Life of Pi

Curve, Leicester

13^th March, 2024

“What do you believe?”

Lolita Chakrabarti’s adaptation of Yann Martel’s ‘unadaptable’ novel Life of Pi was first seen at Sheffield Theatres in 2019. Telling the story of Piscine ‘Pi’ Patel who survives a storm which capsizes the ship that his family and their zoo were on, Pi’s resilience, his determination to survive the most adverse conditions, and his extraordinary outlook on life has made Martel’s novel a classic. Just as vivid is Max Webster’s production which, after triumphant runs in the West End and on Broadway, is now on tour. The staging has been very slightly simplified since we saw it at the Wyndham’s Theatre to make the show easier to tour, but Life of Pi remains a remarkable achievement in epic storytelling.

The story is framed by scenes in a hospital room in Mexico. Pi’s lifeboat has washed up on the shore and he’s now struggling to piece together the tragedy at the request of a shipping company official tasked with filing a report. But his post-traumatic stress doesn’t take away his gentle humour and thoughtful demeanour. Taking a sherbet lemon from his hiding spot under the bed, his hand pops out the other side to offer it to one of his visitors. When he does resurface, Pi (Divesh Subaskaran in an excellent professional debut) is genial, innocent-minded and funny. Soon enough, the white washed walls of the hospital open up to the vibrancy of his home in India. We meet a parade of animals from giraffes, goats, meerkats and hyenas. We’re also introduced to Pi’s philosophical outlook on religion. Frequenting the mosque, church and temple, he rejects his family’s plea to choose just one religion to follow, likening it to being asked to choose the better story. When his family’s zoo falls victim to the country’s political instability, rioting on the streets forces the family to move to Canada.

What follows is a genius, uber-theatrical piece of storytelling: from Webster's staging of the sinking ship to the following months Pi spends on a lifeboat in middle of the Pacific Ocean with a tiger named Richard Parker. But for all of its theatricality, Chakrabarti’s adaptation ensures the heart of Martel’s novel is beating strong. It’s not only a great story that makes Life of Pi such a popular novel, it’s also because Pi is a great protagonist and that really shines here. The show’s utter brilliance comes from how it highlights that theatre is a truly collaborative artform: from Tim Hatley’s set design to Nick Barnes & Finn Caldwell’s driftwood-style puppets to Andrzej Goulding’s video design to the multiple actors who play the tiger (an Olivier Award winning part), all superbly helmed by Webster. The various design elements, movement and puppetry come together to create a show which visually dazzles and serves the story’s emotional and intellectual core.

Also clever is how, just like theatre, imagination and reality sit side by side, the sterile walls of the hospital existing in the same moment as the deep blue of the ocean. Quite quickly you get enraptured in the storytelling: the terror of a screaming orangutan flailing its arms about; the humour of a disoriented Pi seeing an anthropomorphic Richard Parker enthusing about his favourite foods; and the bobbing up and down of rain catchers on the water. You find yourself literally moving in your seat with the sinking of the ship and the motion of the lifeboat.

At the end of the play, when we’re prompted to question the likeliness of Pi’s story, and whether it was just a story, and we reflect on the power of storytelling ourselves. Life of Pi is a classic of the novel adaptation genre, and a reminder of our human need for stories to survive.

Life of Pi plays at Curve, Leicester until 16^th March as part of a UK & Ireland tour. For further information please visit https://lifeofpionstage.com/ 

Life of Pi. Credit: Johan Persson

Come From Away

 Curve, Leicester

Tuesday 5^th March, 2024

 

“Because we come from everywhere, we all come from away”

 

Around six years ago we visited Ground Zero and the 9/11 memorial in New York. Never had I felt the magnitude of emotion I felt that day. From the physicality of land and space around the memorial, to the simple but deeply touching gesture of placing a single white rose upon the names of victims on their birthdays, it is a place of tranquillity, reflection and sorrow. The events of September 11^th 2001 are etched in the minds of a nation – a world – and while it may be one of the most horrific atrocities to occur in the West in my living memory, it also brought out the best in humanity – something which Irene Sankoff and David Hein home in on in their life-affirming musical, Come From Away. Following a successful run in the West End, the musical is kicking off its first UK tour at Curve, aiming to bring the small but immense story of kindness to a wider audience.

