THEATRE REVIEW; ‘Vernon God Little’ at the Young Vic

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – The Young Vic’s new production of “Vernon God Little”, based on DBC Pierre’s 2003 Booker Prize-winning novel, tries to jam in as many of its characters, incidents and ideas as possible, but ends up in Jerry Springer territory with little of the book’s vitality and wit.

It’s a noisy parade of rural American stereotypes aimed at the lowest common denominator with well-known country and gospel songs placed cynically to underline the scurrilous nature of low-lifes whose “Southern” accents reach Texas by way of Mayberry and Hazzard County.

The book is a difficult read since it deals with a Texas teenager accused of being an accomplice to a murderous high school rampage. It takes the form of a scabrous farce that indicts small-town folk, the media, the law, psychiatry, educators and what it deems to be America’s fondness for guns, the death penalty and televised spectacle.

The book’s saving grace and principal charm lie in the inventive and exotic language of the 15-year-old title character. Everyone else is seen through his eyes and filtered through his vivid but not entirely reliable imagination. It takes a raucous path as Vernon is accused falsely of helping his buddy Jesus commit mass murder in the classroom as vengeance for being bullied constantly at school and preyed on by a sanctimonious pederast.

Jesus shoots himself afterwards and so the community seeks someone else to punish. After a scheming TV news reporter manipulates events so that Vernon is accused of more murders, he flees to Mexico but is eventually brought back to face a trial that could end with his execution.

His docile mother, a gaggle of her nosy female friends, assorted law officers, the intrusive newsman, and various kids populate Vernon’s world, which he views with a venom borne of being dismissed and taken advantage of generally since the mysterious disappearance of his father.

In the book, these characters bob and weave as the after-effects of the killings wash across the locality. The author contrives to make penetrating sense of the absurdities that result from the clash between the horrifying event, everyday banalities and the relentless power of institutions such as media and the law.

Tanya Ronder’s stage adaptation, however, renders them as caricatures that the energetic performers can do little to make credible. It might have been better to re-imagine the tale and make it more focused rather than attempt to force in so much from the novel. Some characters and events have been changed, but not for the better.

Joseph Drake (pictured with Lily James) works hard as Vernon but without the book’s cultivated guile to work with, his performance stays on one anguished note. Peter De Jersey is smooth and sinister as the unstoppable newsman, and Clare Burt’s mother is far less sympathetic than in the book; while she sings sweetly, the performer cannot overcome the part’s lack of heft.

Lily James is an absolute knockout as a conniving beauty who puts Vernon in more jeopardy but she can’t do much with the more interesting role of a dirt-poor girl who surprises Vernon with compassion and smarts. The playwright appears to have no idea what to do with the character and so she fails to register onstage.

Ian MacNeil’s design is entertaining with furniture on wheels, improvised cars and TV sets, and curtains to make rooms, a courthouse and jail cells. Director Rufus Norris keeps a frenetic pace but the sheer number of characters with dubious accents and players in multiple roles make the proceedings dense and confusing, and the running time of around two and three-quarter hours including an interval does not help.

Venue: The Young Vic, runs through March 5; Joseph Drake, Lily James, Peter De Jersey, Clare Burt; Playwright: Tanya Ronder, from the novel by DBC Pierre; Director: Rufus Norris; Set designer: Ian MacNeil; Costume designer: Nicky Gillibrand; Lighting designer: Paule Constable, Jane Dutton; Sound designer: Rich Walsh.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: ‘Greenland’ at the National Theatre

Production images for Greenland, directed by Bijan Sheibani at the National Theatre, Jan 2011

By Ray Bennett

LONDON – A very convincing Polar Bear strolls onstage at one point in “Greenland,” the National Theatre’s ambitious but disappointing play about climate change but it’s about the only believable character in the production.

Four British playwrights, Moira Buffini, Matt Charman, Penelope Skinner and Jack Thorne, interviewed a raft of experts in order to devise the play, which has an impressive design but lacks focus and is woefully out of date.

greenland-polar-bear x325It’s a series of set pieces staged busily by director Bijan Sheiban that involve recurring characters in an assortment of settings from the Arctic Circle to the 2009 Copenhagen summit on climate change to the TV game show “Deal or No Deal”.

