Tag Archives: Blanche McIntyre

STAGE KISS

★★★★

Hampstead Theatre

STAGE KISS

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“There are twists and turns as we are shuffled between ever growing layers of reality and fantasy”

It was the ancient Chinese philosopher, Chuang Tzu, who first formulated the ‘dreaming argument’, that goes some way to explain the unsettling experience of waking up from a dream and not fully knowing whether we are in reality, or whether we are still in the dream believing we are awake. There are quite a few moments in Sarah Ruhl’s “Stage Kiss” that provoke a similar sensation. Towards the end of her wry and unique take on the ‘play within a play’ concept, we begin to fail to tell the difference. It is a framing device that Rhul handles with skill, in the same way that she can combine making us laugh while we simultaneously question human relationships.

Inspired by her experiences as a playwright in the rehearsal room, “Stage Kiss” is a tribute to the acting profession, reflecting the absurd yet fascinating concept of faking reality for a living. It is also a romantic comedy. Set in an indeterminate present – though before intimacy coordinators became a thing – it focuses on two actors who have been lovers in the past and are now both cast in a play in which they must kiss each other repeatedly. They need to make the kiss convincing but at the same time they must maintain the boundary between their real lives outside the theatre and the emotional lives they are fabricating on stage. The added complication of a previous shared intimacy and heartbreak adds fuel to the already incendiary dilemma. The lines get well and truly blurred in Ruhl’s story of life imitating art imitating life.

Despite the premise; the writing, acting and the direction are all steeped in reality. It takes a particular skill to portray bad writing, bad acting and bad directing convincingly, without coming across as just being bad. Each department here are truly excellent. The first act opens in the audition room for the premiere of the preposterously written fictional play, ‘The Last Kiss’, before moving into the rehearsal room and then finally onto opening night. Blanche McIntyre directs with the sharpest eye on realism, matched by the cast’s unfailing authenticity and naturalism. There is deep affection for the industry that gives licence to satirise it to the hilt. Whether you relate to it as an insider or not, the comedy is perfectly pitched and the characterisation astonishingly accurate. If anybody stands out, it is Myanna Buring, who lights up the stage with her nuanced portrayal of the lead actress (simply referred to as ‘she’) whose foundations are shaken by the arrival of her leading man (the wonderful Patrick Kennedy). Rolf Saxon, as the director, brilliantly encapsulates the misguided and ineffectual earnestness of the fictional ‘luvvie’ world that these characters inhabit. It is sheer joy watching them murder their art, aided and abetted by Oliver Dimsdale’s cuckolded husband, and James Phoon as the out-of-his-depth understudy. Toto Bruin and Jill Winternitz complete the line-up, relishing their bit-part roles and drawing them into the comedy spotlight.

Whilst the humour is preserved in the second act, the tone shifts dramatically. Opening night for ‘The Last Kiss’ is done and dusted, the reviews are terrible and we are now in a shabby apartment. Onstage romance has overlapped into real life. We tread close to farce but, again, the writing and the acting are too fine to cross that boundary. Multi-rolling comes into play as Dimsdale is now the real-life cuckold and Bruin the daughter caught in the crossfire of adult infidelities; while Winternitz doubles as the wronged girlfriend. We are witnessing the aftermath. The real life. But like Tzu’s dream, we have to remind ourselves we are still watching make believe. Saxon returns as the director, with an even more outrageously bad idea for another play. There are twists and turns as we are shuffled between ever growing layers of reality and fantasy, in between which are surprising moments of serious and heartfelt poignancy.

Against the backdrop of Robert Innes Hopkins’ shifting and authentic sets, “Stage Kiss” is disconcertingly clever. It starts with a kiss. But that kiss is just the foreplay to something much more intimate and complicated. And brilliantly funny too. Just like real life I guess, if you’re able to tell it apart. But even if we are led to question it, one thing is for certain. The play within the play received terrible reviews. Ruhl’s play is unquestionably the real thing.



