July 9th - 13th, 2016

STRANGE SHORE: London, England.

SUNDRY LAND: United Kingdom

WANDERING WAY: “Guys and Dolls” (@ The Phoenix Theatre with Rebel Wilson) and “Faith Healer” (@ Donmar Warehouse with Stephen Dillane and Gina McKee); Richard III (@ The Almeida Theatre with Ralph Fiennes).

What a long tea break! But that’s England. You order tea, and then you think, “Well, why not have a little cucumber sandwich as well?” At that point, you’re presented with cakes, scones, and delectable comestibles of all ilk – without knowing quite what’s happened, a day has passed, your belly is taut, and you’ve quite forgotten to update your travelogue blog by reviewing all the plays (five) that you’ve seen since arriving in London. What can I say? The V&A serves a lovely tea.

Since deciding that The National Theatre’s productions of “The Threepenny Opera” and “Sunset at the Villa Thalia” were too disappointing to merit one more minute of my time or consideration, I’ll first focus on the peculiar double-header of “Guys and Dolls” and “Faith Healer” that kicked off this theatrical extravaganza.

The quintessential American musical “Guys and Dolls” (http://guysanddollsthemusical.co.uk)  was revived in the fertile potting soil of The Chichester Festival (https://www.cft.org.uk), the West-End-ready greenhouse of England’s summer rep outfits, and this flashy production reacquired must-see status with the recent arrival of its transitory guest starlet, Rebel Wilson who played Miss Adelaide. In contrast, “Faith Healer” is an intimate memory play written by Ireland’s much-lauded Brian Friel, starring the grave classical actor Stephen Dillane, and produced by London’s Donmar Warehouse (http://www.donmarwarehouse.com), a tiny non-profit theatre of great renown. Much like the Classic Stage Company in New York City, Donmar’s space is the size of a glorified black box, but its itty-bitty confines evince enough prestige to attract big-name stars, such as Tom Hiddleston, (http://www.donmarwarehouse.com/whats-on/donmar-warehouse/2013/coriolanus), Simon Russell Beale (http://www.donmarwarehouse.com/whats-on/donmar-warehouse/at-the-donmar/2015/temple), and Dominic West (http://www.donmarwarehouse.com/whats-on/donmar-warehouse/at-the-donmar/2015/les-liaisons-dangereuses). However, Donmar has been much more successful than CSC of late – whereas Donmar’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses is transferring to Broadway in the fall, it’s almost impossible to imagine CSC repeating the success of its 2010 runaway hit Venus in Fur (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/28/theater/reviews/28venus.html?_r=0) after the flubs and flops of its most recent season.

So, in short, “Guys and Dolls” and “Faith Healer” could’ve hardly been more different, but strange consonances struck despite their surface-level disparities. Halfway through this two-day double-feature, it occurred to me that “Guys and Dolls” and “Faith Healer” both dramatize the holy-rolling theatrics of populist religion for the purpose of plumbing deep questions like,

“Is it possible to save a sinner?”

“Can miracles happen today?”

“Should I believe in my fellow man?”

“Is it luck or God?”

and

“If marriage is built on faith and trust, mightn’t it be a bad idea?”

In the register of musical comedy, “Guys and Dolls” provides these answers:

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

“Both!”

“It’s a terrible idea, but go ahead, you crazy kids!”

In a more tragic mode, “Faith Healer” offers the thoughtful meditation:

“Yes, but the sinner won’t appreciate it, nine times out of ten.”

“Yes, but the miracle-worker will be called a phony.”

“Yes, but be prepared to suffer.”

“You have no luck because you’re Irish – God is dead…just like the protagonists.”

“It’s a terrible idea, but go ahead, you crazy kids.”

Beyond the skeptical appreciation of faith-based showmanship posited by the eerily similar casuistry of Frank Loesser and Brian Friel, these specific productions of “Guys and Dolls” and “Faith Healer” beg the question of what alchemical ingredients go into the making of a bravura star performance. Like the shows they helm, Rebel Wilson and Stephen Dillane could hardly be more different at first glance.

However, they both deliver star performances that held their respective audiences enrapt. How does that happen?

In the case of Rebel Wilson, I can’t recall a time when seen I’ve more mugging on stage. Possibly Martin Short’s last outing? Moreover, she dipped her Australian accent into a lower register for the purpose of approximating Brooklynese (badly), and drew out each joke to the longest possible length, suggesting another repercussion of transcontinental jetlag. But here’s the weird thing: it all worked. She was frickin’ hilarious – Ms. Wilson had young and old rolling in the aisles, as the say. The whole production lit up whenever she came on stage; moreover, she even had the seasoned veterans of the cast cracking up.

My favorite joke was a joke that I saw Tim Curry deploy with equal charm in 2004’s Broadway production of Spamalot, but just because a joke’s old doesn’t mean it can’t be dusted off to hilarious effect over and over and over again, which (come to think of it) might explain the evergreen appeal of “Guys and Dolls,” too. Now, Rebel Wilson “does not have the most athletic frame” – in the words of the sweet blue-haired lady seated next to me – but as any “Guys and Dolls” devotée knows, Miss Adelaide is a hotbox dancer. Can Ms. Wilson dance? Not as such. Did it matter? Not at all. Every time the chorus’s professional dancers sprang into action, Ms. Wilson would pretend to dance and comment on the activity swirling around her. This is another fact about a star – all of the other performers may be gyrating and tapping up a sweat, but a star just needs to be. Her presence alone outshone everyone else on stage.

