WATCHED - Heddar Gabler

Hedda Gabler by Ibsen by the late 20th century had become one of theatres standard plays. Unlike many of its contemporaries, it centres around the life of a female character in fin de siecle Norway. A woman trapped in a world devised and maintained for the benefit of men. In the midst of which Hedda trys amd fails to obtain agency over her life. 

Hedda Gabler (Ruth Wilson) has a past, of being a much pursued 'catch'. She cleverly plays the field, with a succession of flawed or devious men, whilst avoiding committing to any of them. Hedda, comes from aristocratic stock, and would be high maintenance for anyone who finally marries her. For if she must eventually marry, she knows exactly what she materially wants out of it, to make life bearable. She naively thinks she will be able to play the game and make it work for her.

At the beginning of the play Hedda and her new husband Jurgen Tesman have just returned from their honeymoon. Terminally bored with him already, but he serves an ulterior purpose in keeping her more persistent old suitors amours at bay. What happens during the play is that this marriage reveals itself to be as much, if not more, of a prison. No deterrent for the advances of Judge Brack (a serpent like Rafe Spall) a man for whom coercive control is a primary mode of operation.

This adaption is written and updated with great skill by Patrick Marber, and directed with modernist starkness by Ivo van Hove. The staging is this huge space of a sparsely furnished modern apartment, with bare plastered walls. The sense of unfinished business permeates the stage. Central to it is of course Ruth Wilson as Hedda, who is simply compelling to watch how she flips from forced bonhomie to, strident independence of spirit, to a lost melancholy, usually accompanied by Joni Mitchell's Blue. You know this is not going to end well for her, but still you hope even as the odds become increasingly stacked against her, that maybe this situation could turn around. A totally phenomenal production.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8. 

Currently available to stream on National Theatre at Home.

WATCHED - Vanja

As an idea, transforming Chekov's play Uncle Vanya into something to be performed by one man, appears utterly mad. On paper you would be right to ask - why? But then 'on paper' can so often give an entirely incorrect impression. As ever, you really have to experience it to discover what its imaginative worth is.

Chekov's play is about a family and their servants living on their country estate. A self centred writer and his young wife, live off the proceeds of it. They reside in the country even though they hate it, because financially they can't afford to live anywhere else. There are unspoken tensions and loves in the air too.

For this one man version, simply called Vanja, Andrew Scott carefully worked how to delineate all the characters. How to move from one to the other seamlessly to still make sense, so you know who he is at any one moment in time. That said this is not just a technical, but also a psychological tour de force. Retaining the mournful mood of the original, it is by turns witty, playful, intensely sad and moving, sometimes all within a few seconds.

As he slips from playing one character to another, you could easily interpret this as multiple personas split within the one person. The overall impression it left me with was how much Chekov's characters in this play exist in a similar suspended state. Disappointed with themselves, frustrated with their lives, perhaps at differing stages of despair or the desire for life to be something other than what it is. But each unable to take agency over what it is that they truly want out of their existence. 

It is a brilliant adaption by Simon Stephens , given a charismatic marvel of a performance by Andrew Scott at its centre, that is hugely well deserving of all the accolades that's been heaped upon it.

CARROT REVIEW  - 7/8

Currently available to view by subscription on National Theatre at Home.

THEATRICAL REVELATIONS - United States Parts 1 - 4 by Laurie Anderson

DOMINION THEATRE - LONDON 

FEBRUARY 1983

First there had been that distinctive single- Oh Superman, quickly followed by a one off London performance at the Lyric Hammersmith in 1982. A show mainly a compilation of tracks from her debut album Big Science, interspersed with her characteristicly elliptical monologues. Laurie Anderson returned six months later to perform the whole eight hours of United States Part 1- 4, at the Dominion Theatre over two nights in February 1983. I booked early.

Laurie Anderson had unexpectedly found herself with a cross over career. As both a respected performance artist and a very unique type of arty pop star. Her interest in linguistics, storytelling, gender roles and modern forms of alienation, found a vehicle in the quirky songs and wry monologues, often phased through a vocoder to make her vocal quality more masculine or feminine depending on whatever was required.

