“Underground Railroad Game”: The Most Scandalizing Thing I’ve Ever Seen Comes to Londonby Randi / September 27, 2018
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is The Jungle at London’s Playhouse Theatre, running until November 3.
Boy, if you didn’t hate Theresa May already, this incredible play will definitely do the job. But while it will make you shake with rage against everyone in positions of power – the ones with the ability to make decisions that will help instead of hurt, but don’t – it won’t only leave you feeling sad and impotent. It will make you want to step up and help as well. And though it was kind of suuuper bougie that we were these middle class white people seeing a play about the Jungle while our do-gooder friends have actually volunteered there, it really is an important play to see, because theatre can and often should create real change in the world, and this is the kind of play that embodies that goal.
Boy, if you didn’t hate Theresa May already, this incredible play will definitely do the job. But while it will make you shake with rage against everyone in positions of power – the ones with the ability to make decisions that will help instead of hurt, but don’t – it won’t only leave you feeling sad and impotent. It will make you want to step up and help as well. And though it was kind of suuuper bougie that we were these middle class white people seeing a play about the Jungle while our do-gooder friends have actually volunteered there, it really is an important play to see, because theatre can and often should create real change in the world, and this is the kind of play that embodies that goal.
“The Jungle”, by Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson, and directed by the great Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin (never seen a play directed by two people before, I don’t think, so that’s interesting), is unlike anything I’ve seen before (and not even because of the two director thing). It doesn’t feel like a play at all. Dropping you smack in the middle of the action in the Calais migrant camp in 2016, you quickly forget that someone wrote these lines or directed these people or that these people are actors. I fully was immersed and believed that the passionate, beleaguered people around me were truly refugees from Afghanistan, from Syria, from Sudan, from Lebanon, from anywhere but definitely not actors from London. It usually takes a lot of effort to make that jump into accepting what you’re seeing in the theatre as truth, but here it was like there was no alternative, this was real. I was a witness to this incredible human rights atrocity. These poor people had been through so much and I was witnessing their efforts to get through even more.
The setting of the Calais migrant camp was in the news a lot a few years ago, for dern good reason, and even though the human rights violations are still occurring over the water (over to France, I mean, not the USA, although we all know the many violations of all sorts happening over that water but that’s not what I’m talking about for this one moment in time), the news has dropped the ball on covering it. Refugees and migrants trying to flee from many different countries for many different reasons have been coming into Europe for a long time, but in 2015 the number rose substantially. The huge numbers of migrants set up an encampment near Calais, France, from January 2015 to October 2016. With little assistance from activists and organizations, they built temporary housing, places of worships, restaurants. They dealt with sanitation problems (like lack of sanitation), food shortages, unaccompanied children, and the kinds of abuses that occur in any large group. People were hoping to get to the UK, and would risk their lives over and over and over by hiding in trucks, jumping ferries, or stowing away on trains heading to their believed salvation. They would really risk everything to succeed on this journey, evidenced in large part by the record number of people who died at sea trying to cross the Mediterranean in unsafe, terribly crowded small boats. Everyone remembers the picture of the poor little boy who drowned, a fact that this play reminds you of.
Despite the growing number of migrants camped out here, the French authorities began carrying out evictions. They would clear the camp by force, quadrant by quadrant, always promising that each eviction would be the last, forcing the migrants into smaller and more cramped living situations, before returning shortly thereafter and clearing another section. Now, the camp is gone, but the migrants still remain. They just aren’t allowed to have any sort of shelter in place or even bedding. Kids are burying blankets underground when the sun rises so officers won’t confiscate them. Their treatment is a disgusting stain in human history, one that is getting bigger and darker.
The play drops us into the action full swing, and when I say drops us in, I really mean it. Most of why the full immersion was easy to plunge into was because of the spectacular set and staging of this show. Inside the Playhouse theatre, there’s no theatre left really. The stage is gone, and although there’s a small balcony section for audience members, the entire floor is now a makeshift café in the middle of the migrant camp, with flags of represented countries, wooden benches, and dirt floors. The whole floor is this restaurant, and I was seated at one of the central wooden benches in the café while the actors swirled around, through, and right on top of the audience. The actors walked along the tables where our drinks were (a nice Afghani refugee will give you tea upon entering the café). They leaned on my shoulder when trying to talk to their friend standing at the next table. They threw dirty dish towels at us to clean our tables. They brought the guy next to me some freshly baked bread (seriously, I saw the guy kneading and rolling it out in the kitchen area) and then they brought him a whole curry platter (better him than me, thank goodness). I’ve seen immersive staging before, but this was unique, and it was so effective in making you care about what was happening.