Designer Bunny Christie makes it a very big show with videos splashed large across the back of the stage that show maps, graphs, news footage, talking heads and, most effectively, a flock of Guillemots seeking shelter in the melting icepack at the North Pole.

There are some attempts at narrative with Lyndsey Marshal as Phoebe, a government aide looking for ammunition for the green cause from an intense researcher named Ray (Peter McDonald). His computer models that predict what will happen to the planet are terrifying in the extreme and he likes to play a game with Phoebe that he calls “the worst case scenario.”

One of them seems irrelevant but curious: the 500 million members of Facebook combine to pay off Africa’s debt and the US government closes down Facebook. But Phoebe works for the UK’s Labour government, which is ancient history since last year’s election put a coalition of Conservatives and Liberal-Democrats in power.

Production images for Greenland, directed by Bijan Sheibani at the National Theatre, Jan 2011

There’s a schoolboy, Harold (Sam Swann) who wants to study geography and we see him 34 years later as Harry (Michael Gould), a solitary monitor of what happens to birds and bears when the polar icecap begins to disappear. Gould is effective with some sorrowful lines about the beauty and tragedy of nature, and mankind’s role in its fate.

Isabella Laughland plays an earnest young woman named Lisa who is determined to do something, anything, to protest what is going on although she’s not very clear on what is going on. But Laughland captures the determination and charm of a committed youngster.

There’s a series of conversations between a mother and daughter who fail to communicate on any issue regarding efforts to lead a green life and leave the mother filled with uncomprehending guilt and deeply confused. She says, “On Monday, they say we’re all going to die and on Tuesday they want to sell me a pension.”

Production images for Greenland, directed by Bijan Sheibani at the National Theatre, Jan 2011

The politico and the researcher end up at Copenhagen with some representatives from Mali, and the videos show clips from the summit, but the description of what happened is out of date.

China’s carbon footprint, the impact of importing meat and fruit from far away countries, and the way supermarkets wrap it up in plastic are all invoked as matters of concern. There’s a lot of information and many sides of the issue are presented, often in eye-catching ways, but it becomes inevitably didactic.

The episodic production does serve to mirror what appears to be the world’s general confusion on how to proceed with all the things that affect the climate and there are some startling images. Attempts at humour are infrequent, though, and the play’s exchanges lack real bite. When the researcher suggests that the environment is not a religion, the politico insists heatedly, “Of course it is!”

Whatever it is, the National Theatre is right to address the subject even if this attempt is underwhelming. The most potent image of the night came at the end when from the theatre’s ceiling came tumbling masses of bits of paper of different sizes. Someone has to clean that up every night.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through April 2; Cast: Lyndsey Marshal, Peter McDonald, Isabella Laughland, Michael Gould, Sam Swann, Paul McCleary; Playwrights: Moira Buffini, Matt Charman, Penelope Skinner, Jack Thorne; Director: Bijan Sheibani; Dramaturg: Ben Power; Set designer: Bunny Christie; Lighting designer: Jon Clark; Video designer: Finn Ross; Music and sound: Dan Jones; Puppetry: Mark Down.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter. Photos by Helen Warner.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Gina Gionfriddo’s ‘Becky Shaw’

becky shaw 2 x650By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Anyone who thinks there’s a huge gulf in the sense of humor of American and British audiences should have been at London’s Almeida Theatre where the first night audience for Gina Gionfriddo’s off-Broadway play “Becky Shaw” was in stitches.

The laughter and applause was so sustained after one lacerating line delivered by David Wilson Barnes, as an acerbic money manager, that Anna Madeley, as his adoptive sister and secret love, had to pause to let it play out.

The play is a firecracker that takes common assumptions about family, love and the redemption to be found in kindness, and turns them upside down. It originated at the Humana Festival of New American Plays in Louisville, KY, and won rave reviews when it ran off-Broadway at the Second Stage Theatre.

Original director Peter DuBois and star Barnes (“Love and Other Drugs”, “The Company of Men”) are at the Almeida with an otherwise British cast, and with Gionfriddo, who has writer and producer credits on various “Law and Order” TV strands, they show that smart and acidic comedy works on both sides of the pond.