Following the attacks, 7,000 passengers had their planes diverted to a remote Newfoundland airport, nearly doubling the island’s population in the space of a morning. The musical follows the townspeople as they do all they can to accommodate the panic-stricken ‘come from aways’, while also focusing on the personal losses of those aboard the diverted planes and the life-long friendships formed over those fateful five days north of the border. Suspicions, cultural differences, and even language barriers are eventually put to one side as the islanders and the plane people unite during a time of hardship and uncertainty. I got goosebumps during a scene where a Newfoundland bus driver finally reassures an African family using passages from the bible and the universal numbering system of verses to communicate. Likewise, the bond between local teacher, Beulah (Amanda Henderson), and Hannah (Bree Smith), whose son is an NYC firefighter and currently missing, is forged via a shared fondness for terrible jokes. Humour. Faith. Love. These universal human traits are shown to abide within the darkest moments.

One of the musical’s most charming through-lines is that of awkward British businessman, Nick (Daniel Crowder), and Diane (Kirsty Hoiles), a single mother from Texas whose instant connection aboard their stranded plane blossoms into a tender and hesitant relationship. It’s a romance between two very ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances, and one can’t help but feel touched by Diane’s survivors-guilt when admitting she feels a kind of remorse that something so special, that had brought her so much happiness, could transpire out of something so awful. Moreover, Sankoff and Hein don’t shy away from the extreme fear and paranoia that dogged communities in the aftermath of the attacks. A Muslim passenger is viewed with unwarranted suspicion by his fellow travellers and is forced to undergo a humiliating strip-search before being allowed to re-board his plane.

However, on the whole, Come From Away is a story of togetherness, highlighted in the local bar ‘Screech In’, in which several of the plane people are bestowed with full Islander status – after downing shots and kissing a freshly caught fish in a booze-fuelled initiation ritual. This rustic traditionalism is captured in Sankoff and Hein’s folky music; quaint yet never twee, it effuses a sense of wilderness entwined with the serene harmonies brought about by collective familiarity. Stand out numbers include the lilting paean to momentary happiness, ‘Stop The World’, Hannah’s desperation to protect her child in ‘I Am Here’, and pilot Beverley’s (Sara Poyzer) triumphant love-letter to flight, ‘Me and the Sky’.

Beowulf Boritt’s set invites us into the rural haven of Gander. Wood panelling and a landscape of lofty trees provide the backdrop to director Christopher Ashley’s deceptively simple staging. The minute the plane people land we are plunged into a world of swirling perpetual motion wherein those still, quiet moments of reflection are illuminated and all the more touching in contrast. Ashley directs a faultless cast in an array of roles in which actors switch from playing Newfoundlanders to plane people at the drop of a hat. In a case of art imitating life, the piece zips along in breathless fashion, meaning our time in Gander is short but sweet, clocking in at a succinct 100 minutes.

Ultimately, Come From Away is so much more than the sum of its parts. The reaction of the audience when we saw it was overwhelmingly positive and the auditorium was aflood with emotion. At a time where cynicism, bigotry and selfishness seem to reign supreme, Sankoff, Hein, Ashley and, most importantly, those Newfoundland islanders that agreed to share their stories can’t help but restore one’s faith in humanity.

 

Come From Away is playing at Curve, Leicester until 9^th March

For full tour details please visit: https://comefromawaylondon.co.uk/tour-dates/

Sara Poyzer and the cast of Come From Away. Credit: Craig Sugden

Bonnie & Clyde

 Curve, Leicester

23^rd February, 2024

“Well who would’ve thought…”

You’ve got to love the power of a devoted fanbase. Frank Wildhorn and Don Black’s 2009 musical may not have been able to outrun poor ticket sales when it first opened (it closed within a month of opening on Broadway in 2011), but the show has since become a sleeper hit. Following a London concert in 2022 and two West End runs, Bonnie & Clyde is now in its spiritual home: on the road.

