Don’t Let Me Down: Let It Be at Prince of Wales Theatre

The theatre critic and Beatles fangirl in me are having a bit of an argument over this production. Let It Be delivers wonderful renditions of much-loved songs but not the story-driven show I was hoping for. At the Prince of Wales Theatre.

I have a photograph of the first Beatles bass player Stuart Sutcliffe on my wall, which is signed by German photographer Astrid Kirchherr – the woman who gave the Beatles their famous haircuts. I have been known to constantly sing Beatles songs when I think nobody’s watching me. And how anyone can seriously ponder the “Beatles or Stones?” question and not come to the obvious answer remains a source of great confusion to me. If any of that rings a bell, chances are you’re as much of a Beatles geek as I am. You may have gathered that The Beatles are not just any old band to me. When my classmates listened to the Backstreet Boys’ new album, I shook my pretentious little head and tried to decide whether Sgt. Pepper’s or Revolver was my favourite album.

So going to the Prince of Wales theatre to see Let It Be had me exceptionally excited. To my delight there was a little quiz on the two big screens as the audience settled down before the start of the show which had me mumbling various bits of trivia to myself. I was truly ready to be taken on a rock ‘n’ roll ride.

Leaving out their rough Hamburg days, the show starts off with their Royal Variety Performance from 1963 and and leads right through to their last album release Let It Be. The show is basically a theatrical concert, or a succession of re-enactments of famous concerts with the odd quote thrown in for the more knowledgeable fan.

The famous rooftop concert has already been done as part of the show’s marketing campaign, and this show takes the audiences through the decade: from Liverpool’s Merseyside and the intimate Cavern club to the Shea Stadium where in 1965 they played in front of 55,000 people and apparently couldn’t even hear themselves on stage. The visuals try to create the atmosphere of the concert sites and the show wants the audience to give in and feel part of these milestone performances. For example, original recordings of screaming girls are interspliced with live footage of the actual audience.

Although the audience was up on its feet quite early on in the show, swaying, twisting-and-shouting and clapping, I don’t think that the little time-travel experiment quite works. When the performers try to interact with the audience it is somewhat superficial. We see impersonations of the four musicians that never really come to life because a tightly-planned show like this does not seem to leave any room for improvisation.

Later albums like Sgt. Pepper’s get some space too, with the cast dressing up in the famous colourful uniforms and gazing seriously into the audience. There is a nice and quiet acoustic part in it as well, but all the way through the evening I waited for the Beatles music to work its magic and have a more profound emotional impact on me as has happened many times before when just simply listening to the records. Alas, to no avail. Granted, I was entertained and pleased with some of the details and arrangements, but was not as moved as I hoped I was going to be.

The performers have got some of the mannerisms down pat – especially Michael Gagliano who is eerily close to John Lennon’s physicality. And throughout the show the other performers, too, seem to grow more and more into the characters they are portraying. The details are just right: there’s Paul’s violin-shaped Höfner bass and George’s beautiful Rickenbacker. And John even seems a bit too cheeky at times. But it’s not just the look: in “Strawberry Fields”, for example, John’s voice in its colour and pitch is just perfect.

I have however seen tribute bands that were more convincing acoustically (for example the Broadway success RAIN, which this is based off) although none have had such a colourful stage illustration as Let It Be. Darren McCaulley’s and Mathieu St-Arnaud’s video design is beautiful, sometimes plainly illustrating the lyrics, sometimes just joyfully wacky and reminiscent of Terry Gilliam.

Although I left the theatre very elated on the grounds of having heard these stunning songs performed live in front of me, something touching to take home was missing. This is a very well-executed Beatles tribute and if you are willing to dig deep into your pockets and spend up to £90 (for premium seats) to go and see this you will certainly enjoy yourself. For everyone else who is waiting for that elusive West End musical about the Fab Four’s story behind all the fame, this is not it. And I shall return to listening to the Beatles on my mp3 player and sheepishly humming to myself on the Tube. Listening to the vivid arrangements, the stories told by the lyrics come to life in my head all on their own. No tribute band needed.

Bubble Trouble: Insufficiency at Riverside Studios

Written by the inventor of the pill, Carl Djerassi, Insufficiency is a comedy that takes on the neurotic world of science and academia. It’s frothy and light but ultimately not sufficiently entertaining. There are probably a lot more subtle themes in this play than this show was able to bring out. At the Riverside Studios.