The subject matter of her tales spanned visits to her chiropractor, an old couple getting lost on a massive inter state highway, being on a plane that it might be about to crash, returning to your flat only to discover this is not like your home any more, and many others in this ilk. If there was any linking theme this was not immediately apparent. The impression it left, however, was that she was using the title United States, literally, metaphorically, disfunctionaly - all as a paradox.

She'd collected together a whole bunch of short vignettes that imbued this sense of loss, of longing, of dislocation from normal life, simply not knowing what to make of the world, or how to operate in the world that they were now inhabiting. The expectation was that we all live culturally in a united state with each other. But increasingly we do not. Some of the stories were hence sad ones, others oddly perplexing or simply funny social observations.

A favourite monologue is the poetic - Walking and Falling. Based on an observation that as you walk forward you are always catching yourself from falling over. The staging was a single bright overhead light forming a white circle on the stage. She recites the poetic monlogue whilst walking around its edge, niether fully in nor out of the light. Just a beautifully simple idea of the fleetingness of our existence. An existential truth movingly executed.

United States had an unusual quality in its visual imagery too. The threepin plug hole that looks like a ghost. In the piece Heading Out for the Territories which closed the whole performance, Anderson wore these torch goggles. They lookef like the bright headlights of a car. She walks forward along a plank out toward the auditorium. Hands ahead of her blindly feeling their way, as the goggle headlights rake the darkened auditorium.

She plays with our expectations, both visually and in sound. The tape violin, or her whole body becoming an ampified drum kit. It is the pictures painted in sound that strike you most. The poignant songs about families, lovers, existential worries in a world going badly awry. In some ways Laurie Anderson was way ahead of the curve on documenting 

our current metacrisis. 

The effect of this performance on me, was as a huge point of inspiration. Inventive, challenging, but remaining accessible, Anderson's performance work was the start of my appreciation for performance art. Which led to thinking maybe I should be a performance artist myself, and then doing that for a few years. 

With her pioneering work crossing artistic boundaries between avant-garde culture and popular culture, she made it possible for the work of other female performance artists like Marina Abramovich to become hugely popular. 

THEATRICAL REVELATIONS - The Power of Theatrical Madness

A performance conceived by Jan Fabre, given at the ICA in 1984 & The Royal Albert Hall in 1985.

In the mid 80's I would go to the ICA in London, and take in some performance work or exhibition. Often just on hearsay alone. This prompted my first encountered with Jan Fabre's work The Power of Theatrical Madness. I guess, buoyed by Laurie Anderson's recent breakthrough into the mainstream, everyone was on the look out for who the next performance artist might be, to do a similar cross over. 

Fabre's work had shock value. It had its moment of ART charging into the rarefied halls of middle brow culture. Robert Mapplethorpe produced a book of photos of it. But these days I think its largely forgotten, quite how impactful and influential The Power of Theatrical Madness was at the time.

Jan Fabre's The Power of Theatrical Madness, was, as the title indicates, quite a bit more of a 'theatrical' than an art performance event. Large set piece dramatic happenings that evolved into these often bizarre rituals across the stage. This was a collective ensemble presentation, tightly choreographed, executed with devotion, physical stamina and passion. At over four hours in length this performance was not for sissys. Click here to see trailer -The Power of Theatrical Madness

With no particular narrative thread, The Power of Theatrical Madness, had more the air of a lunatic grand opera, with its evocatively lush background of minimalist music by Wim Merton. What the piece celebrates is the strength of grand dramatic events on stage as a window into the soul of humanity. Whilst also showing us its darker Wagnerian shadow side.

One major theme is our desire to think we are in control of our lives, relationships and reality itself. In this we always fail. By falling into habits, we are touching on an air of regret and ennui. The larger this is writ upon the stage, the more powerful it becomes as a theatrical staging. But also more dangerous, as Fabre's work points toward the use by monarchical and fascistic powers, of all our present elite forms of theatre.

