TS Eliot’s drama is all too frequently overlooked and overshadowed by his poetry, written off as cumbersome and inaccessible. Murder In The Cathedral, Eliot’s 1935 take on the assassination of Archbishop Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral during the reign of Henry II in 1170 is, however, often deservedly the exception. Written entirely in verse, it is the result of Eliot’s commission by George Bell, the then Bishop of Chichester, to write a play for the Canterbury Festival that year.

The action occurs between 2 and 29 December 1170, chronicling the days leading up to the martyrdom of the politically ambitious Becket following his absence of seven years in France. Becket’s internal struggle is the main focus of the piece and Scena Mundi’s interesting new production, staged recently and aptly at Southwark Cathedral with a nod to the approaching 850 year anniversary of Becket’s murder in 2020, does well to draw on and accentuate the strengths of the piece.

It isn’t often that one has the chance to attend a theatrical performance in a cathedral and the echoey, dark vaults and chambers and potent smell of frankincense created the requisite eerie and unique atmosphere immediately and perfectly. Magical.

The huge space gave endless opportunities for use by the actors and whilst the majority of the action took place at quite a distance it was good, at times, to witness the excellent performances of the Women of Canterbury at close quarters, which created an immersive feel. The play begins with this Greek drama-style Chorus, a key component of the piece, singing, foreshadowing the coming violence. The Chorus becomes a character in its own right, its voice changing and developing as the action ensues and as it offers commentary and provides a link between audience, characters and action. All eight female members of this ensemble contributed well to its success as a dramatic mechanism; the collective speech was spot on and the singing resonated with a foreboding that was beautifully understated yet chillingly effective.

Jasper Britton’s Becket was charismatic and commanding, achieving the perfect balance between resilient martyr and sympathetic, passionate preacher, accentuating perfectly some of Eliot’s more lyrical bits of verse. His delivery of Becket’s meaningful Christmas day sermon is particularly memorable.

The lighting design also deserves special mention, the occasional blood red filters lending themselves marvellously well to the overall atmosphere.

The only real drawback was that whilst a performance of this play in a cathedral is of course incredibly atmospheric and fitting, the majority of the audience were usually a very long way from action that often required the close proximity of onlookers to achieve maximum dramatic impact (for example, the murder itself).

I would be interested to see how this production might work in the smaller, more intimate setting of a church.

Being one of the small percentage of the population who has never read a Terry Pratchett book, I really had no idea what to expect when I attended the opening night of Mort, the second production in Erith Playhouse’s current season. There was already a bit of a buzz around the show and producer Terri McCann (in her directorial debut at the Playhouse) had presented the project with such enthusiasm at the Season Launch, that I had a feeling I was in for a bit of a treat.

Published in 1987, Mort is the fourth novel in Pratchett’s much-loved Discworld series and is the first to focus on the character Death, who only appeared as a side character in the previous novels. It was apparent immediately on stepping into the theatre foyer that the production had attracted something of a new audience, with several Pratchett enthusiasts clearly in attendance.

Apparently as a teenager, Mort had a personality that made him unsuited to the family farming business and the story opens with his father, Lezek, taking him to a local hiring fair in the hope that he will obtain some kind of apprenticeship. Mort, at first, has no luck attracting the interest of an employer. Then, just before the stroke of midnight, a man concealed in a long black cloak arrives on a white horse. He says he is looking for a young man to assist him in his work and, to his father’s delight, selects Mort for the job. The man turns out to be none other than Death, and gives Mort an apprenticeship in “ushering souls into the next world.”

When it is a princess’s time to pass on (according to a complex preconceived reality) Mort, instead of ushering her soul effectively, actually saves her from death, dramatically altering a part of Discworld’s reality and pushing the princess into what seems to be a some kind of shady halfway-house. The princess does not have long to live, and Mort must try save her, once again, from a seemingly inevitable death.

As Mort continues run Death’s errands, he begins to lose some of his former character, almost starting to morph into Death himself. Death, in turn, yearns to find out what being human is like and travels to Ankh-Morpork to indulge in new experiences and attempt to feel mortal emotion. In the end, Mort must fight Death not only for his freedom, but his daughter’s hand.

