1536

Almeida Theatre

★★★★

“Max Jones’ excellent design, complemented by an arresting use of lighting is striking”

1536 is definitely innovative: it uses the backdrop of Anne Boleyn’s defamation and execution to demonstrate the impossibility of existing as a woman and the power imbalance exploited by men. Ava Pickett’s debut play, directed by Lyndsey Turner, is a triumph.

We open on an atmosphere of sticky heat in an unspectacular field somewhere in Essex. There is a hazy unreality cultivated through this trope: the kind of dizzying heat that encourages libidinous frenzy. We see it here, as three young women meet to gossip and philosophise, and occasionally, to fornicate.

1536, the year Boleyn was beheaded, uses her engineered fall from grace – though a distant event for the women of the piece – to eloquently illustrate a world engineered for men at the expense of women. With frightening speed, Boleyn is transformed from the coveted woman Henry VIII left the Catholic Church for, to a treasonous, witchy ‘whore’. It’s telling. And what it tells is that men all too quickly will vilify women to vindicate and validate themselves. It’s Simone de Beauvoir all over: men will wreak power over women in all respects, in order to rationalise their sense and need for superiority. And crucially, 1536 argues, no woman is safe; there is no protective status. Not even the Queen of England is immune. Nor is the ‘good’ and pious wife. Nor is the mistress who operates outside martial confines. It argues that women are trapped from all sides and threatened on a very real level by the imbalance of power that stems from the unchecked violence and physical power of men over women – an aspect that feels all too relevant.

The cast is wonderful, especially Liv Hill as ‘pious’ Jane, and Siena Kelly as Anna, the ferocious ‘whore’ to Jane’s ‘angel’ (an anachronistic dichotomy but only in technicality). Tanya Reynolds as the sensible but quietly suffering midwife Mariella is also very watchable, and the two supporting men (Adam Hugill and Angus Cooper) are equally strong.

All the action takes place in this singular outdoor space: a dry landscape, overwhelmed by tall reeds, and a solitary blasted tree. Max Jones’ excellent design, complemented by an arresting use of lighting (Jack Knowles) is striking. This pressure cooker could be monotonous, but instead, it draws attention to the geographical smallness of life for people, and especially women, in 16th Century England; it’s an excellent demonstration of the staticity of their lives.

There is one ostensibly minor, but jarring flaw. The modern vernacular works well, and is a fabulous vehicle for comedy. The swearing, however, is not. The number of expletives were obscene, with little drama or effect. They were merely staples of the dialogue. But they were arresting without power, cheapening the quality of the otherwise agile dialogue. It’s a trend emergent in much period theatre at the moment, and it always seems tacky.

Also, please, can we all agree to bring back the interval?

But these are small problems. 1536 navigates much, all whilst being hilarious. It’s also nuanced: whilst exploring gender politics, it examines how women can leverage their own power through sex, and yet (!!) this is the most easily weaponised facet, unifying men and women alike against the more sexually voracious woman. The world has visibly changed in 500 years, but 1536 questions just how much.

1536

Almeida Theatre

Reviewed on 14th May 2025

by Violet Howson

Photography by Helen Murray

Previously reviewed at this venue:

RHINOCEROS | ★★★★ | April 2025

OTHERLAND | ★★★★ | February 2025

WOMEN, BEWARE THE DEVIL | ★★★★ | February 2023

1536

RHINOCEROS

Almeida Theatre

★★★★

“an appeal to the senses, an experience as peculiar and nonsensical as a fit of the giggles”

Director Omar Elerian’s electrifying interpretation of the absurdist classic Rhinoceros is as much about theatre as it is about marauding pachyderms.

In his vision of French Romanian writer Eugene Ionesco’s 1959 fable, Elerian meticulously parodies the conventions of theatre and presents them back to the audience with a knowing wink.

In this case, theatre becomes a series of artificial and disconnected moments that meld alchemically into a kaleidoscopic whole.

People don’t so much talk to each other as engage in the mechanics of dialogue, delivering nonsensical retorts and ever spiralling repetitions. No-one listens. Communication is impossible. Extended riffs on, say, the number of horns on the eponymous rhinoceros rise into a dizzying tumult of words, sometimes pin sharp, then losing focus, only to return to a semblance of meaning measured by weight alone.

The audience is puzzled, bored, irritated, mesmerised, intrigued, amused – often within the same minute.

In an overlong and sometimes grating production, the story features a provincial French village – perhaps something out of a Wes Anderson movie – with a cast of deadpan pedants and eccentrics. A rhinoceros charges through the village square causing chaos. Then another, which tramples a cat. Soon it emerges that the villagers themselves are becoming the beasts.

Political writer Ionescu was, perhaps, thinking of the spread of fascism in pre-war France, making points about conformity and appeasement to the monstrous.

Elerian, wisely, veers away from heavy-handed politics and leans into the comedy. In his own translation, he updates the gags to include references to Covid, Wallace and Gromit and Severance. He gathers about him a troupe of actors superbly adept at the challenge of farce.

John Biddle, Hayley Carmichael, Paul Hunter, Joshua McGuire, Anoushka Lucas, Sophie Steer, and Alan Williams – in suitable white coats against a box-of-tricks white stage – are put through their paces in a series of scenarios, like an improv troupe picking suggestions out of a top hat.

Elerian creates a grandiose, meta-flecked circus – complete with clowns, kazoos and funny wigs. His message appears to be that laughter creates community when meaning fails.

In the most effective sequence McGuire, as Jean, battles with the agonies of transformation, a rousing set piece that exemplifies the thrilling choreography that is a highlight of the production.

Like Jean, the villagers succumb one by one to the plague until the hero of the piece, flustered slob and everyman Berenger (Ṣọpẹ́ Dìrísù), is left on his own, making a stand against the onslaught.

At this point, anti-theatre becomes theatre again. Rhinoceros finally relies on the tropes of storytelling to make a connection – but too late. Without the groundwork, this burst of coherent humanity feels unearned.

Never mind. Rhinoceros is an appeal to the senses, an experience as peculiar and nonsensical as a fit of the giggles.

Tag Archives: Almeida Theatre

1536

★★★★

Almeida Theatre

1536

Almeida Theatre

★★★★

“Max Jones’ excellent design, complemented by an arresting use of lighting is striking”