Tag Archives: Manuel Harlan

ARCADIA

★★★★★

Old Vic

ARCADIA

Old Vic

★★★★★

“extremely intelligent, stimulating, challenging and fun”

It is rare in the theatre when the question about why jam cannot be ‘unstirred’ from a bowl of rice pudding sets our thoughts on a mind-boggling tangent about the universe. But it epitomises the skill and the beauty of the writing in Tom Stoppard’s “Arcadia”. It is the ‘ordinary-sized stuff which is in our lives, the things people write about – clouds, daffodils, waterfalls, what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in – these things are full of mystery’. Carrie Cracknell’s revival of the 1993 stage play is, indeed, full of mystery. Like a detective story with an abundance of clues that, once in the hands of the protagonists, don’t really lead to the solution they are looking for. Mainly because there is always a counter argument.

The age-old conflicts between science and art, intellect and romance, certainty and poetry, truth and fiction, are explored with beautiful eloquence. Stoppard picks away at our own beliefs, and by setting the play in two parallel eras (the early nineteenth and the late twentieth centuries) he picks away at the fabric of time itself. Many of the issues soar way over our heads as dollops of theories are added to the metaphoric rice pudding. Postulations of quantum mechanics, entropy, chaos theory and Newtonianism, for example, rub shoulders with bawdy humour and ‘carnal embraces’ (aka sex). The subject matter collides like tiny atoms, but far from being chaotic the result is a glorious three hours of theatrical bliss. And a gorgeous tribute to the playwright who died barely ten weeks ago.

The outstanding cast goes a long way in ensuring the watchability of the drama. The play opens in 1809 with the precocious and privileged Thomasina Coverly (Isis Hainsworth) in a light-hearted but deep conversation with her tutor Septimus Hodge (Seamus Dillane). The quality of the performances is established from the outset – both playful and serious at the same time. The dynamics are flirtatious, a touch dubious but somehow chaste. Dillane wears a guilty conscience like a made-to-measure second skin while Hainsworth faultlessly displays a mix of playful childishness, genius and sassiness. In storms the bumbling, wannabe poet Ezra Chater (Matthew Steer on brilliant form) challenging Septimius to a duel in the belief that he is carrying on with his wife (he is). He is also ‘carrying on’ with Thomasina’s mother – we are led to believe. Oh, what a tangled web we weave… Fiona Button wonderfully displays coquettishness and playful attraction despite ruling the manor – and her daughter – with an iron fist.

Cut to 1993 and we are in the same location. The ghosts of the historical characters are hanging in the air as academic Hannah Jarvis (Leila Farzad) is locked in debate with Bernard Nightingale (Prasanna Puwanarajah) over what happened nearly two centuries ago in the very same room. Puwanarajah has some of the best monologues of the play as he charismatically extrapolates his theories; often proved wrong by Farzad’s cool Hannah. Links to the past are provided by the present-day Chloë Coverly (Holly Godliman) and her brother Valentine (Angus Cooper) who seems to be wrestling with the scientific predictions of his forebear Thomasina, but with considerably less ease.

Alex Eales’ design places the action in the round on a slowly moving revolve which mirrors the passage of time – perceptible but simultaneously unnoticed. In this way, the connections between the two time periods are highlighted, aided by Cracknell’s slick, overlapping transitions from one to the other which eventually fuse into a searingly poignant final act as the two merge together in a dreamy waltz. What is revealed ultimately is that, despite the breakthroughs of science, and despite the changing philosophies and beliefs over time; human connection never alters. There is much talk of loss in the dialogue. The loss of belief, of meaning and also of the material artefacts that define us – the books and the architecture of life. What do we look for then?

Yes, “Arcadia” is like a detective story with an abundance of clues that, once in the hands of the protagonists, don’t really lead to the solution they are looking for. Perhaps because what they are really looking for is love. Stoppard dresses it all up in a very wordy but extremely intelligent, stimulating, challenging and fun play. His spirit lives on and, with productions of his work like this one, we can be sure of its longevity.



