Contemporary Theater in London and Lisbon

On a recent trip to London I got caught up on some well-reviewed English language theater, infrequently available here in Portugal. At the Donmar in London, Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard, directed by Benedict Andrews, used judicious language updates to make the 1903 play more topical for today. There were allusions to Brexit, anti-immigrant bias, and income inequality. All were appropriate in a play that deals with a decaying aristocracy in the face of middle class opportunism. The plot deals with the threatened conversion of an estate's beloved cherry orchard into subdivided homes. Chekhov creates tension between the generational differences between the older aristocrats and the younger go-getters, and often shines a negative light on both groups. The play was set in an audience-surround style, with bright orange tribal-looking sets that appeared like something out of the Nijinsky Rite of Spring, and the characters dressed as aging hippies. I am not sure about the point of these scenic choices, but the play was well directed and acted, if not always compelling. 

A few years ago I really enjoyed The Ferryman the last play by contemporary British playwright Jez Butterworth. 

That play darkly and richly explored family tragedy as part of the Irish civil war "troubles" of the last century. There, Butterworth showed a mastery of managing a large cast, giving each of the many characters individuality that contributed to the fabric of the whole. He also showed the ability to create an ending with a substantial gut-punch. Some of these traits were also on display in his latest play, The Hills of  California, staged at London's Harold Pinter Theater. The play goes back and forth in time. Several scenes show four little girls being groomed by their domineering mother to be a British clone of the Andrews Sisters ("The Hills of California" is one of their feature songs). The play then then hops forward to the same four girls reuniting decades later (in the 1970s) as the mother is dying in the family home. The playwright again shows the talent to create a powerful ending, themed around possible sexual abuse of one of the girls. But the buildup was less compelling than that of The Ferryman. Too much was borrowed from other classic plays: the stage mother ruining children's' lives (Gypsy), an out-of-view sick parent dominating the action (A Long Day's Journey Into Night), and a prolonged, anticipatory buildup as we wait for a key character to arrive (here, the eldest daughter, coming from California), as in The Iceman Cometh. I kept wondering where I had seen this before, rather than concentrating fully on these characters. So this was a good, but not great play following up on Butterworth's earlier triumphs, when The Ferryman and Jerusalem were lauded as the greatest plays of this century. 

London aside, the English-language performance I most enjoyed in the past weeks was the Lisbon Players' version of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the classic 1962 play by American playwright Edward Albee. Like many small theater companies worldwide, this company lost its footing and funding during COVID, but now appears resurgent. Here, the four titanic roles were excellently played by three British immigrants to Portugal (Mick Greer as a profane and scarily funny George, Celia Williams as his domineering wife Martha,  and Williams' daughter Elizabeth Bochmann as the mousy young wife Honey), plus one native Portuguese actor with British training (hunky Martin Mesquita Guimãres as the young professor Nick). Many of you will know this play from the famous Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton film adaptation, but as good as it is, it's often too easy to just focus on a tumultuous all-star couple rather than on the play itself. 

In this Lisbon production a better ensemble feel prevailed, allowing the brilliance of Albee's lacerating dialogue to come through. The actors ably conveyed the play as a cocktail party-cum-primal ritual honoring the "death" of an imaginary "son" of George and Martha, a delusion of Martha that is co-dependently egged on by her co-alcoholic husband. This modern-day ritual involved the "sacrifice" of the younger visiting couple, driven to infidelity and near-madness during the play. In this compelling interpretation I better understood why the titles of the three acts are all references to primitive ritual: "Fun and Games" (here including the games "Get the Guest" and "Hump the Hostess"), "Walpurgisnacht (the witches' sabbath), and "The Exorcism". Albee's writing is brilliant and subtle enough that one can easily leave the theater thinking the son was real, not a neurotic invention of Martha (I heard this very interpretation from several in the audience as they exited).  It took a performance by a small Lisbon theater to bring out the truly scary darkness of the play, and to fully realize Albee's allegory and critique of twentieth century married life. All four actors and director Robert Taylor should be celebrated for this terrific show.