★★★★

“this is an exciting and stylishly gritty production that does justice to every single story it tells”

In 1880s London, a flea bites a horse that kicks a man, setting off a chain of events that ripples from the boys of the postal service to Queen Victoria herself. Written by James Fritz and directed by Jay Miller, The Flea is an exploration of the threads that run across London, connecting the poor telegraph boy Charlie Swinscow with his mother, with local bad boy Henry Newlove, with Bertie Prince of Wales, and with a queer aristocratic sex ring that will shock the nation. It is not a period piece but a vibrant, vital play that sparks and seethes; an intoxicating production that probes sensitively at the questions at its heart.

Spanning such vast networks, it is remarkably self-assured. Just five cast members share twelve roles between them, and it is a testament to the extremely talented actors that the doubling works as well as it does. We watch Séamus McLean Ross swing effortlessly from the reserved and somewhat listless Charlie Swinscow to the roaring Bertie Prince of Wales, and Norah Lopez Holden is magnetic as the heartbroken seamstress Emily Swinscow, and as Queen Victoria. The highlight is Connor Finch, who delivers nuanced and moving performances as both the bruised, swaggering post office clerk Henry Newlove, and the aristocratic playboy Arthur Somerset, his life and love crumbling before him.

The set, designed by Naomi Kuyck-Cohen, is an unsettling approximation of a Victorian living room, or perhaps a giant mouth, where all the furniture is of an uncertain size, and the cast must clamber up chairs that hang high on the wall, or squeeze themselves into a tiny chaise lounge. This works well alongside the production’s exploration of scale: as we move through the play, it becomes apparent that just about everybody is under the boot of, or looking for the approval of, a higher power. The costumes, designed by Lambdog1066 (with hair and makeup by Dominique Hamilton), are also excellent, traversing the boundary between the ostensibly historical setting and the uncanny, slightly twisted world we find ourselves in. Combined with atmospheric yet subtle sound and lighting design (Josh Anio Grigg and Jonathan Chan respectively) the staging is very versatile, and apt for exploring the play’s sprawling plot.

At times the ambition is too great. It is a testament to Fritz’s writing that no relationship exists in a vacuum, but keeping up with each character’s complex associations and motivations can grow exhausting. Towards the end, the play grows slightly unwieldy and tonally uncertain, carried away by its own potential for vastness. Particularly an extended scene between Queen Victoria and God Himself, while brilliantly delivered, feels unnecessary and distracting. Instead, the play is at its best when it is probing closer to home, managing to pose some incredibly difficult ethical questions without purporting to offer any simple solutions. Ultimately, this is an exciting and stylishly gritty production that does justice to every single story it tells, all the way from the flea through to Queen Victoria.

OWNERS at the Jermyn Street Theatre

★★★½

“The production is deceptively complex and skilfully carried off.”

“Turning you out? What an old-fashioned idea!” the power-hungry property developer Marion exclaims at one point in Owners. Of course, what the play sets out to prove is that it’s not an old-fashioned idea at all, but a painfully immediate one: both in 1972, when Caryl Churchill first wrote it, and now, in Stella Powell-Jones’ production at the Jermyn Street Theatre.

Owners is concerned with property: with having and being had. Clegg wants a son, wants a butcher’s shop, wants Marion, who wants power, who wants Alec, who wants — maybe nothing at all. As Marion ruthlessly develops her London properties, she sets her sights on the flat where Alec is living with his pregnant wife. She also sets her sights on their unborn child. Owners is a play about the need to possess, but it is also a play about the need to be possessed. As it unfolds, sinews of desire stretch and flex between the cast, as they separate and come together, tangled in ever darker threads.

The production is deceptively complex and skilfully carried off. The set, designed by Cat Fuller, is a stroke of genius, with a panorama of doors pressing claustrophobically in on the little family. Fuller uses the tiny space of the theatre’s stage to her advantage. Throughout the piece, everyone vies for exactly the same tiny patch of hotly contested real estate, as a series of hinges and compartments turn one flat into the next. It also means that, even when one person’s life is carefully hinged away, it is still ‘present’ on-stage. All these lives stack on top of each other in a suffocating palimpsest that is extremely effective.

What is initially identifiable as something almost in the vein of farce, grows mesmerizingly misshapen and grotesque as the play leads us down darker avenues. This is underscored by increasingly sinister interludes of music (Sasha Howe and Max Pappenheim) and lighting (Chuma Emembolu) during scene changes, before the lights come back up and we revert to the brightly lit family moment. The sense of something dark and inarticulate shadowing beneath the mundane works very well, especially as Owners gathers speed and becomes more confident in its own surreal cynicism. By the end, it eschews the comfortable escape-routes that something ultimately closer to farce might provide, and instead embraces a grim cannibalistic quality that makes for some beautiful moments of dialogue. Ryan Donaldson as Alec delivers a stunningly haunting hospital scene, and Laura Doddington is incredible as the bullish, smarting Marion (“be quick, be clean, be top, be best”), and a personal highlight.

While the themes are still strikingly relevant, the production shies away from what could be a more current exploration of them. The choice to maintain the 70s setting so distinctly through music and costume (Agata Odolczyk) is visually very effective, but also serves to buffer the play slightly, making it a more comfortable watch. When Clegg the butcher charges a customer just 20p for a pound of mince, a titter goes up from the audience: this is not our world, really, then, and we can breathe a sigh of relief. In the second act, however, when the grim surrealism is allowed more space to unfold, Owners does begin to bite more. Ultimately, though frustratingly lacking in urgency, this is a well-executed piece that leaves you heading back to your cold flat and your rented room with a pit in your stomach.

THE FLEA at The Yard Theatre

★★★★

“this is an exciting and stylishly gritty production that does justice to every single story it tells”

THE FLEA at The Yard Theatre

Reviewed on 21st October 2023

by Anna Studsgarth

Photography by Marc Brenner

Links to more of our recent reviews:

The Flea

The Flea

OWNERS at the Jermyn Street Theatre

★★★½

“The production is deceptively complex and skilfully carried off.”

OWNERS at the Jermyn Street Theatre

Reviewed on 18th October 2023

by Anna Studsgarth

Photography by Steve Gregson

Previously reviewed at this venue:

Owners

Owners