The true story of two loved-up runaway bank robbers is good source material for a musical. In the Dust Bowl of the 1920s mid-West, we meet Bonnie Parker, a waitress from Rowena with her sights set on stardom, and Clyde Barrow, a farm boy from Telico who valorises Al Capone. The two have much in common: big plans, no prospects, and a longing to get out of West Dallas. In love and with a live fast, die young mentality, the pair are pitched as victims of the poverty into which they were born. Blinkered into chasing a skewed American Dream, the couple get stuck in a cycle of evading the law and snubbing authority.

Wildhorn’s score and Black’s lyrics are the engine of the show, establishing character and motivation. Desire, even lust, fuels much of Bonnie and Clyde’s actions. Declaring his love for Bonnie, Clyde sings ‘My name is gonna make the hist'ry books… I got lots of reasons to keep livin'’. Though well-sung, it’s a pity that I left the theatre not humming the tunes I’d just been listening to for two and a half hours, but instead the songs that Wildhorn’s score are reminiscent of. ‘This World Will Remember Me’ is a jazzy bop with more than a ring of Duke Ellington’s ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing)’ to it. Likewise, during Bonnie’s eleventh hour torch song ‘Dyin’ Ain’t So Bad’ I was distracted by how much the melody reminded me of Bonnie Raitt’s ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’.

 It’s also disappointing that Ivan Menchell’s book is underpowered, leaving the show feeling unbalanced and giving it an episodic structure: short scene followed by a song. This is particularly apparent in the second act where the protagonists’ psychologies are forfeited for pastiche. For instance, in a scene where they hold a bank hostage, the customers practically fall over themselves to flatter their gun-wielding guests, requesting autographs with a shotgun pointing at their faces. There is some truth in these comedic scenes: newspaper articles and photos of the couple glamorised their stylish image and lifted the couple to celebrity status. But the second act doesn’t build on what was established in the first, showing the couple desperately racing to their inevitable downfall and leaving motivation to take a backseat. For me, the journey to gin-slinging, jail-breaking love birds seemingly driven to be captured is not convincingly developed. In a surprisingly well-mined genre of musical, Bonnie and Clyde is vastly outshone by the likes of Kander and Ebb’s Chicago and Sondheim’s Assassins, both of which similarly showcase the phenomenon of the celebrity-criminal, but have more memorable scores and razor-sharp satire.

The score and book have their weaknesses, but it is nevertheless superbly performed by the cast. Katie Tonkinson’s Bonnie is a pocket rocket: feisty and with an ambitious glint in her eye. Alex James-Hatton emits a youthful charisma as Clyde that provides an authenticity to the fan-girling on show. Catherine Tyldesley is a stand-out as Clyde’s sister-in-law Blanche. She provides much of the show’s comic relief but also carries much of its emotional weight through her relationship with Clyde’s brother Buck. Devoutly religious, a good citizen but also fiercely loyal, she’s caught in the cross-fire of Buck’s blind loyalty to his brother. A comic highlight is ‘You’re Going Back to Jail’, in which she and the salon girls try to convince Buck of the benefits of handing himself in. As Blanche is persuading him that ‘When you have served your time/ We'll still be young and in our prime’, another wife sings ‘Then I met this boy from Tucson… [and] I've now got lots of habits I can't curtail’.

Whereas young love in some musicals may be saccharine, Nick Winston’s production doesn’t put a dampener on it. The show could easily have the feeling of a chamber piece but here it is impressively full-bodied. Philip Witcomb’s atmospheric set and period costumes are darkly lit by Zoe Spurr and gorgeously complemented by Nina Dunn’s video design which adds depth. It’s an aesthetic of grit and glamour which gives the show a texture which the material sometimes lacks. The score may not be deserving of a Best Musical award, but I admire how it has captured the attention of young adults in the same light as Six and Heathers. And if any show can find its audience over a decade after its inception, that’s something to celebrate.

