“Relevant, gripping, foreboding and ultimately touching.”
“The Lehman Trilogy”, spanning over 150 years, is ostensibly an epic drama; an intricate portrayal of a dynasty following fortune and misfortune. Yet it is so much more. The sum of its parts adds up to one of the most extraordinary theatrical experiences. On paper, it is hard to see why. It is nearly three and a half hours long and it charts, in considerable detail, the rocky road of global capitalism, focusing of course on the Lehman brothers. Much of the narrative is unseen, exposed only through the spoken word. But a lecture it most certainly isn’t. A lesson, yes! Stefano Massini’s three act play (adapted by Ben Power) is a fable, parable, an allegory. It is poetry. A magical music box of stagecraft, where style and emotion meet in perfect harmony. A strikingly evocative human tale. And above all, a masterclass in acting.
It all begins on September 11th, 1844. Henry Lehman (Nigel Lindsay), the son of a Jewish merchant, emigrates to America from Bavaria, settling in Alabama; followed by his two brothers – Emanuel (Michael Balogun) and Mayer (Hadley Fraser) – a few years later. We warm to them immediately as they triumph over adversity. We are lulled into the humanity and gentleness with which they fairly rapidly achieve wealth, forgetting momentarily that what follows is a harsh cross-examination of the American Dream. Initially relying on slavery, the Lehmans soon learn to reap profit from disaster (other peoples’). The portents are planted. Yet the family firm survives for a century and a half, weathering the crash of 1929, but finally being swept under by the financial crisis of 2008.
In three acts, Sam Mendes’ production does not flag for one second. And even in its most blatant moments of exposition we are still gripped. Highly stylised, the narrative comes full circle, framed within Es Devlin’s rotating glass and metal set – softened by the symbolism of towering and cascading cardboard boxes. Luke Halls’ mostly monochrome video projections provide a shifting, panoramic backdrop – at key moments bursting into flames of colour and breath-taking movement. Nick Powell’s music underscores throughout, played live by pianist Yshani Perinpanayagam. A cycle of musical phrases and variations, sublime and subliminal, responding to every moment like a lover’s breath. At times restless, playful; sometimes achingly abandoned. All bookended with the evocative Jewish lullaby, ‘Rozhinkes Mit Mandlen’.
But the essence of the piece shines through the finesse and virtuosity of the trio of actors. Lindsay opens as the pioneering spirit Henry, followed by Balogun’s Emanuel and Fraser’s Mayer. Each of them singularly extraordinary and collectively unforgettable. As the timeline stretches, they switch genders to portray multiple characters, while seamlessly shifting down through the generations, morphing into the brothers’ descendants with astonishing versatility. In true tragedian style, the ending is inevitable and as it approaches the pace becomes more frantic – folding in on itself, racing against itself and racing ahead of itself. The events depicted are complex and ethically dubious. “I didn’t try to win… I decided to win”. A mantra that epitomises the Lehman’s strategies that left nothing to chance. The real winner, however, in this saga is the audience.
“The Lehman Trilogy” is a multi-layered extravaganza. Relevant, gripping, foreboding and ultimately touching. Never has capitalism been dressed up in such an alluring metaphor. We are almost seduced. But we are definitely seduced by the quality of the performances. An unmissable triumph that reminds us of theatre’s raison d’être.
“This is true ensemble playing, where no one actor is the lead, but where each actor plays every part as though it were a starring role”
There are many illusions at work in the wonderful Art Of Illusion by Alexis Michalik, and you will enjoy watching this tale of magic tricks unfold. Waleed Akhtar’s lively translation of the French original, together with brilliant ensemble work by the actors under the direction of Tom Jackson Greaves, means the playing time of one hundred minutes flies by. It helps, too, that the production is staged in the more intimate Hampstead Theatre downstairs. It’s a space ideally suited for a play that has to be seen in close up by the audience, to succeed. The flexibility of the space allows a cast of characters from different times and places to constantly change right in front of your eyes — a sort of magic all by itself. And oh yes — let’s not forget the sounds of high stakes soccer matches that are a constant background to the action. On more than one occasion, it’s soccer that literally saves the day for our intrepid magicians in this play.
Soccer and magic tricks? What kind of a story is Michalik telling in The Art Of Illusion? We begin by thinking it’s an unlikely love story between a lover of mathematics who has come to believe in fate, and a petty thief who has stolen her bag. When December decides, on a whim, to return the stolen bag to April (yes, those really are their names) an extraordinary story unfolds. A Watchmaker is presiding over a tale that goes back several hundred years and connects seemingly unconnected people. What starts as a random encounter between two people turns out to be anything but. And as part of the magic of The Art of Illusion, this is also a story about how magic morphs into the tricks of early film making. We get to see how one Georges Méliès uses his knowledge of stage magic to produce film magic. And that’s just one intriguing tale told by this medley of extraordinary characters who begin as traveling conjurers and mutate into inventors of film. The biggest trick of all is watching how Michalik weaves his stories of 1776, 1828, 1871,1984 and 2000 together. Watching The Art Of Illusion is to marvel at the way in which the dramatist, as conjuror of time, mixes and matches all these different periods together while still moving the action forward. It’s ultimately all a gigantic act of illusion, starting with the magic tricks the actors perform to get the audience warmed up, to the way in which they transform from character to character. These character changes, often across gender and time periods, embody the same kind of effortless legerdemain in the acting, as the playwright manifests in his script.
There’s a lot, dramaturgically speaking, packed into The Art Of Illusion. The whole thing succeeds because every part of this production has been so carefully crafted, and fits together so well. Jackson Greaves has done sterling work in the direction and staging of this clever and engaging script, ably assisted by designer Simon Kenny. Matt Haskins and Yvonne Gilbert do great work with the lighting and sound, and there’s an “Illusion Consultant” (Ben Hart) on hand to assist with getting the magic tricks right. But the lion’s share of praise should go to the actors. Rina Fatania, Bettrys Jones, Martin Hyder, Norah Lopez Holden, Brian Martin and Kwaku Mills keep up a relentless pace, yet each character they portray is so clearly defined. This is true ensemble playing, where no one actor is the lead, but where each actor plays every part as though it were a starring role. The closest anyone comes to stealing a scene is probably Rina Fatania, whose portrayal of a mouthy fifteen year old video game player, is a great conclusion to the dazzling tapestry of characters in this play.
The Art Of Illusion is playing now at the Hampstead Theatre Downstairs until January 28th. Don’t miss it.
