THE HOMECOMING (Jamie Loyd company )
I don’t know if you guys remember what I did when I first got into film… I actually made it my business to watch a film a day. It’s a habit I plan to get into once the nightmare that is working in catering during the Christmas period is over and done with for one more year. My point though, is that I would genuinely have loved to have been able to do this for theatre too.
I have several problems in doing this though. I mean first of all, you have to make a substantial chunk of time for it. Which is fine, except if you have a million commitments and only one of you –a situation you are barely sustaining already - so really barely have time to shower every day much less factor in trips to the theatre. Cheap tickets aren’t that hard to come by really – there are a million and one discount ticket websites all around and with a bit of careful planning you can find a ticket of some sort – but the thing is I rather do prefer getting “proper” seats, i.e. not the nosebleed seats. Well what can I say, that’s my little luxury… In short, I genuinely wish I could, but I can’t. I nearly missed this twice. Got on the bandwagon with a bunch of friends at the 11th hour, three weeks went by, I forgot we had booked the tickets and had to do a lot of wriggling out of work to be able to attend.
Well, the guys had certainly picked a good one. The Homecoming is considered one of Pinter’s best plays and Jamie Loyd one of his best interpreters of our time. With a stellar cast to boot, this has to be one of the stronger productions of the play… It is the story of Teddy (Garry Kemp) who returns from America to introduce his new wife, Ruth (Gemma Chan) to his family. His mother has long since departed this world and his cantankerous father ( Ron Cook), his uncle, Sam (Keith Allen) and brother Joey (John MacMillan) and Lenny (John Simm). This is a thoroughly masculine household, clearly marked by a lack of warmth and love. And from the moment she arrives, Ruth’s very presence changes absolutely everything… But how will this strange power struggle – with Ruth as the ultimate prize – ever end?
We went to this play as a mixed group of friends – most of the women came out of the play crying “Misogyny!” – and of course strictly speaking this is true. The entire power play in the game (for it is, in all but name, a game) is based around sex and gender. The portrayal of the household before Ruth as uniquely male and therefore cold, full of resentment and loveless is a very old-fashioned way of determining gender roles . And when it boils down to the final confrontation, the entire power play is based around sex. That and – for those who know the play – the final position Ruth ends up in puts the whole dialogue between the genders onto a purely sexual plain – not even an emotional one. In this sense, the character of Ruth is clearly reduced to her gender and nothing else. But herein of course lies the talent of Gemma Chan who is very clever at hinting at the hidden depths – and not all of them particularly pleasant! – of Ruth that has been suppressed by circumstance and ‘50s society. Yes, without a doubt Pinter’s story is a misogynistic and reductionist portrayal of a woman. But the other point to remember is that this is by and large the reflection of the society the play was created in. Art and life are, at the end of the day, pretty much inextricable.
The other thing worth pointing out is that in this particular universe Ruth does – in my opinion – end up as the boss. True, her control over the men is purely sexual (although the final scenes of the play do hint at a lack of more motherly affection that is the key problem as well) but the point is that she is, in one sense, the one calling the shots. The only problem is that apparently she cannot exert any kind of control without using her sexuality. But she is the boss, nonetheless.
This is a brave production. I loved the minimal and stark décor and the permanent air of uncomfortable cold and resentment that runs through almost every single line exchanged between the mail characters. The music, the décor (or indeed the lack thereof) and the whole story marks it out, at first at least, as a very “male” story made for a man’s world. I guess what we should see it as is what happens if you insert one strong and provocative female character into this very male world. It definitely provides a lot of food for thought.
The Homecoming is not one of the faint of heart. It is not a bit of light entertainment of an evening. It is strong, it grabs you by the throat and forces you to look at some stuff that is not necessarily that pleasant to look at. It is however a wonderfully talented cast performing a story that is – whether we like it or not – strangely relevant to our present day, at least definitely at some parts of the world and of modern society. Also – from personal experience – a good introduction to Pinter, if you haven’t been introduced yet!
