That for several centuries Shakespeare was suggested as the author of The Tragedy of Master Arden of Faversham is not surprising. As you watch Mobsy, the lover of the dangerous Lady Alice, lament the trap into which he’s woven himself — “my golden time was when I kept no gold…” — it is impossible not to think of Lady Macbeth and “out, damned spot”.

This early (1592) play is a multi-dimensional, lively effort by a playwright whose identity remain unknown, the Bard having been ruled out by most of the experts. If lacking in the subtle dance of plot, character and humour of Shakespeare’s true works, it is still surprising that this text is not performed more often.

There’s a curious modernity in a plot in which we know the ending — the death of Master Arden — but watch the twist and twirls as the deadly adulterous Lady Alice works towards her objective, thwarted by both the fates and in ineptitude of her servants. I’m not spoiling the “authentic” experience here, for every audience-member of 1592 knew the tale: the first print version of the script billed it as a ” “True Tragedie”, and the tale of the real life Master Arden, who was murdered in 1551, was a familiar one, his fate recorded in the then definitive national history, Holinshead’s Chronicles.

Continue reading

by Jonathan Grant

Whether you enjoy The Globe’s new production of Comedy of Errors will depend very much upon your take on Shakespeare and his works. For the purist, each piece by the Bard should be taken extremely seriously, analysed in great depth and performed with due attention to every detail. For others, each piece should be true to genre — tragic works, tragic and comedies side-splitting. Where you sit in this debate (or stand, as is often the case at the Globe) will depend on how satisfied you feel as you walk away from director Chris Luscombe’s version of Comedy of Errors.

This Renaissance spin on Plautus’s Roman original is a boisterous tale of confusion and identity, set to the backdrop of a trade war between the city states of Syracuse and Ephesus. Full of dramatic irony, the increasingly hectic action is a frenzy of storms, shipwrecks, and creditors chasing debts, as estranged twin brothers (both called Antipholus) and estranged twin servants (both called Dromio) come face to face for the first time since their separation some 20 years hence.
Continue reading

Australia has a population of about 20 million, and it is said that at any one time up to one million of those are overseas. A high percentage will spend at least part of their time abroad as an expatriate in London.

This is a long-term phenomenon. The veteran journalist and writer Murray Sayle has spoken of his experience of coming to London as part of a “mass movement” … a section of the young artistic and professional group making the customary pilgrimage to London … we were looking for something we couldn’t find at home, and we weren’t coming back without it”.*

That’s what most of the characters in the comedy The Vegemite Tales, which has just opened at The Venue in Leicester Square, are doing – seeking something, even if they’re not sure what, in the big, challenging arena of London, far from the comfortable limits of “Home”. (The title, in case you don’t recognise it, comes from the definitive Australian food item, a spread slightly like Marmite, said to be found in every expatriate’s cupboard.)
Continue reading

By Jonathan Grant

Autumn of 1942, Chelinot, France: The Nazi occupiers have been in town for two years and, aside from the occasional Neanderthal henchman overstepping the line, have lived in harmony with the locals whom they govern. But now, as a stranger comes to town, their relative peace is disturbed and they must decide what to do: should they follow orders against their will, stay and resist, or should those that can flee?

A World War II Les Mis, Chelinot, written by Daniel Byrne, is a sensitive and thought-provoking portrayal of life in occupied France, the “Final Solution”, and the psyche of ordinary German soldiers and their puppet gendarmes, who are carrying out orders they don’t necessarily agree with. Fused with the music and lyrics of Michael Cryne, Chelinot doesn’t ever hit the inspirational depths of Cameron Macintosh’s long-running musical, but it does have a catchy signature tune and some cleverly choreographed scenes that pull all the right emotional chords, if not quite hard enough.

Sadly though these moments, the best two mirrored duologues as the townspeople looked for their loved ones, were not frequent enough and thus the performance wasn’t able to sustain an emotional intensity that the subject matter undoubtedly required. Nor was this aided by the acting which, save for the performances of Malene (Nikki Gerrard), Captain Einseitz (Ross Forder), and Schultz (Alistair Gillyatt), was flat and didn’t convey the depths of feeling that Byrne must have intended.
Continue reading

It was a hot and steamy night. The air was thick, the fans were fluttering, useful camouflage as deep and meaningful glances were exchanged beneath flimsy mantillas.

And that was just in the audience, for London last night put on appropriate weather for the opening of the Arcola’s season of plays by Federico Garcia Lorca, marking the 70th anniversary of the death of the would-be poet of the revolution, who was executed by Fascist militia at the start of the Spanish Civil War.

On stage, the emotional temperature was straining the mercury. This is early Lorca, and it feels very much like the effort of a young man – the play’s passionate extravagences are here given full rein with a staging that involves much flinging of arms, much being swept into a loved-one’s arms. There’s a real trap of cliche here – all these “hot-blooded Latins” and sudden outbursts – and it is a trap that Max Key’s production doesn’t even try to avoid.
Continue reading