NEW AND PRESS RELEASES
MOLIERE or The League of Hypocrites - by Mikhail Bulgakov
THE GUARDIAN
Four Stars * * * *
If you want proof of the power of dramatic code, look no further than this play by Mikhail Bulgakov. Written in 1929, it is ostensibly about the travails endured by Molière after he penned his satire on religious hypocrisy, Tartuffe. Its real subject, however, is the plight of the artist in Stalin's Soviet Union. And both Blanche McIntyre's production and Michael Glenny's translation (apparently performed for the first time) never let us forget that what we are watching is a form of political masquerade. Betrayed on all sides, Molière loses the king's protection, and famously dies on stage during a performance of Le Malade Imaginaire. Occasionally, Bulgakov doctors history: Tartuffe actually had a lot of support at court, and the evidence suggests that Armande was the daughter of the Comte de Modene not Molière. But Bulgakov, who received an approving phone call from Stalin in 1930 only to see his work subjected to endless censorship, knew all about the arbitrariness of power. His play uses the 17th-century Catholic church as a chilling metaphor for the oppressive Soviet state. In one of the best scenes, we see a clerical cabal extort confessions from Molière's associates and threaten Madeleine with eternal damnation. And, when Louis XIV is told "the kingdom can't be kept in being without informers", the worlds of Paris and Moscow effortlessly merge. McIntyre's production still needs to capture the energy of Molière's own plays. What it conveys admirably, however, is Bulgakov's mix of satire and seriousness: a spitting contest between an archbishop and a musketeer is as absurd as the portrait of hooded clerics operating like the secret police is terrifying. Alex Marker's set evokes the splendour of the Palais-Royal and Versailles, and there is excellent work from Justin Avoth as Molière, Antonia Kinlay as his wife and Ben Warwick as a venomous prince of the church. But it is Bulgakov's bravery that impresses, not just in writing the play but in informing the Soviet authorities that a writer who says he has no need of freedom is "like a fish publicly declaring it has no need of water".
Bulgakov exposes the dilemma faced by Molière: although a monarch at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal, he is forced to truckle to Louis XIV in order to survive. After the storm raised by Tartuffe, the king bestows on Molière his patronage. But the dramatist is gradually ruined by the machinations of the church and the contradictions in his private life. When it is discovered that his young wife, Armande Béjart, is the daughter of his former mistress Madeleine, he is open to suspicions of incest.
WHATS ON STAGE
Four Stars * * * *
"Passion has seized hold of me" exclaims the renowned actor/playwright, as he tells his long-time lover that he is about to marry her younger sister - or the girl whom he takes to be her younger sister - and thus he propels himself, eventually, into the vengeful hands of the Church, which, in the person of the Archbishop of Paris, has decided that Molière and his plays are atheist abominations, taking particular exception to the hypocritical priest, Tartuffe. Bulgakov's biting satire on the Stalinist regime, in Michael Glenny's lucid translation, miraculously captures the essence of the court of Louis XIV in the 1660s, and of backstage life at the Palais-Royal where Molière wrote, directed, acted, and managed the theatre for 14 years. It also seethes with Bulgakov's "deep scepticism" about the Russian Revolution. Written in 1929, and almost immediately banned, it didn't see the light of day until seven years later, when it became a huge popular success. But it finished Bulgakov's theatrical career. So, it's a play dripping with dramatic history, and it's remarkable that its only previous UK production was at the RSC in 1982. The Finborough is renowned for unearthing neglected gems and this production, by Leverhulme Bursary recipient Blanche McIntyre, continues that tradition in grand style. Set and costume design, by Alex Marker and [Penn O'Gara] respectively, are outstanding, even if the cramped space does create one or two longeurs between exits and entrances. As Molière, Justin Avoth doesn't quite have the measure of the great comic actor at the height of his powers, but comes into his own in the second half when he captures all the anger and pathos of an artiste who feels himself to be betrayed and degraded. In a large and uniformly strong cast, Elizabeth Moynihan gives a beautifully measured performance as Molière's lover, Madeleine, and Paul Brendan excels in the dual roles of theatre factotum and court jester. The King could easily have been portrayed as a colourless two-dimensional character, but Gyuri Sarossy gives him a laconic, mischievous quality that is utterly compelling. I have a few reservations about the wisdom of placing a small balustrade in the centre of the audience (which invites audience members to lean forward or place drinks there, thus impeding sightlines), and the pacing of the production is, as yet, a little uneven. THE STAGE No London theatre achieves more with less than the Finborough in Earl's Court. This tiny, scruffy room tucked above a now