THE MOMENT THE FATHER BECOMES THE SON...
I love going to the theatre. Movies have always been another matter, I don’t particularly mind if I watch them in the cinema or in the living room. Well, possibly except when the experience is better served by 3D and IMAX, you actually NEED to go to the cinema for that. But all that aside, you might even say I prefer watching films in my own living room, in my pajamas and munching as many noisy snacks as my gut will hold. The magic of the theatre is completely different for me. London is a great and wonderful place and if cheap theatre tickets are your thing, there are a million and one different websites you can use to come by them. You have to use your noggin a little bit, but with a minimal amount of triage you can end up paying pretty much Band 3 prices for Band 1 tickets. I tend to avoid Band 3 tickets, but for this play, the price was very good. So I risked it. I ended up in literally the last row in the house, riiight up in the rafters. I was kicking myself as I took my seat – never again such false economies, I vowed – and my inner Middle Eastern started scanning the grand circle below to see if there were empty seats I could sneak into during the interval.
I am not going to say that I will now sit in Band 3 for always and always, I will probably still very much go for Band 2 at the very worst. But nor do I regret having got these seats up in the rafters in this particular case. It reminds one how truly powerful a live performance has to be. Especially as I now have pretentions at crossing the curtain to the other side of the stage, it is awesome and quite frightening that I, in a seat where I could comfortably touch the roof of the building (or would be able to if I was only about a foot taller) I was actually bowled over by the performances and the emotions. I cannot begin to conceive how you would go about actually giving such a performance (I can’t yet, anyway).
The Father is the story of Andre (Kenneth Cranham). He is getting on a bit, but by and large he is managing fine – or so he tells himself. His daughter Anne (Claire Skinner) would tell a different story. Andre doesn’t understand why she insists on finding him carers. Or why he frequently ends up still wearing his pajamas at the end of the day. Or where his watch is. Some days strange men and women come into his house (or is it is daughters?) and claim to be his daughter and son in law, Andre just doesn’t understand. But surely it’ll all come to him… He’s fine… Right?
Translated from the original Moliere award winning French play by Christopher Hampton, The Father gives us a toe-curlingly realistic portrayal of a decaying mind. The truly fascinating thing is the way the play shows us both sides of the argument. Kenneth Cranham’s Andre – who, in case you needed it spelled out for you, is clearly suffering from some form of dementia – is a larger than life character who is painfully realistic. And the play is structured in a way that brings his disease and confusion right to you with hair raising (in a good way) reality. But although the disease is swallowing Andre whole, it does not swallow the story. In the midst of this confusion we see Anne and her husband Antoine desperately trying to cope with the effects of this disease. All characters are unflinchingly human. One vacillates between wanting to strangle them and wanting to comfort them… And this makes the story that little bit harder to watch if, for whatever reason, the topic is close to your heart.
The Father is definitely not your average evenings light entertainment. This is the kind of show that makes you stop, shake yourself and seriously think about life. You’ll go to the pub badly in need of a stiff drink and be a little too boisterous and loud as you try to expulse the dark clouds that gathered in you throughout the show. And as someone who has dementia in her family, I can testify to the fact that you will get a powerful insight into what life with dementia truly is like. I described the play in some detail to my mother and she reckons she wouldn’t be able to watch the play. And for all her eccentric tastes in film (I am yet to be able to discern a pattern with your viewing Mom, and this is from someone who has known you for 32 years) Mom is a tough cookie. Sensitive souls beware.
So how would I summarize The Father ? Strong, beautiful and dark. Very dark. I would also point out that it is in London’s Wyndham Theatre for a very limited run, so I would strongly advise you catch it before it is gone. Go on. Get out of the pajamas and put the popcorn to one side for two minutes. Life really does begin outside of your comfort zone and it is worth getting a little uncomfortable to really learn something about life.
FUTURE CONDITIONAL - A REMINDER THAT THE FUTURE IS UNWRITTEN...