Bonnie & Clyde plays at Curve, Leicester until 24^th February as part of a UK and Ireland tour. For further information please visit https://bonnieandclydemusical.com/

Katie Tonkinson and Alex James-Hatton in Bonnie & Clyde. Credit: Richard Davenport

My Beautiful Laundrette

 Curve, Leicester

Wednesday 21^st February 2024

“Make yourself indispensable”

Over thirty-five years on, Hanif Kureishi’s tale of cultural and religious conflict, gender constraints and sexual liberty resonates with today’s society as much now as it did decades ago – despite the 80s shoulder pads and neon nylon on display. Following Nikolai Foster’s successful 2019 production, Curve have remounted Kureishi’s My Beautiful Laundrette, this time directed by Nicole Behan. While this revival perhaps lacks the vibrancy it had five years ago, the play still shines a spotlight on the wrongs of yesteryear at a time when the country seems to be in a state of sinfully wilful regression.

Omar (Lucca Chadwick-Patel), a down-and-out no-hoper with an alcoholic socialist father of Pakistani heritage, is given a chance to better himself in Thatcher’s world of ruthless Capitalism when his Uncle offers him a job in his decrepit laundrette. Amid a divided society terrorised by National Front skinheads, Omar strikes up an ‘odd-couple’ friendship with his old school bully, Johnny (Sam Mitchell). As their relationship blossoms, together they reinvent the laundrette despite opposition from their family and friends.

Kureishi’s text is often brutal, both physically and verbally, but is also peppered with a distinctly British sense of humour that captures the essence of the working-classes in 1980s London while avoiding the temptation to stray into the maudlin. Kureishi is a deft hand when it comes to innuendo, and the frequent smirks and barely restrained giggles of the cast are infectious. The play gets slightly rushed and muddled towards then end, particularly during the engagement party scene, as Kureishi and Behan try to round the action off neatly, while maintaining the integrity of the characters. And while some characters feel a little broadly drawn – namely Omar’s Uncle Nasser (Kammy Darweish) and Yuppie drug-dealer Salim (Hareet Deol), Laundrette feels unpretentious in its portrayal of modern British multiculturalism.

Thematically, there’s no escaping the comparisons with today’s Brexit and Trump-stoked prejudice. As the far-right encroach ever more into the centre of the national and international political sphere, some of the language evidenced in Laundrette is eerily familiar, as national pride rhetoric becomes an outlet for overt racism. ‘British jobs for British people’ – thus reads a slogan on a placard at a National Front march. The oft quoted argument of Brexiteers similarly fuses seemingly innocuous economic manifestos with an insidious fear of migrants, people of diverse ethnicity and anyone deemed to be ‘other’.

So too resonates the disparate identities of the characters, the sense of wanting to ‘belong’ to a community without feeling wholly connected. Much is made of Omar’s ‘half’ status, he sees himself as British but is demonised by the white supremacist skinheads. Likewise, he feels adrift from the traditions of his Muslim Pakistani family. He’s a person adrift in a society that is unable to accept social evolution. Elsewhere, Johnny struggles to resolve his feelings of loyalty to his friends, and the twisted sense of ‘purpose’ in the casual violence they revel in, with his growing attachment to the Pakistani community – not only to Omar, but Omar’s Papa (Gordon Warnecke – who played Omar in the original film!), who has always offered Johnny sage advice, even in the knowledge that he is hated by him for his racial identity. Rounding off Kureishi’s youth-in-limbo is Omar’s cousin and would-be wife, Tania (Sharan Phull), a free-spirited artist at loggerheads with her conservative, sexist, hypocritical father and her down-trodden mother, whom she loves and admires, but also pities and is repulsed by her culturally-imposed subservience.

