I Can't Believe Back to the Future Won the Olivierby Randi / May 31, 2022Jerusalem with Mark Rylance: Biggest of Star Turns in Pertinent AF Play
It’s Theatre Thursday! We haven’t done one of these in ages, oops! I saw this months ago but I forgot! Today’s show is Jerusalem, playing at London’s Apollo Theatre until August 7.
Earlier this year (whatever year this is), husbo said to me ‘oh hey, you saw Jerusalem on Broadway with Mark Rylance, right? Was it good? What was it about?’ and I replied ‘uh…I know for sure it was NOT about actual Jerusalem?’ I know I saw it because I had a stage door picture with Mackenzie Crook, who I only really appreciated back then because he was a Pirate ghost, but I couldn’t remember anything else. That we’re talking about a play I saw more than 10 years ago had nothing to do with my complete lack of memory about what the show was about; I just didn’t appreciate it back then (Schmidt voice: YOUTHS.), although of course I appreciated how incredible Rylance was. Now that I’m old? wise?…no, BRITISH and living in England, I get what all the fuss is about. Jerusalem is engaging and provocative, and Rylance is only getting better with age.
So what IS it about? I remembered enough to tell myself I shouldn’t be worried about Jew-hatred-fueled protests outside the theatre (my expectations for a certain other show coming in the fall is another story), since the Jerusalem of the title is more about William Blake’s fabled glory of a green and promised land, that being the old mythologized England past. We meet a man named ‘Rooster’ Johnny Byron (Rooster is his nickname but that’s the order he always gives his name in, Arifa) who is essentially a squatter living in an RV in the woods (IN A VAN DOWN BY THE RIVER) and about to be evicted because well he’s not paying for those woods and they want him out so the yuppies in the new builds have a clean view. Rooster would be my absolute nightmare of a neighbor, literally the worst imaginable save for the teenagers partying with him all night, teens are worse (YOUTHS!). See they have parties in these woods, which fine you do you, but if I can hear your music at 2am I will curse your existence and wish for your name to be stricken from the book of life. I’m pretty sure I’m aligning myself with the gentrifying villains in the play but we’re all about honesty here hey.
Despite expectations, Rylance makes Rooster JB a sympathetic character, right from the start, (how much do I adore Rylance’s signature cute little whisper boy voice that he sometimes does, you know what I mean, it’s so good, let me count the ways). Here’s this middle-aged-if -we’re-being-generous man, all puffed-chest bravado and lack of showers, partying with teenagers and giving them whatever drugs they want. That last part is bad, yes, but we learn that he’s really just giving these kids a safe place to be that they aren’t finding elsewhere, not even (or in some cases, especially not even) at home. So even though it’s cringey and illegal it’s also nice and thoughtful! Is he a good witch or a bad witch? Audiences can surely interpret either way, but my view was very much ‘good witch except everything is coming across wrong’.
We see Rooster over the course of a day, St. George’s Day, where there’s a local festival. As we meet the local gang that hangs around him – we can’t really call them friends – it feels like real time, not just because it’s 3 hours long. The time flies by, like you’re at the party yourself, or if you’re me like you’re watching other people at the party you would never want to be at and that’s how you want it. It’s REALLY funny at times, especially in the first act, but as the drama builds, it gets legit harrowing too. You fear for RJB even as you make Chrissy-Tiegen-Golden-Globes-yikes-face at some of his choices.
As the story intensifies, the aura of the mythology and sense of old magic shows itself as an important part of the story. One I can’t explain or understand, really, except in that vague theatrical sense that makes you feel all you need to know, the way you know a play is achieving what it wanted. Rylance holds all the various aspects – the legends and lore, the sad sack bad father, the man trying to protect some poor kids, the insanely bad decisions – together in that compelling and heartfelt way of his. He’s a real Snape, where arguments about his true character run the gamut and people can disagree reasonably. I didn’t actually read the books.
