★★★★

“Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right”

Orwell, Kafka and Beckett walk into a bar. Sounds like the premise for a joke, and indeed there is a perverse layer of humour that runs through Craig Wright’s “The Unseen”, but on the whole it is made up of pretty serious stuff. There are definite shades of the three writers’ influence, who could well have been swapping notes as they downed their drinks. The bar man is a young, interrupting Tarantino who fancies himself as a bit of a dramaturg while pulling pints. Frivolity and comparison aside, though, Wright’s heavy, harrowing, thought-provoking style comes with its own ambition, agenda and raw uniqueness.

We are plunged straight into the action. Even during the pre-show we are involuntary voyeurs, gazing upon Valdez (Waj Ali) and Wallace (Richard Harrington) in their solitary prison cells. Wallace is asleep while Valdez nervously looks around him, twitching at the sight of invisible ghosts. We see the whites of his eyes as they roll upwards in fear, dejection and confusion. Simon Kenny’s brutally realistic set encases both protagonists in their own worlds. Their own cells, and thoughts. Without making eye contact they communicate, passing the time playing memory games to keep madness at bay. They are grieving for their lost freedom, exacerbated by the fact that neither one (nor us) knows why they have been incarcerated.

Fear and paranoia continually wrestle with hope and optimism. The former invariably gaining the upper hand. A distinctly wordy play, both actors maintain an extraordinary command of the dialogue. Harrington’s Wallace is the more restrained and resigned elder captive. A slave to routine after eleven years, he is just about managing to keep control of his own mind. Waj Ali, as the younger Valdez, is a relative newcomer. Just three years into his stretch he is on rockier ground, conjuring up a hallucinatory woman in the next cell who has promised to help him escape. But both know their only escape from this world is death. Both actors exercise an extraordinary attention to detail that accentuates their personality traits; long buried under institutionalisation.

Into this world bursts Smash, the prison guard whose impossibly complex and damaged character is breathlessly brought to life by Ross Tomlinson. As much a prisoner as the two captives, he lashes out with murderous intent in a vain attempt to kill the oppressive empathy he feels. Both torturer and tortured, we can’t help but wonder how Tomlinson unwinds after each performance. It is a savage hour and a half, and undoubtedly polemic. Director Iya Patarkatsishvili describes it as “more than just a story; it is a call to action”. And for that reason, it deserves to be seen far beyond the smaller space of Riverside Studios. The macabre gallery we walk through on our way into the auditorium bears witness to the reality that is more disturbing than the fiction. The play’s anonymous setting is betrayed by the caged headshots of Russians who have taken a stand against Putin’s regime and found themselves imprisoned as a result.

Against this backdrop, Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right. Short enough to hit us with a whiplash force, the grotesque humour pricks up our ears to the message that sinks in as insidiously as Orwell’s infamous ‘newspeak’. Not for the faint hearted, its own heart is ferociously strong. Mike Walker’s palpitating sound design sends literal alarm bells. This is happening every day. The finely nuanced and authentic performances are integral to our understanding of ‘The Unseen’ characters. They need to be seen, just as their factual counterparts do. “The Unseen”, in short, is a must see.

FRENCH TOAST at Riverside Studios

★★★★

“It mocks pretty much everything about the industry, but it is also a heartfelt love letter to the theatre”

The French actor, director and writer, Jean Poiret, is best known for his 1973 “La Cage aux Folles”. He is perhaps less well known as a theatre and film actor before, making some forty motion pictures over three decades. You have to dig deep into his biography to come across the 1979 comedy. “Féfé de Broadway”. Writer Sam Alexander has obviously done so, and we can only thank him for that. His adaptation, that follows the backstage shenanigans of an ill-conceived musical, is a wonderfully light-hearted, eccentric and witty hour-and-a-half of escapism – now titled “French Toast”. There are going to be obvious comparisons to Michael Frayn’s “Noises Off” which was conceived around the same time this side of the English Channel. There are contrasts too. Alexander’s take on Poiret’s story (co-adapted with director Marianne Badrichani) draws a lot from the culture clash between the French ‘glamour’ and the British ‘eccentricity’. “French Toast” is indeed guilty of cramming itself full of stereotypes and caricatures, but the audience are willing victims of the crime.

Set in 1977, it focuses on French diva, Jacqueline Brémont (Edith Vernes). Rich and successful in her native Paris, she has decided to branch out and conquer London’s West End but instead lands up in Basingstoke. Old flame Simon Monk (Ché Walker) is directing an ill-fated musical adaptation of Jean Racine’s ‘Phèdre’. He has no intention of casting Jacqueline in the lead role – she can’t sing and dance to save her life. But money talks. Without her there’s no investment. What ensues is a farcical entanglement of egos during a hilarious stop-start rehearsal process. Clichés are pulled out of the hat like a manic conjuror on speed, but so are many moments of wit, humour, quirkiness and sharp comic observation that bring a huge smile to our faces. It mocks pretty much everything about the industry, but it is also a heartfelt love letter to the theatre.

You need to be exceptionally good to convince at being a bad actor. And this company have the collective talent to ham it up to the histrionic hilt. Ché Walker brilliantly encompasses the authoritarian director who has suddenly lost all control. The show is being cast behind his back. Walker’s stunned expression on day one of rehearsals is an image that will imprint itself on the mind for a long time. But to shake things up a bit, Simon Monk enrols punk musician Nicky Butler. Monk thinks of himself as a bit of a ‘right-on’ radical. Reece Richardson gives a star turn as the bewildered muso caught up in a thespian nightmare. Love interest comes via Suzy Kohane’s stylish yet earnestly ‘New Age’ Kate Freeman. Kohane’s is a standout performance, particularly when she sidesteps Paul Hegarty’s vividly accurate, camp yet lecherous Etienne Grémine. We are reminded that the seventies were ‘different times, darling!’ but a modern sensitivity is layered onto the narrative without detracting from the authentically period setting.

There is some doubling up of the roles. Josie Benson shines as budding actress Faye Rose but also a delicious Madame Bouffard, the diva’s dour dresser. The whole company is having so much fun, and Edith Vernes is no exception as the central figure Jacqueline. Despite a slightly clunky opening few moments, the show swiftly warms up. Touches of Alan Bennett’s ‘Habeas Corpus’ take the style dangerously close to farce, as trousers start to go missing, but other influences pull it back. The mayhem of ‘The Young Ones’ is visible through rays of ‘Morecambe and Wise’. Tara Young’s choreography is spot on with her playful nods to Fosse while Sammy Dowson’s costumes let us know exactly which year, if not month, of the seventies we are in.

Crucial to the piece is Leo Elso’s music. The lush escapism of disco locks horns with the raw energy of punk. Like the text, it parodies and cherishes at the same time with an authenticity that pinpoints the era in which The Village People and Abba could share the world’s stage with The Clash and The Sex Pistols. The culture shocks resonate throughout, up until the upbeat finale in which virtuosity and humour make a perfect marriage.

The play is peopled by people from different backgrounds, yet the comedy of misunderstandings ultimately leads to unexpected reconciliations and a feelgood factor that tips the scales. Like it’s culinary counterpart, “French Toast” is crisp on the outside but fluffy and tender on the inside. At times a little bit eggy, but delicious. A toast can definitely be raised – in French or in English.

THE UNSEEN at the Riverside Studios

★★★★

“Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right”

THE UNSEEN at the Riverside Studios

Reviewed on 25th November 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Manuel Harlan

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE UNSEEN

THE UNSEEN

FRENCH TOAST at Riverside Studios

★★★★

“It mocks pretty much everything about the industry, but it is also a heartfelt love letter to the theatre”