ARCADIA

Old Vic

Reviewed on 6th February 2026

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Manuel Harlan


 

 

 

 

ARCADIA

ARCADIA

ARCADIA

SUNNY AFTERNOON

★★★½

UK Tour

SUNNY AFTERNOON

Theatre Royal Brighton

★★★½

“an engaging, if qualified, portrait of a band that never found harmony easily, onstage or off”

Sunny Afternoon tells the story of The Kinks largely on Ray Davies’s terms. With an original story by Davies, whose back catalogue provides the music and lyrics, and a book by Joe Penhall, the musical places Ray firmly at its centre. Other members of the original line-up are present, sometimes vividly so, but this is unmistakably Ray’s version of events, and that perspective shapes both the strengths and limitations of the show.

As with many subject-shaped biographical musicals, darker truths are smoothed over. Ray’s struggles with alcohol are mostly absent, while the band’s volatility is reduced to clashes between Dave and Pete. Ray appears the sensible, buttoned-up genius, Dave the reckless foil, simplifying a far messier reality and veering into myth-making.

Danny Horn plays Ray Davies as an introspective, guarded figure, a musical obsessive whose inwardness is most fully explored through his relationship with Rasa, played with warmth by Lisa Wright. By contrast, the rest of the band are drawn more broadly. Oliver Hoare’s Dave Davies is louche, volatile and impulsive, embodying the excesses of a sex, drugs and rock and roll lifestyle. Harry Curley brings a steady presence to Pete Quaife, though the character remains lightly sketched. Zakarie Stokes’ Mick Avory barely registers in the first act, and his extended drum solo at the start of Act Two feels more like compensation than character development.

Edward Hall’s direction is strongest when focusing on the band’s formation and search for a distinctive sound within the emerging 1960s music scene. The opening contrast between a tuxedoed, doo-be-dooing crooner and the raw energy of The Ravens (their early incarnation) is knowingly artificial but theatrically effective, clearly signalling the shift from the 1950s into the Swinging Sixties.

The narrative moves from the breakthrough of You Really Got Me through mounting domestic pressures for Ray and Rasa to the ill-fated US tour that led to a four-year ban. Back in Britain, Ray confronts depression and legal battles, while also mounting a determined creative resurgence.

The music is integrated in two ways: some songs operate in a musical theatre mode, articulating emotion or narrative shifts, including Dedicated Follower of Fashion as the band get their makeover and Rasa’s aching I Go to Sleep as she struggles alone with a newborn while Ray tours. Elsewhere, songs emerge through writing, rehearsing and recording, with the slow assembly of Waterloo Sunset carrying real anticipation.

There is an emphasis on the tension between creativity and commerce. The system itself becomes the antagonist, embodied by Grenville Collins and Robert Wace, played with affable ineptitude by Tam Williams and Joseph Richardson, and Larry Page (Alasdair Craig), forever doing his best as the grasping intermediary. Eddie Kassner, given a harder edge by Ben Caplan, emerges as the closest thing to a villain, emphasising how the band’s artistic ambition was constantly challenged by financial exploitation. The Moneygoround lands especially well here, naming names and exposing the machinery behind the scenes.

Miriam Buether’s striking three-sided wooden set, stacked with speakers, adapts fluidly to studios, homes and stages, with stars and stripes unfurled during the US tour. Costumes chart the band’s evolution from matching suits to greater individuality. The cast play their own instruments, supported by a small onstage band, lending credibility to the performance scenes.

The second act does run long. The drum solo and a cluster of melancholic moments between Ray and Rasa extend emotional beats that have already landed. As a jukebox musical, Sunny Afternoon occasionally struggles to reconcile musical theatre convention with the sharper edge of The Kinks’ songwriting.

Still, there is real pleasure here. Ray Davies wrote some extraordinary songs, witty, observant and socially alert, even if the show only partially explores that sharpness. Uneven and occasionally self-mythologising, Sunny Afternoon remains an engaging, if qualified, portrait of a band that never found harmony easily, onstage or off.



SUNNY AFTERNOON

Theatre Royal Brighton then UK Tour continues

Reviewed on 17th December 2025

by Ellen Cheshire

Photography by Manuel Harlan

 

 

 

 

SUNNY AFTERNOON

SUNNY AFTERNOON

SUNNY AFTERNOON