Martin Gilby gives a superb performance as Death, taking the character literally in his stride as he glides about the stage, white-faced and sunken-eyed on stilts, swathed in a black cloak, his voice amplified with an eerie, booming effect. He is an absolute sight and sound to behold and his creation is clearly not only a product of the director’s vision and his own spot-on interpretation, but a brilliant team effort by Wardrobe (Elizabeth Foster), Props (Sue Newman), Sound (Steve Nash) and Lights (Simon Dinsmore, Adam Davis and Hazel Watts). Mark Fromings as Mort is equally triumphant, bringing the character to life and delighting the audience from the off with his ginger wig and the affable, easy demeanour he brings to all of his roles to make acting look far too easy. Someone remarked it was as though he had stepped straight from the pages of the book. Rebecca Liquorish as Death’s daughter, Yasabell, who also becomes Mort’s unlikely love interest, also puts in a strong performance as do Roger Butler as Albert, Kate Richardson as Princess Keli and Anthony Denford as Cutwell. They are supported by an excellent ensemble, who not only play five or six roles each but, along with a hard-working backstage crew, act as “scene-setters”, manoeuvring flats to effect a whopping twenty-five seamless changes. Special mention must go to Suzanne Whitnall’s spectacular interactive door knocker and Jane Ghost-Cavanagh’s insalubrious lady of the night who takes Death’s experience of mortal life to another level.

Terri McCann’s staging is simple, yet effective, interspersed with special light, sound and multimedia effects to create a version of Discworld that visibly delighted the audience. I must say, as a Pratchett novice, I found the story a little difficult to follow at times, but this did not detract from my enjoyment. A debut directorial creation to be very proud of indeed.

Two’s Company’s efforts to revive long-forgotten classics continue at Southwark Playhouse with A Day by the Sea. The play, written by N.C. Hunter, heralded as the “English Chekhov”, but shamefully overlooked in his day, arrives in the wake of several other successful productions by the company in recent years, namely What the Women Did (2014), The Cutting of the Cloth (2015) and The Fifth Column (2016).

Set in Dorset on an idyllic summer’s day in 1953, the play focuses on the Anson family. Julian Anson, a diplomat based in Paris, is taking time out of his work-orientated existence to visit his parents at the original family home. He is surprised to find an old childhood friend also visiting with her children and trying to recover from a scandal concerning her marriage. Julian’s mother has always wished he would settle down and marry, but he scornfully resists. The family plan a day out for a picnic on the beach which, rather than offer Julian the relaxation it should, serves only to provide the backdrop for unexpected disappointment.

Act One sets the scene, and, initially, things moved a little slowly with a few bungled lines, awkward pauses and late sound cues. Everything felt a little bit dated, with the script seeming to meander along aimlessly and the odd topical political quip and comment about war and “the ridiculousness of men” forming the only real connections between the piece and modern life. By the interval, l was a little concerned that this revival was no contender for some of the company’s earlier work, both in terms of the material on offer and the production itself.

Everything perked up enormously for Act Two, however, with the actors seeming to find their confidence and/or overcome nerves, and the action becoming pacier and moving from situation-building to the outpouring of raw emotion and regret, with the sea setting the scene for confession and proposition.

John Sackville’s austere Julian who, having just faced a monumental blow to his career, begins to reflect on a life which has, until now, been dedicated to work. He laments lost opportunities, articulating the real Chekhovian feelings of loss and lack of fulfilment to which we can all relate. This results in a somewhat awkward exchange between he and Alix Dunmore’s serene Frances Farrar, who delivers a fine central performance, managing to combine detachment and humility throughout. Their situation is comically mirrored by Stephanie Willson’s pitiful Miss Mathieson, the childrens’ Nanny, who, seemingly terrified of becoming an ‘old maid’ embarrasses herself terribly with Doctor Farley (played humorously by David Acton).

The play is a little long, but, once it gets going, deals sensitively and openly with the human condition. Combined with the excellent comic timing of Susan Tracy’s Mrs Anson, the numerous amusing interjections of Davids Acton, Gooderson and Whitworth and Alex Marker’s lovely set, this isn’t a bad evening’s entertainment at all.