This work exploits the drama inherent in  simple human movement endlessly repeated. A gesture, that might start out as banal, changes in our perception as we watch it repeated, into drudgery, irritability, exhaustion, empathy, beauty, pathos, and on occasions, transcendence.

We have a line up of men in black fatigues and shirts, forced to carry and hold up stacks of plates. At the conclusion the plates are deliberately shattered. In a crashing cascade of rebelliousness and creative carnage. There are also naked kings wearing crowns waltzing around  together. Yeah, it's a bit kinky too.

The piece was long, it tested your power of endurance to be sure. But, for me it was entirely worth it for the last plaintive element in the entire performance. This was set to the a beautiful elegiac movement by Merton, called Whisper Me. In it there is a man and woman. The man down stage moves upstage and lifts the woman into his arms, taking her down stage where he places her on the floor. The woman rises and initially with a certain playful coquettish spirit moves back to where she was at the start. 

This scenario is repeated over and over for the duration of twenty minutes. By which time the man is becoming increasingly tired and clumsy in the execution of picking her up and carrying her upstage. Whilst the woman progressively asserts her own agency with more stridency. This one section of The Power of Theatrical Madness, was worth the entrance fee. It was probably the most beautiful moving piece of theatre I've ever seen. Both poignant and profound. 

Such was its success at the ICA. A much larger venue, the Royal Albert Hall was booked. And I went along to see the same piece on much a larger stage, with larger back projections. The power of the grand gesture in a small space, did feel diminished when you placed it in a performance venue that possessed huge size and grandeur itself. Whilst I understood why they'd chosen to do this. The whole piece lost the sense of human intimacy by that transference. A long gallery in a stately home, or a smaller opera house might have worked better. Though it did strike me that it's ironic gloss of the fascistic rally, was made even more unpalatable by the vastness of the elliptical hall context. Over forty years later, it is still something I'm really glad I saw.

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - The Habit of Art

The Habit of Art, in a production by Nicholas Hytner from 2010, takes place in an afternoon rehearsal of a play called Caliban's Day.  The Director's been called away to Leeds, two actors have to do a Chekov matinee, so can't be there. Nevertheless the PA  (Frances de la Tour)  decides to do a run through. The writer of the play unexpectedly turns up, ramping up the querulous tension in the cast. The play centres on WH Auden ( Richard Griffiths) when he was  professor in Oxford and a meeting he had there with his former friend Benjamin Britten ( Alex Jennings). In many ways this play within a play format, is Bennett at his most multifacted and layered. Actors step in and out of character, they question motives, there own, their characters, the playwright's, what the point of the play is, literary societies views of them and of itself, how the itself play should end. What they are going to do after rehearsal finishes.

It attempts to cover a lot of ground, sex, death, art, biography, creative muses, that it can appear a bit hit and miss in its targeting of hypocrisy or morally dubious tendencies. Auden's often savage cruelty and Britten's liking for young boys are pointed out but never stabbed directly in the heart. There is just an embarrassed silence no one knows quiet how to fill. Perhaps the point is that once someone is lauded the habit of art is to overlook, sanitise or even reprehensibly explain away a persons moral failings, because there's an individual's creative reputation to uphold - there was after all the sublime art, lets not forget that my dears, in our rush to judge the dead, and tut tut. Art survives trumps allegations of pedophile behaviour. One is seen as eternal the other as transitory. There are unasked, and therefore unanswered questions here, concerning how we respond and deal with the imperfections and unconscionable actions of people whose art, music or performances we nonetheless admire or are in awe of. Does one have to rule out the other?

Bennett as always is very consummately served by a company of actors who appear frequently in his plays. Here its Richard Griffiths, Alex Jennings and Frances de la Tour, all fluent in his style and use of language. Each chosen, even newcomers Adrian Scarborough  and Steven Wright,  because they can play to a type he requires. 

