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| Ringside ticket for dogged boxing
tale |
WALK HARD
Tricycle By SAM JONES
BOXING is one of my least favourite sports.
Not even the spoonful of sugar that this ‘sport’ lifted
a few lost black souls out of the ghetto can get the medicine of
this barbaric spectacle to do down for me. Yet its place in the
vanguard of black American’s political awakening is undeniable.
So this little play, written by American Negro Theatre founder Abram
Hill and performed in 1944, is pioneering.
At its heart is a poor black man with a great left hook, who uses
his new found boxing celebrity to assert his importance and condemn
the apartheid of America’s Jim Crow. He insists on his own
hotel room but, to ensure he stays “in his place,” the
black bellhop whose hospitality he declines is sacked for the boxer’s
hubris. While no more than the puppet of his white managers, ultimately
his power lies in freedom and that freedom stems from a kind of
choice, albeit a somewhat limited one.
The play lasts for two hours but is very watchable and absorbing.
There’s no actual boxing, the action instead concentrating
on the characters whose lives circle the ring – the gangsters,
their drunken resentful molls, the tall, stupid-faced sidekicks
and giggling, curious white girls.
This forms the entourage around the struggling young boxer (Kobna
Holdbrook-Smith) making an ensemble cast straight from a torrid
1940s film.
Several actors stood out. The glorious Jenny Jules was funny and
affecting as the chiffon wafting flapper Aunt Susie. Carmen Munroe’s
grandma Becky got the pick of some witty lines delivered in clipped,
occasionally West Indian tones. Joseph Marcell also does good work.
Catherine Bailey, Stephen Beckett, Mac McDonald and Flora Montgomery
supply stalwart, flamboyant support.
Director Nick Kent’s sure hand makes for a tight, clever second
half and a very warm and exciting performance. It is an enticing
opener for the rest of the Tricycle’s African-American season.
Until December 24
020 7328 1000
Lost martyrs
THE RUBENSTEINS
Hampstead By TOM FOOT
PLAYWRIGHT James Phillips’ remarkable debut, about two American
communists who chose the electric chair, for an ideology and vanity,
has its legacy in the cult of the suicide bomber.
The trial, conviction and execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg
for espionage and passing on nuclear secrets to the Soviet Union
is regarded as one of the most controversial episodes in US Cold
War history.
Were the two petty moles made an example of in the midst of anti-communist
hysteria? Or were they calculating spies bent on bringing the west
to its knees? Why did they choose to die when they could have lived?
Phillips’ play is part fantasy part fact. The Rosenbergs become
the Rubensteins. In the 1950s the Rubenstein story unfolds. Esther
(Samantha Bond, the current Miss Moneypenny from James Bond) is
the wife of Jakob Rubenstein (Will Keen). Their relationship is
inspiring as it is convincing, built up in the early stages by some
prophetic lines. Both are steadfast, hoping to turn revolutionary
ideals into reality. When the FBI agent (Gary Kemp) pleas for a
confession, Jakob responds: “Nothing is more important than
the idea.”
But this is no ordinary story of good versus bad. By the end, the
terrible notion that the two may have died for vanity rather than
dignity rears its ugly head. The audience is stunned, unsure what
to make of the whole mess.
James Phillips’ debut script is yet another coup for The Hampstead
Theatre, without a dud this year.
Until December 17
020 7722 9301
Don’t expect Keats
POETRY BOYBAND
Old Red Lion Theatre By LAURA MOSS
IF the threat of audience participation and over-zealous laughter
unnerves you, maybe give this show a miss.
Poetry Boyband is a hyperactive and self-consciously patronising
lesson in poetry and its misconceptions.
Clad in all-white linen suits and spiky hairdos, Aisle 16 prance
about the stage slamming a series of satirical micro lectures on
the various elements required to make great poetry as well as poetry
great. Each set is punctuated by an ironic West Life-style mini
dance performance just to remind you that these boy poets don’t
take themselves or their work too seriously.
Supporting the spoken word performances is a large Powerpoint screen
showing a mixture of stills, words and film to ensure the audience
is following their often convoluted, bizarre train of thought.
Some of the show’s quieter, more subtle gags are plays on words,
which would be almost impossible to achieve without the use of the
screen. But the highlight is a rhyming stand off between Carl Jung
and Sigmund Freud, featured with slices of buttered bread as beards.
Aisle 16 employs every available tactic to strip poetry of its pretentious
reputation and make it accessible.
At times the dumbing down effect is a bit puerile and this is where
the show falls down. But beneath the tongue and cheek and noisy
chaos are four talented contemporary poets, passionate about their
craft and earnest in their endeavour to sell poetry to you.
Perhaps they would make a better sale if they spoke a little quieter.
Until December 17
020 7837 7816
Truly, maddeningly
ALICE TRILOGY
Royal Court By EMILY DUGAN
IF Beckett had been asked to make Desperate Housewives: The Stageshow,
it might have looked something like this. Tom Murphy uses three
stages in the unfulfilled marriage of Alice, played by Juliet Stevenson,
to explore the despair and insanity found at the heart of an empty
life.
Married to a banker in her Irish hometown, Alice has everything
and nothing.
Stuck in a relationship that is a ‘duty’ for the husband
and a ‘habit’ for the wife, she hates her life, just as
she hates her neighbours whose chief preoccupation is the destruction
of “every last poor daisy on their lawn”.
Whilst the dissatisfied housewife is a well-worn character, Stevenson’s
emotional intensity gives it an immediacy that others have not come
close to.
Her early unhappiness is dwarfed by the real grief she shows at
the end of the play, where she cries with such abandon that it almost
feels like an intrusion to watch.
While it would be hard to fault the Truly, Madly, Deeply star’s
acting, her attempt at an Irish accent was unfortunate. About as
convincing and sustained as a drunken imitation in a pub, it mingled
with English before disappearing altogether. With barely any lines
to work with, John Stahl executes the role of the meticulous husband
Bill with disarming accuracy. Despite being a little near the bone,
Murphy’s play has a quiet pathos that lifts it above more callous
screen attempts at marital desolation.
Until 10 December
020 7565 5000
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