Epigram
05.12.2011
21
Curious creatures at the National Theatre Epigram traded the West Country for the West End to see if this year’s rave reviews for Frankenstein and War Horse were justified FRANKENSTEIN National Theatre
perspective of the Creature, rather than the doctor. In doing so, whilst maintaining a chillingly Gothic atmosphere through some pretty aweinspiring sound, and staging effects, Boyle managed to steer clear entirely of the high camp Hammer horror genre. Imbued with a sense of beauty, a thirst for knowledge (and ability to articulate) and a desire for companionship, the Creature was drawn sympathetically as a product of circumstance, despite his bloodthirsty intentions. Miles away from Boris Karloff’s grunting beast, Boyle’s overall sensitivity to theme raised a Creature into performance that felt far truer to Shelley’s original work. Rachel Schraer
WAR HORSE New London Theatre
War Horse is a phenomenon. Running in London since 2007 and in Broadway since this year, the play is being turned into a film directed by none other than Steven Spielberg. Though a National Theatre production, I went down to the New London Theatre where it has recently been moved. Upon arrival, I was pleased to see that the layout of the stalls auditorium ensured that from whatever seat you have managed to bag, you’re going to get a good view. Then again, at £52 a ticket you really should. If you can stomach the price tag though, it’s definitely worth it because, despite my cynicism, I had a brilliant time. Of course,the thing everybody talks about is the puppets and I’m not going to buck the trend now. They’re striking works of art in themselves, expertly manipulated by the puppeteers who also appear as minor characters in the play. It’s rather a cliché to say that I forgot that I was watching puppets, but I honestly did. Of particular note are the extraordinary animal noises the puppeteers manage to mimic and it is clear that an awful lot of preparation as gone into making the performances as believable as possible, for these are no pantomime horses. They truly are the stars of the show. That’s not to say that the actors were substandard, however. In particular, Jack Holden as Albert Narracott
National Theatre
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein was re-animated once again this year in the National Theatre’s sell-out production, scripted by Nick Dear and directed by Danny Boyle. As anticipated, Boyle’s revision of the now-mythic novel was gritty, eloquent and slightly hyperbolic at times (a rape scene of Frankenstein’s fiancée, Elizabeth seemed a little heavy handed in driving home the message). However, this was mitigated by the majestic production values that I have come to expect from the National’s Olivier Theatre, as well as some sparkling performances from its lead actors, Johnny Lee Miller (Trainspotting, Hackers) and Benedict Cumberbatch (Atonement, Sherlock). Cumberbatch and Miller alternated nightly as Frankenstein and the Creature, in a heroic feat of range that served to underline the message of the original text. Shot through with undertones of the burgeoning feminist thought of the 19th century, Frankenstein explores the masculine usurpation of the creative role. Victor’s creation of his Creature, which having been spurned and neglected, becomes bent on destroying its maker, leaves us by the end to question which of them is truly the monster. This merging of creator and creation, prefigured in the interchangeable actors’ roles, is fully realised in the final scene, as Frankenstein
and his Creature together disappear into the obscurity of an arctic wasteland. The night I saw, Cumberbatch played the monster with frenetic, animal energy as well as real emotional depth, whilst Miller’s Frankenstein was stern and stoically dispassionate to the point of being nearly inhuman. The play opened on a spot lit circle of gauze, through which the writhing silhouette of the monster could be seen. Cumberbatch upheld the visceral quality of this foetal image powerfully as the Creature was ‘birthed’ into the world, tearing through the gauze and then attempting to find his feet. From the off, the play was skewed to the
held the show together well, as the audience joined him on a journey through WWI in the search for his beloved horse ‘Joey’. Steve Nicholson and Rachel Sanders, playing his parents, are also worth mentioning for their performances. Nicholson brought the flawed complexity of his character out well and Sanders was believable as the flustered matriarch trying to hold the family together. And so we come to my only gripe and, surprisingly, it’s not actually about the play at all. It’s about the audience. Behind
me sat a middle-aged couple who decided that the best thing to do when watching a theatre performance is to give a live commentary on it. A few rows in front of me sat a girl who kept checking her phone – the light from the screen distracting me momentarily from the play. Ushers should have been on hand to pick up on both of these. So, how to sum up my War Horse experience? Well, I cried. I cried over a bloody horse. There can be no greater compliment to this gem of a play. Matthew Rose
LEONARDO DA VINCI Painter at the Court of Milan National Gallery, London Until 05 February 2012 Cost: £16 (£8 conc.)
Billed not only as the exhibition of the year, but indeed as the show of a lifetime, the official line is that this is ‘the most complete display of Leonardo’s rare paintings ever held.’ All the advance-booking tickets are now sold out, with reports of internet re-sales of £16 tickets for up to £250. Already the show has accumulated a similar mystique to the artist himself. Less enthusiastic critics have grumbled that there are ‘only nine Leonardo works’ on
display, the rest being the works of his close contemporaries and students. Here though, they are wrong, for although there are indeed only nine paintings on display, they are accompanied by a rich array of astonishing small sketches, a medium offering the viewer a degree of intimacy with the artist. T h e ticketing s y s t e m limited to 180 every 30 minutes appears to be working well. It is worth explaining that you are not actually shepherded out after your 30
minute window closes, but the movement of the crowd keeps a natural rhythm of people arriving and departing. On the whole, the crowd was no denser than on a busy Saturday morning at The Royal Academy’s superb Degas and the Ballet exhibition. The secret, of course, is that art crowds tend to be rather polite and if you adopt a vague air of imp or tance and carry a notepad (even one that came free with Elle) it’s really no trouble to cut a path t h r o u g h the more congested areas.
The exhibition is not an example of great curatorial innovation, but then it really needn’t be. Both the paintings and the – often minute – sketches confound expectations gathered from reproductions with their haunting human fleshiness. We feel the warmth of these 15th century ghosts who are more marvels of oddity than exemplars of beauty to the modern eye. Looking at these apparitions, I found myself reminded of Edgar Allan Poe’s gothic consumptives or the greenery-yallery androgynes of Burne-Jones’s dreams. Ghosts are a good theme for this exhibition, for echoing around the rooms is the continual murmur of the missing lady. Whisper it: Mona Lisa. Eavesdropping on fellow viewers, it seemed more people were talking of what,
Hattie Davidson
Have the National Gallery got the ‘greatest show on earth’?
A sell-out success?
or whom, was missing than what was present. Concisely – more fool them, because whilst she resides in France what is represented here is a magnificent collection of shiver-invoking spectres, both entrancing and beguiling. Although perhaps not worth
£250 in these tight-budget times - one could always stand in a grave yard for free and experience similar sensations – I must send away my inherent cynicism and side with the party line: there is just something about Leonardo. Rosemary Wagg