Tag Archives: Samuel Wyer

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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Robin Hood

Robin Hood: The Legend. Re-Written

★★

Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

ROBIN HOOD: THE LEGEND. RE-WRITTEN at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre

★★

Robin Hood

“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.

 

Reviewed on 23rd June 2023

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Pamela Raith

 

 

Previously reviewed at this venue:

 

Once On This Island | ★★★★ | May 2023
Legally Blonde | ★★★ | May 2022
Romeo and Juliet | ★★★½ | June 2021

 

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