“skilfully and beautifully performed under Sarah Meadows’ flamboyant direction”
If you keep going North, you will eventually go South. If you keep going West, however, you will never go East. That is a reality. But like many realities, it wasn’t to stand in the way of Annie Londonderry, the first woman to bicycle around the world – albeit mostly by ship. A pioneer, pragmatist, opportunist and somewhat unreliable storyteller, Londonderry had a casual relationship with the truth. This is the thread that runs through “Ride”, the musical by Freya Catrin Smith and Jack Williams. Adopting the format of a pitch in which Annie is trying to sell her story to an offstage panel of senior (and presumably male) newspaper editors, it veers into a more introspective journey of self-reinvention.
Dubiously and rather loftily described as ‘the greatest story ever told’, it was nevertheless declared by the ‘New York World’ in 1895 as the most extraordinary journey ever undertaken by a woman. Annie’s version of events is a fascinating tale, particularly in its time. Beyond the headlines, Londonderry was really Annie Cohen Kopchovsky, a young, Jewish mother of three small children. She abandoned her role of wife and mother to pedal away into history, earning her way through self-promotion, selling photographs and becoming a kind of mobile billboard. The name ‘Londonderry’ came from the first of several corporate sponsors of her journey.
The show touches on the darkness and complexity of Londonderry’s character and motivations, but for the most part follows the ‘triumph over adversity’ narrative. Liv Andrusier, as Annie, bears the bulk of the story. From the off, a commanding and cocksure presence, Andrusier renders a not particularly likeable character loveable. A mixture of self-confident cynicism and self-aware charm, she is captivating throughout, but truly soars when she sings. Andrusier has the presence to carry the show singlehandedly, but her character enlists the aid of Martha, a secretary at the newspaper. A reluctant aid at first, Martha soon gets into the swing of things, shedding her own awkwardness as she adopts the various characters of Londonderry’s story. Katy Ellis manages the role with expert precision, a sharp eye for comedy, and a voice of her own too that gradually steals a greater piece of the action. To the point of temporarily taking over when Annie grinds to a halt under the weight of her own back story. “Why are you so ashamed of who you are?” Martha asks at one point, underlying the hidden agenda that shapes Annie’s fierce motivation.
The motivation, though, is never that clear cut and sometimes the complexity comes across as confusion, and the intricacies of Annie’s identity – her Jewishness and bisexuality – are glossed over. This is a show that relies on its performances, which are undeniably faultless and fascinating. The three-piece band, led by Musical Director Sam Young, adds drive, but the compositions never really change gear. The cycle ride took fifteen months and covered numerous and varied terrains, the ups and downs of which are not fully reflected in the score.
Ninety minutes is admittedly a short time in which to depict an epic chapter in a colourful life. It is skilfully and beautifully performed under Sarah Meadows’ flamboyant direction. That is the reality, but as Annie repeatedly pronounces ‘it’s not about reality; it’s about the story’. The story comes across as an incomplete journey, and we are also left suspecting that the real Annie might have been more interesting than the one she fabricated. At any rate, we are left wanting to know more. Andrusier and Ellis, in tandem, make sure of that. Their presence alone is worth the ride.
ROBIN HOOD: THE LEGEND. RE-WRITTEN at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre
★★
“The performances are uniformly strong, joyful, silly and skilful”
Everyone has their own favourite image of Robin Hood, whether it be Kevin Costner, Jason Connery, Russell Crowe (really?); or the Disney rendition. Or a camp pantomime outlaw in green tights. Carl Grose has taken three of those archetypes and has them gate-crash his alternative – and quite eccentric – version of the legend. The device is an embodiment of the quirky humour that, unlike the sleight of hand archery skills on display, often misses its target.
Part of the problem is that nobody, including Grose, seems to know where the target is. You can’t see the wood for the trees in this overgrown Sherwood Forest where tangled brambles of offbeat ideas lie in wait like thorny catch weed. You don’t need to wade too far in to get lost. Or frustrated enough to want to turn back. Tax collectors in hi vis jackets delight at relieving commoners of their bow fingers. Fingers which, no less, end up in a casket the sheriff keeps hidden away, occasionally lifting the lid to allow the dismembered digits to prophesise to him in squeaky voices. We are in a pretty slaughterous world where scarlet blood puddles and muddles the greenery. Where fact, fiction, myth and legend collide at the whim of an insurgent history teacher on acid.
The opening moments are magical, the scene set by the Balladeer (Nandi Bhebhe; velvet voiced and spellbinding). The landscape is borrowed from Jez Butterworth’s ‘Jerusalem’ as the mystical atmosphere swiftly morphs into a kind of ‘state of the nation’ play. “Who owns England?”, the downtrodden ask. Sheriff Baldwyn (a commanding performance from Alex Mugnaioni) keeps the King in a permanent state of befuddlement by spiking his tea in order to have free reign to be as dastardly as can be. Paul Hunter’s portrayal of the king is a masterclass in comic buffoonery, while still conveying that this hapless monarch knows much more than he is letting on.
Chiara Stephenson’s split-level set crudely separates the two classes, but there is plenty of social mobility. Not least the sheriff’s grog-guzzling wife, Marian (Ellen Robertson – in fine, playful form). We are never quite sure of her motives, but her disdain of, and possibly guilt over, her privilege drives her to extremes of disguise, the likes of which would be far too big a spoiler to reveal here. An ensemble troupe of Merry Men (excuse the Olde Worlde gender reference) create the required mayhem to subvert the established order. Apparently, it all started with a plan to build a new road, putting much of the forest at risk. A rather throwaway shuffle onto the environmentalist bandwagon, but I guess Grose felt the need.
The performances are uniformly strong, joyful, silly and skilful. It must have been a task, but director Melly Still guides the company through the mayhem with a steady hand. For the most part. At interval, the lawns are littered with bemused expressions heading for solace at the bar. It is short lived. The second act gets jaw-droppingly bizarre as we become lost in a sea of abdications, beheadings and resurrections. In the spirit of true farce, some ends are tied up, but no matter how hard we try the disjointed fragments of this production never really meet in our minds. The theatrical trickery has to be admired (Ira Mandela Siobhan is compelling as the conjuring but doomed villain, Gisburne) but the overall journey is unnavigated. Lost in the forest, left to make it up as it goes along.
As the sun sets and a crescent moon hangs above Regent’s Park, we file out into the night wondering if what we have just seen really did come from the same writer who penned “Dead Dog in a Suitcase” and “The Grinning Man”. The tagline in the PR blurb pronounces “Think you know the story of Robin Hood? Think again!”. It promises revelation, but the question remains the same as we leave the theatre.