And what was happening was chilling. The play begins right when the French authorities are beginning their ‘eviction process’, by forcibly, violently clearing an occupied part of the camp. You hear names of people who have died. Everything is loud, terrifying, and just when you’re starting to get short of breath, a calming presence interrupts and says we better start at the beginning of the story instead of the end. It’s unsettling storytelling, and incredibly powerful.
This calming presence is Safi, played by Ammar Haj Ahmad though I still can’t believe he was an actor who got to go home safe after the show. Quickly, and then continuously over the two acts, Safi will become someone we and the other refugees learn to trust and value, which is always a dangerous thing to do, as he demonstrates. A refugee from Syria, he becomes a leader of this camp, along with the Afghani restauranteur Salar (Ben Turner, remarkable) and Mohammed from Sudan (Jonathan Nyati), both giving their characters a sincere sense of gravitas and earnestness. It makes sense that the rest of the camp looks to them for guidance, even though they are just as lost and defeated.
There are a few other standout performers who are given time to shine, like John Pfumojena’s Okot, a Sudanese teenager who tells us how he has died and keeps dying deaths over and over in a somber, slow scene that was given remarkable amount of time to grow in an otherwise fast-paced show. But the entire cast is top-notch, and if I could give an award for best cast or ensemble (different from the theoretical Best Ensemble Tony Award that people are clamoring for that I object to (that would be for the unnamed chorus members only and so dancers who happen to be cast in top shows frequently could be like 10-time Tony winners and that’s just nonsense)), I would award this phenomenal cast. Not least the little girl Amal who barely says anything but breaks your heart into pieces so effectively that at the end I was like DO YOU NEED A HOME???
Everything about this play feels pitch perfect because it is all so accurate, from the Eton-educated British lad whose heart is in the right place but has no idea what he’s offering to deal with, to the infighting among migrants, to the condescending French authorities who lie with no compunction. Of course, the most staggeringly distressing part was the end, when we see actual footage of what has happened and how atrociously the media has handled it. The poor coverage and sometimes outright lies put out there about the camp led directly to Brexit, I believe, and I wonder just how many of the Brits in my audience voted for it, and whether they regret their decision. I hope they are doing something to help make amends for their actions. And if any theatre could produce that extraordinary result, it’s this extraordinary play, a theatrical event that you should run to see.
INFORMATION
The Jungle runs two hours and 45 ish minutes, in two acts. There’s lots of smoke, mainly non-cigarette ‘explosion’ smoke that I almost choked on and had to breathe through a paper towel for a minute, so be warned if you have asthma that like, you should bring your inhaler. Also, it’s pretty gritty, both in subject and in physical being. I picked the wrong show to wear a fancy dress to, I’ll tell you that. If you are sitting downstairs in the café, wear shoes you don’t mind getting dirty and clothes you can move in (to get on the bench) and try not to let them throw the dirty towels at your head.
Our seats right in the middle of the action at the Afghan Café were originally $25 (that’s pounddollars) and now are apparently $100! So you should run faster!
The setting of the Calais migrant camp was in the news a lot a few years ago, for dern good reason, and even though the human rights violations are still occurring over the water (over to France, I mean, not the USA, although we all know the many violations of all sorts happening over that water but that’s not what I’m talking about for this one moment in time), the news has dropped the ball on covering it. Refugees and migrants trying to flee from many different countries for many different reasons have been coming into Europe for a long time, but in 2015 the number rose substantially. The huge numbers of migrants set up an encampment near Calais, France, from January 2015 to October 2016. With little assistance from activists and organizations, they built temporary housing, places of worships, restaurants. They dealt with sanitation problems (like lack of sanitation), food shortages, unaccompanied children, and the kinds of abuses that occur in any large group. People were hoping to get to the UK, and would risk their lives over and over and over by hiding in trucks, jumping ferries, or stowing away on trains heading to their believed salvation. They would really risk everything to succeed on this journey, evidenced in large part by the record number of people who died at sea trying to cross the Mediterranean in unsafe, terribly crowded small boats. Everyone remembers the picture of the poor little boy who drowned, a fact that this play reminds you of.
