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MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Rsc Stratford upon Avon

TANGLED JUSTICE, MORAL SWAMPS

  There is no sure hero in Shakespeare’s ‘mystery play” , which can be exhilarating.  Emily BUrns’  remarkably sure-footed, clear and well-trimmed production, in a stark monochrome moden set of stairs and benches,  certainly is.  And although its plot is based on concepts of sexual sin (meaning  before marriage) which we do not in 2025 condemn,  she exhilaratingly starts it with a brief video montage of Clinton, Epstein, Trump, Prince Andrew, Rubiales, Hancock etc.   Sexual sin never goes right out of date, just changes clothes.  

    Plot in brief: the Duke, feeling “we have let slip old values” , heads off disguised as a cleric and leaves the lean, mean priggish Angelo in charge, who promptly condemns Claudio to death for getting his fiancee pregnant.  Claudio’s sister Isabella, contacted by the lad’s friend Lucio,  pleads for his life but Angelo will only grant it if she sleeps with him.  She is too virtuous. But the disguised Duke sets it up so Angelo thinks he is having her, but is actually breaking the rules by sleeping with his own fiancee, who he’d discarded for not being rich enough. 

       And so it goes. Burns  keeps it moving fast and merciless, her cast – nearly all RSC debutants, though several well known from TV  – are perfect in mood and emotion.  Adan James’  good-hearted Duke is wonderful,  both in his disguised humiliation being mocked by  a laddish Lucio (Douggie MdMeekin). and in his dismayed determination to expose Angelo’s hypocrisy;  Isis Hainsworth’s Isabella is superb too,  and her scene with Claudio – in his intially desperate attack of timor-mortis   – is properly moving, until with rapid subtle self-delusion he suddenly manages to convinced himself that a girl’s virtue is , face it,  unimportant next to a man’s life.    Oli Higginson does it with horrid clarity; you can see why he was such friends with Lucio the lecher. 

    But they’re all perfect, not only in confident RSC-level handling of some quite complex texts with clarity but in characterization: right down to  ANatasha Jayetileke’s Provost, an irritated functionary hating Angelo’s seizure of his “brief authority” and his irrational condemnation of Claudio .  And there’s a magnificent smart-stillettoed turn from Emily Benjamin  as Marianna when she agrees to be the substitute for Isabella, especially when she is presented, shuddering, 

 with a copy of that that innocent aspiring-nun’s long, drooping gingham frock to dress up in.  

         As for Mothersdale’ s Angelo, he is on–point too:  fiddling with his rubber stamps and hole-punches and executive toy (Isabella in her vain pleasing bangs these around a bit), and when he in rising lust decides to proposition her,  he displays a wonderful pigeon-toed excitement, a chap uneasy in his trousers.   And wow, if you want a good seduction scene, dim-lit and brutal in an entirely unexpected way (girl power!),  here it is.  

        Altogether,  the modern setting – blokes in suits behaving atrociously – is more beautifully justified than in many modernizations: especially when Isabella furiously threatens Angelo  “I will proclaim you! The world shall know what man thou art!”and he points out that nobody will believe her.  And, indeed, in various bits of sophistry employed by almosteveryone except Isabella.    So her final moment, no spoilers, though not quite Shakespeare’s intention is wholly 21c in spirit. Bravo!

Rsc.org.uk.  To. 25 october

Rating 5 

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WHITE ROSE the musical Marylebone Theatre NW1

 HEROIC STORY, NEAR MISS

   It could hardly be a better theme and story for this terrific little theatre, which since its opening has explored the darkness of Nazism and the heroism of those who resisted it,  brilliantly in The White Factory and Most Precious of Goods. And then  explored its modern aftermath in What We Talk About when we Talk About Anne Frank.   Again this small-scale musical is an echo of that past with  potential messages for today: the true tale of  a group of students in Munich, led by Sophie And Hans Scholl and their friend Christoph.

        Before the three were caught and executed they had , with a group of friends,  distributed hundreds of magnificently fiery leaflets exposing the lies and brutalities of Hitler.   These pamphlets – some smuggled out and later dropped in thousands by the RAF – are full of passion.   “Adopt resistance wherever you are, block the functioning of this war machine before it is too late”. “Every word from Hitler’s mouth is a lie”. “”An end to terror is preferable to terror without end. Jews have been murdered in a bestial manner, the most terrible crime against the dignity of Man”.   They were brave intelligent young martyrs, and Brian Belding’s mission to commemorate them is admirable: he wrote the lyrics and book,  Natalie Brice the music.  

         But deep frustration grew as this production limped along,  imported after some off-Broadway sucess  with its NYC director Will Nunziata leading  a new British cast.    It is slow-paced and curiously presented,   with the spoken dialogue often spiritless – these are students! – and also oddly quiet (Collette Guitarte’s Sophie  is often downright inaudible, screen-acting rather than stage) . But then suddenly the sound breaks out into songs (pretty forgettable) with  lots of belting which, as they’re miked feels almost strident.   It’s an uncomfortable mix.