Set in the chemistry department of a second-rate American university, Insufficiency focuses on the Polish chemistry professor Jerzy Krzyz (Tim Dutton of Ally McBeal and Bourne Identity fame) who is struggling to get tenure. His research is in the field of bubbleology – the studies of bubbles – but this is not the only reason his colleagues don’t take him seriously. Trying to solve the problem of hydrophilicity with the help of nanoparticles and polymer coating, he has dared to base his research on alcoholic beverages like champagne and beer. Plainly put, he tries to prevent fizzy drinks from turning flat too quickly and instead of publishing his findings in renowned chemistry periodicals, he sells them to companies like Dom Pérignon. His peers are jealous of the third-party funding he manages to collect and when two people die in mysterious circumstances, our mad professor gets dragged in front of a jury.

This might sound like an intriguing conceit, which sets up a conflict between characters to observe the petty antics in academia, but it turns out it to be quite disappointing. Over-repetitive statements about confidential disclosure-agreements and a story arc about an office love affair lead to no satisfactory conclusion. There is a whole subplot about racial stereotyping and name-changing: Jerzy Krzyz becomes Jerry who becomes Jean Delacroix, and despite that taking up a lot of time, it still remained under-developed and without punch.

The blandness of the set does justice to an actual uninspiring university setting. The sound design and lighting take up the theme of bubbles but they remain mere illustrations and sadly don’t add anything new to the piece. From fidgety stage hands to dripping puddles of water there are a lot of details that divert from some of the bigger ideas, along with a few rather clumsily-solved scene changes. And usually, if these details catch the audience’s attention, it means that the piece is not as engaging as it should be.

The plot bubbles along without any particular direction, although there is a parallel between the two plot lines: objectivity in science means not to be invested in the outcome of one’s studies, and of course if you’re working for a private investor this is not so easy. To unveil the truth about the two murders, Karen Archer has the thankless task of playing the prosecutor and addressing the audience-jury. Moving from suave to tenacious she does the best she can with this cliché-ridden role. But eventually, the court-room scenes as a framing device turn out to be rather pointless.

Walter van Dyk’s long-suffering Head of Chemistry doesn’t appear to be quite settled within the role, and Sara Griffiths puts up a good fight as the love interest caught between office politics and infatuation for the idiosyncratic scientist. The best thing about the play is Tim Dutton’s excellent portrayal of the eccentric professor, complete with orange socks and the attractive arrogance befitting a genius.

I couldn’t help but feel that this is a play that would probably shine more when being read rather than performed. It won’t leave you linguistically dazzled, and if that’s what you expect when you’re going to see a play about academic jealousies you will be somewhat disappointed. When Krzyz says “I don’t need to prostitute myself for a little pat on the head” to dismiss the pressure of having to publish in proper journals, or when he calls postgraduates a “group of slaves”, there is a glimpse of very well-constructed writing, but as a piece in general it fails to hold up to expectations. That is not to say that there aren’t some beautifully poetic moments, when bubbleology is put into the wider context of the structure of the universe and the theoretical concept of quantum space-time and foam. But these moments also point towards everything this play could have been were it not for some fatal logical fallacies. To suspend my disbelief, especially in the court room plot, this would have needed a much bolder direction. It lacks suspense and is not quirky enough to get away with structural weakness. It had a very bewildering ending, too, with bubbles of an entirely different nature.

A Talent to Look Out for: Monday at the Etcetera Theatre

There are many gems to be discovered on the London fringe. Freedom Tongue presents this one-woman show in an intimate pub theatre space, and it is both mesmerising and relentless. Gloria Williams’ Monday is a harrowing tale about abuse, false messiahs and the will to survive. At the Etcetera Theatre.

There are many gems to be discovered on the London fringe. Freedom Tongue presents this one-woman show in an intimate pub theatre space, and it is both mesmerising and relentless. Gloria Williams’ Monday is a harrowing tale about abuse, false messiahs and the will to survive.

Shows with only one actor are a special kind of theatre. There has to be a magnetic performer who is a great storyteller, and gripping material to keep you interested: if one of the two elements fails, the whole show usually falls flat. Gloria Williams, who wrote and performs this piece, emerged from the Royal Courts Theatre Young Writers Group and has earned great praise in Edinburgh and America for her work.

Through the perspective of a troubled teenager were live through a Monday that will tear apart an already broken family. The question of faith is at the centre of this production. There is an African woman downstairs, and 18-year-old Neena can hear her sing her religious songs over and over again. They are songs to a god that is forgiving and serves as support during times of hardship, but it’s not the same god that is being prayed to in Neena’s house. In the typical, black North London home where she lives with a religious stepfather, an unforgiving mother who tries to blank out the obvious tragedy and an innocent half-sister, Neena whiles away her days in psychological agony.