sadly deserted brasserie is a constant wonder of design and inventiveness and has suddenly, thanks to resident designer Alex Marker, been resourcefully transformed into a perfect miniature gilt-edged court theatre in 17th-century France. It also visits, in the space of two fast hours, the rooms of King Louis XIV at Versailles, the home of playwright Moliere, a church and a cathedral.And even better, it is all in the service of a play, being seen in only its second ever UK outing, that isn't just a vivid backstage drama about the creative tensions of theatre, based on the real-life dilemmas faced by Moliere as he courted controversy with the church and state with his plays Tartuffe and Don Juan, but also a magnificently layered and coded report from the frontline of trying to create plays in Stalinist Russia, as Mikhail Bulgakov uses the story as a platform to reveal some of his own problems with the authorities. Watching it now therefore offers a theatrical history lesson on multiple levels, but the joy of Blanche McIntyre's richly inhabited production is how well it plays out as theatre today. Bulgakov's 1929 play is full of wonderful theatrical surprises and besides giving it the necessary momentum, McIntyre's cast of ten ably bring its rich canvas of characters into close-up focus. HISTORY TODAY Moliere or The League of Hypocrites opened at the Finborough Theatre last week. Written by Mikhail Bulgakov (1891-1940), in 1931, under the Stalinist regime, the play recalls Molière's fight to keep his integrity during the reign of Louis XIV when his plays were viewed by the Church and court authorities as increasingly subversive. It provides fascinating insights into both the life of Jean-Baptiste Molière (1622-1673) in 17th-century France and the Stalinist regime, of which Bulgakov was a victim. The play is framed by two scenes in which the 'scribbler' records the events of the days on which the play begins and ends. He marks both days 'with a black cross'. On the first day marked with a black cross, in 1662, Molière marries Armande Béjart, who is significantly younger than him and whom he believes to be his lover Madeleine's sister. However, Armande was rumoured to be Madeleine's daughter and the marriage is in the end one of the causes of Molière's downfall. The play ends, in 1673, on another day marked with a 'black cross': the day of Molière's death during his performance of Le Malade Imaginaire. Bulgakov's play provides, first of all, an intriguing insight into the life of one of the most famous French playwrights and the court of Louis XIV. This particular period of French history is vividly brought to life by the excellent staging, costumes, choreography and performances. The hypocrisy and extensiveness of the court is subtly highlighted, for example, by the identical masks worn by the women at Louis XIV's court. The staging of the last scene, during which Molière's company perform Le Malade Imaginaire, is particularly powerful. The actors chant medical formulae in Latin and oppressively dance around the main character Argan, a hypochondriac who imagines himself sick and scrupulously follows all his doctor's orders, highlighting the arrogance and pedantry of doctors in 17th-century France, a recurring theme in Molière's plays. Beyond 17th-century court life, however, the play acts as a mirror of the time during which Bulgakov wrote and provides a deeper insight into the repression of the Stalinist regime. The story of the attack mounted against Molière's Tartuffe following its premiere in 1664 hints at similar censorship in Soviet Russia. The play, which mocks a hypocritical priest and his dupes, was viewed as an attack on the Church. The Archbishop of Paris issued a statement excommunicating anyone who performed, watched or even read the play. The play itself was banned. In a particularly dark and terrifying scene set in the crypt of church, hooded monks from the 'League of the Holy Writ' interrogate Zacharie Moirron forcing him to confess that Molière is married to his lover's daughter, Armande Béjart. In the words of Jean-Jacques Bouton, the theatre factotum, the members of the league 'take no account of the law so we must be prepared for anything'. Numerous references are made to the dangers of losing the king's favour and a later scene, during which Moirron is interrogated by the king himself, is a further allusion to the torture and interrogations of the Stalinist era. When Moirron asks what he should do now that he has been banished from Moliere's theatre company, the king suggests that he might 'enter the royal service and work for the secret police'. Bulgakov wrote at the time of the Great Terror in Russia. His plays were gradually banned and he found himself unemployable. His situation at the end of his life closely resembles that of Molière, who is portrayed as a broken man. Molière is old, has a 'weak heart' (he was in reality suffering from tuberculosis), has been deprived of the king's patronage, his wife has left him and his lover is dead.Excellently staged and performed in this production directed by Blanche McIntyre, a powerful and thought provoking play, which has forced me to reconsider my choice of the best history play of the year for our advent calendar of the top history moments of 2009!