Lyle Kessler’s moving tale of abandonment, fear and isolation is brought vividly and movingly to life by Dilated Theatre at Southwark Playhouse this month.

Orphans is the story of Philip and Treat, two brothers who, having lost their mother before they can remember, are latterly deserted by their father and left to fend for themselves in a dilapidated apartment located in Kessler’s native Philadelphia.

“Man-child” Philip has seemingly never ventured outside. He is thwarted, controlled and stunted in intelligence, worldliness and any form of growth by his older brother Treat, the violent pickpocket breadwinner, who is terrified of any kind of external influence threatening the closeted, unhealthy and controlled way of life he has fostered for his younger sibling.

Chris Pybus pitches Philip perfectly, creating a wide-eyed, curious creature with a painful under-nourished look about him, exuding curiosity and longing for something beyond his four walls, whether this be remnants and reminders of the departed mother he barely remembers, books to read or permission to look out of the window. His frightened animal energy is both pitiful and endearing and the dynamic between him and older brother Treat, portrayed by a brooding, fiery Alexander Neal, is electrifying from the outset. Treat is not the easiest of roles, with the actor needing to marry his bubbling, pent-up anger with the vulnerable abandoned child inside, however Neal handles these nuances well and his outbursts of rage are believable and, at times, quite terrifying.

It was always going to take something unusual to upset and challenge this comfortable, carefully cultivated status quo and this comes in the shape of Harold, a drunk businessman Treat encounters in a bar, lures back to the apartment, and retrospectively decides to kidnap in the hope of raising some ransom money.

However, there is far more to Harold than meets the eye, and as events unfold, we see him gradually and manipulatively turn the tables by befriending Philip, moving into the apartment and offering Treat a “job”. His true agenda is never really revealed but the way he is able to shape the brothers’ perception of him with his kindred spirit, generosity, kindness (feigned or not) and ability to furnish them with a new-found sense of belonging and self-worth is quite ingenious. The shabby apartment becomes a home; they suddenly have new clothes, new shoes, decent food on the table. He is a father, mentor and employer all rolled into one, giving Treat the sense of worth and purpose he has been craving, flattering him into submission and allowing Philip freedom whilst simultaneously grounding him, opening his eyes and demonstrating to him his place in the world.

Genuine American Mitchell Mullen is perfect as the older man, from his entrance as the futile drunk to his final moments. He exudes a charismatic air of mystery which is perfect for the role and we never once doubt his ability to play Treat and Philip, controlling everything but the ultimate outcome of the piece which brings the world crashing down around the brothers’ ears all over again. The final scene is beautifully acted and downright heart-breaking.

Kessler’s excellent, thought-provoking script combined with some fabulous performances and emotionally raw moments make for a great night out on the Fringe. It would be fabulous if this could transfer; the play and actors alike deserve more exposure.

At Southwark Playhouse until 5 March 2016.

The Who’s Tommy started life as a concept album, with music and lyrics by Pete Townshend, catapulting the band to mainstream fame on its release in 1969. In 1975, it formed the basis for a film starring Elton John and Tina Turner and in 1993 it reached the Broadway stage. In 1996, it descended on London’s West End in a vibrant, colourful and high-tech production starring Paul Keating, Nigel Harman and Kim Wilde. What struck me immediately back then, and kept me returning, was the sheer genius of the music. The show is completely sung-through with little dialogue, so naturally Townshend’s intricate, varied and compelling score is the driving force, carrying the action and charting the twists, turns, ups and downs of the characters’ lives, emotions and dilemmas like some kind of out-of-control rollercoaster.

That the score alone is a thrilling ride is naturally a fantastic starting point for anyone looking to stage this. The large-scale attempts have been few and far between over the years, so any new production is welcome and this intelligent reimagining by Michael Strassen at the Greenwich Theatre this month does not disappoint on any level.

Yes, the story is pretty ridiculous. Young boy endures a horrible childhood trauma, goes blind, deaf and dumb, somehow becomes an expert pinball player then achieves world fame and media domination when his mother finally works out how to ‘cure’ him. It smacks of the psychedelia of the day it was written, of course, and this only provides further scope for creativity and vision. Strassen explores all of the opportunities, employing striking, yet often simple symbolism and imagery throughout, bringing a stylistic, artsy feel to proceedings and forcing us to make connections we hadn’t made before.