    The play should pivot round Sophie , but somehow neither text or player feels strong enough.  Among the men it feels a bit stronger,  trying to express the differences and doubts (“this is not our fight, none of us are Jews” ) , and the shaken horror of those back from the front in Poland,  or who fear exposing their families. The hesitation and final co-operation of the professor, (Mark Wilshire) who is almost shamed by his students’ resolve, is interesting.  Ollie Wray, serving as a policeman, has good interaction with Sophie,  underlining how young they all were; so does Tobias Turley as her brother Hans. And there is a good moment when Lila, on the fringe of the friendship group,  points out that her position is not like theirs, as they could give up this dangerous business any time but she is Jewish.

     But there’s not enough energy – despite the music – and they somehow don’t feel like German students of the 1940s, more like American campus complainers today.  Some of their discussions are flatly written,  some lyrics well-meaningly but grimly  banal “Truth isn’t dead, it’s just hidden away in the hearts of those of us who still care”.  

       Shame to say I found myself thinking how much vigour could be added by some actual Nazi rhetoric, just to show us why they’re so angry.  In the better second half we do get this – a splendidly nasty address to the university about the Fatherland’s need for “men of iron, strong, obedient, soldiers not students’ and how female students would be better off “making warm beds for fighting men and soldiers for the Fuehrer”.   This at last brings us to some sense of how it might have felt.  So does the judge at the infamous ‘People’s Court”, silencing them for their “treasonous lies” and leaflets “vulgarly defaming the Fuehrer”.   We are reminded that Sophie was only 21 when she died, most of the men hardly older.   

      That was real, and should be remembered forever.  And I hope to read more about them, and that others will.  But as a musical, it’s a miss. 

marylebonetheatre.com to 14th April 

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THE SCORE Theatre Royal Haymarket

HEART AND HUMOUR, REALPOLITIK AND GOD

        This is a wonderful play, all you could want: philosophy, history prefiguring  the present moment,  humour and character ,  stunning central performances, and  confrontations which create a shiver of tension palpable through the audience.   It is about  about music and its inspiration , religious faith and angry denial:  here’s JS Bach devout, searching for a language of God, feeling his age and losing his sight but kindled to fiery defiant mockery.   It is 1747:  he has been  summoned before the scornfully atheist  Emperor Frederick , a bullied son (his father famously a nightmare) who has become a shruggingly pragmatic  wartime monarch.  Yet Frederick is himself a  flautist and composer ,  unable to resist the shabby, elderly near-blind cantor from Liepzig.     But , like his sycophantic (very funny) troupe of court composers,  he would prefer to bring the old genius down a bit: the courtiers also like to wind up his son,  one of their lower-paid number.  They challenge the old composer  to improvise,  in the moment, a near-impossible musical conundrum, a fugue  based on twenty notes by the Emperor. 

       This central ordeal is brilliantly achieved, but sparks the immense political and moral confrontation about the savagery of war: electric.

I saw it on its short run in  Bath in 2023:  given the international news was sharply jolted by the confrontation between the  resplendently silver-suited Frederick and the homely figure of Johann Sebastian  telling him about the noisy  licentious soldiery in his distant home, raping a blind local girl.    “It was an honour to be part of your invasion!”.   “Intervention!” snaps the younger man,  with Enlightenment conviction about Europe’s need to be modernized by Prussians.  He shrugs excuses,  and like Putin claims “stolen land”.   Topical shiver, again.

      Oliver Cotton’s play was a long time in creation, but Trevor Nunn’s elegant production could hardly have fallen on  a sharper moment for such a scene. At the time I thought it was not quite a perfect play, despite a superb cast and the marvellous, volcanic yet lovable central performance by Brian Cox and Stephen Hagan brilliantly  giving Frederick what I can only call  a defensively effete brutality.    Well, something has happened to it. Or I was just wrong. It is one of the great plays of the decade.  Just go.   The small tender moments will stay with you too: Nicole Ansari-Cox as Bach’s wife, praying with him before the two-day journey’s danger,  or – in a short scene later – defying the officer who demands billets in their little school’s attic .  Having seen the extent of Prussian power in the court scenes,  her victory over him got a sudden relieved bout of applause.   And laughter too meets old Bach’s  magnificent grumpiness :  (“You Prussians can’t fall  in a ditch without showing your bloody papers”) .  And Voltaire, hanging around court as a philosophical atheist favoured for the moment by the Emperor, gives us a line to take away as, three hundred years on,  our world too is shuddering. Music is, naturally, part of the answer.   For if life is a shipwreck,  “remember to sing in the lifeboats”.

Box office. trh.co.uk.       to 26 April

rating 5

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