Seeing it now that I can understand the problems with modern England and how it’s falling apart and how my electric bills are honestly criminal adds so much depth to the show. Before I thought it was a great look at class conflicts that seemed very universal, that could be picked up and set in any number of locales. And that’s still true, but the Englishness of it all makes it particularly sharp. That sense of mythology about what the country once was like is so layered, because you could just roll your eyes and say ‘it wasn’t ACTUALLY like that’ (I won’t say her name again), or you could realize the fact that no, the ‘good old days’ never really were how they’re remembered, is exactly the point. It says so much about humanity – do we ever really change, or grow, or improve our society by e.g. evicting the squatter in the woods giving drugs to kids? What if he’s the only one trying? Or something like that. Oh also ogres, real or not? What a great question for a play to leave you thinking about.
INFORMATION
Jerusalem is 3 hours, 2 acts. One regular 15-20 minute interval and then a 5 minute ‘pause’.
Best seat in the house is G1 in the stalls because it’s RIGHT on the aisle RIGHT next to the stairs leading up to the too-small women’s bathroom, yesss. Perfect for that second interval that isn’t truly an interval. (I overheard a man asking an usher, ‘hey, babes, why is this second interval just a baby baby pause, why not give us 10 minutes instead of 5 so we could all piss ourselves?’ and the usher was like ‘oh we tried having two regular intervals but it was just way too long, people were rioting’ and like, seriously, dears, 5 extra minutes is not gonna be a drop in this 3 hours bucket, and the people are rioting more about not having pissin time.
The only bad thing about sitting so close/in the stalls is that it is a verrrrrry smoky show. I had terrible contact lens headaches from my eyes breathing in all their smoke and was wrecked for a while after. I am going to renew my campaign for theatres to behave like the rest of polite society and stop allowing smoking, it makes no sense and is completely unnecessary. If you can’t show me you’re cool in another way then you aren’t cool! or whatever you’re going for.
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American Buffalo on the West End: Not About The Wild Animal, Sadly
You know how you hate going to stuffy smoky bars because it makes you uncomfortable and you hate making forced small talk and you just want to go home and watch TV but sometimes you go because you feel obligated or you just forget how much you dislike it and how little you’ll enjoy it? that’s how I feel about David Mamet plays.
While I recognize that Mamet captures well the kind of unsettling dialogue and awful relationships that awful people have…who cares about those awful characters that I don’t care about? They give me agita and they’re always unbelievably unsympathetic and hateful and whoa sexist (I continually feel cringely bad for Zosia and not just because she is still on “Girls”). So, his plays aren’t for me because I don’t like being made to feel nervous and agitated and unsatisfied that bad people don’t learn lessons or get punished, so I extra don’t want to pay for these feelings when at my happy place, the theatre. It gives me the terribles.
But. I had to see “American Buffalo”, now on the West End at the Wyndham theatre for a limited engagement, because it stars Damian Lewis and John Goodman, one actor I love for how convincingly he can do an American accent (so far we are 2/98 this season on the West End, I’m keeping track) and one I love for being in nearly every cultural touchstone during my life and usually playing the dad, like “Coyote Ugly”. Such a great cast surely could assuage my tremblesads at the play itself.
Well. That’s a lot of pressure to put on them. Joined by Tony-nominee Tom Sturridge, they’re fine actors but they’re not miracle workers. Literally nothing happens. Yet it’s enough to show us how vile everyone is and how gross life is, especially when you wear a purple leisure suit.
Okay, let’s backtrack. John Goodman plays Don, who runs a junk shop, not a pawn shop, I think there’s a difference, but anyway it’s a shop full of funk. The overly busy, junk-filled, crazy crammed set is quite remarkable and effective, like as soon as the lights hit it, I got nauseous because ugly things make me nauseous, like how I get when I watch sitcoms that don’t star beautiful people. (That’s a joke that’s the Mamet residue talking.) That’s some good set design. Don talks to his clearly-formerly-drug-ridden and bedraggled young friend, or protégé perhaps, named Bobby (Tom Sturridge). We learn that they’re thieves, con men of sorts, even though Goodman is wearing old man glasses on a chain like a nice boy and a Mr. Rogers cardigan.