I've seen quite a few Alan Bennett plays over the years, witty, occasionally pokey, but generally good natured, like well brought up children. One often gets the feeling he is not temperamentally willing to allow his pen to fully land a punch, without cushioning the blow a bit with some whimsy infused sarcasm. One can very easily see that he gives voice through his characters to how really pissed off he is about a lot of contemporary life and views. Well, one can see it, but not often feel it. You are always greatly titilated, which makes any criticism one may wish to voice feel ungrateful or even churlish. I do love his plays, even though I frequently feel incredibly short changed by them.

CARROT REVIEW - 5/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Medea

The play opens with an oracle, Medea's maid servant. Informing you what has happened, what she forsees, that humiliation and betrayal has taken place between Medea and her husband Jason. Jason is about to marry the young daughter of King Creon. After all Medea has done for Jason, left her homeland and murdered her own brother just to be with him. The King wants her gone, she's an embarrassment, a thorn that needs to either agree to be happy with the new marriage or leave. 

Jason encourages Medea to leave with his children, even offers to give her money to live on. Worse still he attempts to convince her he is acting in good faith, he's doing all this for the future benefit of her and their children. Medea is incensed, brought to a furious rage with him. For her the die has now been cast, Jason needs to be punished. To destroy his world as he has done her's.

This production of Medea uses a version written by Ben Power. Its from 2014 and the staging is a very strange concoction. A split back stage, a curtained off woodland at the bottom, and the wedding party world of King Creon on the mezzanine above. All of it framed by a seedy 1950's interior straight out of The Shining. I didn't quite see what this period setting brought to the production, it felt an arbitrary and unrooted styling. Unless it is a sly homage to Stephen King.

What makes this play still more gripping is Helen McCrory's performance, who is a blistering presence on the stage. She has a scream and a fury that would curdle milk. Not many actors possess a cry of such authenticy, but Helen McCrory's is heart wrenching.  She does it also without losing hert great subtlety of expression and emotional tenderness. The tendency with this particular piece of Greek tragedy, is that it can easily turn into the theatrical version of a shlock horror like Carrie. Thankfully not here. 

Medea is some sort of a witch, she has powers and poisons. And though she weeps at the thought of killing her children, if that is the only thing she can do to make Jason feel what she now feels. So be it. For the gods know she has been wronged, they will help her. The result is spellbinding, a gut wrenching blood curdling denouement. McCrory's emotional restraint, makes her explosions of unhinged rage all the more impactful. She enables you to identify with why Medea feels she must do this. Worth seeing just for this performance alone, what a loss to the stage her recent death was.

CARROT REVIEW - 7/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - The Cherry Orchard

Madame Ranevskaya is returning home to Russia, to her estate. After many years of living abroad, of marriages, passionately inappropriate and all consuming love affairs. Her daughter Anya rescues her from another desperately humiliating situation. What has happened, is never fully explained. She has no money left, and returning home the only option left. Her debts grown so embarrassingly high the family estate is up for auction to pay them off. 

There is a sense in Chekov of people living unreal lives. Holding on to some idea or belief, because its the only scrap of hope they have left. Not wanting to see what is actually impending. Madame Ranevskaya, has a sentimental hold on the family home, symbolised for her by the Cherry Orchard. She carries on spending and giving largesse, with money she does not really have. Despite Lopakhin's repeated entreaties to carry out his plan to save the estate, she holds on to the idea everything will somehow miraculously turn out right. Even though it very clearly will not. 

When The Cherry Orchard was first performed in 1904. Russian society was at a turning point. Not seeing the early warning signs, of the revolution that was just over a decade away. The aristocracy and its feudalism were waning, a new wealthier middle class was arising, romantic idealists, such as Tolstoy, were already talking about what a better society might be like.

This production of The Cherry Orchard from 2011, is based on a new translation by Andrew Upton. English productions have normally over emphasised Chekov's nostalgia and fatalism. But here, rather than the usual heavy weight of doom hanging over them all, their is fun, humour and satire whilst all around them smoulders. The hedonism of the wilfully blind. There are quite a few anachronistic modern turns of phrase in the script. The staging over does showing you a very dilapidated estate. You never see the idyllic orchard they all talk of so rapturously and want to preserve. This was no doubt meant to underline the essential unreality of their world view. But this is not even a faded grandeur, its all ready gone to rack n ruin. This makes any love expressed for the place not grounded in either the characters, nor your experience of it.

