Recreating an historic Hamlet – with outstanding results

The Motive and the Cue

“Theatre is for thinking,” director Sir John Gielgud tells Richard Burton, as the latter prepares to take the stage as Hamlet on Broadway in 1964. And there is no shortage of that here, with Jack Thorne’s magnificent new play offering a feast of food for the mind.

Based on two accounts from actors who were involved in the production – Richard L Sterne’s John Geilgud directs Richard Burton in Hamlet: A journal of rehearsals, and William Redfield’s Letters from an Actor, the play takes its title from part of a speech by Hamlet in Act 2 scene 2:

“What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her? What would he do Had he the motive and the cue for passion That I have?”

It was a hugely successful production, but its gestation was troubled. There was no lack of respect from either for the other, but director and leading man struggled to work out what their individual visions were.

Gielgud was beset by fear that he was becoming irrelevant (he’d taken this job because it was the best offer) and was trying to do something ‘modern’, while Burton – now a global film star and celebrity after just marrying Elizabeth Taylor – was desperate to add ‘classical’ heft to his CV.

With an avaricious press camped outside the hotel where Burton and Taylor are staying, director and star fight, reconcile and fight again. Will they achieve what they both want – and how?

Gielgud’s great modern plan for the production was to stage it as though it were in the rehearsal room rather than before the footlights. Thorne’s script moves between shortish scenes, with surtitles telling the audience what day of rehearsals has been reached (there were 25).

Set designer Es Devlin uses black curtains to allow us to see into various sets behind, which change as one or more of the cast walk to the front of the stage to continue the play as the curtains close behind. If it sounds clunky, it isn’t. That, of course, is also down to the magnificent direction of Sam Mendes. The production moves smoothly and never lags.

If the central theme is about why we create art – and indeed, how – there is no shortage of other themes.

Father and sons, masculinity, ageing and sexuality to list a few.

On the latter, Gielgud at this point was 60. As a gay man, having lived his entire life with homosexuality being illegal, this adds a vulnerability, loneliness and a poignancy to him. In one scene, he takes Hugh, a sex worker, back to his hotel room, but cannot go through with any act and begins to talk.

When Hugh embraces Gielgud, the actor breaks down and sobs. It’s utterly heart-rending.

In essence, this is a two-hander with accompanying ensemble. All, of course, who are top quality. Special mentions to Allan Corduner as Hume Cronyn and Janie Dee as Eileen Herlie.

Taylor is played by Tuppence Middleton. She doesn’t have a vast amount to do, but brings light and sparkle, and also an important contrast to the two main protagonists, in seeming supremely confident and at ease in herself.

Johnny Flynn gives an excellent turn as Burton, moving fleetly from rage to fear, while there’s almost an impotence in his lack of knowing of what he himself wants.

But ultimately, this rests on the performance of Mark Gatiss as Gielgud – and it is an absolute masterclass. Not an imitation – though he fabulously captures the musical quality of his subject’s mellifluous delivery, and the quick-fire wit (and sharp bitchiness – though never used cruelly) too.

Finally, there is the ending. I give no spoilers, but is spine-tinglingly, eye-prickling stunning.

All in all, this really is outstanding – a love letter to theatre, and to Shakespeare.

• The Motive and the Cue is at the Lyttelton Theatre Until 15 July. It seem likely to transfer to the West End after that.

'It starts as all these stories do. With blood'

Joanne Harris’s latest novel, Broken Light begins with the blood of menstruation, decades in the past, while the onset of the menopause is the trigger for the contemporary sections.

At the centre of the story is Bernie Ingram (née Bernie Moon), approaching 50, in a marriage that has long since gone stale, while she’s estranged from both her mother and her own son. Working in a bookshop, she has no friends and begins to realise that, in effect, she has little agency.

But as she travels through the menopause, the nearby murder of a woman triggers a return of powers that she had long forgotten about – and Bernie begins a journey to a totally new sense of living.

Broken Light is an extraordinary tale of female experience; angry, passionate and deeply humane.

It’s been labelled as magic realism and it has, as much of Harris’s work, a quality of fairytale/folklore about. In keeping with that, it is an incredibly easy read (420 pages in two days for me), which illustrates the grip in exerts, but it’s also full of complexity, power and moral nuance.

The central theme here is the violence and misogyny that women face as a matter of routine, and the way that women are ignored.

But it’s also an examination of friendship – and of the cycle of toxicity in relationships. And also, the toxicity that can be spread on social media and is stirred by a sizeable amount of the mainstream.