Then a past-his-prime ginger pervert in the aforementioned purple leisure suit waltzes in (like really I think he waltzed) to show off his enormous side burns (real) and his hella pornstache and the audience got visibly excited because it was Damian Lewis. I was so excited to finally hear an English actor do a completely perfect American accent for the first time since I saw Andy Nyman in “Assassins”. But he opened his mouth, and shooting out like keg-stand-fueled projectile vomit by a skinny little teenager at his first frat party came a Chicago accent. A pretty perfect Chicago accent that he obviously trained seriously for, but a freaking strong as hell Chicago accent. It was insane. Most people in the audience I am sure don’t know that Chicagoans have a very very particular accent and probably just thought he was having a stroke. But the strongest accent in the history of Chicago was coupled with over-the-top shtick and hamming and it was too much, super distracting from the shitty character and the shitty play. They should hang him in Iran for that.
Sturridge, meanwhile, adopted the very accurate lazy drawl and rubbery physique of a former addict trying to stay clean minute by minute. He also had a teardrop tattoo on his face so he wasn’t the most sympathetic person, even though he was the most sympathetic person on stage.
Damian played “Teach”, a professional “businessman” as they say repeatedly to convince themselves they aren’t criminals. But you could tell he was professional and real business-like because he was wearing that suit. The three characters discuss how a well-dressed guy came in the day before and paid $90 for a Buffalo head nickel, which is why it’s called American Buffalo. Wow, $90 for a coin, he’s probably a collector, they say. So they decide to rob his house. Naturally.
So the whole two-act play is Teach and Don planning this robbery and trying to get rid of poor messed-up not-all-there Bobby, because Teach doesn’t trust him. That distrust warps Don’s formerly fatherly view of Bobby and he turns on him as well, even though Bobby didn’t do anything wrong. Except I mean probably kill a guy in prison or whatever the teardrop means. They plan this robbery based on absolutely zero facts and they decide they need an unseen player named Fletcher to help them. Fletcher is apparently the ‘businessman’ to end all ‘businessmen’ (like literally probably end them), and if even Teach admits that freely, hoo boy, he must be wearing f-ing neon tails or something. But as Teach and Don wait for Fletcher to arrive at the appointed time for the burgling, Bobby arrives at the junk shop to tell them that Fletcher is in the hospital! Oh no! PS OMG, this is where I think the director changed Mamet’s words, because every single time any character referred to Fletcher being in the hospital in this scene, which is A LOT, they said ‘in hospital’, which is a British thing. Americans don’t say ‘in hospital’, we say ‘in THE hospital’. Fletcher would have been in the hospital, not in hospital. And Mamet is American so that was REALLY weird to keep hearing.
Well. That’s a lot of pressure to put on them. Joined by Tony-nominee Tom Sturridge, they’re fine actors but they’re not miracle workers. Literally nothing happens. Yet it’s enough to show us how vile everyone is and how gross life is, especially when you wear a purple leisure suit.
Okay, let’s backtrack. John Goodman plays Don, who runs a junk shop, not a pawn shop, I think there’s a difference, but anyway it’s a shop full of funk. The overly busy, junk-filled, crazy crammed set is quite remarkable and effective, like as soon as the lights hit it, I got nauseous because ugly things make me nauseous, like how I get when I watch sitcoms that don’t star beautiful people. (That’s a joke that’s the Mamet residue talking.) That’s some good set design. Don talks to his clearly-formerly-drug-ridden and bedraggled young friend, or protégé perhaps, named Bobby (Tom Sturridge). We learn that they’re thieves, con men of sorts, even though Goodman is wearing old man glasses on a chain like a nice boy and a Mr. Rogers cardigan.
Then a past-his-prime ginger pervert in the aforementioned purple leisure suit waltzes in (like really I think he waltzed) to show off his enormous side burns (real) and his hella pornstache and the audience got visibly excited because it was Damian Lewis. I was so excited to finally hear an English actor do a completely perfect American accent for the first time since I saw Andy Nyman in “Assassins”. But he opened his mouth, and shooting out like keg-stand-fueled projectile vomit by a skinny little teenager at his first frat party came a Chicago accent. A pretty perfect Chicago accent that he obviously trained seriously for, but a freaking strong as hell Chicago accent. It was insane. Most people in the audience I am sure don’t know that Chicagoans have a very very particular accent and probably just thought he was having a stroke. But the strongest accent in the history of Chicago was coupled with over-the-top shtick and hamming and it was too much, super distracting from the shitty character and the shitty play. They should hang him in Iran for that.