What on the surface reads like an overdone plot about child abuse is brought to life by rippling, evocative language that sometimes rhymes but isn’t poetry, a language that twists and turns and makes the viewer shudder with its intense imagery. Trying to protect her half-sister and struggling to confront her mother, Neena is a girl who has built an overcompensating wall of anger around herself. What has happened to her has rendered her incapable of focusing on her future or exploring her own sexuality in a meaningful way.

Williams allows different characters to speak up and she makes the transition between them without overly stylised efforts, finding the right devices to illustrate the complete communication breakdown in the girl’s home. Some of the confrontations – especially between mother and daughter – last a bit too long, but they capture with a disturbing urgency the futility of trying to make her mother understand.

The ever-increasing sense of dread and threat in the piece is driven by Williams’ powerful voice and physicality. At times there is an overwhelming sense of authenticity that makes it hard to watch. But there is not much else to focus your attention on, just a chair and a crumpled up white sheet, and so as an audience you are forced to listen and forced to look at what’s playing out in front of you. Culminating not so much in a resolution but a terrifying dissolution, the question remains of how to gather up strength after traumatising events like this. Is it worth giving yourself up to protect a family that cannot prevent abuse? If God can be misused in such a way, can he ever become a source of solace and comfort again? Gloria Williams manages to ask fundamental questions like these because she knows how to create a dense linguistic landscape, and because she delivers a gut-wrenching performance without being sentimental or maudlin. She is definitely a talent to look out for in the future.

Intelligent and Laugh Out Loud: Jumpy at the Duke of York’s Theatre

Jumpy is another intriguing show the Royal Court has brought to the West End. TV’s Tamsin Greig (Green Wing) shines as a woman struggling to reconcile her feminist ideals from the past with the dreary reality of family life catching up with her. At the Duke of York’s.

Jumpy is another intriguing show the Royal Court has brought to the West End. TV’s Tamsin Greig (Green Wing) shines as a woman struggling to reconcile her feminist ideals from the past with the dreary reality of family life catching up with her. In the past, with productions like Hush, Wild East or Catch, April de Angelis and the Royal Court have had a good track record of producing relevant plays about British middle-class people. And with last year’s successful run, Jumpy was a likely candidate for the Royal Court’s on-going West End transfer collaboration with the Duke of York’s.

The show opens on overworked, disillusioned Hilary coming home from work and downing a glass of wine before even having put down her coat and bags. She’s a fatigued 50-year old woman and we soon find out that, in the 1980s, she used to be involved in the feminist movement. But it seems that a loveless marriage and a pubescent daughter have drained all notions of empowerment from her.

Strong women involved in the second-wave feminist movement now having become older often feel their sense of entitlement has been betrayed. This should be their time to earn the fruits of their efforts, and the change in society they fought for so hard should be passed on to the younger generation. But instead Hilary’s daughter Tilly, failing to identify with her mother’s ideals, is a disconnected and petulant girl who is more concerned with boys and fashion. Bel Powley is convincing as the 15-year old brat, but her performance does not really reflect her growing up in the two years or so the play spans.

Tamsin Greig delivers a funny and touching performance of a woman walking the tightrope of either miserably accepting the inevitable dreariness of London middle-class life or wanting to cry out at the injustice of it all. She is too worldly and wise to really believe that an affair with the young university student Cam (Ben Lloyd-Hughes) will relieve her misery, but at the same time she seems to despise the cynicism that has crept into her perception of the world.

Opposite Hilary is her friend Frances, portrayed by the delightfully scene-chewing Doon Mackichan. She tries to embrace her age and, in an awkward attempt to reclaim her own sexuality, has the house in tears of laughter when she does a burlesque dance number under the guise of self-discovery.

Lizzie Clachan’s design is an unadorned, whitewashed space that hints cleverly at underlying and suppressed middle-class problems and allows for the character’s actions to be observed by the audience, like in an experimental arrangement. The result is a very impersonal room, reflective of the loveless marriage and the broken mother-daughter relationship inhabiting it.

The Duke of York’s theatre, however, does not quite feel like the right space for this show. On the evening I saw it, some of the performances were surprisingly unengaged and uninvolved in the action. The very personal moments get lost in the depth of the space, and it is only at the very end when Hilary steps downstage and half-addresses the audience that her desolation really comes crashing down on us.

Jumpy is a very intelligent piece that sometimes wraps what it wants to say into too many layers, and so when it comes back to a more accessible level there is the odd clunky scene or plot development. When the piece is at its best, there is laugh-out loud humour paired with poignant and accurate observations about female desires. Even though it is not a perfectly balanced piece of theatre, in general it is definitely worth seeing for Tamsin Greig’s performance alone.