Stephen Dillane exploited the power of presence to opposite (that is, quiet) effect in “Faith Healer,” but it was still the audience’s inclination to lean towards the star that propelled his long monologues into the realm of the divine. Standing on stage alone with no scenery and minimal props, Mr. Dillane spoke in a hush, so much so everyone was forced lean forward to hear the words he articulated so carefully. But no one wanted to miss a word. As words piled on words, the audience waited for a release: “What happened next? Won’t you tell us, please?” In the theatre program, Conor McPherson, a follower of Friel and a mighty playwright in his own right, commented on the power of Irish storytelling when words fly out like sparks in the night. Dillane rendered this academic commentary superfluous as everyone quieted to hear what he would say, and there wasn’t need for flash or fireworks as we listened to his still voice illuminate the dark.

These twin questions of what makes a star and whence comes presence lead us directly to a discussion of Ralph Fiennes in the Almeida Theatre’s production of Richard III (http://www.almeida.co.uk/whats-on/richard-iii/7-jun-2016-6-aug-2016). Without a doubt, Ralph Fiennes is a star – testified by his popularity, long resume, and indubitably powerful performances on stage and screen – but how is it that tepid productions happen to undisputed talents?

Dunno. For production with so much going for it – two stars (Ralph Fiennes AND Vanessa Redgrave) – it’s frustrating to report back that many elements of this particular Shakespearean interpretation were kinda, well, meh.

Even bettering Stephen Dillane’s quiet fire, Mr. Fiennes’s voice whips out through the theatre – a thunderbolt, a lighting strike. That’s why this production’s decision to begin with a dumb-show of the recent discovery of Richard III’s skeleton (even recreating the stupid parking lot) rather than Shakespeare’s fantastic opening, “Now is the winter of our discontent,” (as spoken by Fiennes) is especially annoying. In a similar misstep, even though the production has flippin’ Vanessa Redgrave to play the curse monger Queen Margaret, it dresses her in a lame one-piece jumpsuit, saddles her with a lame prop (a broken doll), and surrounds her with lame staging (the other actors dispersed across stage for no particular reason).

All I’m saying is that the director Rupert Goold could’ve tried a little harder to come up with a coherent interpretation of the text and draw on the performers’ considerable strengths. Goold even opts to dress the company in armor as well as fatigues, which suggests certain confusion (or lack of decision) about how to stage the play. Is Goold making some oblique statement about the relevance of the past today…well, duh. If I were making a statement about a power player who’s willing to sacrifice any moral or ethical principle in precipitous ascent, I’d be bold and play the “Trump” card, showcasing the venal slime of politicians then and now. (As an aside, Ian McKellen’s fascist version is a prime example of this RIII interpretive mode: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/apr/21/richard-iii-review-ian-mckellen-loncraine.) After seeing this production, it’s depressing to think that Rupert Goold is only beginning his tenure at the wonderful Almeida Theatre. But then again, the director’s “Charles III” was so good (http://www.almeida.co.uk/whats-on/king-charles-iii), I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Still, it’s perplexing – how could Goold do such great justice to Mike Bartlett’s riff on Shakespearean history plays and then direct such a blah Shakespearean history play? What’s that about?

It’s also rather irksome to report that Fiennes’s performance as Richard was rather one-note. Fiennes is an old hand at playing villains: he came to fame playing the flabby Nazi Amon Goeth – a case-study in the creeping banality of evil, and his most famous role was as good ol’ no-nose Voldemort in the Harry Potter series. But! Lately, he’s shone in comic roles in “The Grand Budapest Hotel” and “A Bigger Splash,” and so I had every hope and expectation that Fiennes would convey the insinuating attractiveness of Richard (wordsmith and liar extraordinaire) as well as the ambitious viciousness of Richard (bloody, bloody, bloody). An actor playing Richard should beguile the audience before he shocks them with brutality.

Sad to say, Fiennes’s Richard was all evil violence, groping Lady Anne and raping Queen Elizabeth instead of seducing them. He tastes blood (literally). By deemphasizing the character’s insinuating magnetism and playing up his oily, cruel smarm, it makes all the other courtiers look dumb for not recognizing the Voldemort-like snake in their midst. This interpretation renders Shakespeare’s dazzling drama about the horrific political and personal consequences of being seduced by a hypocritical sociopath into yet another dumb show. When the director or actor added the rape of Queen Elizabeth (surely an unnecessary interpolation given that Richard has already murdered his wife), they dialed up the Richard’s evil to eleven. Didn’t anyone in the creative team sense that “11” might signal a certain lack of nuance in the overlying adaptation?

Well, I’m in such a snit that I think that I’ll go drink some more tea. I’ll have some cake, too.