Tag Archives: Fly Davis

THE HUMAN BODY

★★★

Donmar Warehouse

THE HUMAN BODY at the Donmar Warehouse

★★★

“this is a play that promises much and fails, ultimately, to deliver”

Lucy Kirkwood’s new play The Human Body is a complex creation, not unlike the human body itself. Michael Longhurst and Ann Yee’s stylish direction makes many pretty pictures of the bodies on stage from this overly length piece. They have assembled a talented cast, lead by Keeley Hawes and Jack Davenport. Cinematic touches, created by onstage videographers, and clever screening of the images, give a touch of glamour to the proceedings. But the overall effect is to remind us that we are not in the cinema, watching a sharp edged black and white movie, but in a theatre, watching a play that is just out of focus.

Set in 1946, the same year that Parliament passed the National Health Service Act, The Human Body is a timely reminder of what an enormous difference free health care made to Second World War exhausted Britain. GP Iris Elcock, (Keeley Hawes) and her disabled war veteran husband Julian (Tom Goodman-Hill) are attempting to rebuild their marriage in much the same way that the rest of the country is attempting to rebuild. Which is to say—they are outwardly supportive of each other as Iris juggles her household responsibilities with her medical practice, and her political ambitions. Presented as an outwardly successful, New Look woman, It’s in the interior spaces of home, her GP practice, and later, a railway carriage, that all Iris’ juggling comes off the rails.

Echoes of the British movie Brief Encounter allows playwright Kirkwood an attempt at some of the glamour and powerful, yet repressed emotions captured so well in director David Lean’s classic. But The Human Body is less about the passionate affair Iris has with actor George as a result of a chance encounter in a railway carriage. It’s more about her boundless ambition to be in Parliament. Kirkwood’s play isn’t even about the passing of the National Health Act, despite the occasional reference to Aneurin Bevan, who spearheaded the passing of the Act. The Human Body is ultimately about Iris—seen from every angle, thanks to the presence of those videographers on stage. We see Iris attempt the impossible. To be a wife, mother, successful career woman, politician, and lover to George. When we see Iris fail to manage all these roles, even her assistance in supporting the passage of the National Health Act, isn’t quite enough to salvage The Human Body. No amount of brilliant acting, stylish direction, and onstage videographic wizardry can overcome a script that fails to give an audience some sense of catharsis.

 

 

Yet Keeley Hawes manages to keep Iris a fully rounded character despite the shortcomings of the script. She is ably supported by fellow actors Jack Davenport and Tom Goodman-Hill. Jack Davenport’s portrayal of George is particularly noteworthy. He manages to reveal George the man with a complex family life, lurking beneath the film actor’s polished charm. Tom Goodman-Hill has the thankless task of portraying Julian, Iris’ resentful husband, but succeeds in making Julian sympathetic nonetheless. He, along with Pearl Mackie and Siobhán Redmond take on a host of other roles as well. Together these seasoned actors bring energy and a sense of ever-changing drama to The Human Body.

Nevertheless, The Human Body cannot decide whether it is a play, or a film. Kirkwood writes the script as though it were a screenplay, but bringing on bits of furniture, endless props, often held by stagehands while the actors use them, simply serve to remind the audience that film can manage all these complicated changes of location simply by saying “Cut!” and moving on. If one tries to change the location in the theatre on stage, it merely looks clunky. In Iris and George’s passionate encounters, the camera is an intrusive third party, no matter how beautiful the images captured on the screen above the actors. What’s happening on stage is a messy distraction, and even good lighting and snatches of Rachmaninov’s lovely music cannot help the actors establish the same intimacy when there’s a camera in the way. There is a profound difference in the ways that theatre achieves its magic on stage, and film on the screen, and The Human Body is a very good lesson in why that is.

It says much for the skills of the actors that the playing time of The Human Body passes as quickly as it does. Fans of Keeley Hawes and Jack Davenport will not be disappointed. But this is a play that promises much and fails, ultimately, to deliver.

