National Theatre

It’s been a long time since I last did this. There’s been a lot going on. Cataract operations and follow ups. British Bilingual Poetry Collective’s first appearance at the Barbican. Football matches. Women’s World Cup cricker. Copy to prepare for Watford Museum and editing for TU Delft. A massive crop of quinces to be cooked and made into jelly, pickles, marmalade and membrillo. But still time for a few theatre and concerts. And while my last post began with a trek west across south London to see my granddaughter play in her band, this one starts with a diagonal trip north to Alexandra Palace to see my son-in-law perform.

It’s 20 years since The Thick of It hit our screens and so why not have a party to celebrate? The creator Armando Ianucci was joined by the stars Peter Capaldi, Rebecca Front and Chris Addison, who at the time was mainly known as a standup comedian rather than an actor. The evening was elegantly hosted by Miles Jupp. There was lots of chat about the provenance (Yes Minister), about the semi-improvisatory nature of the scripts and the fluid filming style. There was a lot of swearing of course and a pre-interval recreation of the Tucker/Reeder sacking scene. It was a very entertaining evening although as a fellow-traveller on the bus back to Finsbury Park said: “It turned a bit into the Chris Addison show in the second half.” When tasked with this Chris confessed it was PTSD from all those panel shows he used to do.

Next up was another visit to Acland Burghley School for a recital by the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment’s new intake to their Rising Stars scheme. Every two years the OAE recruits young singers to serve a kind of apprenticeship with opportunities to appear at their concerts and develop their professional lives. This year’s group seemed pretty well set to me with well-delivered introductions to their Handel arias.

They were left to right Sofia Kirwan-Baez (soprano), Angharad Rowlands (mezzo-soprano), Hugo Brady (tenor) and Peter Edge (baritone). Chosen from over 100 singers who applied they were accompanied by a chamber group of OAE players conducted from the harpsichord by Steven Devine. It’s really encouraging to see so much young talent embarking on their chosen careers.

The last Sunday of every other month finds me co-hosting a BBPC poetry adda (get together). We read, perform and often translate poetry and have voluble discussions about what we hear. This month we had a performance poet Pip McDonald perform a couple of pieces and then engage in a valuable discussion about the art of performance with many tips for budding performers. It was a friendly and positive occasion, with tea and snacks, as I hope the photos demonstrate.

So what’s occurring at Marble Arch? After the horror of that artificial hill, it was a delight to discover that there’s a new MOCO in town. I’ve visited the museums in Barcelona and Amsterdam but had missed out on the fact that MOCO London opened in September last year but had an email with a voucher for half-price entry so off I set. It’s a similar collection of modern and contemporary works with Banksy, Emin, Hirst, Kusama, Opie and Warhol all present and correct but with some excellent pieces that were completely new to me. One of thee first images to confront me was a photo of Elton John by Chris Levine, currently in a dispute with a collaborator over his holographic portraits of the late queen. I was then lured into a fascinating psychedelic infinity mirror room and then to its exact opposite in a contemplative installation Lunar Garden by Daniel Arshan inspired by the classic Japanese Zen gardens I enjoyed so much in Japan. There were a lot of really interesting artworks on display so it will be firmly on my agenda of museum visits as they have changing displays as well as the permanent collection. And it’s a spacious and elegant space over three floors.

I don’t often go to see a play twice in ten days but when Frances and I went to see The Land of the Living at the Dorman Theatre at the National, I said “I should have brought Rosa to this”. So I told her about it and we went together a week later. Rosa is my artist friend, one of whose major installations Lost treats the adoption scandal that took place in Spain between the late 30s and early 90s, known as the Spanish Stolen Children and she is currently working on a similar work featuring the American US Adoption Re-homing scheme. You can check Rosa’s work out at https://artcollaboratif.com. This play by David Lan, who used to be the creative director at the Young Vic, is about the attempt to repatriate children who were stolen from Ukraine and Poland by the Nazis because of their suitability to breed the super Aryan race. It was disturbing, thought-provoking and contained a masterful performance by Juliet Stevenson, an actor I’ve long admired. But there were also moments of humour and theatricality as when the Dorfman’s traverse stage is converted into a swaying train taking children back to their homes.

