Festival Theatre, Edinburgh 5 stars Thank God for writers like Howard Brenton. Because, as English Touring Theatre’s revival of Brenton’s mighty history play for Shakespeare’s Globe testifies to, there are few artists who could combine political intrigue, religion, tragedy and high comedy to make a twenty-first century epic to die for. The audacious sweep of John Dove’s production helps, from the moment the period-frocked actors wander into the auditorium to engage with an audience perhaps expecting a heritage industry view of Henry VIII’s second and seemingly most heroic, not to say epoch-changing, spouse. From Anne’s double-bluffing opening address, however, things couldn’t be more different, as the action dovetails between timelines framed around James I’s private investigations into Anne’s rise and fall en route to authorising a new bible. As Anne navigates her way through the uneasy coalition between church and state, she not only wraps David Sturzaker’s Henry around her little finger, but becomes a pin-up girl for the spies who send her to her death. With every florid speech undercut by some contemporary-sounding comic punchline, Brenton, Dove and their cast of nineteen actors and three musicians have made something that’s both hugely topical and deadly serious, yet also remains great fun. Where Jo Herbert’s Anne is a thoroughly modern woman, intelligent, independent and a natural rebel, James Garnon’s James is an outrageous figure, cross-dressing like a Scots Eddie Izzard doing The Rocky Horror Show with Tourette’s. Beyond such frolics, Anne’s real tragedy here is that, for all her revolutionary zeal, it was misogyny and the fact that she didn’t sire a male heir that did for her in the end in this major work for difficult times. The Herald, May 10th 2012 ends
When Ron Butlin saw a man who’d just asked him the time throw himself under a train on the Paris Metro, it was a turning point in how his 1987 novel, The Sound Of My Voice, would turn out. Twenty years on, Butlin’s tale of suburban family man Morris Magellan’s existential crisis and his subsequent slide into alcoholism is regarded as a lost classic. Prime material, then, for the very intimate stage adaptation which opens in the Citizens Theatre’s tiny Stalls Studio tonight. “I had this friend in London who was an alcoholic,” Butlin recalls. “He would go off to work in the civil service in the morning looking absolutely immaculate. Then at night we’d meet, and he’s get mega-blootered, then go home and continue drinking and end up in a really bad state. I remember staying over one night, and he’d emerge from his room looking immaculate again. There was this huge contrast between what was going on outside and what was going on inside.” We’re sitting in a café on Edinburgh’s south sid
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