Despite the growing number of migrants camped out here, the French authorities began carrying out evictions. They would clear the camp by force, quadrant by quadrant, always promising that each eviction would be the last, forcing the migrants into smaller and more cramped living situations, before returning shortly thereafter and clearing another section. Now, the camp is gone, but the migrants still remain. They just aren’t allowed to have any sort of shelter in place or even bedding. Kids are burying blankets underground when the sun rises so officers won’t confiscate them. Their treatment is a disgusting stain in human history, one that is getting bigger and darker.
The play drops us into the action full swing, and when I say drops us in, I really mean it. Most of why the full immersion was easy to plunge into was because of the spectacular set and staging of this show. Inside the Playhouse theatre, there’s no theatre left really. The stage is gone, and although there’s a small balcony section for audience members, the entire floor is now a makeshift café in the middle of the migrant camp, with flags of represented countries, wooden benches, and dirt floors. The whole floor is this restaurant, and I was seated at one of the central wooden benches in the café while the actors swirled around, through, and right on top of the audience. The actors walked along the tables where our drinks were (a nice Afghani refugee will give you tea upon entering the café). They leaned on my shoulder when trying to talk to their friend standing at the next table. They threw dirty dish towels at us to clean our tables. They brought the guy next to me some freshly baked bread (seriously, I saw the guy kneading and rolling it out in the kitchen area) and then they brought him a whole curry platter (better him than me, thank goodness). I’ve seen immersive staging before, but this was unique, and it was so effective in making you care about what was happening.
And what was happening was chilling. The play begins right when the French authorities are beginning their ‘eviction process’, by forcibly, violently clearing an occupied part of the camp. You hear names of people who have died. Everything is loud, terrifying, and just when you’re starting to get short of breath, a calming presence interrupts and says we better start at the beginning of the story instead of the end. It’s unsettling storytelling, and incredibly powerful.
This calming presence is Safi, played by Ammar Haj Ahmad though I still can’t believe he was an actor who got to go home safe after the show. Quickly, and then continuously over the two acts, Safi will become someone we and the other refugees learn to trust and value, which is always a dangerous thing to do, as he demonstrates. A refugee from Syria, he becomes a leader of this camp, along with the Afghani restauranteur Salar (Ben Turner, remarkable) and Mohammed from Sudan (Jonathan Nyati), both giving their characters a sincere sense of gravitas and earnestness. It makes sense that the rest of the camp looks to them for guidance, even though they are just as lost and defeated.
There are a few other standout performers who are given time to shine, like John Pfumojena’s Okot, a Sudanese teenager who tells us how he has died and keeps dying deaths over and over in a somber, slow scene that was given remarkable amount of time to grow in an otherwise fast-paced show. But the entire cast is top-notch, and if I could give an award for best cast or ensemble (different from the theoretical Best Ensemble Tony Award that people are clamoring for that I object to (that would be for the unnamed chorus members only and so dancers who happen to be cast in top shows frequently could be like 10-time Tony winners and that’s just nonsense)), I would award this phenomenal cast. Not least the little girl Amal who barely says anything but breaks your heart into pieces so effectively that at the end I was like DO YOU NEED A HOME???
Everything about this play feels pitch perfect because it is all so accurate, from the Eton-educated British lad whose heart is in the right place but has no idea what he’s offering to deal with, to the infighting among migrants, to the condescending French authorities who lie with no compunction. Of course, the most staggeringly distressing part was the end, when we see actual footage of what has happened and how atrociously the media has handled it. The poor coverage and sometimes outright lies put out there about the camp led directly to Brexit, I believe, and I wonder just how many of the Brits in my audience voted for it, and whether they regret their decision. I hope they are doing something to help make amends for their actions. And if any theatre could produce that extraordinary result, it’s this extraordinary play, a theatrical event that you should run to see.
INFORMATION
The Jungle runs two hours and 45 ish minutes, in two acts. There’s lots of smoke, mainly non-cigarette ‘explosion’ smoke that I almost choked on and had to breathe through a paper towel for a minute, so be warned if you have asthma that like, you should bring your inhaler. Also, it’s pretty gritty, both in subject and in physical being. I picked the wrong show to wear a fancy dress to, I’ll tell you that. If you are sitting downstairs in the café, wear shoes you don’t mind getting dirty and clothes you can move in (to get on the bench) and try not to let them throw the dirty towels at your head.