Barnes (pictured top with Daisy Haggard) has a gift for stillness and the ability to deliver straight-faced stiletto comments that bring to mind Kevin Spacey, and he appears similarly immune to any concern that he will be liked or not. He plays Max, a buttoned-down financial expert who was adopted at 10 by the parents of Suzanna (Madeley) and who has emerged as the only functional member of the family.

Suzanna seeks refuge in the gooey edges of the self-help industry that Max despises and ends up married to would-be writer Andrew (Vincent Montuel), a softhearted do-gooder who cries if exposed to pornography. Together they deal with Suzanna’s tough-as-nails widowed mother Susan (Haydn Gwynne) who has multiple sclerosis and a spendthrift toy-boy.

Max’s affection for Suzanna is a bit more than brotherly love, however, and the story appears to be about them until Gionfriddo introduces the title character, played by Daisy Haggard (pictured below with Madeley and Montuel). Becky Shaw is a walking example of all that Max hates in life but Suzanna goes along with Andrew’s suggestion that she would make a splendid blind date.

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Max is horrified at his first sight of Becky: “Wow. You’re like a birthday cake,” he exclaims. It becomes apparent that the young woman is short of a few candles with tales of woe that move Max not at all. Still, to keep the peace, he goes on the date only for the couple to be mugged at gunpoint.

Max is sanguine about life in the big city, but Becky claims to be traumatized and her neediness leads to scenes of great hilarity as Max attempts to be rid off her while trying to keep Suzanna’s marriage intact and solving his adoptive mother’s money problems.

DuBois uses designer Jonathan Fensom’s clever rotating set design to keep events moving swiftly and one of the great pleasures of the play is that the ground beneath the characters gradually changes too. That’s true even of the mother although Gwynne never lets down her guard. Madeley and Montuel show some steel inside their married couple’s fragile exterior and Haggard makes Becky more than ditsy with abrupt changes of tone.

Best of all, Barnes delivers Max’s scabrous remarks with an extraordinary lightness of touch. Under his sharp and savage wit, Max has a vulnerability that not only Suzanna but also Becky manages to tap into. Max is not a man to hang out with, but he’s more than welcome every time he steps on stage.

Venue: Almeida Theatre, runs through March 5; Cast: David Wilson Barnes, Haydn Gwynne, Daisy Haggard, Anna Madeley, Vincent Montuel; Playwright: Gina Gionfriddo; Director: Peter DuBois; Set & costume designer: Jonathan Fensom; Lighting designer: Tim Mitchell; Sound designer: John Leonard.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Peter Hall directs ‘Twelfth Night’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – British stage legend Peter Hall celebrates his 80th birthday by directing his movie star daughter Rebecca Hall in a lyrical and musical production of Shakespeare’s gender-bending comedy Twelfth Night that shows his touch is as deft as ever.

Anthony Ward’s sumptuous design sets the scene with a golden canopy that curves above the stage and alights down gently upon it with just scattered cushions, some light screens and a row of miniature houses at the back to suggest a seaside town in some jolly place.

Clad in brilliantly colored period costumes and accompanied by Mick Sands’ sprightly music for cello, mandola and flutes, the players engage one other like sure-footed dancers and the play’s insightful wit is given full measure.

As Orsino, Marton Csokas manages well the familiar and daunting opening lines, “If music be the food of love, play on,” and soon there in a bright red man’s costume is Rebecca Hall (“Vicky Cristina Barcelona”, “The Town”) as Viola, safe from a shipwreck but fearful that twin brother Sebastian has been lost at sea.

twelfth night 1 x325Hall (pictured top with Simon Callow and left with Peter Hall), in her debut at the National Theatre, captures with confidence Viola’s twin emotions as she enters Orsino’s court, being both confident in her ability to remain incognito but also afraid of betraying that she is not a eunuch named Cesario. Later, when Viola’s disguise frustrates her true feelings, the tall and slim actress portrays her desire to display her femininity with modern grit and simplicity.