LITTLE FISH - by Michael John Lachiusa
THE TIMES
It's just 90 minutes long, somewhat slight and meandering, yet this quirky little show manages to make a surprisingly big splash. A 2003 musical by the Tony-nominated American Michael John LaChiusa, it's inspired by the short stories of Deborah Eisenberg. The influence of Sondheim — and in particular of Company, his study of metropolitan singleton life — hovers in the episodic plot in a score that sets the fidgety and dissonant alongside the soaringly melodic and in lyrics that are sometimes tender, often acerbic. There's a hint of Gershwin to the music too, with Rhapsody in Blue tingeing the tunes just enough to trace an aural image of the Manhattan skyline. The downside is that this tale of one woman's journey of self-discovery can be mawkish, and its sexual politics are crude. But there's enough verve and bitter wit, both in LaChiusa's writing and in Adam Lenson's persuasive production, to keep it sharp rather than saccharine. Charlotte, a New Yorker, has given up cigarettes and finds that, once the fug of tobacco smoke clears, she can suddenly see herself with frightening and unflattering clarity. Her friends suggest various distractions — doll-collecting, a new drug habit — from which she chooses the least ludicrous: swimming. Ploughing up and down the pool at the YMCA, she is haunted by her past mistakes and missed opportunities. Gradually she realises that she has barely dipped a toe into the dangerous current of life — and that to survive, she needs to stop swimming alone. The aquatic motif is overworked and sentimental, but Charlotte's quest to overcome the damage done to her by an abusive relationship and to reconnect emotionally in a high-speed, atomised society engages, even if it rarely surprises. Like Charlotte's frustrated friends, you often want to shake her — but in a fine central performance from Julia Worsley, her flaws add interest and appeal to a character who isn't immediately likeable. And Worsley is supported by a cast of excellent actor-singers who, aided by Nick Cunningham's nimble choreography and Bec Chippendale's ingeniously economical blue set, create a whole world of urban angst on the Finborough's tiny stage. Its waters may not run all that deep; but they're still well worth wading into.
BRITISH THEATRE GUIDE
What a difference a decade makes. Michael John LaChiusa's 2003 work, Little Fish, is a big leap away from First Lady Suite which I saw earlier in October and which frankly was rather a struggle. Little Fish is much easier to like and admire with less cliché and more insight in the lyrics and an altogether more appealing score: occasionally dissonant, but also occasionally beautifully melodic with well-turned pastiches. The problem remains though that the likable or admirable qualities are not sustained throughout the piece with the gaps in between seemingly burdensomely long although the running time is a crisp 90 minutes. With a firm New York setting and the predication that all the action and story concerns a single girl and her friends, it is inevitable that, there will be comparisons with Sondheim's Company. And such comparisons are justified though LaChiusa's New York has a coarser more disturbed contemporary ring to it. Charlotte, the principal character, is a writer whose journey of self-discovery is triggered by giving up smoking. The premise is a bit lame but as friends gather round to give advice, Charlotte replaces one addiction with another - exercise. As she obsessively runs and swims we see her haunted by previous episodes in her life which, put against her current one, reveal the extent to which she is decoupled from those around her and her own self. The realisation that she is running away from herself and that the little fish - a rather overworked metaphor - needs to swim with the other little fishes arrives with a suitable musical peak but fails to be uplifting. The overall impression is of a lack of weight and an abundance of mundanities. Musical director Richard Bates has done a great job with what is essentially an unconventional piece, though the volume needs scaling down for the size of the venue, and director Adam Lenson and choreographer Nicholas Cunningham make good use of the open space provided by Bec Chippendale's creative and practical set which echoes the New York skyline. It's a hard task for Julia Worsley to make detached Charlotte endearing but she nonetheless lacks presence. Laura Pitt-Pulford and Lee William-Davis stand out as Charlotte's friends Kathy and Marco. Their individual numbers are packed with emotion, moving but not over-sentimental and convincing in their influence on Charlotte. Katie Foster-Barnes' sweetly-sung