Both Frances and I have marvelled at the genius of Indhu Rubasingham and her work transforming the Kiln Theatre. Now she’s the artistic director of the National and as someone said after the play she’s spent a year of the Kiln’s budget on her first production as director in the Olivier. Bacchae is losely based on Euripides in a debut play by Nima Taleghani – a brave commission to open your first season at the nation’s principal theatre. Did it work? Hell yes! Rambunctious rapping, rhyming, big revolves, flying and dancing brought the contrast between the lifestyles and philosophies of Dionysus and Pentheus sharply into focus and the ever-present chorus of bacchantes led by Clare Perkins kept the whole spectacle flowing through mood swings and emotional turmoil. Ukweli Roach, James McArdle and Sharon Small shared the lead roles. There were lots of laughs, lots of theatrical in jokes and while it may not be what conventional NT audiences were expecting all the people we spoke to thought it was great fun.

My friend Jadwiga likes lunchtime recitals and has a list of churches and venues where she goes regularly so I was delighted to be able to take her to a lunchtime recital in a venue she hadn’t been to before. Some time ago on a vist to Ramsgate for the launch of Anna Blasiak’s latest book, I met Gabriela Mocan of the Romanian Cultural Institute and had taken my friend Dana to an evening concert there. The upshot is that I’m on their mailing list and was attracted by a recital by a Romanian pianist Kira Frolu in St Bartholomew the Great in Smithfield.

Jadwiga was suitably impressed by this ancient church and we were both enthralled by the young pianist’s performance of an Georges Enescu suite – Mélodie, Mazurk mélancolique and Burlesque from Suite No.3 Op.18 – to keep the Romanian theme running followed by a wonderful performance of one of my favourite pieces Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition which is great in Ravel’s orchestration but rather special in the original piano form. It was made all the more poignant as the last movement is called ‘The Heroes’ Gate at Kyiv’.

Once again it was a privilege to experience the wealth of talent emerging from British conservatoires (Royal Academy of Music in Kira’s case) and a tragedy that so many of them will struggle to make a living because governments plural don’t care about the arts. We had a light lunch after the concert and walkedpast St Paul’s Cathedral and then through Postman’s Park with its fascinating plaques to people who died trying to save others’ lives. We then crossed the Millennium Bridge and along the south bank where I peeled off to meet Rosa for an early supper in the Archduke before making my second trip to the Dorman for The Land of the Living. It was interesting to see it from a different viewpoint and its powerful messages rang through again. I’m pleased to say Rosa was impressed too.

The Barbican Centre ran a series of October events under the title Voiced: the Festival for Endangered Languages. My poetry group BBPC was invited to contribute in three sessions. We ran a Translation Circle on Saturday 11 October (top below), our chair Shamim read poems in Sylheti in person on Friday 17 (left below) and in a foyer display through headphones and Eeshita and Anahita produced a polylingual audiovisual poem at the final session on Saturday 18. (Eeshita introduces the poem and the BBPC team celebrates.)

Shamim and I have run a number of translation session together but we usually know several of the people present. Not this time. Because of GPDR the barbican couldn’t even let us know who had signed up. However we did enlist the talent of Anna Blasiak to prepare a poem in Polish and Kashubian (endangered mix of Polish and German used on the north coast) which we then translated as a group which contained speakers of ten different languages. Interesting! However, the organiser got good feedback and we had a good party after the final session.

A change of mood on the Sunday as I moved back into the world of music with the OAE performing their first concert of their 40th anniversary season at the Queen Elizabeth Hall – Handel’s oratorio Solomon. It’s a fine work that includes the ever popular Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. Conducted by John Butt who has a long association with the OAE, it was great to see two of the rising stars from last week in the two choirs with Angharad having a small solo role as the second harlot involved in the famous judgement. The main character of Solomon was sung by one of the first intake of Rising Stars Helen Charlston, Zadok by Hugo Hymas and a Levite by Florian Störtz fellow alumni of the scheme. The three sections of the oratorio are very different in style and emotional impact but it was a pleasure to hear the crisp playing of the orchestra and the beautiful antiphonal choirs raising the roof.