There is something exhilarating about seeing some of the worst offenders called out, by their real titles, in the pages. Harris isn’t afraid to cast her fiercely feminist stare straight at them and illustrate the damage they do and the damage they facilitate.

In terms of the traumas that childhood can produce, there are places I physically winced in personal recognition – not least a child’s birthday party and aspects of domineering motherhood.

But the ending is shocking, yet redemptive and hopeful – simply stunning. Bernie Moon will stay with me for a very long time.

Broken Light by Joanne Harris is out now, available in hardback, for Kindle and audio.

The BAFTA nominations are in – who's going to win?

It's 'that' time of the year, when the BAFTA nominations are unveiled – and in spite of the best efforts of the pandemic, I seem to have better knowledge of the main contenders than in any previous year.

So here are my provisional thoughts and predictions.

I can't comment on All Quiet on the Western Front, as I haven't seen this new version yet, but I am aware that the critical response has uniformly been one of acclaim. Of course, in a perverse twist of fate, to be released in a year when Europe saw conventional warfare within it again probably hightened awareness – though the horrors of war should never be forgotten.
In terms of the best film, I think that it will be between All Quiet and The Banshees of Inisherin (pictured above).
I doubt that bookies will take bets on British film of the year, which is almost certain to go to Aftersun, given that is gained far more acclaim than anything else on the list.

On leading female actor, I'd love Viola Davis to get it (left– and I said she should be in the running for awards), but I wouldn't object remotely if Michelle Yeoh won for what was a wonderful performance in the exhilarating Everything Everywhere All at Once.

On leading male actor, I want Bill Nighy to win for Living, because his performance is simply gorgeous, but I think it will also be considered 'too' Bill Nighy and Colin Farrell will get it for Banshees. And that will not remotely be a bad thing. Odd, though, that the lead in All Quiet isn't here.

On supporting female actor, either Kerry Condon (Banshees) or Jamie Lee-Curtis (Everything Everywhere) are, I think, the leading contenders, though Dolly de Leon in Triangle of Sadness could be a deserved surprise.

Supporting male actor – it's such a shame to pit Banshees actors Brendan Gleeson and Barry Keoghan against each other: the former's role is a joint lead, and he gives a superb performance, while the latter's is a 'conventional' supporting role and the performance he gives is also superb.

Director? I suspect that Gina Prince-Bythewood is in with a good chance for The Woman King.

Outstanding British debut by a writer, producer or director – Aftersun.

Film not in English – All Quiet.

Documentary – no idea.

Animated film – has to be Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio (left). Nothing else on that list comes close.
Cinematography – what? No Banshees here? No idea then.

Original screenplay – I suspect that this will go to Martin McDonagh for Banshees, possibly leaving All Quiet for best film.

Adapted screenplay – All Quiet.

Original score – Banshees. I love the work of Alexandre Desplat, who is nominated for del Toro's Pinocchio, but Carter Burwell's score for the former is better, in my opinion.

Casting – no idea. Possibly Everything Everywhere all at Once?

Costume design – Mrs Harris Goes to Paris (left), but then again, perhaps Amsterdam, which The Other Half and I really enjoyed.

Editing – no idea and don't have the knowledge to make a judgment.

Production design – del Toro's Pinocchio.

Rising star – Sheila Atim for Woman King – a very good performance.

I'm afraid I have no idea on last few, which are technical beyond my even really having an opinion.

I think that All Quiet will bag a number, but nowhere near the 14 nominations it's received, and that Banshees will bag some of the bigger ones, split with Everything Everywhere (left).

I could end up with metaphorical egg on face, of course ... only time will tell!

2022 – it's been a brilliant year for cinema

Okay, let’s be clear about this: I keep lists. I’m not ‘admitting’ it, mind, so don’t think that … because admission would imply some sort of ‘guilt’ and I’m deffo doing no such thing.

I like lists. I like keeping a note of what books or comics I’ve read and giving them a rating. The same goes for any form of live performance. And absolutely goes for films too.

 

When The Other Half and I started seriously going back to the cinema in 2016, after a long time away (different story and all my ‘fault’), I started creating lists of what we had seen. A short while later, I started adding stars (up to five). 

 

In terms of movies, because the times are a changin’, I now also include films that we have streamed relatively recent to their release, on channels that we pay for.

 

So, even allowing for COVID, if we include those streamed movies, 2022 has been a prolific year for us, with 23 films seen – 17 of which were viewed in a cinema.

 

Personally, I think it’s been an exceptional year in terms of the films – and the broadest range of films that we have ever viewed in a single year.

 

So here is an attempt to list my top … well, let’s wait and see how many.