Our seats right in the middle of the action at the Afghan Café were originally $25 (that’s pounddollars) and now are apparently $100! So you should run faster!
Related Posts
“Hamilton” on the West End, Revisited
It’s Theatre Thursday! Today we’re taking another look at the West End production of “Hamilton: An American Musical”, currently playing in London until probably the end of time.
Last week, I got to see “Hamilton” again. I’m very lucky to have seen it multiple times because, well first of all because it’s the best, but secondly, and more importantly for our purposes here, there’s not much that reviews coming out at this point can say about this show so it’s great to talk instead about how this production is evolving. If I read one more London critic reviewing it anew now and making a “I got to be in the room where it happened’ joke I will vomit. Well first I’d find out where he got his morning coffee and I’d throw it in his face (not when it’s too hot of course I’m not a monster) and I’d be like DID YOU THINK YOU WERE BEING ORIGINAL??? And then I’d vomit. Luckily we don’t have to get into all the details about what this show is about or the basics of the elements because I’m prettayyy prettayyy sure you know already, and if you don’t you can read past reviews here and here. So we get to talk about the London production and how it has improved, or worsened, since it was in previews.
It goes without saying, but I’m going to say it anyway, that “Hamilton” is beyond incredible, with a mind-boggling, flawless score and a captivating book. There’s nothing else like it. Whatever problems there are with certain production-specific aspects, it’s hard to do anything to the show that actually hurts it. It’s strong enough to withstand some issues here and there and still be among the most astonishing theatrical experiences you’ve ever had. So in my nitpicking, remember that I’m nitpicking; I’m still talking about a superb show.
Let’s start with the good. Several things have improved since my last viewing, I’m happy to say. One improvement for me was with our main man, Jamael Westman. His Alexander Hamilton is still reserved and less energetic than Lin’s, but whereas last time it made me mad (I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and be like WOULD YOU JUST PLEASE…give me the recipe! (‘Friends’ joke! I didn’t want a recipe I wanted him to show some enthusiasm but I had to finish the quote)), this time I understood it a little more. I still prefer the energy of more dynamic, vivacious Hams but I get what he’s doing. I do have to clarify, though, that while I’m praising his overall interpretation as having improved, his performance this night did have a few bad moments where the lack of energy wasn’t an acting choice but was a failing. Sometimes his words weren’t even audible. If the audience didn’t know the words, we wouldn’t have known that he had said anything at certain moments. Either he was miked poorly or he was just exhausted.
Probably the biggest standout for me was Cleve September’s Laurens/Phillip. Before, I thought he was fine, and I thought Obioma Ugoala’s Washington was the standout of the supporting men. But now, I’ve jumped clear on over to the Cleve train. It’s not that he’s better than Broadway’s Anthony Ramos (and who can compare performances like that anyway) (I mean I can) (but I won’t), it’s just that it’s easier to stand out when there’s no Daveed Diggs or Chris Jackson to combat with, and he really takes that opportunity and runs with it. His Laurens is at times moving and hilarious, and his Phillip was wonderful. The aforementioned Ugoala and Jason Pennycooke as Lafayette/Jefferson are giving wonderful performances (especially the latter) but they are pretty much the same as last time, so Cleve’s growing, improved performance shines all the more brightly.
I also wasn’t bothered by Rachelle Ann Go’s accent as much, even though my husband thinks it has actually gotten harder to understand. I think that now that I knew about the accent hurdles, I was prepared and could focus more on her performance. She plays a truly sweet Eliza that you don’t want to be sad, so when she’s sad for like the whole second act, you feel for her like you’re supposed to. There’s not much to her performance but she does the necessary job. And her superb “Burn” is still one of the most heartbreaking, gorgeous moments.
Lastly, I have to applaud Sifiso Mazibuko, the principle male standby of the show who was on as Burr at this performance. It was a real disappointment not to see how Giles Terrera has progressed in his terrific performance, but Sifiso was fantastic. Despite not giving as much nuance to his character, he did a wonderful job.
