Rocket to the Moon

At last, a play at the National Theatre that I've actually enjoyed this year. Huzzah. Clifford Odette's play, set in New York, in the sweltering summer of 1938, in a dentist's waiting room to be precise, is a hothouse of anaesthetised emotion... trapped in a stuffy, humid, small, soulless room the atmosphere is claustrophobic, constrained, stale, uncomfortable - much like the life of dentist Ben Stark, a man pushed one way by his haranguing wife (Keeley Hawes), and pulled another by her exuberant father, with whom she is at loggerheads.It's tiring to watch, let alone experience.

Everyone is bursting with opinions and passion but Stark himself. In sweeps the beautiful Cleo Singer, a pert, zingy, smiling breath of fresh air oozing energetic, excited youthfulness. The men go crazy, the women - ach, less so. The waiting room is the perfect setting for the waiting game that subsequently unfolds - what we're waiting for is less certain... is this an office romance or something altogether bigger, grander, more interesting...? They both must escape the claustrophobia, but what's the best way? with each other? or through some kind of self revelation?

It's cleverly played out - sinewy with emotion and  beautifully acted - Jessica Raine as Cleo is all  fidgety nubile sexuality,Joseph Millson Stark all twisted, manipulated confusion, Keely Hawes as his wife, strident, pose striking, looking-down-her-nose posturing while her father is a bouncing ball of rebellion and wit. I also especially loved the rather down-on-his-luck second dentist played by Peter Sullivan (so excellent in the Donmar's the Late Middle Classes with Helen McRory last year), who brought out the tragi-comic direness of his lacklustre life with glorious brio.

A tad long, but otherwise A1.

Three Sisters

Despite the fact that Christopher Hampton's translation / Sean Holmes and Filter's production of Chekhov's Three Sisters at the Lyric Hammersmith got some rather good reviews, i have to say i LOATHED it. so much so i left at the interval - such a rarity i think i have only done it once before. that i can remember anyway. Here's why:

1)Romola Garai seems completely confused about Masha's character. there's one point when her sister Irina says 'stop crying' to her (her over emotionalism gets out of control)... there is NO WAY the character the way Romola plays it would react like that - steely, and masculinsed and tough as she is. a complete schism between the character on the stage and the words. Romola also needs to TURN THE VOLUME DOWN and stop shouting. it's actually tiring watching her.

2)as is the Chekhovian way, many characters state facts about themselves, like their ages, but many of the actors are CLEARLY NOT THE AGES THEY SAY THEY ARE. very odd. not to mention annoying.

3) why do the stage crew take on roles in the play? irritatingly self conscious a device nicely complemented by the half baked set - WHY?

4) inexplicable use of microphones - ie strategically placed microphones that pick up certain bits of dialogue and metaphorically resonant ephemera; for example a kettle boiling. while i got the point of this in that it reflects the pressure mounting - i have to say that it is gimmicky and pointless. this example also took eons, during which time i completely zoned out.

5) Irina has an Irish accent, her sisters don't. annoying.

6) musician hangers on, strumming away in the background: GRRR.

7) the doorbell. it's like one of those doorbell sounds they used to have in the 80s. WHO HAS A DOORBELL THAT SOUNDS LIKE THAT? no one - especially not if you are this family.

all could have come right in the second half, but i coun't bear to find out.

some good things though:

1) the Baron was brilliantly funny and brought Chekov's habitual theme of longing to a heightened fever pitch - fantastic. his desperately idealistic desire to work was perfectly pulled off.

2) Romola's mannish trousers and waistcoat combo. wonder where they are from. very natty.

3) Vershinin: HOT. from a distance anyway.

still, not enough good things to redeem it. by any stretch.