Grace Smart’s design is suitably brash in its mix of day-glo plushness and concrete jungle realism – although I felt the neon spray painted champagne flutes a tad over-egged. Incidental music provided by 80s icons the Pet Shop Boys helps set the scene and I enjoyed the brief bursts of classic hits such as ‘West End Girls’ and ‘Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money)’. While the play is by no means perfect – I felt that several scenes were rather hectic and confusing, some scene changes slightly clunky, and the ending a little too convenient – the production can be engaging, warm and thought-provoking. Foster and Behan’s production, while rough-and-ready at times, is a fine example of pertinent programming. Unlike the film, My Beautiful Laundrette may not become a classic, but it certainly speaks to the current air of displacement and opposing views on national and cultural identity.

My Beautiful Laundrette plays at Curve, Leicester until 17^th February, before touring the UK. For full tour details please visit:

https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/whats-on/my-beautiful-laundrette-on-tour/#tour-dates

 

Lucca Chadwick-Patel (Omar) and Sam Mitchell (Johnny) in My Beautiful Laundrette. Credit: Ellie Kurttz

Jesus Christ Superstar

 Curve, Leicester

12^th February, 2024

“And relax, think of nothing tonight”

Eight years after Timothy Sheader’s Olivier Award-winning production of Jesus Christ Superstar opened at Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre to great acclaim, and following runs at the Barbican and in North America, it’s on tour in the UK. Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s 1971 musical, which started life as a concept album in 1970, takes the Passion story (the week leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion) and turns it into a rock opera. The result is arguably their best work. As a child, I remember loving the studio recordings of Joseph and Cats which we had on VHS, watching them on repeat. We also had Jesus Christ Superstar which I was probably too young to appreciate. To 8-year-old me, the whole thing (and Rik Mayall’s show-stealing performance as Herod alone) was simultaneously strange, terrifying and fixating. Over twenty years later, the experience is the same. In what is a thrilling production which often leaves you holding your breath, you find yourself succumbing to the experience.

Any director is posed with the dilemma of what type of production of Superstar they want to stage. Do you stage a more literal portrayal of events or lean towards something more figurative? Do you impose a high concept on it such as Laurence Connor’s 2012 arena production which was inspired by the Occupy protests? Or perhaps an aerial production like the one opening under the direction of Ivo van Hove in Amsterdam this year? Sheader has a clarity of vision which results in a production which is original, authentic to the show’s origins and is full of strong visual metaphors.

Tom Scutt’s industrial design is flagged by twin rusting steel structures which house the band. Between this, a raked catwalk in the style of the cross dominates the stage, beyond which a barely visible olive tree branch can be seen, hinting at something natural and ethereal. It’s a clean, modern aesthetic which serves the production extremely well. Sheader strips the show’s history of any concepts or obtuse imagery, portraying the story unambiguously and with clear artistic decisions. Music is a key motif: amps can be plugged into the stage and songs are often performed with hand mics and accompanied by guitars. Flight cases become part of the set, and microphones play a vital role in the deaths of both protagonists, including Judas hanging himself using a microphone wire. It’s often visually stunning too. At the end of act one, Judas (Shem Omari James, superb) takes a bribe from Caiaphas (Jad Habchi). Bringing his hands out of the chest, his hands are dripping in silver, stained for the rest of the show as a physical sign of his betrayal and guilt. And in the lead up to the title song, Jesus receives 39 lashes of golden glitter. It’s brutal, striking and oddly fabulous at the same. As Jesus crawls up the cross covered in blood and glitter, he’s strung up on the cross made of microphone stands. ‘Superstar’ is a coup-de-théâtre in itself: musically electrifying and enough to convert a non-believer into the power of theatre whilst being transcendent beyond it as well.

