Dominic Maxwell-Lewis

A stage version of hugely successful film Backbeat is something that writer and director Iain Softley has said he has wanted to do since he made the film back in 1994. It’s easy to understand why, especially when performed so deftly by such a strong cast as this.

The story is of the love triangle between early fifth Beatle Stuart Sutcliffe, his girlfriend, Astrid Kircherr, and John Lennon during the infancy of The Beatles at the Kaiserkeller club in Hamburg. The relationship between Astrid and Stuart puts strains on both the band and Stuart’s friendship with Lennon as The Beatles go from strength to strength.

What is immediately striking about the play is the technicality of the production. The opening scenes of then art student, Stuart Sutcliffe, miming working on a canvas are displayed with projections of paint splashing moodily against the backdrop of the steel-like wall that serves as a cold ‘grim up North’ industrial landscape for the scenes in Liverpool. With many moving stage parts and visual additions it is immediately a very arresting experience but somehow leaves you feeling that the story would dwindle and suffer without its filmic embellishments. This is not to say that they are there to compensate for any lack of dynamism in the ensemble. Andrew Knott’s portrayal of John Lennon has many elements to it.

The bolshy anti-intellectualism of his public demeanour and the softer, more private side of his character are balanced extremely well and there’s a genuine feeling that a person is onstage rather than just part of a character. This extends to the performance scenes where hugely impressive musical abilities are exhibited by all. These scenes capture the early Beatles at a time when they reputedly had the energy of a punk band.

The development of The Beatles’ now internationally famous songs takes a very amusing, though borderline pastiche, line in incidental scenes of songwriting (most notably Paul McCartney sitting on the side of the stage during one scene struggling with lyrics to Please Tease Me which, with the help of a passing John Lennon, is moulded into Please Please Me). It is in moments such as these when a fearfully doe-eyed approach to the imagining of the story becomes noticeable. This is thankfully saved by a shift of focus in the second half, as Sutcliffe’s health declines and the play changes course. The highly enjoyable first half, with its montage-like speed becomes a more resolute affair in the second. This is helped largely by Alex Robertson’s noble portrayal of Stuart Sutcliffe, whose relationship with John Lennon hits more obstacles. The pairing is truly engaging, with a camaraderie that is unbelievably candid and at times quite moving.

The decision to stage the world premiere at the Citizens speaks volumes for its reputation as a theatre that attracts new and exciting writing. Practically speaking, it has the advantage of distancing the play from the nostalgia that it would attract back in Liverpool. I was glad to see that the production did not descend into a trip down memory lane. The ‘softly softly’ approach at the beginning is admittedly quite disconcerting. It is sophisticated in its storytelling and skillful in its performance. A first class production.

Dominic Maxwell-Lewis

The space above the main auditorium of the Tron Theatre is a cosy studio space named the ‘Changing Rooms’, which by virtue of its title suggests an adaptable venue for works that are non-conventional in form or small in stature. The latest offering in this space was Ian MacPherson’s new play ‘Anguish With Posie’; a familiar tale of lost daughter finds neglectful father later in life. This is MacPherson’s first play with another person. He is better known for his one-man shows that have brought some praise at the Edinburgh Festival. He is known by many as a stand-up and his book Deep Probings: The Autobiography of A Genius has gained something of a cult following but has found some difficulty in being published.

Given his previous successes I was intrigued to see this transition. From the entrance of Posie, played by RSAMD student Nicola Daley, there was an uncomfortable sense that the pairing was not matched. MacPherson seemed uncomfortable and much of the initial dialogue jarred, punctuated only by the recurring Spanish tourist music that played at intervals in the flat below to little comic effect. The character of Aengus, a tired, blocked writer in his 50s (played by MacPherson), seemed stunted, and his flustered demeanour seemed a device to cover a general unease on stage.

The implausible plot of lost daughter working as a personal assistant for Aengus before revealing herself at the end (despite being a secret from the audience) was immediately obvious from the beginning and the ‘surprising revelation’ at the end, limp for it. This was not helped by the overwhelmingly melodramatic delivery of the dialogue following Posie’s confession. A particular moment of ‘revelation’ was Posie’s recital of a large segment of text chosen at random from her father’s book. This was unnecessary, and Daley’s delivery of it with fists clenched, fighting to hold back tears seemed out of sync with MacPherson’s nonchalant appearance sitting at his desk on the verge of twiddling his thumbs. The production had been billed as a Tragicomedy but I’m not sure that this was supposed to be the funny part.