Well this is messy. This is precisely what I was talking about last week. The whole point of my writing about plays I go to was to shine a tiny candle onto the theatre scene. Sort of asking you to accompany me as I sneak slowly (and on a budget) into London’s theatre scene. I saw this play absolutely ages go. I finally was able to put some time aside to catch up on my writing. One search on Google shows that it closed the day before I wrote this. FFS.
Never mind. It may reopen. And there is no harm in being retrospective. And this is MY blog God-darn it, if I want to write about a play that closed two weeks ago, I will, so there. Boo to anyone who criticizes me.
Future Conditional is the story of what is wrong with the British educational system. Sporting a cast of talented young actors and starring Rob Brydon, we take a look into the lives of those on all sides of the system. The families, the teachers, the law-makers… In the thick of all of this, we have one young and very talented Pakistani refugee who has an extraordinary idea about how we can make the whole thing a lot fairer. The question is, can she get past the preconceptions and bad habits to actually change the world…
I will start off by assuring you that while the play really and truly IS about “what is wrong with the educational system”, it is neither as serious or as dry as that sentence makes it sound. There is a lot of laughter, on big topics and small, and while we are definitely pushed to think while we watch this play – and it clearly has its political message well and truly at the forefront of its mind – it is not didactic at all.
That said, it does work a lot better if you actually know a bit about the British educational system. My knowledge, it must be admitted, is patchy. And I did find bits of the play – it is quite heavy on very serious political discussion – a tad hard to follow as far as the topic went. I mean don’t get me wrong you can follow it. I am just quite sure I would enjoy it more if I knew more about the topic.
The other surprise for me was Rob Brydon. His role is basically that of John Keating in Dead poets society. The only thing is, he is a very toned down version of him. Yes his scenes are good and striking but to be that “extraordinary teacher” who “changes his pupils’ lives” as the posters for the play professes he needed that extra bit of “umph”. As it is, he is good and portrays his part more than ably, but , I do wish there was more of him doing more.
I mean I can sort of see why that artistic choice was made. Rob Brydon is the big name of the play, but the spotlight of it stays on the topic and the young, talented and energetic cast. He is an integral part of the process, but not the centerpiece of the affair. This means we the audience can give a fair share of attention and limelight to all the parts and hopefully give some thought to the message. And good theatre is all about teamwork, at the end of the day. I have more of a problem with the fact that the whole part of the “life saving teacher” lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. I don’t really have a problem with whether Rob Brydon was playing the part or not. The part needed something more, something bigger. I mean either that, or the play really should stop using the line “who is the teacher who saved your life” (or something to that effect) in its advertising. But the other point is that Alia, who is based largely on Malala Yousufazi the Pakistani schoolgirl who fought for the right to female education, does not necessarily need “saving” in the first place. She is perfectly capable of doing it herself.
But this is not a play about teaching any side “a lesson”. It is neither that serious nor that glum. On the contrary, it brims with hope for the future and the new generation. Yes, it points out the flaws in the current system clearly and concisely. Ruthlessly even. But the overwhelming message, I felt, was one of hope. We have many bright and beautiful young men and women growing up in this country right now. Give them half a chance and they can fix it. All you need to do is not get stuck in your old ways and cling to old methods that clearly don’t work. Just open your mind to the possibility that there is a whole different way of doing things that would make us all a lot happier.
PEOPLE PLACES AND THINGS - YES, THEY ALL ARE AGAINST YOU...
As a relative novice I am finding the National Theatre a fascinating experience. I am completely ready to admit that this is part of my own prejudices as well. I guess I have to learn not to judge a book by its cover – it generally is a mixed crowd (generally – I have only been there twice) as far as both age and apparent social status goes. There has been a very marked older crowd though. You know, hair done, pearl earrings for the ladies, gents wearing jackets and cravats. My own personal prejudices would have made me think that they were not the kind of people who would choose to watch very avant-garde works about sex, drugs, addiction at all, much less give standing ovations at the end of it. You learn something new every day I guess. And to be honest I rather like the idea of this ephemeral thing that unites the audience – and, once the show begins the actors - that overcomes age, social class (whatever that may be) and background and unites everyone almost inside a work of art. I guess I would have to say it is this thing is the main magic of theatre. The story unfolding in front of you and us getting caught up in it just feet away from the goings on, transported by the actors and our imaginations… It was magical enough – for me - to be part of the audience but now trying to walk through the looking glass over to the other side has thrown up a whole new philosophical debate inside my head (and my life). In this context the timing of people places and things was very opportune.