 

But we’ll start with the worst and that, by a country mile, was The King’s Man. I had it pinned for a cinema visit, because The Other Half and I had enjoyed the earlier ones in the franchise.

 

I am not a humourless so-and-so – and nor do I object to fantasy/action takes on historic events. An excellent illustration of this is Kim Newman’s novel, Anno Dracula: The Bloody Red Baron, which I have thoroughly enjoyed.

 

But The King’s Man, despite a huge talent roster, so far missed the spot that it was a cringeworthy experience. And let’s waste no more time on it.

Now to the other end of the spectrum. Best film of the year, for me – is a tie between The Banshees of Inisherin and Glass Onion.

Totally different movies, but both superb, with the latter being one of a number of offerings this year that sent up the über rich (see also Triangle of Sadness and The Menu, but which did it better than any other).

Glass Onion is arguably even better than Knives Out – it’s funny, but also deeply satirical; still a puzzle and with wonderful performances.

Daniel Craig is also even better, second time around, as Benoit Blanc, and while the entire ensemble case is wonderful, this has surely ensured that Janelle Monáe is regarded as a serious and major star of our times.

On Banshees … where does one start? It’s almost criminally funny, in the deepest, darkest, darkest way possible – but also deeply, deeply moving and tragic.

I know that many viewers have decided that you have to choose ‘sides’ in it, between Pádraic and Colm (pic at top).

Personally, I think that a huge part of the tragedy is that they’re BOTH tragic and understandable and you can sympathise with them BOTH.

Having just turned 60(!) I can, for example, utterly understand Colm’s existential crisis and his sense of impending mortality.

But Barry Keoghan’s performance as Dominic – well, that’s brilliantly bleak as all fuck too.

Now I’m setting aside the conventional rules next in not making my next choice a conventional third, given my joint winners, but a second.

And it is Living – Kazuo Ishiguro’s extraordinary reworking of Akira Kurosawa’s iconic 1952 film, Ikiru. Difficult to imagine anyone else who could understand and ‘do’ English strait-jacketed, life-limiting cultures better than the Remains of the Day genius Ishiguro. And he does it absolutely superbly here.

Then there's Bill Nighy’s performance, which is simply superb. No spoilers, but the last time you see him in the film, given the context, it is quite, quite extraordinary.

Tragic and life-affirming and beautiful all at the same time and it will stay with you for a long, long time. If you don’t cry, you’re possibly not human.

So, third place goes to Pinocchio from del Toro. A beautifully and very carefully calibrated mediation on mortality and fascism that is probably more ‘family friendly’ than his previous films, but no less powerful as a result.

The stop-mo animation is simply sensational, while Alexandre Desplat’s score – while not up with his Oscar-winning one for del Toro’s The Shape of Water – has still already garnered awards.

After that, at four, is Everything Everywhere All at Once, with the magnificent Michelle Yeoh and the wonderful Jamie Lee Curtis having enormous and deceptively philosophical fun, and rather proving that you can do a multiverse without doing it Marvel.

So for a fifth seen late but none the less stunning for that, The Power of the Dog. Superb to look at; astonishingly acted all round, deeply philosophically complicated, still living in my head almost a year later and with a wonderful soundtrack.

And I will restrict this to five, in order to regain some sort of quality, after allowing my top films to count as one.

PS: But I’ll add See How They Run, for its wonderfully geeky and fun approach, and The Woman King, for Viola Davis’s incredible performance along with the history lesson as illustrations of just what a great year this has been. Oh ... and I don't care about it's faults, but Amsterdam, as a deeply anti-fascist movie, has so much going for it! And Mrs Harris Goes to Paris is balm for the soul ... and Nope!

What a great year for film!

Bill Nighy in stunning form in Living

Be aware: if you go to see Living, take tissues. You will need them. Make no mistake – while this film from director Oliver Hermanus is incredibly moving, it never succumbs to mawkish sentimentality, but you’ll need to be a lot harder than me not to shed a tear or two.

Set in London in 1953, it follows an unassuming bureaucrat, Mr Williams, a widower who heads a department in London’s County Hall and spends much of his time achieving nothing more than passing around paperwork.

 

Yet is he one of the ‘gentlemen’ that he had, even as a child, aspired to be, complete with bowler hat and all the formal, repressed and repressive behaviour of a certain type of the English middle classes of that era – and even now.

 

However, when he receives a terminal diagnosis from his doctor of less than a year to live, he finds himself wondering how to make sense of a life unlived – and to make the most of what is left.

 

Having helped County Hall pass between departments a petition from a group of working-class women calling for a bomb site to be made into a playground for their children, perhaps Williams can find a way to redemption and a sense of being alive by changing tack?