Continuing with the ‘bad’, although it’s not actively bad, just disappointing. As I mentioned above, Jamael had some bits where his energy was not just lowered but was nonexistent, and the worst offender was honestly ALL of “Say No To This”. While I love how much Christine Allado does with how little Peggy has, her Maria leaves me wanting so much more. I was underwhelmed with this number last time, and it has only gotten colder. This song is supposed to be hot and fiery and full of tumultuous emotions and I found myself trying to learn the footwork of background ensemble members to keep my interest up. There’s just zero chemistry between the actors and zero energy in this number. It was a real letdown.
I also was upset that Michael Jibson was out and an understudy was on for the King. The understudy was fine – and with that role it’s impossible not to get all the laughs anyway. It’s kind of like Ogie in “Waitress” and honestly Lola in “Kinky Boots” in that even if the actors are not amazing, they will still kill it. But I really like Jibson’s hilarious performance and it would have been nice to have another chance to determine whether he deserved to Judi Dench the Oliviers.
Now to the ugly. I hate, with full force of that word, that the biggest problem I had with this production since previews has not been addressed in the least, and the theatre shows no sign of dealing with it. You’ll notice that in the previous paragraph I referred to the King’s ‘understudy’ and not to an actor by name, which is shameful. Well, I don’t know his name. Whereas on Broadway, theatres operate by the 2/3 rule (understudies are announced in 2 of 3 ways: a cast list in the entrance, a slip in the Playbill, and/or an announcement over the loudspeaker right before the curtain rises), the West End has no such policies and so understudies don’t have to be, and often aren’t, recognized. I asked the staff at the theatre where the understudies for that night were announced, if anywhere, and was told that the tiny little electronic display on one side of the lobby (across from the cloakroom), near nothing that anyone would go looking for unless they knew to go over there, had that evening’s actors on it. Like, a constantly changing display was it. I can’t even believe this. This is so unacceptable it’s offensive to the actors. I doubt many people asked about it and I doubt many even knew that understudies were on and that swings had been swung into the holes in the ensemble. I can’t think of one actually decent reason for hiding this fact from the audience, but I can think of tons of ways it sucks. The most important reason why this is a bullshit stance is that it is a disservice to the actors who have worked their whole lives and careers to be on this stage, and they deserve to get their due. Yet instead, when they go on they don’t get to be recognized for their talents. That is inexcusable. I’m shocked that a theatre group like Delfont Mackintosh isn’t doing better to change this system.
Let’s start with the good. Several things have improved since my last viewing, I’m happy to say. One improvement for me was with our main man, Jamael Westman. His Alexander Hamilton is still reserved and less energetic than Lin’s, but whereas last time it made me mad (I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and be like WOULD YOU JUST PLEASE…give me the recipe! (‘Friends’ joke! I didn’t want a recipe I wanted him to show some enthusiasm but I had to finish the quote)), this time I understood it a little more. I still prefer the energy of more dynamic, vivacious Hams but I get what he’s doing. I do have to clarify, though, that while I’m praising his overall interpretation as having improved, his performance this night did have a few bad moments where the lack of energy wasn’t an acting choice but was a failing. Sometimes his words weren’t even audible. If the audience didn’t know the words, we wouldn’t have known that he had said anything at certain moments. Either he was miked poorly or he was just exhausted.
Probably the biggest standout for me was Cleve September’s Laurens/Phillip. Before, I thought he was fine, and I thought Obioma Ugoala’s Washington was the standout of the supporting men. But now, I’ve jumped clear on over to the Cleve train. It’s not that he’s better than Broadway’s Anthony Ramos (and who can compare performances like that anyway) (I mean I can) (but I won’t), it’s just that it’s easier to stand out when there’s no Daveed Diggs or Chris Jackson to combat with, and he really takes that opportunity and runs with it. His Laurens is at times moving and hilarious, and his Phillip was wonderful. The aforementioned Ugoala and Jason Pennycooke as Lafayette/Jefferson are giving wonderful performances (especially the latter) but they are pretty much the same as last time, so Cleve’s growing, improved performance shines all the more brightly.
I also wasn’t bothered by Rachelle Ann Go’s accent as much, even though my husband thinks it has actually gotten harder to understand. I think that now that I knew about the accent hurdles, I was prepared and could focus more on her performance. She plays a truly sweet Eliza that you don’t want to be sad, so when she’s sad for like the whole second act, you feel for her like you’re supposed to. There’s not much to her performance but she does the necessary job. And her superb “Burn” is still one of the most heartbreaking, gorgeous moments.