I could sum the plot of the play up in one single sentence. Emma (Denise Gough) has rocked up to a rehab center one fine night. All she needs is a letter to say she is OK to go back to work. Ok, maybe a little detox wouldn’t go amiss either. But that’s it really. She has no deep set issues or kinky shit she needs to sort out. No need to talk to the group; surrender to a higher power or any such nonsense. She’s savvy. She knows what’s what. She’s different – or is she…
Now, minor spoiler as far as the plot goes (soz, but I would find it INCREDIBLY hard to write an accurate review otherwise ), Emma is an actress. Rest assured, this is more than an excuse provided by the writer for her drug and alcohol habit, or indeed a potential danger for when she leaves the center. I mean, to be absolutely honest with you I would love to be able to watch the play again – I actually might. The aim of the play, apart from expressing a real love for the craft of acting, is to explore multiple realities. The stories we tell ourselves versus the version of us we willingly – or often unwillingly and unwittingly – show to others. What better way to do this than to use a craft where the practitioner needs to actively live multiple lives and be multiple people. A strange thing to be payed to do, especially in a world where being one single person can already be quite complicated…
The beauty of this play is though that it doesn’t batter you with these very heavy themes. They sort of seep in, you only realize they were there when you sit back, think about it, and realize they have already seeped into your brain. Because the stage design is just so totally amazing, so completely mesmerizing that it comes with a warning about strobe lighting and total blackouts in the auditorium. You will get literally nothing about it out of me. It is one of THE most visually striking THINGS I have seen in my life and you absolutely HAVE TO experience it cold. And that’s basically that.
This play will sit in your head for a while. There are wonderful insights into the world of acting, sure, but also wonderful reminders of what it is like to try to be a million different people in one day. Of being utterly sure one is unique when actually one is (actually or metaphorically) one in a long line of actors / actresses who look just like you trying to stand out via the tiniest little nuances. It’s weird and the description may make it sound sad, but in a funny kind of way it’s also liberating…
In short, come take a shot of the magic. This batch is particularly strong…
DEAR LUPIN - WE REALLY NEED TO TALK ABOUT THIS FATHER - SON THING...
You will have noticed I have a penchant for real life stories. I am not going to go over it again and again. But what I possibly love the best about this kind of true story is when art and real life come together and touch. I don’t know, we don’t have enough art in our real life I reckon, even though real life is more artistic than one might think. I was attracted to Dear Lupin principally because it’s the story of father-son duo Roger and Charles Mortimer as brought to life by real life father and son duo James and Jack Fox. I had very little knowledge of the book and the story it told but honestly just wanted to see how and if the real father son relationship bled into the performance, and how. Well it does. And it’s adorable.
But before we get to that bit let us back track for two minutes and take a look at the story – the real life story – that started all of this. Because be it a film or be it a play, it all begins with a good yarn…
Roger Mortimer is a racing journalist. He has a wife and three children and they live a reasonably comfortable if slightly eccentric life in the British countryside. Most life events chug along as normal and expected, but there is one notable exception. Charles, Rogers oldest and most wayward offspring. Over the years Roger desperately tries to keep Charles (a.k.a. Lupin) from going off the rails but never judges or condemns. He does this through a collection of around 150 letters written throughout the years that Charles makes into a book after the death of his father. It is this book that we can now watch as brought to life by James and Jack Fox at the Apollo theatre today.