Scutt’s design is gorgeously complemented by Lee Curran’s lighting: from the orange flashes and roaming spotlights which enhance the feeling of a music gig, to bathing the stage in blue and purple during Mary Magdalene’s songs (delivered in a soulful and earthy performance from Hannah Richardson). Lloyd Webber’s music (realised here in Tom Deering’s musical supervision) delivers a full sound. It can go from wistful flutes and lulling piano melodies to strange, dissonant rock sounds within the space of a few bars. It’s a rich and varied score from the brilliant opening number ‘Heaven on their Minds’ to more playful songs such as ‘Herod’s Song’ – I was surprised but not shocked to learn that its melody was a reject for the Eurovision Song Contest! ‘Herod’s Song’ is delivered with panache by Timo Tatzber, here reminiscent of the Emcee from Cabaret. Ian McIntosh as Jesus has a powerful voice, particularly in the belting moments such as ‘Gethsemane’. And Drew McOnie’s spasmatic choreography veers from capturing the frenetic ecstasy of the heady hero worshipping of the early scenes to expertly portraying the intensity of the baying mob. It’s here that the ensemble really comes together, moving as one and filling the stage to an overwhelming effect.

Strange, terrifying, fixating, Jesus Christ Superstar is one of the best productions of a musical I’ve ever seen.

Jesus Christ Superstar plays at Curve, Leicester until 17^th February as part of a UK tour. For further information please visit https://uktour.jesuschristsuperstar.com/

Ian McIntosh as Jesus and Shem Omari James as Judas with the company of Jesus Christ Superstar. Credit: Paul Coltas

The Hills of California

 Harold Pinter Theatre

3^rd February, 2024, matinee

“Is that a true story?

It’s a good one”

Jez Butterworth’s exceptional new play sees four sisters reuniting at their childhood home, a former Blackpool guesthouse way past its glory days, in anticipation of their mother’s death. Set in double time, the play moves between the blistering heatwave of 1976 and the sisters’ childhood in the 50s where they dream of becoming a famous close-harmony quartet. The earlier period informs the later one, lending it pathos and showing the past which now haunts the family’s present. Butterworth’s first play since The Ferryman, and his first to debut in the West End, The Hills of California was always going to be a hot ticket. In Sam Mendes’ absorbing production, which never outstays its welcome in a near three-hour runtime, it lives up to those expectations. Rich with detail and characters that are layered with their own inner lives, The Hills of California masterfully explores the legacies of abuse and the way we use stories to shape our lives.

Even in 1976, the unwelcome forces of change have hit the back streets of Blackpool. The local shop is now a Co-Op and there are parking meters everywhere. It’s a shock to Gloria (Leanne Best) who, with her husband and two teenagers, have just travelled ‘200 miles across the Gobi Desert’ to return to her childhood home in the sweltering heat. The Seaview however, once a luxury guesthouse and spa, and never with an actual sea view, has not changed a bit. It’s here she meets youngest sister Jill (Helena Wilson). Jill’s been there all her life, taking care of their mum who’s now in the final stages of cancer. She tells Gloria what her mum’s been up to in recent years, going to the Bingo and winning tea with Ken Dodd that she never went to. Convinced their mum only went to the Bingo because of the all-day bar, Gloria further probes Jill why she didn’t go instead. ‘Me? No fear’ is her response, giving the impression she hasn’t done very much all these years. Jill can be mousy and naïve (smoking in secret even though her mum’s bed-bound) but later shows that, despite being the youngest, she’s also the strongest. Family reunion plays featuring siblings coming together in the face of a parent’s death are not new, from Appropriate (currently being revived on Broadway) to August: Osage County. But in The Hills of California their mother, Veronica, is still hanging on. It adds a sense of time pressure, all these sisters and in-laws gathering for something momentous, heightened by the stifling heat – ‘All the rivers have dried up. It’s like a sign’ Gloria says knowingly. That sense of foreboding is not only about their mother’s death but also the uncertain return of their sister Joan, who’s lived in California after getting a record contract and hasn’t been home since.