Lastly, I have to applaud Sifiso Mazibuko, the principle male standby of the show who was on as Burr at this performance. It was a real disappointment not to see how Giles Terrera has progressed in his terrific performance, but Sifiso was fantastic. Despite not giving as much nuance to his character, he did a wonderful job.
Continuing with the ‘bad’, although it’s not actively bad, just disappointing. As I mentioned above, Jamael had some bits where his energy was not just lowered but was nonexistent, and the worst offender was honestly ALL of “Say No To This”. While I love how much Christine Allado does with how little Peggy has, her Maria leaves me wanting so much more. I was underwhelmed with this number last time, and it has only gotten colder. This song is supposed to be hot and fiery and full of tumultuous emotions and I found myself trying to learn the footwork of background ensemble members to keep my interest up. There’s just zero chemistry between the actors and zero energy in this number. It was a real letdown.
I also was upset that Michael Jibson was out and an understudy was on for the King. The understudy was fine – and with that role it’s impossible not to get all the laughs anyway. It’s kind of like Ogie in “Waitress” and honestly Lola in “Kinky Boots” in that even if the actors are not amazing, they will still kill it. But I really like Jibson’s hilarious performance and it would have been nice to have another chance to determine whether he deserved to Judi Dench the Oliviers.
Now to the ugly. I hate, with full force of that word, that the biggest problem I had with this production since previews has not been addressed in the least, and the theatre shows no sign of dealing with it. You’ll notice that in the previous paragraph I referred to the King’s ‘understudy’ and not to an actor by name, which is shameful. Well, I don’t know his name. Whereas on Broadway, theatres operate by the 2/3 rule (understudies are announced in 2 of 3 ways: a cast list in the entrance, a slip in the Playbill, and/or an announcement over the loudspeaker right before the curtain rises), the West End has no such policies and so understudies don’t have to be, and often aren’t, recognized. I asked the staff at the theatre where the understudies for that night were announced, if anywhere, and was told that the tiny little electronic display on one side of the lobby (across from the cloakroom), near nothing that anyone would go looking for unless they knew to go over there, had that evening’s actors on it. Like, a constantly changing display was it. I can’t even believe this. This is so unacceptable it’s offensive to the actors. I doubt many people asked about it and I doubt many even knew that understudies were on and that swings had been swung into the holes in the ensemble. I can’t think of one actually decent reason for hiding this fact from the audience, but I can think of tons of ways it sucks. The most important reason why this is a bullshit stance is that it is a disservice to the actors who have worked their whole lives and careers to be on this stage, and they deserve to get their due. Yet instead, when they go on they don’t get to be recognized for their talents. That is inexcusable. I’m shocked that a theatre group like Delfont Mackintosh isn’t doing better to change this system.
Also, audiences are getting worse and worse (is humanity worth saving? discuss) but we aren’t going to talk about that today.
Aside from all the rage I have bubbling up right now for whoever is in charge of the understudy announcement decisions (I wish I knew; see coffee-based revenge fantasy, supra) and for people who exhibit boorish behavior at the opera (now that’s a ‘The Good Place’ reference (people said they never get my pop culture references (or never realize that I’m making them literally every sentence) so here I’m trying to help ok)), I enjoyed “Hamilton” a lot this last time. It’s a fine production of the greatest show, and it adds a great deal of artistry to the lackluster West End musical theatre scene.
AUDIENCE
I said we’re not going to talk about it.
STAGE DOOR
It seems that a line-against-the-side-wall situation has developed for people to join, ostensibly a smart way to remove the crowd from the main sidewalk, BUT there is no security guard present. I mean. I get that stage-dooring isn’t a huge thing in London but it for sure is for this show! Get a flipping security guard there for this cast! Fans are rabid! Also if there isn’t anyone in charge to tell me (my mom) that we have to get in the line, we are (my mom is) going to line-jump. (This is where I would put that shruggie emoji. To quote Eliza in ‘That Would Be Enough’, “iiiiiiii’m not sorry.”)