I won’t go into the details of the story. Yes the story is quite a yarn but not in a Mission Impossible, fast trains and explosions kind of way. Nor is it even like Motherf**ker in the hat, as reviewed last week with the raw emotion on constant and unabashed flow. It is a very, very British tale of emotion of equal quantity hidden under mannerisms and understatements. And yet Roger clearly has a way with the written word and Charles is completely candid in telling the ins and outs of his rather tumultuous life so it only takes a very small amount of reading between the lines to see the enormous amounts of affection flowing between the father and son. It’s definitely a touching affair throughout. But don’t worry – you will be laughing out loud a lot more often than wiping away any tears…
The performance itself is quite a brave one on many levels. In the first place, this is a matter of storytelling as much as it is acting – there are no re-eanctments of scenes from the letters, but the letters are read (quoted rather) explained and the bare bones of it sketched out by the two man cast who support the story with vigour, talent and ease throughout. James Fox embodies the middle aged English gent of a certain era to perfection so it is a joy to see his quicksilver acting talent shining through in the little moments on stage. Jack Fox , our main narrator – as in the book – is both an engaging storyteller and clearly set to do great things in the world of acting but although the technical prowess and bravery is only one side of the performance that touched me.
It is no great spoiler to point out that the play follows Roger Mortimer all the way through his life to the point his health fails and he passes away. Judging by the alternating hugs and hand-shakes between father and son while they were taking their bows it is as emotional a moment as I imagine it to be – especially for Jack I would imagine. He must, after all, watch his own father die very convincingly on stage in front of an audience for the entire run. THAT is what I call brave.
Dear Lupin is a warm and wonderful story for parents and offspring of all ages, for the good and the wayward alike. Ok so it doesn’t have bells or whistles. It has, in its stead, a heaving mass of talent, emotion and love – and don’t forget a simply cracking yarn… You want to catch this one before it ends. No really, you do.
BETRAYAL, CATHARSIS AND A MOTHERF***KER WITH THE HAT
I just want to give you a heads up – this may turn into a play review blog at some point. Oh I still watch films. I will still be uploading film reviews for a while yet. I have several “ready to go” just in case as we speak. There will be more, from cinemas, from DVDs and from the past, like last week. But this whole theatre thing is just… Acting is just… I don’t know man. It’s changing me. It’s altering me as a person and it’s doing it in the best way possible. I’ve never spoken to you guys - though goodness knows I have almost begged you to comment and talk to me – but the stats all tell me you’re out there though and that you keep coming back. It’s been a good few years for at least some of you so you know, I consider y’all friends. So I don’t mind telling you all of this. I don’t know, there are moments, or indeed entire days where I feel the exercises, the work, the plays and the playing shakes loose and shakes out bad stuff that have been clinging to my insides for years. I don’t know man, this is a very strange time in my life. But I love the journey and am on and can only imagine it leading somewhere good.
I got into writing all of that because watching The Motherf***ker with the hat was so cathartic. The play is unashamedly big and loud, tackling heavy subjects like addiction, betrayal, relationships that are breaking down and love lost and found, the play storms onto the stage from the first minute, laughing, crying, howling and stamping its feet. And the conviction is such, the characters are so real and the story so gripping that from the first moment, you as the audience members get swept up in the whirlwind of emotions it portrays…
Our hero is Jackie ( Ricardo Chavira). He has just come out of prison and is on the way to kicking his alcohol addiction. He lives with his girlfriend Victoria (Flor De Liz perez), with whom he has been together since 8th grade, he has just found a job… In short, Jackie’s finally on the home straight – or so it seems… Until he gets home one day… And there’s this hat… What follows next is Jackie’s attempts to get his life back under control. Because if he loses it… Well he may very well loose it for good…
Ok, I’m going to try and write the following analysis with as few spoilers as possible. But be warned, I may miss a trick. In which case I apologise.
