"Shakespeare in Love" on the West End: It's A Mystery Why It's Not A Musical But It's Still Worth Seeingby Randi / October 26, 2014
I hate using the word ‘starry’ to describe something that uses a lot of recognizable actors, but hell if this isn’t the starriest thing I’ve seen since those shitty “Valentine’s Day” movies. I’m okay here with making the main descriptor of “It’s Only A Play” ‘starry’ (as every other piece about the show does) because it is indeed its main selling point. And, more than that, if I don’t go with starry I’ll have to go with ‘uninspired’, or ‘disappointing’, or ‘lame’. So, yeah, starry.
Reviewing this show is a little difficult, because while it is a revival of Terrence McNally’s 1982 play, it’s chock-full of ‘culturally relevant’ updates. So which part is more responsible for the crappiness, the old stuff or the new? I guess both! Also, while I’m sure the original work was seen as cutting and important for the theatre scene, this revival feels so tired and lame and ugh too often painful.
Okay, so it’s about an opening night party after the premiere of a new play as all the integral players wait for the reviews to come out. This premise forces all the action to happen in one room, specifically the bedroom of the producer, played by Megan Mullally. Bottling everyone claustrophobically inside this room as so much goes to shit and people start fighting and turning on each other and ugh just talking too much, it will make you want to shout from your seat “JUST LEAVE! JUST WALK OUT THE DOOR AND LEAVE WTF!” As I’m sure all audience members do, I felt like Bunuel in “Midnight in Paris” when Owen Wilson explains his future film to him, and Bunuel is like “But why don’t they just leave? I don’t understand.” This show.
Megan Mullally (I’m not going to use character names because these actors were not able to escape their public personae) is the sole producer of a show for the first time, so she is nervous about the reviews, and thus spends the entire opening night party (which she’s having at her HOME, which is LUDICROUS) upstairs in her bedroom. Pseudo-friends start popping in and never leaving, including:
- Nathan Lane, a television actor who gave up the lead in this play for his now-cancelled series even though the playwright is his ‘best friend’;
- the playwright Matthew Broderick, who is the most boring milquetoast man you have ever seen and I shudder to think of poor SJP;
- the director Rupert Grint, who is saddled with the worst costume and the worst bit (infra) and will have to deal with everyone saying how his Broadway debut did not measure up to Daniel Radcliffe’s but that’s not really his fault because this show;
- the theatre critic F. Murray Abraham, who somehow works his way into the inner circle despite, um, being a critic, and is just super miscast;
- the lead of the Play, Stockard Channing, who is trying to overcome her serious drug addictions (haha so funny?) by doing many drugs onstage while wearing her ankle monitor (which she couldn’t remove during the play within the play);
- and the best part of this show, Micah Stock, stealing all his scenes as the hopeful actor working this party as the coat-check guy.
I mean. That’s a great cast. It’s just too bad the play isn’t better. But I guess that doesn’t matter, because their collective star power is allowing this pile of whatnot to break box office records left and right. Good job, producers, proving that our current society values celebrity over quality. It’s just true. Even I went to see all these actors even though I had already heard how dumb it was. I judge me too.
I don’t want to be super mean; it’s not like this is the worst show ever or even right now. It’s just that it has so much freaking potential and that makes it even worse, (like “American Hustle”). As you know, it makes me angrier when something so easily could be better than when something just sucks. It reeks of laziness and negligence when a little more attention and effort could make something great. Hence why I’m so angry about this and I didn’t say anything about “Holler If Ya Hear Me”.
Nathan Lane, bless his heart, tries so freaking hard in everything he does. You can almost see a cloud of smoke (not farts) following him around as his effort outweighs every single person ever inspired by any small engine that ever thought it could, combined. Even during my vote for #1 worst part of the show – when Nathan Lane’s character has to refer to ACTUAL PERSON NATHAN LANE/himself as a super-gay famous actor whom he would have understood being cast in something, without cursing out the entire production team for including this awful update and without throwing glass vases at all the laughing audience members who think this is somehow funny – Lane gives his all to deliver every line with all his acting prowess as though it’s the most important play ever. Bravo to him, seriously, because his giving 200% is surprisingly what lets him retain his dignity after this mess ends.