Sondheim’s “Assassins” at the Menier: Creepy, Provocative, & Flawless
“Someone tell the story, someone sing the song. Every now and then the country goes a little wrong. Every now and then a madman’s bound to come along! Doesn’t stop the story – story’s pretty strong. Doesn’t change the song.” Stephen Sondheim’s brilliant, dark, and often funny look at what drives certain people to commit atrocities, “Assassins” is an exceptional and provocative show. Its current production at London’s Menier Chocolate Factory is one of the most well-done shows I have yet seen in London. If you are a frequent reader, you may be thinking, well that doesn’t say much. However, I could say right now that I found not a single fault with it…but then you’d have little reason to keep reading, so I won’t.
These above-quoted opening lines of the show (the true opening of the story, after a crazy sort-of prologue) reflect what our main characters seek: for their story to be added to history, to become part of the main story, be sung of. To gain fame as part of history’s need to always mention them in the same breath as the great men they assassinated. And that’s what this story brilliantly tells – how Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Reagan, Ford, all these important presidents, were killed or almost killed, but by barely mentioning their names. The names that matter here are the assassins – Booth, Guiteau, Czolgosz, Hinckley, Fromme – as we see things from their perspectives. To make things even more twisted and frightening, this is staged in a sort of abandoned carnival, with each assassination attempt treated as a carnival game and lit-up “Hit!” or “Miss!” signs accompanying each gunshot. Like carnivals weren’t scary before.
First, the central character: “Johnny Booth was a handsome devil!” These lyrics are hella true in this production. Broadway’s Aaron Tveit is adoooorable. More importantly, he handles the vital role of John Wilkes Booth sublimely, being a charming and debonair Southerner who clearly conveys a base desire for ill-gained notoriety. Although his main action (killing Abraham Lincoln, obviously) is done early on, he hangs around to support the others, because, as the Balladeer sings early on, “Damn you, Johnny! You paved the way for other madmen to make us pay!” Booth pretty much started a trend in America, and so his presence is required throughout the show.
First, the central character: “Johnny Booth was a handsome devil!” These lyrics are hella true in this production. Broadway’s Aaron Tveit is adoooorable. More importantly, he handles the vital role of John Wilkes Booth sublimely, being a charming and debonair Southerner who clearly conveys a base desire for ill-gained notoriety. Although his main action (killing Abraham Lincoln, obviously) is done early on, he hangs around to support the others, because, as the Balladeer sings early on, “Damn you, Johnny! You paved the way for other madmen to make us pay!” Booth pretty much started a trend in America, and so his presence is required throughout the show.
Despite his inherent evil, Booth seems the most stable of all the characters, and probably is. The most unstable is also my favorite. “Look on the bright side, not on the sad side…I am going to the Lordy”, sings Charles J. Guiteau, the most weirdly likable character in this production, probably because the actor, Andy Nyman, is so damn good in this role, petrifying but kind of lovable. Guiteau was executed for killing President Garfield, after being denied the ambassadorship to France, which he had long assumed would be given him when he requested it. Some of the lyrics to his big song actually came from the poem he wrote the day of his execution and recited on the gallows as he laughed and danced, before hanging. The poem was called “I am going to the Lordy”. Sondheim turned this into the most catchy, horrifyingly optimistic song that captures Guiteau’s, well, gallows humor and clear insanity. Here, Guiteau also sings and dances on the gallows, performing a cakewalk and an ever-intensifying song before swinging from the noose in front of us. It’s so disturbing and so powerful. Also, Nyman does the best American accent by a Brit that I’ve heard so far in London theatre.
Before deciding to kill the president, Guiteau writes books that don’t sell and he convinces himself and others that he’s the future Ambassador to France. By seeing our characters’ failures and blown ambitions, you start to feel for them. You think, this poor guy couldn’t catch a break, and yes obviously needs mental healthcare that no one is going to provide. The music and the stories lead you on a path to almost commiseration, and then hopefully you snap out of it and realize how f-ed up you have to be to consider making this turn. But that’s the genius of “Assassins”, showing history from their perspectives and forcing you to recognize their humanity.