Sturridge, meanwhile, adopted the very accurate lazy drawl and rubbery physique of a former addict trying to stay clean minute by minute. He also had a teardrop tattoo on his face so he wasn’t the most sympathetic person, even though he was the most sympathetic person on stage.
Damian played “Teach”, a professional “businessman” as they say repeatedly to convince themselves they aren’t criminals. But you could tell he was professional and real business-like because he was wearing that suit. The three characters discuss how a well-dressed guy came in the day before and paid $90 for a Buffalo head nickel, which is why it’s called American Buffalo. Wow, $90 for a coin, he’s probably a collector, they say. So they decide to rob his house. Naturally.
So the whole two-act play is Teach and Don planning this robbery and trying to get rid of poor messed-up not-all-there Bobby, because Teach doesn’t trust him. That distrust warps Don’s formerly fatherly view of Bobby and he turns on him as well, even though Bobby didn’t do anything wrong. Except I mean probably kill a guy in prison or whatever the teardrop means. They plan this robbery based on absolutely zero facts and they decide they need an unseen player named Fletcher to help them. Fletcher is apparently the ‘businessman’ to end all ‘businessmen’ (like literally probably end them), and if even Teach admits that freely, hoo boy, he must be wearing f-ing neon tails or something. But as Teach and Don wait for Fletcher to arrive at the appointed time for the burgling, Bobby arrives at the junk shop to tell them that Fletcher is in the hospital! Oh no! PS OMG, this is where I think the director changed Mamet’s words, because every single time any character referred to Fletcher being in the hospital in this scene, which is A LOT, they said ‘in hospital’, which is a British thing. Americans don’t say ‘in hospital’, we say ‘in THE hospital’. Fletcher would have been in the hospital, not in hospital. And Mamet is American so that was REALLY weird to keep hearing.
ANYWAY, Teach obviously thinks Bobby is lying because he suspects him of spying on Don for this scary Chinese lady down the street who makes their bacon sandwiches every morning and gives them coffee and is suuuuper scary, apparently, sounds it. So based on this unfounded suspicion, Teach beats the shit out of Bobby for lying to them and trying to mess up their burgling, and Don just lets it happen. Bobby goes unresponsive, and Don finally is like, “Oh Teach…um…hey…sorry to bother you dude…bro…hey…maybe go get your car, maybe let’s take him to the hospital? I mean to hospital? This is really serious.” But of course they go on talking about nothing and doing nothing instead, resulting probably in further brain damage to Bobby. And then they find out that Fletcher really WAS in the hospital, I mean in hospital, and so they beat up poor Bobby for absolutely no reason. So after learning this information, Don again says quarter-heartedly, “Oh hey Teach…oh did I compliment your suit yet? it goes real nice with your sideburns…anyway…um…hey maybe go get your car?” THIS GOES ON FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES AND THE POOR BOY IS DYING. I have NEVER been SO CLOSE to breaking the fourth wall as an audience member and yelling GO GET YOUR F-ING CAR, TEACH! GET THE F-ING CAR! I was literally squirming in my seat trying not to flip my shit. It was INSANE. Finally Bobby wakes a little, bleeding from his head wound, and I think Teach left to get his car and I think they drive him to the hospital but at this point my surroundings were all glittery shooting stars produced as a result of my blinding furytrembles and agitation.
So I think that’s how it ended, they don’t do the robbery and stuff but I’m sure they go on to do something equally bad the next night. And that’s all. DAMMIT MAMET.
AUDIENCE: Pretty decent! I didn’t notice any phones, and I only heard a little whispering. I’m very impressed, London! BUT, I must warn you if you see this show (haha are you going to???) or if you see any subsequent show at the Wyndham: The Upper Circle is AWFUL. Do not sit up there, you won’t be able to see down to the stage. I don’t know what pissed off the architect so much when he designed this building, but you do not want to sit up top, period. We were in the first row of the upper circle, so that was good, but that’s because no one was in front of us and we could lean forward to look down. I don’t think the people behind us could see anything except the 100 old bicycles hanging from the ceiling. So crazy! Don’t do it!