Mark Smith’s choreography compliments the direction perfectly, his ballet sequences heightening the innocence, purity and beauty Tommy personifies and coupling nicely with the all-in-white cast. There are some interesting Fosse-style and Village People-esque moments thrown in now and again too, which all add nicely to the entertainment.

Ashley Birchall gives an impeccable portrayal of Tommy and is mesmerising throughout with his deft, graceful movements and soaring falsetto. The intimacy of this theatre allows the audience to experience his disabilities and resulting pain and anguish close up, and Birchall effortlessly handles the contrast between these and the unstoppable gravitas he embodies when he regains his senses and unleashes his pent-up animosity on his parents. John Barr’s Uncle Ernie is everything the character should be, combining the epitome of sleaze with some impressive vocal gymnastics and Giovanni Spano’s calm, collected, quiff-bearing Cousin Kevin is a joy to behold. The four-piece band, under the immaculate musical direction of Kevin Oliver Jones, does perfect justice to the score.

Aside from one or two technical glitches and a bit of mis-casting in places, there is really very little to criticise here and this is a production that will not only appeal to existing fans but undoubtedly win new ones.

Photos: Ashley Birchall as Tommy with the Company. By Claire Bilyard.

The House of Mirrors & Hearts by Eamonn O’Dwyer and Rob Gilbert is intriguingly billed as “a haunting new chamber musical about love, lies and the ghosts of our pasts.”  Having started life on the Edinburgh fringe, a re-worked version of the show now finds a temporary new home at Dalston’s intimate Arcola Theatre which provides the perfect space and atmosphere for what is an intense and claustrophobic piece from beginning to end.

To begin with, we are presented with a happily family home with young, contented, ballerina daughter, Lily, (Charlotte Pourret Wythe), and apparently happy and fulfilled mother, Anna, (Gillian Kirkpatrick), relaxing together in the kitchen. It is when husband and father, David, (Graham Bickley), meets a mysterious and bloody death in his mirror workshop, seemingly at the hands of older daughter, Laura, that misery and chaos understandably ensue. Mirrors are smashed and the old cliché of seven years of bad luck propels us forward into a new reality which sees Anna attempting to lose her problems in bottles of red wine and Bloody Marys, a withdrawn and tortured Laura seeking solace in her bedroom and Lily parading about like a teenaged advert for Soho’s red light district. Cue gentle, geeky, academic Nathan (Jamie Muscato) who comes to rent one of the rooms in the house. He is devoting his life to the study of an obscure poet and as his dusty old books dominate the kitchen table his frequent, “relevant” quotations from the works become a little too cheesy for comfort.

The remainder of the action attempts to unravel the mystery of the death and builds on the theme of breakage, both literally and metaphorically, as Lily and Anna’s characters erode before our eyes and more glass is smashed. Lily’s violently clumsy attempted seduction of Nathan (and anything male that moves, by all accounts) and Anna’s growing neurosis and frequent odes to alcohol complement each other well and both actresses deliver towering performances. In fact, the vocals are excellent across the board and, combined with an accomplished trio of musicians, do justice to O’Dwyer’s provocative, multi-layered score. Kirkpatrick and Bickley are both in particularly fine voice.

Inevitably, it is the quiet, mysterious one that Nathan is drawn to and this relationship develops subtlety before our eyes before reaching an explosive climax by a shiny lake as they mime the smashing of numerous bottles in a tremendous release of pent up energy and pain which is no doubt intended to be a metaphor for all kinds of other things too.

The plot is verging on the ridiculous, it is full of clichés and the hint at child abuse is so subtle that I missed it. However, this is a charming, characterful and intriguing piece of theatre which definitely deserves to be seen.

The Cutting of the Cloth, written in 1973, draws much from playwright Michael Hastings’ youthful experience as an apprentice tailor. It is such a fine piece of work that it is very difficult to believe it has lain in a drawer for over 40 years and is only just receiving its premiere. Two’s Company, under the direction of Tricia Thorns, has done a superb job of reviving this hidden piece and bringing it beautifully to life at London’s Southwark Playhouse.