 


THE HUMAN BODY at the Donmar Warehouse

Reviewed on 28th February 2024

by Dominica Plummer

Photography by Marc Brenner

 

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

LOVE AND OTHER ACTS OF VIOLENCE | ★★★★ | October 2021

 

THE HUMAN BODY

THE HUMAN BODY<

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The Ocean at the end of the Lane

The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

★★★★★

Noël Coward Theatre

THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE at the Noël Coward Theatre

★★★★★

The Ocean at the end of the Lane

“In short it is simply captivating”

The past doesn’t feel far away. We all have moments when we are convinced of that. That it’s just a short walk away, waiting at the end of the lane for us. Neil Gaiman’s uncharacteristically emotional 2013 novel is a story about the past, about what happens when we try to follow that lane. A voyage of discovery. And of re-discovery. Finding memories that we had chosen to forget and discarding false ones we had held onto. With Gaiman, of course, this path is littered with nightmares, but also with moments of beauty and aching sadness, that are all thrillingly brought to life in Katy Rudd’s stage production, adapted by Joel Horwood.

Nearly every discipline is used to create this masterpiece of theatre. One in which the practical and technical realities of design, light, sound, puppetry, choreography all assemble to concoct an other-worldly realm of the imagination, which draws us right in. Even in a West End, proscenium arched theatre there is no divide between stage and auditorium; between fantasy and reality. The story also blurs the lines between fairy-tale and horror flick, fable and comic strip. In short it is simply captivating. There is nothing else simple about it though.

Revisiting his childhood home, an unnamed man finds himself at an old farmhouse where he used to play and is transported back to his twelve-year-old self. To say that we return to the present at the climax is no spoiler; it is what lies between the bookends that I shall endeavour to keep under wraps, perhaps unnecessarily. I seem to be in the minority by coming to the show for the first time. Four years on from its premiere at the National, followed by a hiatus during the pandemic and then its belated transfer to the Duke of York’s Theatre; the return to the West End marks a repeat viewing for many people. And it is easy to see why.

Trevor Fox begins the narration before he is led back in time, where Fox also plays the dad to his younger self – known simply as Boy (Keir Ogilvy). Along with Boy’s sister – called Sis of course – the family unit is brittle. Are these memories of a happy childhood, or a lonely, miserable one? Is his father a bully or just grieving over the recent death of his mother? Whichever, Boy finds solace by escaping outside whenever possible where he meets Lettie (Millie Hikasa), a girl his own age who takes him back to her family’s farmhouse which borders a pond that Lettie refers to as the ocean. The ensuing adventures are triggered by a mix of personal tragedy and a belief in the make-believe. Cue the wicked stepmother figure, the call to arms, crossing the threshold, the monsters, the road back; pretty much all twelve steps of the ‘Hero’s Journey’. Except there is no ‘one hero’. And there is no one cast member who stands out – such is the brilliance of the performances.

“We are kept on the edge of our seats throughout”

Ogilvy’s ‘Boy’ has an innocent eccentricity offset by Hikasa’s more knowledgeable but equally eccentric Lettie. A gorgeous chemistry is struck between the two, glued together with hope and trust. Meanwhile, back at home, the sibling rivalry is stunningly and comically brought out thanks to the shining performance of Laurie Ogden as Sis. Charlie Brooks, as Ursula the witch-like new girlfriend of Dad, is a frightening presence. Sweet on the outside but barely concealing the bitter hard centre of menace. Kemi-Bo Jacobs and Finty Williams are the young Mrs Hempstock and Old Mrs Hempstock respectively – Lettie’s mother and grandmother. While we wonder whether the characters’ supernatural powers are real or not, there is no questioning the natural power of the performances.

The production could be described as magical realism. The stakes are high, the drama heightened. We are kept on the edge of our seats throughout. Ian Dickinson’s soundscape – with Jherek Bischoff’s high-powered music – is unsettling and thrilling, while Paule Constable’s lighting is just as atmospheric, moody and magical. Doors move, furniture floats in and out, and gnarled woodland flexes and pulses on Fly Davis’ set which is routinely transformed by a sinister ensemble in perfect time to Steven Hoggett’s inspired movement. The childhood fear, that we may have forgotten in adulthood, is scaringly reignited by Samuel Wyer’s puppets (for ‘puppet’ – read ‘monster’).

The finale is strikingly moving, especially having arrived there through the terror’s that are imagined and real. The stuff of nightmares are mirrored in the genuine feelings of grief, bereavement and the need to survive. Home truths are delivered to the heart with piercing accuracy. Memory lane is lined with thorns. Nothing really looks like what it is, and there is no such thing as a true memory. I partly disagree. This production will remain a true memory for a long while. Incredible – in every sense of the word.

 


THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE at the Noël Coward Theatre

Reviewed on 11th October 2023

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Brinkhoff-Moegenburg


 

 

 

Recently reviewed at this venue:

The Great British Bake Off Musical | ★★★ | March 2023

The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

The Ocean At The End Of The Lane

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