applause; his entire performance proves well deserved of the accolades he received. He argues a magnificent case for celebrity casting in theatre; the character of Francis is like bringing his Smithy onto stage and letting him run riot on the Olivier.

Set in 1960’s Brighton, the play humours the little drama of British suburbia. The piece is decked with racial, national and regional stereotypes- as the stock characters of commedia del’arte have been replaced with stock characters of little Britain: the spiv, the boarding school toff etc.. The writing’s vigour and self-awareness make it void of offence; it acknowledges the growing diversity of 60s Southern England and we laugh in its comedic nostalgia.

Ignoring Corden’s stardom, the writing of this play sure stands out as man of the match here. It is packed with punchy and hilarious one liners. Whilst watching, I had to keep pausing (one of the beauties of at home streaming) in order to scribble them down- they just kept coming! There’s a standout feminist prediction, stellar with dramatic irony, from bookkeeper Dolly (Suzie Toase). She says, ‘I predict in 20 years-time, they’ll be a woman in 10 Downing Street… and then you’ll see exactly what woman can do’, to rapturous applause, then says, ‘you’ll see a more just and fair society’, to rapturous laughter. Bean’s writing is at its best when it is directed straight at the audience. Each character has a continual monologue: a mocking of the Shakespearean soliloquy, and if there’s ever a stage to mock Shakespeare, it is sure to be the Olivier...

Its self-referentiality heightens the boisterous nature of the piece- it’s a play you won’t forget. It is sheer entertainment, and a treasure in the National’s chest. It has everything for theatre lovers, and everything for those new to plays. It has music, skits, audience participation (the famous Christine Patterson bit) and chases from wing to wing… It might be titled One Man, Two Guvnors, but it is not at all a one man show. It is a production bursting with masterful actors, who are masterful comedians. Despite streaming it at home, the show’s energy is palpable and you’re sure to laugh out loud. With the closing musical number singing out: ‘tomorrow looks good from here’, National Theatre Home has started a legacy- the perfect, and somewhat patriotic, effort at stirring optimism in the nation.

A link to where you can watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XzqcRwWVv8k

An Afternoon with Leslie

Being a student means accidentally belonging to a pretty selfish demographic. Our time and thoughts are inextricably measured against finding your sense of self: discovering your own way of doing and understanding everything. It’s an important time, but an incredibly self-indulgent time, nonetheless. It has become so obvious to me that I need to do more for others, outside of student self. (The irony is that, in coming to this conclusion, I partook in far too much self-evaluation and analysis.)

I am on a little placement with my course called ‘Reading Aloud’. Every Wednesday afternoon a handful of us English students visit the dementia wards at the hospital to read poems- a gentle and amateur form of art therapy. It can be intimidating; the busy wards are chaotic and some of the patients are really suffering, and it can be challenging; some patients don’t respond. But most of all, it can be upsetting; you see a person fading in and out of the sense of themselves.

Especially being in a time of my life where I indulge so much time into forming my person, it is hard to watch how people lose tangibility within themselves at the end of their lives. Often, as a patient’s train of thought diminishes, you witness their sense of self begin to unravel with it, as they don’t where they are or who they are.

It isn’t all gloom though- not at all. It is so inspiring, inspiring enough to make me want to ramble away at my laptop (apologies to the reader). This Wednesday afternoon I had the pleasure of sharing rhyme and verse with Leslie: a patient, but more importantly, an author, a scholar and a very kind man.

I began reading the overdone, but still lovely, Sonnet 40. At the very mention of Shakespeare his eyes were alight, and began an interrogation of the form and prescriptions of a sonnet, engaging in literary debate way out of my depth (not that that’s difficult at all). Next, we discussed and recited Shakespearean drama; Leslie’s knowledge and, dare I say performance, of Macbeth was one to intimidate the RSC, and I was delighted to have stimulated him so.

After discussions of Wordsworth and the Romantics, Pound and the Imagists, Leslie told me about his own writings. He told me how after reading archaeology and anthropology at Cambridge, he went home to Harby, a little village in the Midlands, and worked on a project: a community retelling of its histories.

He was a very funny man, spilling the secrets on how to manipulate the nurses into always getting a cup of tea on time and other tips and tricks of the ward. He was also very engaged and very engaging. He helped my recital skills, telling me to read slowly and with more confidence. He didn't sit passively as some might presume a dementia patient would do. After the hour was up, he encouraged me to read some of my own shabby work. I did, he smiled, and he shook my hand and we said goodbye- I then left to go back to campus.

This is only a small encounter, and may not seem significant, but I couldn’t imagine not documenting it. It proved to me, not to expect anything from anyone. I left in awe of this man, incredibly humbled to have met him and benefited from his company. In the brief hour, both my mind and his were opened: I saw a new way of thinking as he revisited his past knowledge and thoughts. He didn’t remember the nurses, or the date of Valentine’s day (must say I’m trying to forget that myself) but could recite verses of Thomas and Coleridge in a blink. I learnt not to think too much about what I know now, as we can’t tell at the point of experiencing what memories we’ll hold onto later in our lives.

I don’t mean to preach, as I really am the least qualified person to be an example to anyone, but I just wanted to share how helping others broadens your own ability to experience things. I’m not at all as memorable as the poets I read to Leslie, so I won’t stick around in his head for long, but he’ll sure stick in mine. I’ve just ordered his book and I’m excited to read.

This isn’t an overly important piece of writing, albeit a very good one, but it was an 

important afternoon that I want to share. I’m in a very selfish time of my life, and I can’t be ignorant to the spectrum of lifetimes happening outside of my own. Experiencing snippets of these surrounding lived lifetimes grants you a deeper sense of empathy. It makes everything you do mean that little bit more to both yourself and others, which is what is truly important at the end of it all.

(Here's a link to Leslie's book if you're interested in what this brilliant man has to say: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Harby-Village-Life-Vale-Belvoir/dp/0956751504)