 

This seemingly slender plot is based on Akira Kurosawa’s 1952 Ikiru (itself inspired by Tolstoy’s 1886 novella The Death of Ivan Ilyich, before you start screaming ‘cultural appropriation!’) and was predominantly written by the Nobel-winning British laureate Kazuo Ishiguro.

 

Ishiguro is perhaps most well known for his work The Remains of the Day – a magnificent book made into a magnificent film with Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson. There is arguably nobody better at portraying repressed and buckled up English emotion, with all that that means.

 

And this is no exception.

 

Ishiguro apparently approached Bill Nighy to ask if he’d be interested in this film, because he had him in mind for Williams. And what a perfect match it has turned out to be.

 

Nighy has been entertaining us wonderfully for years, but this is his first real starring vehicle. And he doesn’t let it pass him by. It is an absolutely superb performance of a deeply repressed human being trying to find a way to come to life even as that life is coming to an end.

 

There is not an expression or word that is out of place. Never showy – but just watch his eyes. Nighy is avowedly not a ‘method’ actor, yet when you watch this, he is feeling every single emotion and thought. Whatever anyone calls it, his is a simply stunning yet understated performance.

 

Ishiguro’s script is top notch. It never gives in to easy sentiment and yet finds, within all the buttoned-up emotions, real emotion. There is a scene in a train carriage, with four of Mr William’s co-workers, after attending his funeral, that is quite astonishing in what it achieves through the most minimalist approach.

 

The period scenery is superb, the original score by Emile Levienaise-Farrouch is astonishingly good (you’ll struggle to believe it’s original) and James D Ramsey’s cinematography is excellent.

There's much here thematically, in terms of mortality and life. If the plot is 'slight', there is a philosophical depth that is rare in films. But while this, it relies greatly on the acting.

 

Nighy, given the opportunity, gives the performance of his career. If he isn’t in the top award nominations next year, it would be a shock.

 

But while he holds the movie, he is not alone. Aimée Lou Wood is superb as his one-time colleague who has a rather more cynical view of the County Hall ‘gentlemen’, and particular shout outs for Alex Sharp as the new boy in Williams's department and Tom Burke as the Brighton bohemian who tries to help Williams early on.

Incredibly moving, yes – but also incredibly life affirming.

One of the best films of the year without doubt.

Taking a sledgehammer to the uber rich

Triangle of Sadness many not exactly be up there with Brecht in terms of being a subtle approach to class, but Swedish film maker Ruben Östlund’s English-language debut – a satirical black comedy about the excesses of the uber, uber rich – premiered at this year’s Cannes Film Festival in May, winning an eight-minute standing ovation and the Palme d’Or.

But then again, this is an unsubtle age (was there ever anything else?). There is nothing nuanced about the likes of Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Russian oligarchs or Instragram ‘influencers’, so perhaps a sledgehammer approach is the only possible one.

 

Set in three distinct ‘acts’, the film opens as group of young male models are being put through their paces at an audition. One of them, Carl, had been at the centre of a major, successful campaign a few years earlier, but has had nothing much since.

 

After watching his more successful girlfriend Yaya on the catwalk at a fashion show – she’s also a big Instagram influencer – the two dine in a posh restaurant, where a row breaks out over gender roles and equality, and who pays for the dinner.

 

Fast forward to act two, which takes place on a luxury yacht – the sort that needs armed guards on patrol and where a helicopter drops off a special delivery of Nutella to meet the whim of one of the guests. Carl and Yaya are there because of the latter’s status as an influencer.

 

The upper deck crew (mostly white) are preparing for their next cruise, being drilled by chief of staff Paula, who tells them that they must obey every demand of their guests, however cracked these might seem.

 

Below stairs (so to speak), the (mostly black) cleaners, engineers and kitchen staff are also prepping.

 

Then we meet some of the guests, including Dimitry, a Russian who has made a fortune “selling shit” (manure) and his wife Vera; elderly English couple Clementine and Winston (I said it wasn’t subtle) who made their dosh by selling arms to protect “democracies” and bemoan UN bans on landmines; Jarmo, a lonely tech millionaire; and Therese (and husband), who can only speak a single sentence in German – “in den Wolken” (“in the clouds”) – following a stroke.

 

The captain, meanwhile – American Marxist Thomas Smith – is nowhere to be seen, locked in his cabin with a shed load of booze. After a few days at sea, he is finally coaxed out to attend the captain’s dinner.

 

Unfortunately, this coincides with a very bad storm.

 

Act three takes us to a deserted island, where a small number of survivors have washed up. Several of the guests have made it, together with ship’s mechanic Nelson and toilet manager Abigail.

