“Silent, subtle and subliminal humour give way to laugh out loud moments, while still maintaining the gentle rhythms of Guy Unsworth’s immaculately paced staging”
Samuel Beckett once advised the leading actors in “Waiting for Godot” to think of Vladimir and Estragon as two batsmen padded up, waiting to take their turn on the cricket pitch. Perhaps that’s not too surprising. Beckett was a cricket devotee and quite a first-class player. Sharing his love of the game was Harold Pinter, who once described cricket as “the greatest thing that God created on earth”. An absurd claim, many will no doubt consider, but the ‘absurdist’ tag has stuck to Pinter, and to Beckett, since the early 1960s.
Cricket wasn’t the only thing that Beckett and Pinter had in common, yet it is the main focus of Shomit Dutta’s new drama, “Stumped”. Originally streamed live from Lord’s Cricket Ground last September, it now has another innings at Hampstead Theatre. The play envisages the two writers turning up together at a cricket match in Oxfordshire and agonising about their turn to bat for the team. It draws on their friendship, their friendly rivalry but also very cleverly moulds the real-life personalities into characters that could have walked straight out of one of their own creations.
The couple spend most of their time waiting. An alternative title could indeed be “Waiting to Bat”, or even just “Wait” – a phrase often shouted to the unseen batsmen out in the field. At one point Beckett even asks ‘what now?’, to which Pinter replies ‘we wait!’. Dutta has pitched the minimalist absurdism quite perfectly, and the two actors pick up on the fine detail with beautifully nuanced and understated performances. Stephen Tompkinson is Beckett, thoughtful and slightly ethereal with a bit of a bite. Andrew Lancel’s Pinter is a touch more grounded, yet cautiously anxious about the ‘No Man’s Land’ they find themselves in. After the match is over, they are promised a lift back to London by a fellow cricketer called ‘Doggo’. Of course, they then spend a fair bit of time waiting for Doggo.
It doesn’t give anything away to reveal that Doggo never materialises, so Beckett and Pinter navigate their own way to a deserted railway station. Where they wait again. As time progresses the absurdity expands to fill the pauses, and so does our enjoyment of the piece. Silent, subtle and subliminal humour give way to laugh out loud moments, while still maintaining the gentle rhythms of Guy Unsworth’s immaculately paced staging. The chemistry between Tompkinson and Lancel is unmistakable. Theirs is a friendship that mixes conflict with harmony, rivalry with unity, attack with defence. We feel the affection despite it being partially buried beneath sharp irony.
There are moments where we wonder where it is all leading. They are fleeting moments. Beckett and Pinter, resigned to the fact that no train is coming to take them home, suggest just following the rail tracks. “Where to?” asks Pinter. “Wherever it leads” is Beckett’s typically sardonic response. This throwaway gem encapsulates it all: the style and the personalities. And we, the audience, are more than content to follow them – no matter where they are going. Even if it is nowhere.
In fitting fashion, it is all metaphor. One doesn’t need to share the same passion for cricket at all. Dutta does, having known Harold Pinter through the Gaities (a wandering cricket club for which Pinter was captain, and later chairman). Yes, the play is a tribute to the game, but more so it is a genuine tribute to the playwrights, and to their writing. Dutta has hit a six with this.
“Relevant, gripping, foreboding and ultimately touching.”
“The Lehman Trilogy”, spanning over 150 years, is ostensibly an epic drama; an intricate portrayal of a dynasty following fortune and misfortune. Yet it is so much more. The sum of its parts adds up to one of the most extraordinary theatrical experiences. On paper, it is hard to see why. It is nearly three and a half hours long and it charts, in considerable detail, the rocky road of global capitalism, focusing of course on the Lehman brothers. Much of the narrative is unseen, exposed only through the spoken word. But a lecture it most certainly isn’t. A lesson, yes! Stefano Massini’s three act play (adapted by Ben Power) is a fable, parable, an allegory. It is poetry. A magical music box of stagecraft, where style and emotion meet in perfect harmony. A strikingly evocative human tale. And above all, a masterclass in acting.
It all begins on September 11th, 1844. Henry Lehman (Nigel Lindsay), the son of a Jewish merchant, emigrates to America from Bavaria, settling in Alabama; followed by his two brothers – Emanuel (Michael Balogun) and Mayer (Hadley Fraser) – a few years later. We warm to them immediately as they triumph over adversity. We are lulled into the humanity and gentleness with which they fairly rapidly achieve wealth, forgetting momentarily that what follows is a harsh cross-examination of the American Dream. Initially relying on slavery, the Lehmans soon learn to reap profit from disaster (other peoples’). The portents are planted. Yet the family firm survives for a century and a half, weathering the crash of 1929, but finally being swept under by the financial crisis of 2008.
In three acts, Sam Mendes’ production does not flag for one second. And even in its most blatant moments of exposition we are still gripped. Highly stylised, the narrative comes full circle, framed within Es Devlin’s rotating glass and metal set – softened by the symbolism of towering and cascading cardboard boxes. Luke Halls’ mostly monochrome video projections provide a shifting, panoramic backdrop – at key moments bursting into flames of colour and breath-taking movement. Nick Powell’s music underscores throughout, played live by pianist Yshani Perinpanayagam. A cycle of musical phrases and variations, sublime and subliminal, responding to every moment like a lover’s breath. At times restless, playful; sometimes achingly abandoned. All bookended with the evocative Jewish lullaby, ‘Rozhinkes Mit Mandlen’.
But the essence of the piece shines through the finesse and virtuosity of the trio of actors. Lindsay opens as the pioneering spirit Henry, followed by Balogun’s Emanuel and Fraser’s Mayer. Each of them singularly extraordinary and collectively unforgettable. As the timeline stretches, they switch genders to portray multiple characters, while seamlessly shifting down through the generations, morphing into the brothers’ descendants with astonishing versatility. In true tragedian style, the ending is inevitable and as it approaches the pace becomes more frantic – folding in on itself, racing against itself and racing ahead of itself. The events depicted are complex and ethically dubious. “I didn’t try to win… I decided to win”. A mantra that epitomises the Lehman’s strategies that left nothing to chance. The real winner, however, in this saga is the audience.
“The Lehman Trilogy” is a multi-layered extravaganza. Relevant, gripping, foreboding and ultimately touching. Never has capitalism been dressed up in such an alluring metaphor. We are almost seduced. But we are definitely seduced by the quality of the performances. An unmissable triumph that reminds us of theatre’s raison d’être.