As she falls for the prince, Orsino pines only for the lovely Olivia (Amanda Drew) and director Hall’s remarkably keen eye for fine detail is revealed in a scene in which Orsino lies back with his head on the kneeling and disguised Olivia’s legs as he proclaims his love. The action is elsewhere but like a close-up in a movie, the eye goes to Olivia’s elegant fingers as she is unable to resist caressing Orsino’s forehead.

The prince sends Cesario to woo her on his behalf, whereupon Olivia promptly falls in love with the young man who is really a woman. Drew plays Olivia as a haughty beauty quite undone by the strength of her feelings for the one she thinks is a mere boy and when the truth comes out she appears to be amused as well as shocked by the possible permutations.

Meanwhile, Shakespeare has much frivolity to offer as Sir Anthony Aguecheek (Charles Edwards) arrives also to woo Olivia and conspires with the drunken Sir Toby Belch (Simon Callow) to thwart similar aspirations held by Olivia’s pious steward Malvolio (Simon Paisley Day).

Callow (Four Weddings and a Funeral) is an accomplished scene-stealer and his Sir Toby is suitably loud and full of bluster but it is Edwards who steals a march with a performance that is hilarious and touching as the dimwitted Aguecheek. His manner of determined self-interest let down by limited intellect and bad timing is a constant delight, and yet the vulnerability of his quiet aside, “I was adored once,” is very sad.

Finty Williams catches the eye too as Olivia’s brazen and flirtatious maid Maria and Paisley Day adds a chilling bite of nastiness as the pompous and tormented Malvolio. And David Ryall threads a skein of wisdom throughout the proceedings as the fool Feste, observing human folly and frailty with tolerance and good humor.

“Twelfth Night” was written around 1600 and Peter Hall first directed it at the Oxford Playhouse in 1954, but in this joyful production it seems fresh as a daisy.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through March 2; Cast: Rebecca Hall, Simon Callow, David Ryall, Amanda Drew, Charles Edwards, Finty Williams, Simon Paisley Day; Playwright: William Shakespeare; Director: Peter Hall; Set and costume designer: Anthony Ward; Lighting designer: Peter Mumford; Sound designer: Gregory Clarke; Music: Mick Sands.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Georges Feydeau’s ‘A Flea In Her Ear’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – The best way to perform farce is to be perfectly serious and in the Old Vic’s revival of the Georges Feydeau French classic “A Flea In Her Ear”, Tom Hollander plays two roles with such perfect gravity that they are hilarious.

Translated in 1966 by John Mortimer, the late English novelist and playwright who created “Rumpole of the Bailey” and scripted the 1981 TV miniseries “Brideshead Revisited”, it’s a scandalous romp about a Parisian society wife at the turn of the 20th century who gets the notion that her husband is having an affair.

As Raymonde Chandebise (Lisa Dillon) tells best friend Lucienne Homenides de Histangua (Fiona Glascott), it’s one thing for her to enjoy an extra-marital dalliance, but for her husband to do is “is going too far”.

Hollander plays her husband, Victor Emmanuel, a prim and pompous insurance man, whom she plots to catch red-handed by sending an anonymous invitation from an admirer for a rendezvous at a well-known hotel of ill repute called Le Coq D’Or. She gets Lucienne to write it but it falls inevitably into the wrong hands, not least those of Lucienne’s volatile Spanish husband, Carlos (John Marquez, pictured, left, with Hollander).

As a consequence, both couples and assorted other roués and their paramours end up at the garish hotel in a frantic round of musical beds and doors with multiple misunderstandings. To further complicate matters, the hotel porter, a sad-sack drinker named Poche, is Victor Emmanuel’s double. In both roles, not only must Hollander join the others in mad dashes about the stage, but also disappear offstage frequently for extraordinarily quick costume changes.

The diminutive actor (“Pirates of the Caribbean”, “Pride and Prejudice”) is a gifted physical comedian and he succeeds in not only making the two characters quite distinct but also as the farce develops in showing they have some traits in common. Hollander is responsible for most of the laughs as director Richard Eyre makes Feydeau’s clockwork plotting race along with exquisite timing.

Some of the comedy derives from character traits that are non-PC these days, such as the speech impediment of earnestly randy young Camille Chandebise, who has a cleft palate, and Carlos, whose English is minefield of tongue-tied Spanish. But Freddie Fox, as Camille, and John Marquez, as Carlos, play them with such sympathy and innocence that it becomes impossible not to laugh.