 

At which point, the question arises of just who among them knows how to ensure that they can survive, to build a fire or find food? And, therefore, who should be the leader among them?

 

At a whopping 149 minutes, it’s overlong. It doesn’t particularly lag, but it’s impossible not to feel that it couldn’t have been pruned some more. The storm section alone, which provides some brutally funny moments – yes, the rich really do vomit and shit like we mere mortals – lasts 15 minutes.

 

And while also funny, a scene where, in the middle of that storm, the captain and Dimitry sit locked in the former’s cabin, drunkenly trading quotes about capitalism versus Marxism/communism over the ship’s public address system, probably over-eggs the pudding.

 

The opening fashion industry sequences are very funny in their mocking of the ridiculousness of that world. The island scenes have some good takes on masculinity, power relationships, class, race and more.

 

By and large Östlund’s script and direction work. None of the characters are wholly ‘bad’, although all the privileged lack a self-awareness of their relationships with the rest of the world.

 

And the ending is smart, effectively forcing the viewer to make their own moral decisions.

 

It’s a really good ensemble cast, including Harris Dickinson as the comically naïve Carl and Charlbi Dean as Yaya – tragically her last role, before she died suddenly in August.

 

Woody Harrelson gives a fine short turn as the captain, while Zlatko Burić as Dimitry, Iris Berben as Therese, Viki Berlin as Paula, Oliver Ford Davis as Winston and Henrik Dorsin as Jarmo also provide in good performances.

 

But arguably the best of the lot comes from Dolly de Leon as Abigail. We don’t see her until the third act – unless we simply not been aware of her presence, given her lowly position? How apt a point that would be. But from then on, so much turns and rests on her.

 

All in all, Triangle of Sadness is an enjoyable exercise in punching up at extreme privilege. And it doesn’t lose anything in taking such a Rottweiler approach to its theme either.

 

• Triangle of Sadness opens in the UK tomorrow, 28 October, and is screening largely at independent cinemas.

The Banshees of Inisherin is a McDonagh masterpiece

There’s something a tad Father Ted about The Banshees of Inisherin, the new film from Martin McDonagh, where the older of two long-term friends – both of whom live on a small, rural island off the coast of Ireland – finds the rather naïve behaviour of the younger one to be exasperating.

It's evokes John Huston's The Quiet Man too, in some of the more comedic and 'blarney' moments.

There’s much humour, certainly, in McDonagh's piece, but that’s where simplistic similarities end, because there’s also something much darker and much more philosophical here – a story that can be viewed as allegory of many things. 

It’s 1923 and the Irish Civil War is raging – a point the viewer is reminded of throughout, as canon fire and gunshots interrupt events from across the sea on the mainland.

 

Folk musician Colm Doherty has decided that he no longer wishes to talk to his long-time friend and drinking buddy Pádraic Súilleabháin – a nice man, but too dull for Colm.

 

The younger man is distressed and appeals to his erstwhile friend. But Colm wants to spend his time thinking and composing music. He doesn’t ‘hate’ Pádraic, but equally, he doesn’t care if brushing him aside is not “nice” – because “nice” doesn’t get you remembered after death and time is passing.

 

When Pádraic persists in trying to change Colm’s mind – helped by troubled young boy Dominic ­– the older man threatens to chop off a finger with shears if he ever does so again.

 

McDonagh has created an extraordinary work about realising one’s own mortality and the existential angst that goes with that. Colm is desperate to create a legacy for himself – and sitting for two hours listening to Pádraic relate what he’s found in his beloved miniature donkey’s faeces isn’t going to do that.

 

Pádraic's sister Siobhán attempts to stop the escalating events, but she herself is herself increasingly desperate to escape this remote community, where the local postmistress is an uber gossip who openly reads people’s mail and challenges people to tell her any news they’ve received.

 

It's a stunning film. Beautiful to look at, including in all its bleakness (I come from Cumbria’s Eden Valley, so know what bleak beauty means).

 

Beautifully filmed by Ben Davis and beautifully paced, with a superb score from Carter Burwell, this is a stunning picture that will stay with you for a very, very long time. It even references, among other things, Ingmar Bergman’s 1957 classic, The Seventh Seal.

 

The cast is superb. As Pádraic, this is without doubt Colin Farrell’s finest screen performance thus far. Brendan Gleesan, as Colm, is not far behind. Kerry Condon as Siobhán is excellent and massive plaudits too, to Barry Keoghan as Dominic – a seriously complex role.

 

See this. Revel in it. And set your mind free to think about all that it could be saying.