It is interesting to watch Jackie go through several different types of betrayal . First there is the betrayal on the romantic side. Well, it’s horrendous and it’s painful but we have all been there, right (well, quite a few of us have)? It’s one of the main reasons a relationship receives a blow. Sometimes the relationship heals, sometimes we move on, but at least we’re kinda ready for it…
What we are, more often than not less ready for is betrayal from our heroes. The people we set up in our heads as examples. This can be one of many things, it can either be your celebrity idol you meet one day and turns out to be a complete jerk or someone in your life that you idolise and hold on to in some way and you wake up one fine day and realise that this person was only human, just like you. And do you know what; they may not even be a particularly nice human. That’s normally to be expected, after all it’s a distinct possibility with humans… But where does that leave you if they are the person you modelled yourself on for any amount of time? If you turned into something unpleasant without noticing it, that’s definitely one problem… It can feel like quite a kick in the teeth though if the person you were imitating was in fact a complete front…
Now if I told you that the play tackled issues like this in the context of addiction and prison, and that it does it in two hours without a single recess, you may be forgiven for thinking it would be incredibly heavy and hard to watch. It’s not. The play expertly points out the absurd and the right out hilarious in the potentially “heaviest” situations. And if those aren’t quite enough for you, there is Julio (Yul Vazquez) . While he is clearly there for comic relief, he still successfully walks the line between the serious and the hilarious. On the night I watched, in some scenes practically every line he uttered was greeted with laughter. And yet he was never, ever “absurd”. He was just what the otherwise quite heavy and emotional content of the play needed.
I have so much more to say about this play. It definitely did NOT receive six Tony nominations for nothing… I haven’t even got round to Alec Newman who was awesome but whose character I can’t really mention (I mean I can but you know, it’s tricky) for plot twist reasons. Then there is the scenery and how the transitions take place on stage between scenes but I want that to come as a complete surprise too.
In short, this is one of the most powerful plays I have seen in a very long time. And as I write this review it has just under a week left at the National Theatre in London with the run ending on the 20th. I’d say don’t miss it.
A PLAY ABOUT HAVING ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD... "CONSTELLATIONS"
Shall we give this play critiquing another shot… ? And I’m going to be honest with you folks, I’m a little taken aback at how all-consuming this passion for acting and all things theatre has become… It has literally taken over everything now, so much so that I am surprised at myself. Only thing is, I’m going to have to try and figure out a way of making money from this soonish, otherwise it’s going to cease to become economically viable. Ehm – but less of that. Let’s talk about Constellations.
This is the “second” incarnation of Nick Payne’s critically acclaimed play. The original cast – Rafe Spall and Sally Hawkins – have been replaced by relative unknowns Joe Armstrong and Louise Brealey. Thumbing through reviews I can see the critics have inevitably enjoyed comparing the two different casts and finding the new cast, not big stars like their predecessors, lacking. I haven’t seen the previous performance so I plan to do away with all that. Let’s go back to the basics of what this blog was all about. A novice finding her way in an art form and writing her impressions without the aid of flowery language and “flim-flammery” .
Alright. So what is this play about? We are all (at least vaguely I assume ) familiar with the theory of multiverses. It is, to put it succinctly, the theory that every decision we ever make and never make coexist in a series of parallel universes. Constellations takes on the rather daunting task of bringing this theory to a stage. No, it’s nowhere near as heavy as you think. It’s a two -man show revolving around a couple, Beekeeper Roland and Marianne, a scientist. They are a couple – or at least, they are in some universes. We watch the key moments of their lives, and their relationships play out in at least some of their infinite possibilities. What follows is an avant-garde tragicomedy about hellos, goodbyes and the nature of love and time…
Now, I am fully aware that it sounds like it may turn into incomprehensible gobbledegook, rest assured it is neither too full of itself nor trying too hard. The scene (at this point much photographed) is striking in its simplicity and the play itself in the same way relies solely on the performances of its actors which are electric yet very down to earth and relatable. Whatever else they are Roland and Marianne are completely real, and more strikingly, they remain so through the number of incarnations they go through throughout the play. In fact, of course the story was engaging and fascinating but it wasn’t the bit of the play that engaged me the most. Watching the smoothness of the transitions Armstrong and Brealey go through as they zip backwards and forwards in the multiverse playing first once scene and then the other was hypnotic and, to put it bluntly, mind blowing.