After the 60 minutes of performance and the sixty or so frenetic changes in mood and timbre that ran throughout I was left with a sense that I had watched something sped up and slowed down for the duration. It is fair to say that MacPherson has not yet found his feet working with another onstage. In this case it was probably a poor choice to have chosen such a difficult and testing on-stage relationship for his first project.

Telling tales in possibly the most flamboyant way imaginable, Drew Taylor adds incredible flare to his performance as Markus Makavellian at this year’s Glasgay! festival. A mixture of stories, told in flowing metrical dialogue, dip from streams of consciousness to structured word play  to magnificent effect.

His show, International Order, seems to be a retort to the compartmentalisation of lifestyles in a decade dominated by media obsession and emotional objectification. The steps taken towards the event, billed as ‘performance poetry’, were naturally tentative — it seems to be a common mindset that these kinds of things can go either way.
For those who have not experienced performance art of any kind before, it is certainly an unnerving concept. The lack of parameters denote a free form in which all features of a person’s self can be displayed, and unsurprisingly, this kind of environment can lead to self-indulgence of the most tedious kind.

It’s apparent from the outset that Markus Makavellian doesn’t want us to be alienated from him, despite the outlandish, pseudo-military drag outfit. A scatological opening segment makes it clear that we are all human and function in the same way, and from this moment on, audience and performer are equal.

Leading on from this, a combative approach to the issues of love, lust and self-validation throughout Taylor’s life lends itself to the debris surrounding the stage, which seems to be representative of a battlefield. During the trio of monologues entitled “Do you like being the man now?”, muffled sounds of war play over the speakers; pieces which seem to illustrate the significance of ‘the other’ in the life of Drew Taylor.

The vignettes serve as a template for his life, in which he is found to be living vicariously through others and repeating certain routines. This is made clear in the dialogue, whereby times, places and images are used to different effects through the use of repetition — although how closely the persona of Markus Makavellian mirrors that of performer Drew Taylor is somewhat unclear.

The observations in the show are often that of a wide-eyed child, whilst at the same time knowing and cynical. Some of the stories border on a more solipsistic side of Markus, which perhaps is closer to the man himself. A person seemingly ruled by relationships — and bruised as a result of some — is very easy to empathise with, so it is difficult to be critical of a performance made up of so much deeply personal material.

There are funny moments too, and it seemed as though their purpose was to offset the serious tone that seemed to loom when subjects became too weighty. This was particularly apparent at the end of the show when, after a beautiful ode to a loved one, a short comic ditty caps off the evening, which seemed to cheapen the sentiment that preceded it.

Although this approach seemed to lessen the performance for me, to a certain extent it seemed necessary, as some of the audience, beer in hand, had come to laugh — and indeed the observational wit of Markus Makavellian’s world is truly entertaining.

International Order is a thoroughly engaging and at times very moving experience — and makes a terrific addition to the already strong  Glasgay! festival line-up.

A welcome addition to the steady stream of acts rolling through Oran Mor this month was Jonathan Richman. Without any of The Modern Lovers and accompanied on the drums by Tommy O’Reilly, the stage was a simple picture with a modest Oran Mor backdrop and minimal lighting. Jonathan, armed only with an acoustic Spanish guitar and some bells for shaking during the dancing moments it was going to be stripped down to say the least.

With no support act or music playing since the 1hour 20mins from when the doors opened, it was natural that the audience had begun to shuffle and tut with a few roars of impatience as time drew on. But upon arrival to the stage, beaming and resplendent in jeans and a shirt, all the tardiness was forgiven. Opening with “I Was Dancing In The Lesbian Bar” to raucous applause and turning into almost a total singalong, it was clear that the people that wanted to be here tonight really wanted to be here. After a tender and serene “Springtime In New York” the gig began to take the expected turn into a set governed by requests and audience participation. But with such a large discography it would be impossible to put together a set list that would satisfy everyone. As the show went on though, an overwhelming sense of intimacy and exclusivity descended on the room. It was like Jonathan Richman was in your front room, and who wouldn’t love that. The trademark dancing seemed at times to be forced and this was recognised by Jonathan who curtailed the bell-shaking and hip-swinging to avoid the performance plunging into pastiche. However, Jonathan (now 58) has a very strong image to his fans. Of the wide-eyed child who marvels in the beauty of nature and love, but with his witty and knowing observations about modern culture he is a great social commentator also.