Dillon and Glascott give the conspirators appropriate flourish and feigned outrage and Rebecca Night catches the eye as a pretty and knowing hotel maid amongst a cast of talented performers who know the best jokes are told with a straight face.

Venue: The Old Vic, runs through March 5; Cast: Tom Hollander, Lisa Dillon, Tim McMullan, Fiona Glascott, Oliver Cotton, John Marquez, Freddie Fox, Rebecca Night; Playwright: Georges Feydeau, translated by John Mortimer; Director: Richard Eyre; Set designer: Rob Howell; Costume designer: Sue Blane; Lighting designer: Mark Henderson; Music: Stephen Warbeck; Sound designer: Gregory Clarke.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Alan Ayckbourn’s ‘Seasons Greetings’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Alan Ayckbourn’s parochial English comedy Season’s Greetings seeks to burst the illusion of happy families at Christmastime but the set-up and characters are so contrived that it runs like a clock that needs winding.

Nothing is introduced without leading inexorably to its clunky pay-off. The noisy toy wrapped with the other presents under the tree will go off at the most inopportune time; the all-purpose remote control will trigger loud music in the middle of the night; the amateur puppet show will collapse.

It’s the same with the characters: the ageing virgin sister will wail; the drunken husband with the pregnant wife will have his comeuppance; the sister-in-law who drinks too much will drop the Christmas mouse; the comely hostess will want to bonk her sister’s handsome young visitor; and the mad uncle with the gun will shoot somebody.

The players are all game but the play’s predictability soon becomes wearing, the ensuing chaos phoney and the laughter forced.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through March 13; Cast: Neil Stuke, Catherine Tate, Jenna Russell, David Troughton, Mark Gatiss, Nicola Walker, Marc Wootton, Katherine Parkinson, Oliver Chris; Playwright: Alan Ayckbourn; Director: Marianne Elliott; Set designer: Rae Smith; Lighting designer: Bruno Poet; Music: Stephen Warbeck; Sound designer: Ian Dickinson.

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FILM REVIEW: Brian Welsh’s ‘In Our Name’

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By Ray Bennett

LONDON – A sober portrait of a returning soldier who suffers from post-combat stress, “In Our Name” holds suspense without melodrama and features an outstanding performance as the British Army private by Joanne Froggatt (pictured). Continue reading

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THEATRE REVIEW: Emma Williams shines in ‘Love Story’

x650 Emma Williams (Jenny) and Michael Xavier (Oliver) Photo by Manuel Harlan

By Ray Bennett

LONDON – Those for whom Arthur Hiller’s 1970 tearjerker “Love Story” is the hallmark of mawkish manipulation will be amazed to learn that Erich Segal’s original novella has been turned into a delightfully elegant and satisfying stage musical. Continue reading

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THEATRE REVIEW: Derek Jacobi in ‘King Lear’

KING LEAR by Shakespeare,By Ray Bennett

LONDON – It’s always an event when a great actor decides finally to take on “King Lear” and, at 72, stage veteran Derek Jacobi, also known for film roles and TV series such as “I, Claudius” and “Cadfael,” has taken his time. It was well worth the wait.

Directed by Michael Grandage on a stage of whitewashed planks at the Donmar Warehouse, Jacobi claims the heart of a role that demands fiery rage, addled bewilderment and tender acts of forgiveness.

Filled with anger, betrayal, blinding and murder by poison, rope and blade, “King Lear” is the original horror story as Shakespeare depicts a timeless family rife with jealousy, greed and a craving for power.

The king embodies it all having fathered two daughters who inherited every vile and callous trait, and only one who reflects the loyalty and love that resides within. Gina McKee as Goneril and Justine Mitchell as Regan are siblings from hell as they hide their rabid ambition beneath cloaks of femininity and grace. McKee gives Goneril the air of a woman superior in guile and the ability to bend men to her will while Mitchell lights up in giddy fever given the chance to take out the eyes of the loyal Gloucester. Pippa Bennett-Warner makes young Cordelia the picture of long-suffering innocence.

