“if I was being kind I would say that it was the intimacy of the studio space that made the climactic scene so uncomfortable”
This is the story of a marriage lived in rural Spain from the perspective of the titular Yerma, whose name translates as ‘barren’, a woman who desperately wants a son. Written by Federico Lorca in 1934, Cervantes Theatre have stuck somewhat to the original text whereas a recent, much praised Young Vic production was a modernised imagining. Whilst I didn’t manage to see either of the two London runs, it wasn’t for lack of trying. It was therefore with high expectations I went into this performance.
The actors can hardly be faulted. Leila Damilola as Yerma clearly puts her all into the role, so much so that during the bows she had to be supported to stand due to the severity of her sobbing from the final scene. Tom Whitelock as Juan strikes the balance between being both the subject and object of suffering whilst Coco Mbassi brings much needed light humour to this otherwise intensely unhappy tale. The whole cast is good, even if some of the characters appear somewhat superfluous.
Unfortunately, the text has not aged well, with the abundance of watery, fertility metaphors and various descriptions of breasts as mountains or as sand, sounding jarring to a modern ear.
Jorge de Juan’s direction felt clumsy and heavy-handed. The passage of time could have been made easier to follow, with no signal other than the explicit mention of the length of Yerma’s marriage. There were other choices as well which felt odd and made the story confusing. I lost patience entirely though in the final act when Yerma visits a local mystic to bring her a child, and the village women become possessed. It was too loud. Too manic. Too long. There is a limit to how much I can cope with convulsing and chanting before I itch to leave. If I was being kind I would say that it was the intimacy of the studio space that made the climactic scene so uncomfortable. Perhaps if I had been further away from the noise and the action I wouldn’t have found it so painful.
The goal of Cervantes Theatre, to perform great Spanish Theatre in the heart of London, is admirable. I am a strong proponent for performing work written in other languages on the London stage. We should indulge in foreign cultures more than ever, especially given the current climate of impending withdrawal from the EU. I just wish that this had been a better executed example.
“Whilst the performances from both actors are strong, the abrupt shifts in character and setting require serious concentration and perseverance to follow”
A Guide for the Homesick is an ambitious, eighty minute two-hander that attempts to address a range of disparate and difficult themes through scenes of intimate intensity abstractly spliced together.
Set on one night in an Amsterdam hotel room, the decor of Jason Denvir’s set verging on the clinical, two men running from horrors in their recent past have a chance meeting that turns into a revelatory night of confession. Teddy (Clifford Samuel) is mysteriously alone on a stag weekend gone awry and Jeremy (Douglas Booth) is heading home from a stint as an aid worker in Uganda. Both men’s secrets are revealed throughout the course of the night, with each actor doubling up as the other important figure in each other’s lives.
Booth and Samuel gave sterling performances as Jeremy/Ed and Teddy/Nicholas, although each had a certain, more natural, affinity for one of the two roles. Booth’s Jeremy was an earnestly charming, yet self-effacing Harvard grad, appearing lost and confused about his identity and place in the world, whilst Ed’s restriction to a limited phraseology was a barrier to the audiences connection. In contrast, Samuel’s Teddy was reserved and deceptive, whereas Samuel’s alternate part, Nicholas, was warm, tender and instantly likeable.
Among the many threads running through the piece is a reference to the role US evangelical churches have had in the rise of the anti-gay movement in East Africa. Conservative Christians, feeling that they had lost the culture wars in the US, have exported their battle to Uganda where they feel more sure of success. A deeper exploration of the implications of these practices and ties with the aid sector would have made for a more original and and provocative piece – but having to share the stage with a parallel plot meant that neither felt nuanced enough.
Urban’s script necessitates rapid shifts between each thread, sometimes abruptly and without context. As the piece reaches its climax, the actors’ switches between characters rise to such a pace that it becomes jarring to watch, little helped by director Jonathan O’Boyle’s choice to use screeching soundscapes and complementary changes in lighting. Ed’s repetition of a phrase concerning a lonely whale, although symptomatic of his character’s mental instability, is so random and out of place in the piece that it’s almost comic.
Whilst the performances from both actors are strong, the abrupt shifts in character and setting require serious concentration and perseverance to follow. Rather than going into meaningful depth for any of the themes, the play is a menagerie that would have done better with a narrower focus.