So okay, plot. Oh wait, you got it. These characters wait for the reviews to come in. And not just any reviews, but most importantly the New York Times review from Ben Brantley. This is my vote for Worst Shit #1 (tied), because Ben Brantley is a real person who actually had to review this show. And despite it being terrible, he loved it and gave it a positive review – maybe…juuuuust maybe, because the show exalts him as the most important voice in all of theatre??? You think he liked that?
Breathe. So the characters assemble, and as they wait, they kind of fight, they bicker, they drop so many names. Nathan and Matthew have a big fight because Nathan admits that he didn’t take the part because the play sucks (real Nathan wishes he followed his character’s path?), and Broderick makes big lofty speeches about how commercialized the theatre has become. Listen, I saw this show in previews, so these speeches may have been mercifully cut by opening night (though as far as I can find, they haven’t been), but Broderick’s speeches stopped the show faster and more drastically than a ton of bricks falling from the ceiling could have. It was beyond boring. His delivery copied Ben Stein doing “Bueller…Bueller?”. The actual words mirrored Bob Balaban’s end monologue in “The Lady in the Water”, just replacing ‘movies’ with ‘theatre’. I wonder if M. Night has seen this yet and been alternately thrilled and pissed.
F. Murray Abraham, that fantastic serious actor, plays a total jackwagon of a theatre critic who, despite being stuck in this room with these people, tells them how much they suck and how dumb they are. He also acts kind of like a clown, laughing maniacally and creepily, and you’re just like…how did they cast you, fearsome Dar Adal &c., in this role? I feel bad for him.
Rupert Grint gets the shit end of the stick by far when he has to act out a confrontation with his father…in front of all his work colleagues (not to mention the audience)…with…wait for it…hand puppets. That he had in his pockets. I think it was supposed to be funny, but it was sad, and embarrassing.
Stockard Channing is another Serious Actor whom I felt intense levels of fremdschamen for the entire time. Important note to producers if they find a time machine: Stockard and Mullally should have switched roles. Stockard mostly talks about drugs and drinking while doing drugs and drinking in front of us, and it’s supposed to be funny because haha addition, but it’s not funny because it’s freaking Stockard Channing and you’re like…hey…hey girl…what are ya doing? Meanwhile, Mullally found success and became super famous because of how good she is at making drugs and drinking somehow freaking hilarious. Why on earth was she playing the uber-wealthy producer instead of the crazy actress? Why?
The saving grace of the entire shebang is Micah Stock, long-lost little brother of Billy Eichner. Micah’s coat-check guy comments on all the celebrities partying downstairs with absolutely no cynicism or really knowledge, just pure sincerity, and he’s hilarious and perfect. My favorite part of the show is when he comes up with coats and says a jumble of sounds that somehow you (if you are a theatre aficionado) know is supposed to be ‘Tovah Feldshuh’. Jokes about the Kardashians and Lady Gaga are less welcome, but he does his damnedest to make you laugh. His heavier presence in the beginning is what lets this show start off with a bang, but his diminished presence later on is what lets all the air out.
Despite all this crap it’s kind of fun? I have a feeling people would compare this ‘it’s bad but you still want to watch it’ feeling to “Grease 2”, but G2 is amazing and that would be too high praise. It’s more like “Never Been Kissed”, I’d say. You cringe the entire time and you cover your eyes at most everything that comes out of Drew Barrymore’s mouth, but Michael Vartan is in it and you love him. So…see it? Maybe?
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Equus at Theatre Royal Stratford East: Insanity Beyond Reproach
It’s Theatre Tuesday! Today’s show is Equus, playing at the Theatre Royal Stratford East in London until Saturday.
Equus, often referred to as the play about horse-blinding, is (obviously) not one that I ever actively wanted to see, not even when it starred Daniel Radcliffe in the role that famously gets nekkid (in fact, as much as I love Danny Rads I do not want to see baby boy HP naked). Not only is there the animal cruelty that kicks off the action, there’s also insinuation (at the very least) of bestiality and some bizarre af conversations about religion and worship. Not to mention gutting children as part of ritual sacrifice! Suffice it to say, I was ready to avoid another production of this intense show. But then I noticed all those dastardly other critics raving about how amazing this production is, and how it’s the best production of this enduring work that you will probably ever see in your lifetime. So I had to see the big forking thing! And you know what? It is disturbing, it is unsettling, it is alarming, and it is quite possibly the best production of Equus you will ever see in your lifetime.