Anne opens Charlotte's eyes to the perils of emotional flotsam and stands in sharp contrast to the sassy Cinder of Alana Maria, the flatmate who tells it how it is. Nick Holder's cameo as the sleazy martini-quaffing Mr Bunder is very funny as is Michael Cantwell's pompous ex-boyfriend Robert whose put down of Charlotte's writing is to tell her that she is "devoid of taxonomic intention". Little Fish is not always unexacting but it is a worthy alternative to formulaic feel-good musicals. REVIEWS GATE The hottest theatre in London, possibly the northern hemisphere, always brings its own challenges. Consuming enough fluids while maintaining concentration during the show is occasionally one of them. However the Finborough's latest musical Little Fish held my attention entirely. This European premier for one of Broadway's new writers brings a welcome, edgy musical to the stage. The Little Fish is Charlotte, new to New York and fresh from a break up with Robert, an abusive ex-boyfriend, who pops back into her head and onto the stage from time to time to continue his put downs. Charlotte opens the proceedings by giving up smoking and struggles through the first few weeks before following her friend's advice and taking up swimming at the local Y. It is through this new smoke-free life she begins to discover both herself and several new friends. Working out at the Y also allows the opportunity to see some remarkably well-observed experienced (superior) exercisers and their acerbic, spiteful remarks. Little Fish is short at just ninety minutes, but filled with fine music. Indeed, a sparkling and vivacious Laura Pitt-Pulford as Kathy sings about being Perfect - and it really is. Julia Worsley is delightful as Charlotte, a recovering ex-girlfriend, insecure, anxious and quite remarkable. Michael Cantwell is brilliant as the terrifically terrible Robert, a little creepy, lacking any redeeming features and hilariously unpleasant to Charlotte. In Little Fish the Finborough has found itself another great little musical, with a few well-crafted, rounded characters, some seriously enjoyable music and a cast full of delights. Director Adam Lenson has delivered a thoroughly enjoyable New York-flavoured musical. Michael John Lachiusa is continuing his good form, enjoyed in last year's Ordinary Days also at the Finborough and by the same creative team. He is certainly a name to watch out for.
DEATH OF LONG PIG - by Nigel Planer DAILY EXPRESS THE TINY Finborough Theatre, perched above a Chelsea pub, is particularly noted for new writing. This gem is the work of Nigel Planer, best known for being the zaniness of TV's The Young Ones.Set in steamy Samoa, it is first a dark study of the writer Robert Louis Stevenson's obsession with death - his 30 years "rigorous combat with the Grim Reaper". There is much pathos in Sean Murray's portrayal of a man not yet convinced he is ready to die. You sense his sad moments of desperation and flashes of anger - particularly when he turns on his angry, sometimes hysterical American wife Fanny (a very sharp-edged performance by Amanda Boxer).The noticeably beautiful Nicole Dayes brings a tragic air to Java, the spirit-fearing native girl after whom Stevenson lusts.And Anthony Ofoegbu raises some needed laughs as the genial servant Bob whose English is littered with Stevenson-inspired expressions such as "tickety-boo" and "old chap". Sean Murray makes Stevenson's death scene frighteningly realistic - stabbing head pains, coughing up blood and violent spasms. It is particularly gripping considering the intimacy of the theatre.In the second act, we encounter another Pacific exile - the dissolute artist Paul Gauguin living on a changing Tahiti.Sean Murray, who plays both roles, gives a quite searing performance as the Catholic Church-loathing, Establishment-hating post-impressionist.He, too, wants death and has obtained a rum, arsenic and morphine suicide cocktail. This time Nicole Dayes is the hip-waving lovely Teha'amana, an embodiment of the islands' free loving. THE TIMES Robert Louis Stevenson died in Samoa in 1894, Paul Gauguin in Tahiti in 1903, both after struggles with sickness and — especially in the French painter's case — lack of money. Is that coincidence sufficient to justify the double bill that Nigel Planer — he who starred in The Young Ones and wrote the spoof theatrical bio, I, An Actor — has created for the little Finborough Theatre? Watching the excellent Sean Murray as a chirpy, death-defying Stevenson in the first half and a bitter, suicidal Gauguin in the second, I thought so. At other times I wasn't so sure. As Planer's title makes clear, Polynesia is in transition, thanks to the colonial powers and their