You might argue that the topic itself is hardly new. The now almost cult film Sliding Doors starring Gwenyth Paltrow is but one example of films that explore alternate stories and consequences of actions… But Constellations, able to distill the heart of the story into the performance of its actors and dispense with considerations such as continuity, scenery and costume (Roland and Marianne wear the same clothes throughout, as opposed to a film where the characters would inevitably “have” to change looks for every reality) can portray a dizzying number of possibilities. The play is quick and intelligent and invites its audience to be the same. It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, the same experience as the “dreamlike” state of watching a film passively analyzing. In a live show you are part of the action, part of the show. But then again, theatre has always been about - and for – audiences that want a bit more brainwork for their buck… Some forms of theatre have been, anyway…
I don’t know what I think of multiverses, cosmology aside. It has always felt a bit like reincarnation for atheists to me. You know, that need to feel we don’t quite vanish when we die, that we continue existing somewhere without going into the whole Religion, Heaven, Hell side of things. But Constellations definitely and strikingly explores the consequences of our actions and seeks out the answer to the question “what if…” I am pretty confident you will come away touched yet renewed (there are some true-blue laugh out loud moments) and possibly wondering about your own what ifs… As I finish this article I have just become aware that the
LAMPEDUSA... AN IMMIGRANT'S EYE VIEW...
Anders Lustgarden’s new show Lampedusa tackles a problem we all seem to be constantly preoccupied with – “them bloody immigrants”. A political activist known for his provocative plays, Lustgarten was definitely a good choice for this piece, commissioned as part of the Soho Theatre’s political party season. Now, I have casually mentioned that I have now taken up training as an actress. I have, in this context, been going to a lot of plays. I can’t afford to do it as voraciously as I watch films but it’s a start! I have always ever been a film critic. I have a Masters degree in Film Studies and thousands of hours of viewing to base my opinions on. Therefore I am rather nervous holding forth about a form of art in which I am very much a novice. That said, I have a rather unique perspective on this play. It filled my head and heart so much, I had to share. So here we have it, my “review”... Now, to understand why I feel this way, you need to know a bit about me. More importantly you need to know what I had been doing that morning. Bear with me for a paragraph – and trust me, it all ties in with the play.
The thing is, I am an immigrant. Let me clarify that, I’m not exactly the kind of immigrant you see on tragic stories on the news. I didn’t come over in a small compartment of a truck or a tiny boat crossing a stormy sea. I flew over on a plane and – thanks to my inherited citizenship and UK passport – swanned in through border control and started my life in the UK. Half English and half Turkish – doomed to be a Turk here and an Englishwoman in Turkey – I grew up in Istanbul. I now work as a waitress on a zero hour contract even though I have a master’s degree and speak four foreign languages. There are a variety of reasons for this, I have a rather strange CV (combination of some unfortunate educational choices and professional experience in companies back home in Istanbul that people can barely pronounce, much less accept as legitimate previous experience) so an office job, try as I might, was a closed door. I had to eat somehow. So I wait tables. Oh it hurt my pride at first… But I’m over “it” and you should be too – the way I see it you have an office job you don’t particularly like and I have a non-office job I don’t particularly like. Besides, I write, I train to be an actress, my life is very, very full. The day I went to see Lampedusa, I had had the first job interview – for an office job – I had had in years. Don’t hold your breath, I blew it. I was a nervous, tooth-sucking wreck. As I write this post I don’t know the result of the interview but based on my performance I wouldn’t give me the job. I didn’t cry per se on my way back but, full disclosure, there was a bit of excess moisture here and there. I left home for a variety of reasons and ranging from the intensely personal to the political situation of my home country and all these mean I will very probably never go back to Turkey and call it home again. But that evening I felt beaten. I had applied to this job on a whim and heard a response over a month later, well after I had made my peace with the fact that I had received yet another rejection. Now all this time later a door opens, and like a fool, my nerves and I kick it shut. That was at 10.00 a.m. The day went by in a charcoal grey haze as I weighed up whether or not I could be bothered to make the trek to Soho to watch Lampedusa. I almost didn’t go. Almost. But then again, I am middle-eastern. And on a zero hour contract. Every penny I earn is precious and I had paid for this show. I would be darned if I would waste it.