The period was rounded off with visits to the Young Vic and the National again. A couple of weeks’ ago Frances was invited to an insight event in the Young Vic rehearsal room at which we heard from some of the actors and from director Nadia Fall about the forthcoming production of Joe Orton’s Entertaining Mr Sloane. I think I saw the first revival at the Royal Court in 1975 with Beryl Reid and Malcolm Macdowell. It raised a lot of scandalous outrage among certain elements of society and the media.

Tamzin Outhwaite is the central character Kath in this production with Jordan Stephens as Mr Sloane. Poor Joe Orton is best remebered for being murdered by his boyfriend but he actually wrote some very funny plays (Mr Sloane, Loot, What the Butler Saw).

Within the frequent elements of farce are strong messages about unwanted pregnancy, homosexuality, promiscuity, race and class and hints of criminality. Well worth reviving in our once again intolerant times.

Another of the benefits of friendship with Frances was an invite to a talk to staff in the archive and design departments of the NT followed by a matinee performance of Hamlet. This is the second production in Indhu Rubasingham’s first season at the National and was directed by her deputy artistic director Robert Hastie. Hiran Abeysekera plays the prince quite brilliantly with much more humour than usual and a very emotional reading of the role. He’s matched by an outstanding performance from Francesca Mills as Ophelia who skips and dances across the stage enlivening every scene she’s in and casting a shadow over others after her death. It’s brilliantly staged in a palatial ballroom with an amazing mural which we were told in the pre-meet contains portraits of everyone who has played Hamlet at the National.

Well I usually only blog when I’m travelling and this was going to be about a planned trip to The Hepworth Wakefield, Ian Prowse’s Mersey Hyms gig at Appletreewick in the Dales and the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, where there’s an exhibit of works by Yukihiro Akama – one of which I was given as a birthday present by Dee in 2015 according to my meticulous (nerdy) records of art we own .

What is brilliant is that they are all carved from a single piece of native English wood (oak in this case) and signed underneath. The chance to see a major exhibition of his work in Yorkshire where he’s lived since 2011 after being trained and working as an architect in Japan, combined with these other cultural events and staying in Bradford with our friend Graham was a great excuse to head north.

The week started well with a visit from our friend Daisy Scott from Boston. We first met and worked together in 1994 on an English language project for the publisher Longman, so a thirty-year friendship called for a celebration. But then disaster struck. When deciding on a title for this piece a number of puns occurred: Cultural Awokening; The Tripping Point; A Bridge to Fear; Anatomee of a Fall and so on since the week was curtailed by me catching my large left foot on a paving stone on the Hungerford Footbridge across the Thames, getting a serious gash in my forehead – again! – and taking Daisy for a new but non-cultural experience – a visit to St Thomas’ A&E (Emergency Room for her). I later emerged looking like this:

By this time Daisy had left after looking after me extremely kindly. Let me add some context to all this. On Sunday we had a Sunday lunch in the Queen’s Arms in Kensington, probably annoying the patient staff by taking far too long with catch up chat to order any food. But we did eat well and then went to see the Yinka Shonibare exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery. I’d known his work from other galleries and the fourth plinth in Trafalgar Square but Daisy knew nothing of him at all. We were both completely in awe of his creative imagination and power and the technical command of the technicians in his atelier to put such an amazing show together. Check it out from the link above and if you can get there – GO!