missionaries. Indeed, an islander gabbles nervously about his love for Jesus, denying that he's eaten "long pig", then drunkenly admits that as a boy he ingested a white trader and still thinks it "taste good, make me strong". The old deities, the ancestral ghosts and those secretly nostalgic for cannibalism haven't quite surrendered to a Christianity that Gauguin, in particular, finds repellent. "To blasphemy" is his boozy, bleary toast as he awaits arrest for, among other things, sculpting an obscene image of the local bishop. He would, he says, rather be eaten by islanders than buried in sacred ground. Gauguin's fierce anti-clericalism, something he surely shares with his author, means that his play is the stronger and more purposeful. The garrulous, too garrulous, sometimes tiresomely garrulous Stevenson has no such clear agenda, though he doesn't much like "the grey dampness of our shabby civilisation", presumably meaning low-church Edinburgh. What both men share is a love of Polynesia, though in Gauguin's case this goes unreturned. His current mistress is Nicole Dayes's Teha'amana, an exotic beauty who looks as if she's just sauntered out of one of his paintings, and she rages at him for failing to buy her new clothes, make-up and fashionable Parisian bric-a-brac. The feeling grows that Polynesia hasn't been — and probably can't be — fully Europeanised and that neither of these great Europeans is or can be as Polynesian as he'd like. The result could, I suppose, be categorised as a meditation on cultural identity and — with Amanda Boxer playing both Stevenson's pushy, put-upon American wife and a blind island witch who senses the bourgeois ambition in Gauguin — quite a complex one. Myself, I left the theatre impressed by Planer's curiosity and intelligence, but thinking he could be sharper, crisper, and, when Stevenson is in full florid flow, less wordy. THE STAGE Nigel Planer's new play parallels the lives of Robert Louis Stevenson and Paul Gauguin, two men of creative genius who ended their days on Pacific Islands. The play is split down the middle, with the first half focusing on Stevenson, who, despite his poor health, lived in relative comfort with his American wife, while the second half shifts to Gauguin who, ailing and poverty-stricken, decides to end it all with a cocktail of arsenic and absinthe. Both men are very aware of death hovering close by among the Polynesian spirits and both believe themselves to be ready for it. Planer's fascination for his chosen subject matter is clear and the depth of his research shines in nearly every line, but he has failed to find a structure that feels theatrically satisfying. The play is often rather impenetrable and the questions it raises about mortality and art get lost amid frequent digressions and rambling passages. Sean Murray's compelling, charismatic performance, as both the playful Stevenson and the more combative Gauguin, saves things somewhat but the other characters are thinly drawn in comparison. Director Alexander Summers' production is, however, suitably atmospheric and Stevenson's sudden demise is quite shocking to watch.
Four Stars * * * *
The Big Interview: Nigel Planer
Official London Theatre Guide
''...Planer's immersion in theatre has extended to writing, too. He is preparing to stage his second play, Death Of Long Pig, at the Finborough theatre in July. His debut, On The Ceiling - a play about the underling artists who helped Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel - played at Birmingham Rep before transferring to London's Garrick theatre in 2005, where it was savaged by many of the print critics. "It was an upsetting experience because the critics are so nasty," says Planer. "Some of them are saying things and they are wrong, ignorant, historically wrong, actually criticising you on the grounds of scholarship and you're saying no, I'm sorry you don't know what you're talking about, I spent four years researching this."
Luckily, he had already written a draft of his second play before letting the critics see his first "which was deliberate planning. Because I thought if I get shot down I'll never get up again, so I'll write it now."
Death Of Long Pig is another historical offering which juxtaposes the lives and deaths of novelist Robert Louis Stevenson and artist Paul Gauguin in the Polynesian islands in the 1890s. "It's about people dying and being eaten," he summarises succinctly. "But it's not in any way going anywhere near what the Germans call a baby stoning play. So it's not one of those, there's not any kind of severed head f**king. And there's a lot of wit, because both Stevenson and Gauguin were very, very witty, very articulate guys both of them..."