Thus I found myself entering the cold upper room of the Soho theatre. Interesting layout, tiny circular stage, inches from the ground proper. No décor or props. Benches placed in a circle around the stage – with the option to sit in stalls a little further away. I opted for the benches, as close to the front as I could. I then looked around me to see what my fellow spectators were doing - and spotted the opening gimmick. Two of them to be precise. I won’t ruin it for those who want to see it but let me tell you, it’s good. It made me sit up and think “ok, this show was a good choice”. And then, the show began…
Without the aid of décor or props, Stephano (Ferdy Roberts) and Denise (Louise Mai Newberry) tell us their stories… Stephano lives on Lampedusa. Once a fisherman, he now fishes for a different harvest… His job is to pull the bodies of drowned immigrants out of the island’s stormy waters every day. Denise works on another island, the United Kingdom. She is the hand who knocks at your door when your pay day loan is due. She has a doctorate in desperation and squalor, regardless of the nationality. They both have their own views on immigrants. And as they unburden their souls, they aim to change yours…
A play that harks back to old fashioned storytelling, Lampedusa relies on its two cast members who tell their stories in turn, sometimes their face inches from yours, sometimes with their back to you from the end of the room, sometimes under lights so dim you can barely see. And yet, the electric atmosphere never flags and I was spellbound throughout. Yes you need to get over the fact that the characters are looking you square in the eye as they speak and that you physically rub shoulders with them at times throughout the show. But once you are draw “in” to this setup Mr Roberts and Ms Newberry’s unflagging energy means you are guaranteed a whirlwind of emotion at the best of times.
But in my case, the play resonated with so many truths. The first jolt came when Stephano said a dead body felt like handling a slippery rubbish bag. I’ll tell you this much, next time a supervisor tells me to take out the trash she is going to get a very funny look from me indeed – being full of food waste a lot of them are quite slippery. The jokes about qualified biologists and geneticists working in kitchens also struck a chord – my colleagues are university graduates almost to a man – though none of our qualifications “count” in the UK. I also nodded ferociously when Denise was talking about being mixed race. I don’t look conventionally Turkish – I am quite fair skinned and eat pork – so you’d pass me on the street without a second thought but talk to me more than five minutes, once you get past my Rp accent (thanks Mom) I get “Wait, where are you from?”. I make everyone who asks guess first, with no exception. I almost never get Turkish, and after that, half the time I get told “I don’t look it”. The odd thing is, it is almost definitely meant as a compliment – and yet it makes me feel very weird when people say it… What can I say, its mighty strange being a stranger in this town… But the best bit for me came when Stephano was telling us that (I’m paraphrasing here) that immigrants brought hope. A weird kind of hope, starry eyed and naïve mixed with knowledge of unimaginable suffering and demons such as war and famine hounding them so much that all they can do is leave. And hope. I wonder if Mr. Roberts would be amused to know that there was an actual immigrant sitting mere feet from him, feeling utterly broken. The comment did make me think though. I had to hope. I had come so far, started from scratch, made a life for myself that I am improving day by day… And if those in the midst of famine and war can find enough hope to drag themselves onto a tiny boat run by shady characters that they know full well might kill them I, with a roof over my head and no fear of deportation, can find the strength to make it through the day. I then went home feeling considerably less grey, went to bed early and slept for almost 12 hours. I am pretty much my old self writing this, the next day.
So there you have it. An immigrants eye view of Lampedusa. I can testify to there being very, very real bits in Denise’s story. I shudder to think how accurate Stephano’s story is. You should go see it before it finishes. Step out of your comfort zone. Get yourself shaken up a bit. Who knows, like me, you might even find a bit of hope…
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