Personal failures as well as professional failures take blame for coaxing some down this path. “I am unworthy of your love” is a duet between two strangers, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme (Carly Bawden) and John Hinckley Jr. (Harry Morrison), the failed assassins of Gerald Ford and Ronald Reagan, respectively. The memorable and pretty lovely song shows how some are led towards awful deeds in trying to impress others. The show’s Hinckley is an odd man who can’t find love, in the all-too-familiar sense of men like the Santa Barbara killer who get angry and frustrated when women, whom they were told their whole lives that they as men were entitled to, rebuffed them. Our society’s continued view of women as playthings and pretty things that men should have a say over is creepily reflected in this character, as he decides to kill a president in order to impress a movie star enough that she’d actually know he existed (as opposed to, say, the modern version of men killing the women who threaten their world view).
Fromme, on the other hand, tries to assassinate Ford in order to impress her lover, Charles Manson, whom she believed was Jesus reincarnated. And if Jesus wishes for you to kill the president, you do that! (No, seriously, don’t, even if it’s really Jesus.) Luckily, she and Hinckley failed. In this production, Fromme’s failure is shown as mostly due to her ridiculosity of a partner in crime, played by British favorite Catherine Tate as Sara Jane Moore. It’s a smallish role but she’s hilarious. A lot of people think Tate plays it too over the top, but I found her antics necessary to brighten up all the dark psychology of the show. (Except when she accidentally shoots her dog. Not funny. Luckily a stuffed dog was used, so sort of funny.) Her best bits include her shooting practice on a bucket of KFC, after which she eats the chicken. But nothing is funnier than when Moore and Squeaky botch their assassination attempt so freaking badly that, in their mad rush to complete it in a crazy moving crowd, they are unable to reload and instead throw bullets at Ford while shouting ‘Bang!’ Amaaaazing.
The real brilliance of the show is demonstrating how a person’s disappointment in living a small life can lead to such a path, just to make some kind of name for himself. And we know this so well. Mental instability of all sorts leads many to commit mass atrocities because, as we know, our media will make perpetrators famous. Whenever the awful story of a school shooting or of President Lincoln’s final days is told, so too will the name of the murderers, or of Booth.
No one explains this better than Booth himself, who uses it as a selling point when trying to persuade our narrator, the Balladeer, whose identity becomes a beyond genius twist (that was added in the revival, and I can’t see the musical being as poignant without it). In the recording I know best, my balladeer was Neil Patrick Harris, so my favorite songs had a pop-star clarity and zest to them. Here, the Balladeer is sung like a twangy country singer by Jamie Parker, but it totally works and won me over. So the Balladeer has been on the sidelines all night, telling the tales of others most judgmentally – in the above-quoted “Ballad of Booth”, he reinforces that those madmen who have made us pay “have had their say, but only for a day….Angry men don’t write the rules and guns don’t right the wrongs. Hurts a while but soon the country’s back where it belongs.” But as things come to an end, the Balladeer is not so convinced that the country bounces back so easily, if ever, and he’s more open to discussion about leaving his moral high ground, not wanting to end things as a simple narrator strumming his guitar, but as someone who, like his subjects, will live forever in infamy as long as his target lives forever in fame. Booth tells him that their names will always go hand in hand, that just as Lincoln’s great life and deeds will never be studied without Booth’s being studied and remembered as well, so too will the next great Assassin in this way share the triumphs of his victim. It’s incredibly disturbing and true, that a killer can so easily usurp the greatness of his victim. (I wish so strongly for the media should stop reporting the names of people who commit mass shootings and the like, somehow, if it would make sense. Gaining such immediate fame is often the only goal, and I wish there was a way to not give these awful people the satisfaction of being remembered. (It would also be great if we had legit mental healthcare systems but that’s maybe more farfetched.))
All of this is demonstrated pretty remarkably by The Proprietor, the gun salesman and carnival runner, played hauntingly by Simon Lipkin, who represents a sort of universal id. He lures our characters into the darkness by reminding them of the show’s eerie twisted theme, that “Everybody’s got the right to be happy”. He opens the show with lines like, “Hey kid, failed your test? Dream girl unimpressed? Show her you’re the best – if you can shoot a president”, chillingly blunt lyrics that immediately set the disturbing and blackly humorous tone for the show.
That Sondheim makes you think all of this, makes you laugh and feel heartbroken at the world, all in a 100 or so minute musical is a testament to his genius. That this extremely difficult show is such a rousing success is a testament to the Menier, to this spectacular cast, and to this faultless production, which is now completely sold out, and rightly so. With any luck, it’ll transfer to mainstem West End so more people can appreciate how freaking great this show is.