Sweet Charity at the Donmar: Can This Retroactively Win the Olivier?
The minute you walk in the joint, you can tell this was a show of distinctionnnn A REAL BIG SPENDER. Okay I’ll try to stop doing that (no promises), but man I’m not lying about the game being ON as soon as you enter the Donmar, all redone in the style of Andy Warhol’s 1950s factory. Sure the style redo doesn’t technically add anything for the story, but this specific anachronism doesn’t harm the story at all so I have no issue with their going for a cool look. And every other inch of this stunning, shocking, poignant revival is pitch perfect, not only serving the story but improving its meaning and deepening its emotional reach, in a way I never ever would have guessed was possible from knowing this show in previous incarnations.
As soon as the beat dropped (in my heart #jasonmendoza) and Anne-Marie Duff’s Charity started speaking to the pace of her quick-beating heart, jumping too quickly at any semblance of affection (as well as into a BUBBLE PIT LAKE, want) and latching onto it though it was always too slippery to grasp, I was in awe. No longer simply a good-hearted, down-on-her-luck heroine, we’re finally reminded after too many bland, uninspired revivals that Charity is a tragic character, in a fully heartbreaking tragic tale like the old school Greeks did. Charity is no simple sweet gal; she is a poor aging woman who life continues to beat like a piñata yet she always retains hope that the piñata is full of candy so she’s like ‘I guess the beating from life is okay because maybe candy?’ but it never is candy, poor sweet Charity, it never is. It’s always more and more unfair bullshit and she deserves better and NEVER GETS IT and finally, thanks to Anne-Marie Duff in a true masterclass of performance and character understanding, that’s the Charity portrayed in all her pitiful, tragic glory.
Josie Rourke’s meticulous, brilliant direction uses every inch of Cy Coleman and Dorothy Fields’ score and Neil Simon’s book to prove that this show is one of the great tragedies of musical theatre, exemplified by the super-slowed down version of “Big Spender” that, in its almost painstakingly slower meter, let the grit and devastation and more than anything desperation of the taxi dancers fill in all the slower gaps in the beat. You could tell the audience, recognizing the song, wanted to tap their feet and bop along in their seats, but Josie was like NO, SIT STILL, IT’S DEPRESSING. It was great. The other most well-known song in the show, though, was pure adorable joy, when Duff perfected, really, I mean, perfected, “If My Friends Could See Me Now”, when she finds herself in the apartment of a famous movie star (a fantastic Martin Marquez). With her scratchy voice that reminded me at times of Alice Ripley in Next to Normal (though with more optimism than Diana) in how it can use its jagged edges to cut directly to your core, Duff made this moment a delight, with nothing threatening to take it from her, like with all her future moments of happiness.
Another standout song, a song that I had forgotten about, was the determined number between Charity, ensemble standout Lizzy Connelly, and a great Debbie Kurup, “There’s Gotta be Something Better Than This”, a resolution among three pretty defeated women to ‘get up, get out’ and live a better life. Sharpening the emotional impact of what was already flawless was the painful reprise at the end, a knife through all our hearts that were already BROKEN ENOUGH from the preceding actions, jfc were Coleman and Simon and freaking Dorothy trying to kill us??
On top of all this, they also managed to include the most provocative version of Oscar (Arthur Darvill). Instead of just a one-note ‘nice’ guy who, like all ‘nice’ guys, ends up not being so nice, he was the epitome of toxic masculinity, representing in his averageness all the regular men who believe #notallmen yet still cannot condone women who live life on their own terms, women who don’t fit inside their controlling, oppressive box. Instead of feeling bad for Charity that Oscar isn’t what she’d hoped, you feel angry at Oscar for being such a weak man (and, though you hate to see her sad, glad that Charity found out before she devoted her life to him).
Honestly, if every revival brought half as much heart and inspiration to its reworking of classics, we would have endless amazing, transformative theatre. Rourke’s Sweet Charity sets a new benchmark that I hope future revivals can meet, but they’re gonna have a hard time trying.
1 Comment
Wonderful review! Would love to see it. Oh humanity we will never get it right
Love love your writing
Now go write a play (something’s gotta give)
You are ready !
❤️🎭🎭❤️