Cindy Marcolina - Page 4

There are vanity projects, and then there are Vanity Projects. This is a Vanyaty Project of exquisite substance that reconfirms Andrew Scott is one of the finest performers of his generation. A production years in the making, Simon Stephens’s one-man adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s human tragedy Uncle Vanya has landed in the West End in the safe hands of Scott.

It’s tough humour, not always politically correct nor consistently hilarious. All aspects of their personal lives and careers are ammunition. On-set misdemeanours, past scuffles, sexual escapades - everything. It’s somewhat of a potboiler for the easily pleased punters and industry professionals: it’s funny, but far from a knee-slapper and insulated in its type of jokes. Their punches are ruthless and the piece is deliciously self-referential, though its real strength is its unexploited dark side.

The project has been a top hit in its native Austria since it opened in 2006, garnering a steady following across the world and subsequent runs in Asia and Europe. The original is fabled to feature incredible sets and a sumptuous staging - it’s a shame those elements haven’t transferred.

At its core, Sorry We Didn’t Die at Sea is a tad too simplistic to make a proper splash. It has a Beckettian aura to it, but this is, sadly, left unexploited. Absurdist black humour shape-shifts continuously into smart thriller and back in engaging flourishes that explode in often magnetic moments.

Tyrell Williams’ tale of football, friendship, and societal shift has smashed records and garnered outstanding feedback across the board. More than a couple awards and the surprising surge in sports-themed plays we’ve had have put it back on the map for another limited run. Could this playwriting debut be eyeing a West End transfer at this point? It’s already a success, it might as well become a commercial hit too.

The main problem is that the characters tend to dwindle down to two-dimensional figurines. We’re met by a garish personality and extravagant attitude, but we’re never offered enough reason and rationale to support them. There’s a bountiful of themes buried inside - from the more evident dysfunctional mother-daughter relationship to bare resentment, political strategy, and class restraints in it - but De Angelis skims through for the benefit of cheap laughs and funky sarcasm.

It’s good fun, but the last half hour of the 90 interval-less minutes drags. The dissection of their personalities and attitudes towards society doesn’t really go anywhere, but it’s an amusing, hyperbolic, melodramatic cut-out of a pretentious dispute between well-off fantoccini made to detonate in a controlled environment.

Its strength is obviously in its joyous and uncompromising queer nature. McDougall casts it entirely gender-blind, making it a piece where gender doesn’t matter, even though its role is at the very core of it. They turn it into an exploration of the performative quality of identity with plenty of tongue-in-cheek moments that tug at the artifice of drama.

Every member of the company brings their best to create an all-around remarkable performance. From the little kids to the older performers, it’s exciting to see what can be done when resources are used to include the community in a large-scale project like this. It’s encouraging to realise that, sometimes, the taxpayers are funding ventures that truly matter.

Ultimately, it’s one of those shows that matter in an ephemeral way. It’s a wonderful showcase of what the Bush are doing to secure the future of theatre, but the play itself could be better. Scenes could be tightened and made less about trying to display the young talent and more about the story itself. But, in this case, it does the job.

It’s a musical of profound emotional intelligence and accuracy. Informed and thought-provoking, it encourages reflection and promotes a healthy dialogue on the matter. It’s a touching, life-size picture of a family who can’t overcome their pain. Too many productions are haphazardly labelled as “a must-see” these days, but this is the real deal.

It’s definitely not your regular staged concert. While there isn’t as much character exploration in this instance, the fact-driven numbers are enough to give a morsel of what a complete production could do.

Exceptionally convivial and inclusive, the performances are relaxed and explained ahead by Brigitte herself. It’s loud, and dark, and blindingly bright. But earplugs are provided and leaving or taking a break are completely appropriate reactions. Audiences are encouraged to be understanding.

Italian performer Greta Zamparini takes extracts from Concita De Gregorio and creates a complex solo show about the commodification of the female body. A series of women open up and explain why they do what they do. From a high-end escort to a trafficked woman who’s finally back home, Temporarily Yours provides a very wise and rational take to the subject with an eloquent script that keeps crossing the lines of empowerment and exploitation.

Innumerable sounds of all kinds create a 360-degree retro journey to the future. While the blindfold doesn’t completely plunge the individual into the darkness, it evokes an air of mystery and immerses them in a world of weird delivery methods and pyramidal children. It’s an engrossing adventure that showcases a remarkable use of sound design.

Though it comes off as the only reason for the play to exist, the campaign remains an important subject. Cotter weaves religious homophobia and bereavement into this story of sudden homelessness and penance. It would make it an exciting, multi-faceted project to program, but it still has a long way to go.

What ties down the project is the one-woman aspect of it. Wilkinson Wright is a tremendous actress, but this direction gives her a staged personality disorder. The framing of the play throws it straight into the action; the performer modulates her voice to shape the different women, but the result is messy and unconvincing, especially if one isn’t familiar with this part of history. It’s not exactly the most streamlined solo show at the Fringe, but it’s among the most compelling subjects for sure.

Directed by Elizabeth Kaye Sortun, while it offers a look at the complexities of toxic dynamics, coercion, consent, and control, it doesn’t truly achieve its goal. Verlo’s past is colourful and intriguing, but this isn’t the production that makes it shine. It lacks the aplomb that inspires reflection and change, settling on underwhelming attempts at cheap laughs.

Lily Wolff directs with gorgeous brushstrokes. Smooth, creative changes of pace come with gradual shifts in the lighting and sound designs, revealing Mary’s interiority and explaining her history. Leeanne Hutchinson’s First Lady is a complex, hurt mother who can’t seem to overcome the pain in her life. She’s matched in performance by Christopher Kelly, who plays Brady as well as a collection of his peculiar subjects. There’s a tense chemistry between them. The minimalism of the visuals engages the imagination of the audience, putting the actors on a blank canvas.

It’s a tale of resilience, resentment, and regret told with instinctive storytelling and a dash of friendly advice. Photos of her relatives and snapshots of her life accompany her narrative, giving a visual reference to her stories. It’s a delicate, lovely play from a woman whose strength could never be ignored.