Well the East holidays went by in the blink of an eye, although it didn’t feel like that when I was in the middle of them. There was time with the ever enchanting and wonderful Mia, but also broken down car, trying to squeeze in all the things I need to do to produce – and direct – my play, into all the moments (like the odd hour) when I wasn’t looking after Mia. And as ever, there was theatre, from the sublime to the ridiculous. Literally.
I saw the the Southwick Players production of the Beauty Queen of Leenane at Southwick, which was absolute class. Stunning production in every sense. I couldn’t stop thinking about it afterwards: the story, the performances, the reflections on life. I mean who doesn’t love Martin McDonagh of course, he has a unique style: immersing you in the story as if you’re engulfed in a wave. It’s like standing in front of a Rothko painting the way Rothko intended, so that all you see is the painting. Like jumping into their world. Which is full of obfuscations so that you are always surprised, on the roller coaster of the journey, taking each moment by moment of sometimes bliss, sometimes humour, and sometimes madness or sadness. Stunning.
Then I saw, two days ago, Murder on the Orient Express at the Theatre Royal. As a huge Agatha Christie fan I was predisposed to like it: it’s a classic, it’s Poirot, it’s fascinating. But I – and I lot of the public, I heard as I was leaving (I always like to listen to the audience, it helps my perspective, for example, what am I thinking of the play compared to everyone else) – were left with a “oh. That was pretty good. I mean yeh, the set! Wow! The set was fantastic! But the whole thing – yeh, it was OK.”
I don’t ever EVER want to be involved in a piece of theatre where the public leave and say “hmm. Yeh, that was OK.” It would stab me in the heart, as a director, producer, writer or actor. You want your audience to feel something, even if they don’t like it, that’s them feeling something. But a shoulder shrug and ambivalence? Oh no.
And of course the set was fantastic. But the set should hold the play, not BE the play. You shouldn’t have a segment where the train is just spinning on a revolve in the stage showing all sides of the train compartments and ooh! Look! He’s rolling up a window blind. So? Do you know how long the book is? You’ve adapted this play from a novel, you’ve already had to cut out truck loads which might affect people’s understanding and you’re just showing us the train? For ages?
I know other reviewers have loved it, and I know it’s easy to get caught up in the wonder of being shown something that despite being in the theatre all the time, you’ve never seen before, and it’s new and exciting. Of course it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s groundbreaking theatre. And when you get an actor sinking to a chair doing the worst sob noises I’ve ever heard as if they are in a movie melodrama from the 1920s or 30s, almost with a hand to the forehead and wistful gasp – not only one actor, but two – then I want to blow raspberries at the stage, despite some really fine performances from some of the other actors. It’s the widest spectrum of actor capability I’ve ever seen in one single professional production actually, from really amazing to really awful. It’s so sad, I really wanted to love it.
Here is us at the beginning of the show. You can tell it’s the beginning. We are smiling and hopeful. Sigh. I did love Poirot though – so lovely to see his work as I’ve been watching him in various things for years and years – including in one of my favourite all time films: Truly Madly Deeply. Poirot was impassioned and great.
But we’re all different though, right? And mine is just one opinion.