Paul Jesson brings credible bluster to the gullible Gloucester as his illegitimate son Edmund, a swaggering Alec Newman, conspires to take his land and title, and older son Edgar, made almost nakedly savage by Gwilym Lee, seeks refuge in the wild countryside. Director Grandage is aided greatly by Christopher Oram’s simple wooden design, which allows Neil Austin’s lighting to flare through the cracks to vivid effect. Composer Adam Cork’s sound design provides all the sweep and crash of battles and storms, and the blessed relief of birdsong in the morning.

All the elements combine brilliantly when Jacobi delivers Lear’s speech in the storm – “Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes.” Rather than bluster at full voice, the actor speaks in a harsh but clear whisper illuminated from below. The effect is to heighten the king’s intimation of the madness that becomes soon manifest as Goneril remarks, “Old fools are babes again.”

Jacobi captures that insanity with whimsy and the simplest of kind gestures made ragged by sudden impulses as when he gives imaginary cheese to a mouse that’s not there and then stomps on the non-existent creature.

In total command, he raises his tone to the rafters in anger and then swoops it down peacefully to a vocal caress. In banter with his Fool, played by Ron Cook with the utmost sadness, and when he holds the dying Cordelia in his arms, Jacobi defines the uncomprehending muddle that is mankind.

Venue: Donmar Warehouse, runs through Feb. 5; Cast: Derek Jacobi, Gina McKee, Justine Mitchell, Pippa Bennett-Warner, Michael Hadley, Paul Jesson, Alec Newman, Ron Cook, Gwilym Lee; Playwright: William Shakespeare; Director: Michael Grandage; Set designer: Christopher Oram; Lighting designer: Neil Austin; Music and sound designer: Adam Cork.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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THEATRE REVIEW: Katie Mitchell’s ‘Beauty and the Beast’

beauty and beast

By Ray Bennett

LONDON – The creature in director Katie Mitchell’s Beauty and the Beast at London’s National Theatre is a great hairy beastie, a 10-foot cross between a rat and a wolf with a voice that growls and thunders like Darth Vader.

On fur-clad bouncy stilts, Mark Arends makes him both perfectly scary for 8-year-olds and vulnerable and sad. Sian Clifford plays the spirited and sometimes selfish beauty who is very slow to catch on that inside the monstrous figure is a handsome prince waiting to get out.

Together they render the fable as a frightening, funny and warm entertainment for youngsters.

Mitchell has devised the show as presented at a music hall where the Master of Ceremonies is a Man in Pink played with sinister glee by Justin Salinger. He has a much put upon French assistant named Cecile (Kate Duchéne), whom he abuses freely, which encourages the kids in the audience to cheer and boo as the case may be.

There’s also an odd-looking assistant in a fright wig named Rabbit (Kristin Hutchinson) who users a Rube Goldberg-type of contraption called a Thought Snatcher – a tin hat at the end of a pole with a light bulb on top that’s placed on someone’s head – that lets the audience hear what characters are thinking. At one point the device is turned on members of the audience to amusing effect.

The Man in Pink relates the back-story of how the young prince became a beast after being cursed by a fairy and may only be saved by a woman who loves him despite his appearance. It’s a simple and honorable sentiment grasped easily by young children who holler their support for various characters as the 90-minute show (plus an interval) progresses.

Mitchell enhances the tale with effects that include elegant and witty shadow puppetry, videos, a live fireplace, and magic tricks. To bridge the gap between the stage and the screen technology children have at home, Mitchell includes a pause button – more like a railway crossing lever – that can also rewind the action. It adds to the charm of a show that is good fun without the need to be loud and boisterous.

Venue: National Theatre, runs through Jan. 4; Cast: Sian Clifford, Mark Arends, Justin Salinger, Kate Duchéne, Sean Jackson, Kristin Hutchinson; Devised and directed by: Katie Mitchell; Text: Lucy Kirkwood; Set, costume designer: Vicki Mortimer; Lighting designer: Jon Clark; Sound designer: Gareth Fry; Music: Paul Clark; Movement director: Joseph Alford; Puppets: Matthew Robins; Video: Fifty-nine Prods.

This review appeared in The Hollywood Reporter.

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