STAGE KISS

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 14th May 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Helen Murray


 

 

 

 

STAGE KISS

STAGE KISS

STAGE KISS

LETTERS FROM MAX

★★★★

Hampstead Theatre

LETTERS FROM MAX

Hampstead Theatre

★★★★

“The pair occupy the stage for two hours but there is rarely a moment that does not busy the mind or heart”

The friendship of Sarah Ruhl and her student Max Ritvo was lyrical, beautiful and tragically – horrendously – short.

Ruhl’s epistolary play, based on letters they shared during his studies at Yale and his final illness, is a labour of love, filled with scintillating disquisitions on ideas, poetry, the meaning of life, and soup.

On the return of his cancer at the age of 20, Max wrote to Sarah, “Maybe we’ll squeeze a great play out of what comes out of this.”

And so it has come to pass.

Playwright Sarah and poet Max also agreed to make a book out of their prolific, often witty, correspondence, a collection on which the play is based. She wanted it organised chronologically, he wanted the material sorted by theme, chronology doing him no favours. Chronology, in fact, being the enemy.

But Max rarely concedes to despair. He is presented as garrulous, enthusiastic, voracious, confident and prone to wild, unembarrassed antics.

As his illness takes more of a grip, he states, “I love the world but it won’t love me back.”

In director Blanche McIntyre’s production, we have two performances that are delicate and calibrated. Sirine Saba, as Sarah, has the more subtle terrain to negotiate. Burdened with melancholy and worry, she is required to mark the slow death of Max’s brilliant mind but all the time rallying him to hope.

Eric Sirakian as Max swoops and hollers, he bounces and shouts his poetry, he racks, tortures and examines every facet of his existence … until he does not and cannot any more. (Max was 25 when he died in 2016.)

The pair occupy the stage for two hours but there is rarely a moment that does not busy the mind or heart. They are hypnotic performances of peculiar intimacy and warmth.

The third presence on the stage is Laura Moody, playing the cello. Such a brilliantly simple but evocative dramatic device with such a versatile instrument – rain, seagull screeches, plinky-plonk call-backs and swooping melodic snippets bring a third voice.

But what about the transparent screen that bisects the traverse stage, hanging like a curtain, insistent and intrusive? Sometimes the pair are one side of it, sometimes they are separated. It is initially awkward and needlessly annoying, but later thematically necessary.

It indicates that dialogue, arising from letters, is not the organic to and fro as presented but chunked and illusory, separated by time and considered thought. It offers the necessary signal of separation, both momentary and, alas, permanently.

When the lighting (Guy Hoare) changes, so does the nature of the screen. It can become a mirror, a barrier, no longer transparent, the reflections adding a mirage-like shimmer to flesh and blood. At one point, Max on one side, Sarah on the other, move their arms. On the screen, their reflections are holding hands.

The play is plainly an act of obligation by the author, a promise delivered. The poem selections sometimes verge on abstraction, risking detachment. And the audience requires a certain fortitude as Max’s decline plays out with tortuous precision.

However, this is as much a play about life and living as it is death and grief. You cannot help but leave the theatre with a renewed obligation to feast on the fleeting opportunities of existence. Starting with a course of cello lessons, perhaps.

 



LETTERS FROM MAX

Hampstead Theatre

Reviewed on 2nd June 2925

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Helen Murray

 


 

 

Last ten shows reviewed at this venue:

HOUSE OF GAMES | ★★★ | May 2025
PERSONAL VALUES | ★★★ | April 2025
APEX PREDATOR | ★★ | March 2025
THE HABITS | ★★★★★ | March 2025
EAST IS SOUTH | ★★★ | February 2025
AN INTERROGATION | ★★★★ | January 2025
KING JAMES | ★★★★ | November 2024
VISIT FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN | ★★ | July 2024
THE DIVINE MRS S | ★★★★ | March 2024
DOUBLE FEATURE | ★★★★ | February 2024

 

LETTERS FROM MAX

LETTERS FROM MAX

LETTERS FROM MAX