Zoe Wanamaker as Ranveskaya, is superb. Elegant, yet emotionally a delicate wreck, she maintains this upright manner of warm hearted confidence and defiance. Flipping from frivolity to despair and back in the space of a sentence. Yepikodov, ( Pip Carter ) is played with great poignancy and feeling. A person who never quite gets anything right, yet persists with his unrequited loving pursuit of Dunyasha. Trofimov ( Mark Bonner ) conveys his ardent left wing idealism, that captures Anya's love and devotion. Lopakhin ( Conleth Hill ) emphasises all the time his humble peasant origins. He wants Madame Ranveskaya's love and respect, if not that, then revenge will do.The bragging self made entrepreneur who believes ripping out the orchard and building holiday homes for the nouveau riche is the way forward for Russian society. The ensemble acting throughout is energetic and extremely well choreographed.

This production from 2011, brought a welcome lightness of touch to Chekov's The Cherry Orchard. In the process, it tended to lose its grip on the plays heart and soul, its melancholy sense of loss. The fate of the family here, is analogous to the fate of Russia. Both are caught in circumstances out of their control. Living in a past, that if not already ceased to exist, is rapidly vanishing. Its the beginning of a world changing so rapidly as to be beyond human capacity to adapt to it. A world which we all still live in and likewise fail to fully comprehend what revolutions small changes can bring about.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Hansard

Diana Hesketh ( Lindsay Duncan ) is the wife of senior Tory politician Robin Hesketh ( Alex Jennings ). Its the 1980's and everyone is in the thrall of Thatcher. Section 28 has just passed a significant point in its contentious trawl through parliament. Robin returns home for the weekend to find his wife spoiling for an argument. She's the second Mrs Hesketh, the former mistress who triumphed over the first 'Mrs De Winter' as she sarcastically puts it. She believes she is recognising all too familiar signs in her formerly wayward husband. 

Most of the play's duration is packed full of nit picking and sparring between the two leads. Pointed political comment and analysis trip off their tongues with delicious relish. Speaking to many contemporary issues with their origins in the 1980's 'greed is good' mantra. Robin is the ardent Tory, Diana his more than left leaning opposition. These arguments are old and so well rehearsed that each can see them coming. What really lies beneath the current parlous state of play in their marriage, emerges as the play progresses. You can sort of see that coming too. The revelation when it does arrive is not a great surprise. Two and two are put together with comfortable ease.

That said, this a great two hander, originally performed in 2019, that rattles off its entertaining tropes with all the glee of a child tipping out its favourite toys across the floor. Not bad as a first successful play for Simon Woods. Even though it lacks the depth and sophistication by comparison with a David Hare play. Its quite happy to play in the muddier shallow end of political stereotypes. Lindsay Duncan and Alex Jennings are both in their element, on fine scathing form in the cutting fire of their witty, withering and lacerating repartee.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Phedre

Phedre (Helen Mirren) has been left alone to rule the kingdom. Her husband Theseus has disappeared whilst on campaign and is presumed dead. Only her step son Hyppolytus ( Dominic Cooper ) wishes to set out to find his Father or discover what has happened to him. His step mother behaves as if she hates Hyppolytus and so he feels he really ought to leave. Be anywhere other than here. The only thing keeping him here is Aricia ( Ruth Negga )  He doesn't realise that Phedre's loathing of him is just an act, that really she is besottedly in love with him. Just when Phedre has unwisely told Hyppolytus what her feelings for him really are, Theseus returns.