Alex Marker’s impressive set design transports us to the Dover Street work-room of Kilgour, French and Sanbury, Savile Row in the 1950s. Run by the work hungry, seemingly unforgiving Spijak Wazki (Andy de la Tour) its fabric strewn floor and ever buzzing machinery help to create a sense of both relentless bustle and isolation from the outside world. Here we witness a fascinating microcosm of human life; Spijak and fellow tailor Eric vie for the best work and play out between them the still ongoing battle between tradition and modern advancement as hand-stitching is pitted against sewing on machines; young apprentice, Maurice, arrives to a torrent of bullying and intimidation from Spijack who is, as it turns out, really only trying to mould him into the best tailor he can possibly be; and seamstresses Sydie and Iris beaver away, looking on in compassion, at times adoration, in their efforts to keep the peace.

Not a great deal happens really, but the power of the production lies is in this very human set of characters, their lives and their sensitive portrayals by all concerned. The script is well-constructed and often hilarious with some great one-liners, usually delivered drily and with impeccable timing by Abigail Thaw’s Iris. The audience is reduced to laughter whenever she opens her mouth but she also shows a more tender side when her feelings are hurt by Eric; she harbours a fierce crush on him but his interests appear to lie elsewhere. Paul Rider gives a beautifully understated performance of this complex character whose raw emotions only really surface when he laments the death of his sister, Spijack’s wife, from alleged overwork.

Andy de la Tour’s Spijak’s Polish accent is so good it is at first a little difficult to make out, but he complements Rider’s Eric wonderfully. James El-Sharawy is perfect as Maurice, taking the character on its journey from shy, cowering boy to confident, budding tailor who can hold his own and stand up for himself, with ease. Contempt turns to affection as Maurice begins to adopt some of his teacher’s ways and the two actors handle this change in pace and interaction really well.

This is a moving, intelligent production of a hidden gem which runs at Southwark Playhouse until 4 April.

Photo – Alexis Caley as Sydie and Abigail Thaw as Iris.

It is always something of a treat to see an ultra-modern reimagining of literature’s most famous love story and Rachel Valentine Smith’s production of Romeo and Juliet, which forms one third of the Faction’s current Rep season at the New Diorama, is just this.

The text is pretty much uncut, but the play whips along, rarely missing a beat and holding the attention from its opening, energetic sequence to the lovers’ death at its conclusion. The presentation is reminiscent of a The Only Way is Essex style voyeurism as the young protagonists’ courtship unfolds and the gang culture is played out on the modern-day street and in clubs and bars. The gifted hoodie-clad cast double, sometimes triple up in their roles to make this a slick nine-hander.

Though the dull club-beat that throbs in the background throughout definitely enhances the atmosphere, it can be distracting at times. Coupled with this, sometimes the more physical Shakespeare becomes, the more the language can occasionally go amiss. Whilst, for example, Christopher York’s Romeo is always endearing, some of his speeches are a little rushed; he’s definitely more Yorkshire than Geordie, though. Clare Latham makes an excellent, softly-spoken Juliet and Kate Sawyer’s velour track-suited, chain-smoking, chavvy nurse is both hilariously funny and brilliantly poignant in her grief as she weeps over the dead children at the end.

The real highlight, though, is the balcony scene. Beautifully performed and imaginatively lit, it is everything this scene should be. One really could hear the proverbial pin drop.

This is an enjoyable, accessible piece which, if the reaction of the school children in the auditorium that evening was anything to go by, has clearly been captivating and educating audiences of all ages.

Not having read Patricia Highsmith’s famous 1955 psychological thriller yet (it’s been on the list for some time!) my only exposure to The Talented Mr Ripley prior to this production by the Faction, appearing as part of their coveted 2015 Rep season, had been the 1999 Hollywood movie starring Matt Damon and Jude Law. I was aware, therefore, of the compelling complexity of the plot and characters and satisfyingly correct in my assumption that this exuberant young company, directed here by the ever-innovative Mark Leipacher, would make a superb job of bringing it to the stage.