In the earlier scenes we see Veronica (Laura Donnelly), also in her glory days. A Blackpool Mama Rose, she devotes her energy and the profits made from her guests to propelling her daughters into the big time. Modelling themselves on the American swing troupe The Andrews Sisters, she dreams of getting them out of performing at tea dances at the church hall and onto the stages of the North Pier and beyond. When a top agent, the American Luther St John (Corey Johnson), auditions the girls on a visit to the town, we see the events leading up to that dream being shattered and Joan going to the States alone. Later, in the third act, the adult Joan (also Donnelly) returns to Seaview in an entrance which is bathed in Natasha Chivers’ atmospheric lighting and accompanied to the building sound of The Rolling Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter’. Donnelly is at ease with both roles, the highly strung Veronica contrasting with Joan’s Californian Cool. She has the confidence of someone who travels lightly but has her own emotional baggage and surprises in tow. The decision to double the roles prompts you to reflect on their similarities (particularly the mistakes Veronica made that Joan is trying to avoid). The reunion brings out a bitterness Gloria has harboured for Joan, jealous of the apparent success she’s enjoyed in America and victim blaming her for the events all those years earlier. But Joan is armed with her own story. Telling Ruby of a pizza delivery job she was fired from, we hear how she spent an evening getting drunk with two of the surviving Anderson sisters. A reconciliation of sorts.

Butterworth’s writing and Rob Howell’s detailed design provides a sense of the house’s history and lived-in quality. Each bedroom is named after a US state and the top of the stage hints at a second staircase leading us to imagine a sprawling guesthouse. The parlour is dominated by an anachronous Tiki bar, and we hear comments from an old visitor’s book, ranging from compliments for a lovely bank holiday weekend to ‘Shithole’. Sam Mendes brings the play’s many layers to the stage in all their shades of light and dark, getting the most from his cast. Ophelia Lovibond’s Ruby almost returns to a childlike state over the course of the play, coming downstairs in the middle of a baking, sleepless night clutching a hot water bottle for comfort. Best fits the mold of her mother: strong, funny, antagonistic. And whilst the play belongs to the four sisters, there’s fine supporting work from Bryan Dick, Shaun Dooley and Richard Lumsden.

The Hills of California (along with The Ferryman) feels like a departure from Butterworth’s earlier works. More mature, funny but less reliant on performative stichomythia, with themes emerging from the fullness of character and complexity of story. Its setting is grounded, unlike the more figurative settings of The River or even Parlour Song. And whereas the stories told in Jerusalem give Rooster his legendary status and are a warning about the stories we tell ourselves as a nation, the stories told in The Hills of California have more of a personal resonance. Stories can be told and remembered differently on each outing. They can be used as projections of our own aspirations, suits of armour to hide shame, weapons to cast guilt, vehicles to convince ourselves we’ve found peace. How much do we really change? As the lights fade on the sisters singing ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ twenty years after they last sung it, they still remember the lyrics and intricate harmonies, each sister slotting into place again, an attempt to make peace with one another and themselves.

The Hills of California runs at the Harold Pinter Theatre until 15^th June.

Nicola Turner, Nancy Allsop, Lara McDonnell and Sophia Ally in The Hills of California. Credit: Mark Douet.

Secret Blog: Looking back and looking forward…

"But - enough of us looking backwards, we should all look forwards"

Sir John Gielgud, The Motive and The Cue

We didn’t see as much theatre in 2023 as we would’ve liked. Life, loss and ill health got in the way. But that’s not to say there weren’t any highlights. At the start of the year, the National’s production of Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane (Curve, Leicester) perfectly married plot, spectacle and feeling, articulating the very personal yet universal experiences of loss, love and change with a masterly touch. Sam Steiner’s 2015 play Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons (Pinter) was revived in the West End by Josie Rourke. Both Steiner’s text and Robert Jones’ design had a clean aesthetic, making for a compelling production with a puzzle-like quality, helping to cement it as a contemporary classic. From the bitterness of Lemons to the sugar rush of Moulin Rouge! The Musical (Piccadilly), the stage adaptation of Baz Luhrmann’s film was as camp, frivolous and bang-for-your-buck entertaining as you’d hope. In lieu of a more substantial Top 10 list which we usually compile in December, here are some of our favourite productions from 2023:

In Hamlet, we hear a speech on the purpose of acting, one of its key purposes being ‘to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature’. Two commercial and critical hits this year, Lolita Chakrabarti’s Hamnet (RSC Swan) and Jack Thorne’s The Motive and The Cue (NT Lyttelton), held a mirror up to Shakespeare, Hamlet and acting itself. In Hamnet, Chakrabarti did a wonderful job of translating Maggie O’Farrell’s heady novel into a linear narrative that stirs the emotions. It offered perhaps the most poignant interpretation of the bard yet but also paid tribute to an unsung hero of literary history. In The Motive and The Cue, Thorne focuses on the troubled rehearsal period of ‘Richard Burton's Hamlet’, directed by Sir John Gielgud on Broadway in 1964. Sam Mendes’ stylish production explored the nature of acting and a clash of personalities, and featured hugely enjoyable performances from Mark Gatiss and Johnny Flynn. Whereas these plays were examples of theatre looking inward, as it so often does, James Graham’s Dear England (NT Olivier) turned to Gareth Southgate’s time as England manager to create an unashamedly populist play which bled through to the wider general public. It’s often said why can’t theatre feel like a football match. In Rupert Goold’s production, it did!

Hanya Yanagihara’s best-selling and immensely popular 2015 novel A Little Life (Savoy) has often been accused of touting ‘torture porn’ and is not for the faint-hearted. In Ivo van Hove’s adaptation, he harnessed his signature style of heightened realism combined with some very striking imagery to create a vivid production that was (in some cases literally) an assault on the senses.

Seven years after we saw its initial run (twice in one week), Tim Minchin’s triumphant Groundhog Day (Old Vic) returned to London. A musical about being stuck, transformation, and practicing better ways to be, Minchin’s score and Danny Rubin’s book are hilarious and mine complex emotions. The score is unmistakably Minchin – perceptive, mischievous, hilarious, subversive – and Matthew Warchus’ staging was genius. The production plays in Melbourne in 2024!

Other theatrical highlights:

We were lucky to see two new chamber musicals this year. A workshop performance of Cake: The Marie Antoinette Playlist (Curve, Leicester) was a poppy, sexy new musical starring Zizi Strallen in the same light as Six. And Freya Catrin Smith and Jack Williams’ RIDE (Curve, Leicester) about the first woman to cycle around the world, was an endearing original musical which focuses on issues of feminism and class without ever feeling preachy. Liv Andrusier gave a star-making performance as Annie Londonderry; initially full of bravado and broad Bostonian sass, her mask slipped to reveal a character unsure of herself.

Like the protagonist of RIDE, I also found no joy in Hanoi this year. However, I did see a water puppet show next to Hoàn Kiếm Lake. Accompanied by live musicians, the show told the legend of a divine turtle that emerged from the lake and asked an emperor to return a magical sword that had been lent to him. The show, like the audience, was touristic, but it was a highlight of my 40 hours in Vietnam.

We went to Eurovision in Liverpool in May, seeing (in our opinion) the better of the two semi-finals. Loreen, Käärijä, and an amazing stage management team were among the highlights!

Looking forward…

In the West End, we’re seeing Jez Butterworth’s latest play The Hills of California (Pinter), Thomas Ostermeier‘s reimagining of Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People (Duke of York’s), the Donmar transfer of Brian Yorkey and Tom Kitt’s Next to Normal (Wyndham’s), the London return of Anaïs Mitchell’s Hadestown (Lyric), and the Crucible/NT production of the Sheffield musical Standing at the Sky’s Edge (Gillian Lynne) this year. Benedict Andrews returns to the London stage to direct Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard (Donmar Warehouse) starring Nina Hoss and Adeel Akhtar in April. Lucy Kirkwood’s Tony-nominated play The Children and Arthur Miller’s Tony-winning play The Crucible are playing at Nottingham Playhouse and Sheffield’s Crucible respectively this Spring. And in Leicester, Nikolai Foster’s technically dazzling production of A Chorus Line returns to Curve in June ahead of a run at Sadler’s Wells. Also returning to Curve is Hanif Kureishi’s My Beautiful Laundrette before heading out on tour supported by the National Theatre. So enough of us looking backwards. We should all look forwards!