Jean Racine's over heated tragedy, is given additional muscularity by the gritty urgency of Ted Hughes's translation. This is fate on steroids. The first act is a demanding one for whoever is playing its lead role. Phedre is being torn apart by the realisation she's in love with her step son. She rails, she wails, she weeps, she curses the gods, curses her families misfortune, curses her misfortune as a woman, blames her maid servant (Margaret Tyzack)  Without an actor with tremendous gifts in vocal and expressive range in this central role, the play can simply become one long and tiresome screech for attention. There's nothing or no one an actor can hide behind. The revered reputation of classic performances of Phedre by Glenda Jackson and Diana Rigg, are then a tough act for anyone to follow.

Unfortunately this production from 2009 as directed by Nicholas Hytner, underlines the limits of Helen Mirren as an actor. Playing cold and aloof queens has apparently become her forte, but Phedre is far from that. Her performance here lacks a lot of the necessary subtlety of emotional light and shade. Phedre, though imperious at times, has also to be a warm person, with whom you can identify. Human, full  blooded, simply failing to hold it all together. Above all, falling in love with ones step son, has to be believable.

There is humour, pathos and poetry in the script which she sometimes misses entirely or hurtles over with yet another wailing declamation. It ends up all existing on the same rather exhaustingly fraught level, that I found so jarring I have yet to steel myself to watch beyond the first act. God did I need a break from all that hair tearing and holding of the stomach. Instead of helping you feel for her position, you feel repelled by this emotive barrage. One that strangely reveals her performance as uninhabited and essentially cold at heart.

The staging by Bob Crowley is, I must say, extraordinary. The lighting gives it a sense of Mediterranean sunlight, sky and dramatic shadows. Large slabs of angular stonework, held up by a rocky pillar outcrop far too frequently gripped or leant on by Ms Mirren. An epic stage, for an epic play, lacking a totally epic central performance, unfortunately.

CARROT REVIEW - 4/8

THEATRE ONLINE - NT - Paradise

Paradise is a modern interpretation of Sophocles's play Philocetetes. Written by the inestimable Kae Tempest, it is a gripping re- telling of the story of a wounded archer stranded on an island. Managing to both honour the qualities of the Greek original whilst presenting it with a modern sensibility and verse style. This was a National Theatre production fronpm 2020, with an all female cast, possessing a great atmosphere and emotional effect.

The play opens with the inhabitants of the island arguing and bitching in general conversation. All have had, at some point, to become resigned to being stranded here. A soothsayer sings a lament, for things returning from the past and omens of things that are about to change. Two soldiers appear on the island, one is Odysseus, the other Achilles's son Neoptolemus. They're here to find and persuade Philocetetes to join a war. They need him, and the bow of Hercules which he possesses, to hopefully bring a long running conflict to an end. 

Odysseus is a mean hearted bully, constantly belittling Neopytolemus in order to persuade him to be the one to convince Philocetetes to come with them. Unbeknown to him, Philocetetes was abandoned here wounded on this island by Odysseus himself. Against his better judgement Neopytolemus has to lie or be economical with the truth in order to convince Philocetetes to leave. But it becomes clear that not only does Philocetetes have a festering wound still, but he has this deep grievance to settle with Odyssseus. Left here for dead, he has all but lost his mind and reason to live. Other than revenge.

The islanders watch all this going on, they comment, they interject. Pretty much as your standard Greek chorus would. Odysseus ( Anastasia Hills) and Neoptolemus ( Gloria Obianyo ) fill there roles with great assertiveness and nicely judged nuance.  Once Philocetetes (Lesley Sharp) appears the energy on stage changes. I am in two minds about this performance,  It was certainly commanding and held the stage, at times powerful and affecting. But it could also be annoyingly one dimensional as a performance. Too frequently it descended into a broadly drawn paper thin male cliche. A 'cor blimey govner' caricature of a bit of a geezer. It felt unbalanced with the general tone of the production, and out of sympathy with the other 'male' performances. Great play, staging and some superb ensemble acting. A shame the central part sometimes felt like an off the peg male stereotype.

CARROT REVIEW - 6/8

THEATRE REVIEW - Yerma - Encore Broadcast - 21st September

I had read wildly ecstatic reviews of the Young Vic's production of Yerma before I went to its broadcast at the Sheringham Little Theatre. All mention the much garlanded performance of Billie Piper' in particular. This can make one wary that your perceptions are being pre-primed by heightened superlatives being dished out like exotic hors d'oeuvres. However, this time I must say it was all deserved, to every last full stop and exclamation mark.