Jonathan Richman proved himself to be not only a great performer and entertainer that has not lost an ounce of his charisma or charm but a highly accomplished songwriter that puts a beautiful turn on all of life in the songs he creates. A magical evening that it was a privilege to be in the audience for.

Dominic Maxwell-Lewis

Rona Munro’s fierce adaptation sees the family of Bernarda Alba updated to the gangland of Glasgow’s East End in contemporary Scotland. After the death of her husband, “Bernie Alba” takes it upon herself to safeguard the family’s dubious fortune and the lives of her five daughters through a marriage of convenience set up between her eldest girl and the son of a business rival. What ensued is nothing short of gripping. The domineering presence of formidable matriarch Bernarda Alba is executed marvellously by Siobhan Redmond, whose every word and gesture seems to command absolute authority throughout the play. The daughters, although headstrong and focused, are played with an acute awareness of the individual weaknesses of each in their unfulfilled desire to love. The juxtaposition of instability and strength throughout the course of the production make very engaging viewing, particularly the performance of youngest daughter Adie, played brilliantly by Vanessa Johnson. The dialogue between the rival siblings escalates into a rancorous battle
to expose the weaknesses of each other in their quest for a perceived vitality and quality of life with distant cavalier, Peter Romano. Despite this, at times an inability to make an even transition from passive to aggressive
makes some scenes seem ill-judged or miscalculated. Visually, however, these scenes are set up so well that there is little room for any confusion about the objectives of the actors.

The look of the play is stunning. Meticulous blocking sets the family up as a tableau on expensive looking cream leather sofas and plush carpets. It gives a sense of entrapment for the daughters, within the walls of a compound, hidden from the drama of the outside world but separated from the relationships they crave. The intense repression of sexuality within the four walls seems to bound about the room as conflicts stir from one side of the stage to the other, constantly peering towards the window of the world below. Outside, images of a violent mob attacking gay men as they leave a nightclub and the distant car of Peter Romano are all relayed to the audience as a parallel commentary, detailing the lack of reality within the cocoon of the household.

John Tiffany’s direction at the climax of the play is particularly noticeable with an incredible cohesion that heightens tensions overwhelmingly. The use of humour during the false shooting of Peter Romano unhinges the audience masterfully before delivering the final shocking blow. It is true ensemble work that keeps the production from losing steam with careful shaping of characters that communicates so well why this play is as relevant as ever today. The task of updating this play for a modern audience and getting the same reaction as eighty years ago is no simple feat. The viewer is not detached from the activity on stage as it mirrors successfully the pertinence of familial conflicts on all levels in our own lives. It is a thoroughly exciting production that absorbs you from start to finish.

Photo - Richard Campbell

Bliss + Mud at The Tron is a superb double act, writes Dominic Maxwell-Lewis

The double bill of Bliss and Mud at the Tron theatre showed a pair of sharp, adept performances that challenged the audience to engage their own grasp of sense within human nature.

The first play, Bliss, is a tale of celebrity obsession in contemporary culture, in which three supermarket workers spend their lunch hour recounting the latest news of their favourite singer, Celine. The characters stand facing the audience, each within their own spotlight, basking in the imagery of Celine’s final concert.

The stream of speech is fraught with constant interruptions as the characters battle to narrate the story verbatim, showing a real strength of ensemble amongst the actors with precise execution of the dialogue’s natural rhythm, overlapping and obstructing superbly. The text, translated by Caryl Churchill, benefited tremendously from this style.

As the content of Celine’s recent news turns to her miscarriage in graphic detail, the tempo and excitement of the story remains the same, eerily exposing the lack of distinction between real-life tragedy and banal celebrity worship. This is blended with an unnerving subtlety with the events of one of the employee’s actual life that takes the play into unexpected territory. Bliss is an uncomfortable look at the veneer of others’ lives and the detachment that it creates within our own when its observation substantiates actual existence.

The second part of Andy Arnold’s double bill, Mud is a look at a ‘red-neck’ love triangle where the central woman, Mae, tries to escape the confines of a relationship with her “sort-of-step-brother Lloyd”. The allure of educated Henry seems to be an escape from the asinine existence she has with Lloyd. This transpires to be untrue and the dream of escape becomes stronger.

The performance displays the entrapment of Mae within the farmhouse shack as she battled to better herself and battles the impotent advances of Lloyd. It is both tragic and at times very funny, without too much emphasis being placed on the lumbering idiocy of the characters.

At the heart of the play is essentially a battle of the sexes; Mae represented the struggle against male dominance with an alarming candour that is beguiling to watch.
The pairing of the plays seemed to balance each other very well and certainly left me excited as to what the Tron would be offering in the future.

