Caryl Churchill's certainly been very visible lately: Revivals of Light Shining in Buckinghamshire and A Number, a new play coming up at the Royal Court, and before
that "a short play about death," the variously lyrical and frustrating Here We
Go, directed by Dominic Cooke at the Lyttelton. Its three scenes appear to take
place in reverse chronological order, beginning at a funeral where mourners
including Joshua James, Amanda Lawrence, Alan Williams, Eleanor Matsuura and
Madeline Appiah exchange stilted snippets of conversation about the deceased,
platitudes about what a memorable character he was and how they can't quite believe
he's gone. But we also get a glimpse into their own mortality as each of them turns
to the audience to let us know when and how they will die (one will be run over the
very next day.) For the next scene we go back a bit to meet the deceased himself
(Patrick Godfrey,) moments after his death.
Writing down what I think about theatre I've seen in That London, whether I've been asked to or not.
Showing posts with label Patrick Godfrey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patrick Godfrey. Show all posts
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
Tuesday, 13 May 2014
Theatre review: Donkey Heart
The Old Red Lion has supplied the West End with a surprising amount of content in recent years, and their latest premiere sees the West End give back with a few big-name creatives going to the room above an Islington pub. The lighting is by recent Olivier nominee Peter Mumford, some of the cast have recently been in hit commercial shows, and the director is Nina Raine. The latter's involvement isn't that surprising though, as the playwright is her younger brother Moses Raine, and Donkey Heart touches on their family's Russian ancestry. The setting is a flat in modern-day Moscow where Ivan (Paul Wyett) and Zhenya (Wendy Nottingham) live with Ivan's father Alexander (Patrick Godfrey) and their children Sasha (Lisa Diveney,) Petya (James Musgrave) and Kolya (Albie Marber tonight, alternating with Pierre Atri.) Communism may be gone but the family live in what they describe as a collective hangover from it: They aren't (to the best of their knowledge) under constant surveillance, but the habit of keeping their thoughts and emotions to themselves is a hard one to break.
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