This production, written and directed by the Australian Director Simon Stone, has extensively adapted and transposed the original Lorca play, moving the setting from rural Spain to contemporary London.  Not being fully familiar with the original text I'm not aware to what extent he has remained loyal to the narrative. Though having seen other Lorca and read his poetry I can tell that, even though the dialogue is at variance, it is faithful to the tone and feeling of barely restrained, if not unfettered, passion that is distinctive of Lorca's dramatic style, as he slowly cranks up the emotionally tense atmosphere.

The stage set is a large glass plated, carpeted room,  It looked like one of those confining boxy interiors you see a distorted grotesque figure splurging out of in a Francis Bacon painting. In some respects Lorca and Bacon are similar; in that their output on the stage and on canvas is visceral. As though a bucket of butchers offal has been tipped over the floor. The glass box gives visual representation here to things both transparent and caged, those pent up feelings lie just under that bland beige carpet. Those unsaid things are now to be exposed via a torturous dramatic process. Yerma, is in the tradition of a Greek tragedy, placed in an ordinary domestic setting, similar in many respects to any play by Arthur Miller. You know from the outset that this idyllic situation you are first presented with will not last, that it will not turn out well for anyone, someone will by the end die, either at their own or another's hand.

The pivotal character is Eva, a woman in her mid thirties who realises her biological clock is ticking.  The time within which to have a child is running out. She ambushes her partner John with her desire to have a child by him. He goes along with it, afraid he'll lose her otherwise. Eva is a successful journalist and blogger, who uses her own life and difficulties as frank source material. So everything that happens in her life gets broadcast to the world outside.  The years pass with still no baby, her desperation, ,jealousy of her sister and mistrust for how little time John is giving to the baby project, all these feelings end up disastrously exposed for public consumption. Relationships fracture.

Yerma means barren, someone here is infertile, is it Eva or is it John? But Eva is surrounded by people who are emotionally barren, a mother who is unable to express love or affection, a sister unable to walk away from an empty abusive relationship, a husband so evasively out of touch with himself he's unable to be openly truthful with her.

Billie Piper's performance as Eva sets Lorca's heightened melodrama alight, in a flare of combustible despair, frustration and anger. Though she begins by showing her as playful and self assertive, over the length of the play she gradually sours as her wish to have a child becomes a maddening, overriding obsession. One that eventually removes the support of those around her and the stability of her own self. At times this is a raw raging performance, emotionally uncomfortable yet compelling, it is startling to watch.  Yerma is that unfortunately rare thing, a completely female centred narrative. This inevitably makes other characters less rounded, as they come in and out of Eva's whirlwind. Nonetheless, they are well played, particularly Brendan Cowell as John and John MacMillan as the hapless ex lover Victor.

The updated contemporary language, is often apt and frequently base, coarsely filled with profanities. Stone's version, like Lorca's rarely dresses matters up in polite acceptable language, the language, though often poetically heightened, always rings true. One couple in our audience walked out within the first ten minutes, shortly after the dialogue about why John prefers 'bum sex' with her! But that 'bum sex' dialogue is a major pointer towards how John really feels, in his heart of hearts he doesn't want them to have children. This deception is what corrodes their love for each other.

The original play had a chorus who led you from one scene to another, as it has an episodic structure covering many months and years. In this production its marked by projected chapter numbers, titles and headlines that delineate the downward spiral. The chorus here is a choral one, that sings increasingly dissonant verses, often abruptly truncated like badly edited TV intermissions. This gives the play a similar feeling to one of those 'found footage' films, with awkward jump cuts, out of focus, wobbly camera angles encasing a fractured narrative. As filmed, Yerma is one of the most disturbing and compulsive pieces of theatre I've seen in a very long time. Goodness knows what it was like for those seeing it live in the theatre itself.