Photo - Indra Mangule

A pub setting creates great intimacy in The Birthday Party, writes Dominic Maxwell-Lewis

In the wake of Harold Pinter’s recent death there has, unsurprisingly, been a resurgence of his works throughout the country and a respectful hush of admiration at the mention of his name; playwrights and critics the world over adopting a demeanour not dissimilar to Uriah Heap when discussing his works. The recent production of The Birthday Party by the Viventi theatre group at The Butterfly and The Pig pub seemed to be a welcome addition to the steady stream of retrospective performances.

The setting is both a blessing and a curse. The subterranean pub on Bath Street that served as a venue allowed for an intimacy that would have been more difficult to achieve in a conventional theatre space, yet the occasional daytime customers using the pub for its primary function did serve as a distraction and a hindrance to the performance.

The atmosphere of the play was sufficiently claustrophobic, with great care taken to display the wearisome routine within the guesthouse, which is executed with a mechanical precision by Meg, the proprietor’s wife. The staging, put up minutes before the start of the play, gave a real sense of a living area with a kitchen unit snaking round the back of the audience, allowing for characters to travel back and forth through the audience. From the outset this created a tremendous naturalism that gave the play cohesion and a flow that was most impressive.

The introduction of Stanley, the lumbering tenant, is the first moment where Pinter’s trademark feeling of a leering aggression is felt. The fine line between friendly discourse and combative argument was handled very well; an obvious change in dynamic between the two could have ruined much of the play given its reliance on the unsaid and the menace of ‘what if?’ However, the arrival of the two visitors that is central to the play’s denouement seemed unfortunately two-dimensional.

Too much emphasis put on climactic moments of dialogue exposed a reliance on the printed text, and a lack of real interpretation let the performance down. The sophistic attack on Stanley at the end of the play that has an ability to unnerve the audience to an uncomfortable point instead seemed clumsy and sedate. This was a shame, given the care taken to build up this moment throughout the play steadily was apparent and commendable.

The Birthday Party sets out to make one of Pinter’s pet points, that beneath the veneer of a structured and seemingly civilized routine of speech and according behaviour there lurks an untamed character, unwilling to comply. Viventi’s production is clear in its portrayal of the darker parts of social contretemps and, moreoever, is an encouragingly promising inaugural production with impressive performances.

The Birthday Party will be at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, August 24-29, at The Jury’s Inn

Photo - Richard Campbell

Dominic Maxwell-Lewis is disappointed by the Tron’s overambition in Defender of the Faith

Set in a farmhouse on the Irish border against a backdrop of uncompromising republicanism, Defender of The Faith tells the story of a family torn apart by an allegiance to the IRA. The play follows the story of a subsequent search for a police informer within the family that stretches relationships and heightens tensions.

From the outset, Andy Arnold’s production had some good moments, especially between the two brothers in the opening scenes. Here, comedy and domestic brutality seem to be interwoven, each event acting as a springboard for the arrival of the next. However, its success is short lived. With the growing presence of the father, who usurps his power to great effect initially, there came a point where it seemed two plays ran in parallel, a strange parody of Irish stereotypes and a crass polemic on the Northern Irish ‘Troubles’. This is to say that the play lacked cohesion. The formula seemed unbeatable, a classic thriller with a series of stock characters that keep the audience within their comfort zone and a plot with a secret to reveal. An un-daring but strong exercise in realism where relationships are explored and preconceptions are deceived.

However, the simplicity was overlooked and the production set out to try and achieve too many things at once. The grip of paranoia that one hopes would build gradually with a pace growing at a menacing rate instead arrives abruptly three quarters of the way through with a fiercely hammy dialogue between father and son. This scene displays a self-conscious pace (noticeable throughout the play) that prevents the brooding atmosphere that the play boasts in its programme from happening.

This is truly a shame given that in Defender of The Faith’s better moments, which move away from a reliance on stage Irish there is a real lyricism that flows when the Actors relaxed into their characters. The use of coarse country language and primal symbolism gave a nod to the macabre, blackly comic plays of Martin McDonagh, who used the Irish vernacular successfully to portray the fine balance between tension and aggression.

This is where Defender of The Faith’s biggest shortcoming lay; the occasional feeling of tension was created by an outward act of aggression and not a subtlety of dialogue or physicality. This gave the whole production a feeling of heavy-handedness, which restrained the compassion that could have otherwise come through should the range of expression been more controlled and varied.