King’s Theatre 4 stars When a rowdy bunch burst noisily through the auditorium wielding a felled, full-size tree-trunk at the opening of Dmitry Krymov’s Russian language reimagining of Shakespeare’s frothiest rom-com, only the little dog padding about astride the tree truly knows what we’re in for. Krymov’s production, commissioned by the Chekhov International Theatre Festival for his School of Dramatic Art Theatre, after all, is billed as something ‘after Shakespeare’ rather than of it. So it goes in a wildly irreverent work that puts the Rude Mechanicals at the centre of the action rather than cast as the usual comic fall guys, even if there are prat-falls aplenty. Once the tree-trunk, then a leaky fountain, is disposed of on a stage covered with plastic sheeting, the troupe of players change into formal attire as they await their audience. This comes in the shape of a bunch of disgruntled toffs, whose mobile phones interrupt the action in a makeshift VIP area even as the sternest of their number complains throughout. There is no forest and no Bottom’s dream, only Pyramus and Thisbe, who come in the form of giant junk-shop puppets operated by the Mechanicals. There are acrobatics and operatics, while the dog does back-flips in-between fending off a rubbish lion, able to take anything in his four-legged stride. On one level, this is a glorious entertainment, right down to a finale involving a part Scat, part Kurt Schwitters style chorus and a tippy-toed take on Swan Lake. On another, it’s a fantastical theatrical in-joke performed with vaudevillian largesse. As the little old lady who’s been growling through proceedings onstage herself says, Shakespeare would have loved it. The Herald, August 25th 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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