We had arranged by email to do a theaterathon (AmEng spelling works better) on Wednesday before Daisy flew back to Boston on Thursday. It was to start with lunch at the Union Club where Dee and I took Daisy many years ago but which is always a delight. We met there, ate well and started our thespy adventures by walking to the Theatre Royal Haymarket where Daisy in the States had managed to get two tickets for the utterly sold-out Portrait of Dorian Gray with Sarah Snook of Succession fame, She had warned me that we were in the gallery and needed to climb 65 steps to get there – a good test for the hip. Because we were going to be so high up I’d brought opera glasses – we had his and hers from the Royal Opera house in red velvet bags and I gave Dee’s to Daisy as a gift which she received with some emotion – they were great friends too,

In the event, the stairs proved doable as people were moving quite slowly and the opera glasses redundant as the whole perfoprmance is a mixture of theatre and live television with images displayed on a number of large screens around the auditorium. The sheer brilliance of Snook was matched by the choreographed balletic movements of the camera technicians, make-up artists, prop, wig and costume handlers who shared the stage with the actor who played 26 characters without breaking step. I was relieved I wasn’t vision mixing the feeds from on stage cameras with pre-recorded clips in a seamless two hours that flew by. The story might have got lost in the pizzazz but it didn’t. The production and her performance were truly phenomenal and it was very gratifying to see her call all the techies on to share the curtain call. We descended the steps light as air and proceeded to make our way to part two of our excursion buzzing with excitement at what we’d just seen and marvelling at how it had been achieved.

We had ample time to stroll across Trafalgar Square, through Charing Cross Station and use the eastern side of the Hungerford Foot Bridge to head for a cuppa and then the National Theatre for The Underdog, the Other, Other Bronte. And that’s where it all went wrong. The aforemention trip occurred – no alcohol involved yet as we didn’t want to fall asleep in the plays – and the day descended into (literally) a bloody mess.

Daisy was an absolute star, failing to panic, prodiucing tissues and keeping me talking to check I wasn’r concussed. We were soon joined by a group of passersby who gave my faith in humankindness a massive boost. Another Daisy – tall and curly haired rather than short and with cropped hair – rapidly called 999 and was giving them information about me and the accident when a women in a striking red dress bent down beside me and said “I’m a doctor. I’m from Belfast, I’m here for a conference. Let me have a look at you.” and then: “That’ll need stitches.” Daisy S was now the possessor of a pharmacy worth of wet wipes, tissues, plasters all handed over by concerned tourists and locals. I had by now assumed a sitting rather than a sprawling pose and was helped to my feet by two gentlemen each with a arm under my shoulders. We thanked everybody most warmly and assured them that we would be fine getting to A&E. So many kind, concerned and helpful people! My big worry was that I might have smashed my new hip but I was able to walk quite freely off the bridge down the steps past the Festival Hall and find a taxi to take us to St Thomas’ Hospital. The driver demurred at first: ” There were others looking for me … ” – then saw my face and said “Get in!”

There was a queue of about fifteen people waiting in and outside the A&E entrance and I pushed my way to the triage desk with apologetic hand signals and, I’m pleased to say, encouragement from those in line. We waited a few moments, gave my personal details and described the accident and were then directed to the Urgent Care Centre where Annabelle cleaned up the wound, let me wash my bloody hands and arms in the sink, put a temporary dressing on the gash and sent me to wait for treatment. One of our plans for our early arrival at the NT was for Daisy to find a quiet spot and good wifi to have a video call to her husband Jerry back in Boston as they’d been missing each others’ calls. There was a conveniently vacant children’s area where Daisy managed to connect and also brought the phone so Jerry could admire my wound and say Hi. As time went by I despatched Daisy to the National so that one of us a least saw the play. She later reported that we’d seen the better play in the afternoon. I might still catch it one day although I have a lot of outings in the coming weeks

When you are in it the NHS is just so excellent. I think I was probably waiting for about 90 minutes before Amy called me in and was such a calm, efficient and friendly nurse pratitioner who cleaned me up fully, gave me a full concussion test, told me I had a build up of ear wax while checking my vital signs and then put in the six neat stitches you saw at the top of the blog. We had such a relaxing conversation about all sorts of things and I just pray – and will vote in such a way – that the NHS which can give me a new hip and make me feel safe and better after a stupid, self-inflicted accident is rescued from the predators.

Tag: National Theatre

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