I know, that’s some serious praise for a play that could be called by the (hilarious) nickname for the 2018 Best Picture winner if you replace ‘horse’ for ‘fish’ (and ‘play’ for ‘movie’ obviously). Despite the outrageousness of the topics raised, all the shocking, provocative bits fit together with all the deep psychological questions like puzzle pieces that together fascinate by asking what is normal and who gets to decide. Equus, written by Peter Shaffer, is such a weird, intense show, but with impeccable direction by Ned Bennett and stellar, incredibly physical performances, it feels significant and vital in its scrutiny of what causes psychological issues and whether they are indeed abnormal. Although it got a bit close for my taste at almost excusing the actions depicted, the play effectively forced a deeper look at what constitutes wrong vs. right, normal vs. abnormal, and evil vs. sickness.
Equus concerns the aftermath of a horrific event: when teenager Alan Strang blinds six horses at a stables in his English countryside town. I know, if you are not a maniac, you’re like what a forking asshole, send that kid into a hole and seal it shut! But instead of being imprisoned, he is sent to an inpatient psychiatric facility under the treatment of Dr. Martin Dysart, because some people think that sending every troubled person to prison to rot and waste resources and never have the chance to get needed treatment or other kinds of help might not be the smartest thing to do as an overused default! I know!
As the troubled teen Alan, the actor Ethan Kai is riveting. Kai possesses that magic presence, I don’t know if it’s his offset eyes or his wild curls (curlygirl method?), but he demands your attention regardless of whether he’s speaking. This is some perfect casting. He’s terrifying in his intensity and you hate him for his evil actions but you also want to figure out why and how he got so broken. I’m not gonna go so far as to say you root for him, but you start to kind of care. As does his doctor, played by Zubin Varla (who we last saw as the father in Fun Home), who so strongly feels a connection to this kid that he begins to question why he is the one considered normal while Alan is the troubled one. Why, Dysart asks us, is a guy who has wasted his life doing the same routine, never feeling anything but what comes from the mundane acts of everyday life, the one considered normal, correct, someone who has succeeded, when he himself feels like a failure for that very monotony. Although Kai has the more obviously difficult, dynamic role, Varla has an equally challenging task with Dysart, who is even-keeled but having revelations that threaten his natural state. Varla sometimes veered into comedic faces and voices to handle this character’s changing thoughts, which didn’t jive with me, but that’s a tiny quibble.
What brought this production to a higher level of theatre was the direction. Ned Bennett’s vision focused on an empty, stark stage, literally no set pieces to start except a mug for ashes (there was too much onstage cigarette smoking, btw; I’m over this as a way to develop a character). As the show unfolded, an entire effective world was built with lighting, physical movement, and creative set work. The expert use of lighting, the impressive backstage mechanics sending whatever was needed through the flowing curtains on each side, and the use of minimal but effective set pieces (like the sand castles that were shoved out, wow) all created an unbelievable sense of world cohesion and beyond creative stage magicians. More than anything, the magic on that stage came from the actors’ movement. Shelly Maxwell’s movement direction helped the actors behave scarily like horses, especially the standout Ira Mandela Siobhan as the most beloved horse Nugget. He begins the show slowly morphing and moving exactly like a horse, which is the moment when I thought ‘oh this shit’s gonna be SPELLBINDING.’ And it was, especially when he was onstage. He must be a dancer of some sort. Man those shoulder blades can TURN. When he and the other main horse dude (Keith Gilmore), as nurses, picked up Alan while he was curled in a ball like he was an immovable object, I almost gasped. That was some amazing shit! And the two of them, whenever it was their turn to be a horse (sometimes with the other as rider, I can’t even fathom how strong they are), were so convincing and committed, I would put them up against the War Horse puppet any day.
Even though this is exactly the sort of play that gives me endless agita, Equus is one of the rare masterworks that makes the agita worthwhile and essential and important, in no small part because of how it is directed here. I have never been so struck by how flawless, innovative, imaginative direction can so transform a show. Equus is a psychological thriller but not in the usual sense – instead of a murderer on the loose or something like a typical thriller, it’s literally a thriller about psychology, about how a person can get so forked up, whether it’s because of his parents, because of religion, because of nature, or a mixture of all these possibilities. Sure the more theoretical discussions about what can be worshipped and how (hint: probably not horses, probably not with bestiality) are off the forking rails if you take a step back, but when you are immersed in the world of the show, they can convince you that all of these thoughts and ideas can be profound and not just troubling.