This, the tale of Tom Ripley, who is employed by a concerned American father to travel to Italy in an attempt to persuade his son, Dickie Greenleaf, to come home to New York, translates perfectly to the New Diorama’s small, somewhat claustrophobic space. As is ever the way with the Faction, the set is minimalistic and unfussy and Suzie Foster’s design of a white, square, raised platform with space underneath forming the cast’s ‘wings’ and a hole in the middle for them to emerge through, works brilliantly. Chris Withers’ lighting design is also incredibly effective, depicting Italy’s hot sun beautifully and often making the space feel far larger than it actually is.

Christopher Hughes gives a towering performance in the role of Tom Ripley, portraying and exploring every facet of this complex, dangerous young man with enormous energy and skill. He switches from vulnerable geek, to pathological calculator to terrifying killer throughout, a multi-faceted confidence trickster who lies, steals and murders his way through life.  His lack of remorse and sense of twisted pride at the play’s conclusion when he looks back on what he has done, cajoles the audience for a reaction and boasts about getting away with it, sent an actual, incredibly icy shiver up my spine.

Adam Howden’s self-assured, handsome Dickie appears in perfect, much-needed contrast to Hughes and the chemistry that gradually develops between the two men as Ripley manipulates the situation and plays on the generosity and kindness of a complete stranger, is a joy to behold. Natasha Rickman’s clueless, helplessly devoted Marge demands the audience’s empathy and the support from the remainder of the ensemble is always strong.

Mark Leipacher tends to employ attention-grabbing directive devices in his productions, and this one is no exception. I saw one critic complaining that his interesting depiction of the piece as a film within a play does not really work. However, my interpretation is a little less literal. Ripley is a man who loathes himself deeply and acts his life. Nothing he ever says or does depicts the true him, in his attempt to escape from himself. I therefore interpreted the film cameras and barked directions as though on a film set as a continuous, symbolic projection of the character’s false self which pervades the piece. Yes, it’s a film within a play, but only to the extent that Tom Ripley the character is the protagonist who has placed himself at the centre of his own big fallacy.

The length is a bit of an issue, and the second half drags a little in places as the authorities turn up to question Tom repeatedly on the disappearance of his friend. It doesn’t matter too much, though. This is an intelligent, unusual adaption encompassing some brilliant acting and should not be missed.

Based on a short story by Hassan Blasim, The Nightmares of Carlos Fuentes by Rashid Razaq charts the experiences of Salim, an Iraqi refugee who takes on a new identity in London after fleeing persecution in Baghdad.

Carlos Fuentes finds himself marrying a wealthy older woman who takes him under her wing and enthusiastically coaches him for his forthcoming citizenship test. However, he can never really escape the memories of the war-torn country and the family he has left behind to suffer the devastation and, as the nightmares of his past catch up with him, he suddenly finds himself being deported with little recollection of why.

The action takes place between 2006 and 2011, interspersing Salim’s memories and experiences in both Baghdad and London with real, historic footage of world leaders fervently voicing their thoughts on the desperate situation of the time. This, combined with the hellish accounts of Salim’s wife as she struggles alone, highlights the contrast between politics and bloody reality for civilians.

Despite the grave subject matter, Rashid Razaq’s gem of a script is littered with humour delivered with immaculate timing and panache by Nabil Elouahabi (some may remember him as the equally confused ‘Gary’ in Only Fools and Horses many moons ago). The near-constant, giggle-inducing moments make flashes of seriousness particularly hard-hitting and Elouahabi handles these transitions with ease.

Sympathetic and hard-edged in equal measure, his performance is complemented perfectly by a sultry, forgiving Caroline Langrishe in the role of his second wife, Lydia, and Sara Bahadori and Selva Rasalingam who skilfully double up to play case worker, security guard, Iraqi colleague and wife.

Ellan Parry’s set design is a joy, fluidly depicting hotel rooms in London, bomb-ravaged streets of Baghdad and detention centres as Nicolas Kent’s slick direction ensures the story whips along.

Particularly hard-hitting in the current climate where daily reports from Gaza of violence and massacre have become the norm, this is an enjoyable and thought-provoking piece which, coupled with the delightful surroundings of Dalston’s classy Arcola, should not be missed.

Photo: Selva Rasalingam and Nabil Elouahabi
© Judy Goldhill