INFORMATION
Equus is playing at the Theatre Royal Stratford East until Saturday, March 23.
Theatre Royal Stratford East is outside the Westfield mall area of Stratford in East London. You know, the region that is always hella crowded with yoots hanging at the mall. YOOTS. It’s also one of the worst section in London for homelessness, which boggles my mind because I don’t understand how a developed country can allow its citizens to be homeless and just not do shit about it. It’s like government officials were the ones brutally blinded by an unstable teenager!
The Rage of Narcissus: Provocative & Disturbing New Work at the Pleasance
With all the theatre we see (it’s a lot), there are only a few times when all we can say to each other at the end of a show is ‘well, shit.’ But that’s exactly what we said after the new production of The Rage of Narcissus by Sergio Blanco, a thrilling, frightening, too gory, captivating performance that’s powerful in its elusiveness and its vague metaphors but also will leave you thinking wait…what? and HOW? The dreamy abstractions were somehow effective in making us feel what we were supposed to feel (horrified?) while simultaneously being unclear in what exactly they were and why. The show is a hazy whirlwind that mixes reality and fantasy and fiction and biography into a cautionary tale of some sort. However, what it’s cautioning against is unclear, partly in the good artsy way and partly in a bit of an unsatisfying way.
The Rage of Narcissus tells the story of how Sam Crane, the adept actor, came to play Sergio Blanco, the writer, but a character version of Sergio in this not-all-true (I mean obvs) autobiographical-but-fictionalized account of his time at an academic conference in Ljubljana, which is a horribly fun word to try to type accurately. It’s an extremely meta show, with Sam-the-actor-but-also-a-characterized-version-of-himself playing Sergio-the-writer-but-fictionalized and repeatedly breaking the fourth wall to tell us the ‘truth’ about the story’s events outside how he’s presenting it that there are really no remnants of a fourth wall to be found once the show begins. The construction of this production, with its great use of video and lighting, is one of the most distinguishing aspects of it, intriguing and mind-bending and ensuring that what’s happening onstage is never boring, often super funny, and always interesting.
And while clearly, in a show of this title (it’s a good title, as we’re told in the meta discussion of how Sam and Sergio came to land on it), you’d assume it’s about the pitfalls of narcissistic tendencies, they didn’t add up to enough to demand the action that occurs. That vagueness of what the what and huh why is fun for the artistic experience, but not so fun to wrap your head around afterwards. In a show that ostensibly deals with narcissism, vanity, ego, selfishness, something along those lines, the punishment for these traits is neither justified nor doled out to the representation of those traits. That would be the character Igor, the clear narcissist in the story, though he’s not the victim of it. Is he even real? (What’s GOING ON.) To punish the more obvious narcissist may be too easy, sure, and it is interesting to reflect on how Sam’s Sergio and Sam himself showed flickers of the ego-driven behaviors to be warned against, but it feels like a bit of a stretch to rely on that for the result and/or whatever message we’re to take from it. There are also the jabs at the selfishness of our society at large, represented by the few and far between but still jarring interjections about genuine global tragedies, which seemed too fragmentary to be meaningful.
And so the representation of the punishment just seems wrong, and disturbing, and disturbance just for its own sake and not for any good reason isn’t good enough. The particular scene where we find out what actually happened in Sergio’s hotel room in excruciating detail is unnecessarily gory. It added nothing and risked cheapening the work from being a sophisticated thriller to being akin to a low-grade snuff film.
Aside from that part (and the fact that if you had to drink every time you heard the line “and then we began to f*&k”, you would die from alcohol poisoning), it was still an enjoyably riveting show, with Crane giving a pretty fantastic performance. This show raises a bunch of interesting questions, throwing threads of ideas into the ether, although not fully holding on to one. I appreciate when good art is more about emotions than facts, but this started to veer a little too far into “don’t think about it too hard, too too hard” territory for me. However, it was never boring, and it’s very provocative, which is a great accomplishment for new weird theatre.
INFORMATION
The one act show is about 100 minutes (not the 90 billed). The lobby and bar were so packed I had trouble leaving the building, which isn’t a great feeling. Seats are unreserved so get there early for an aisle, but there are no bad seats. Bathrooms are gender neutral with about 3-5 stalls/cubicles each, downstairs in the bar area.
The show runs at the Pleasance Theatre (near Caledonian Road station) until March 8.
