Tag Archives: Richard Fleeshman

“Marjorie Prime” at the Menier Chocolate Factory

Given that it deals with dementia, grief and artificial intelligence it’s not a surprise that Jordan Harrison’s play is fairly hard work. But given that there’s little so little action in the piece, Marjorie Prime packs a remarkable punch. Tightly written, fraught conversations lead to a chilling conclusion, which I suspect was the inspiration for the whole show.

Although the 2014 play has already been a hit – and a film – plot spoilers are especially tricky as so much of the piece’s power come from its twists and structure. It doesn’t seem too naughty to say the show opens with Marjorie and her ‘Prime’ – a robot that looks like her husband 50 years ago and is learning to be like him to aid her memory. Creeped out yet?

Harrison is light on the science behind AI, and some might like more explanation – or even more exploration of problems that, surely, come with the very idea. The technology is accepted (which is probably an accurate prediction) and doesn’t follow a cliché of becoming evil. Richard Fleeshman seems underused in the robotic role, but his calm performance is entirely appropriate. Likewise, Dominic Dromgoole’s cool direction appreciates the play’s tone. Understatement is fine… this is all scary enough in its own right.

Tony-Jayawardena-and-Nacy-Carroll-credit-Manuel-Harlan
Tony Jayawardena and Nacy Carroll

How AI impacts on Marjorie, her daughter, Tess, and son-in-law, Jon, leads to troubled characters and excellent performances. Taking the title role, Anne Reid gives a brilliant portrayal of someone suffering from dementia, which is all the more moving through flashes of humour. The complicated relationship between Marjorie and her daughter results in a passionate performance from Nancy Carroll that almost steals the show. Tony Jayawardena gives a further fine portrayal as Jon, who ends up haunted by the past, too. Let’s not say how.

The characters are, oddly, unsympathetic, despite what they are going through – it’s a surprising move, skilfully done, but adds to the piece’s cold tone. Problems with memories and how personal identity is formed might be a little predictable given the scenario; the script almost wants to move on from the themes. The result is that the play relies on its intriguing conclusion. And here is a plot spoiler – Harrison’s unexpected idea about what happens to AI when we are no longer around makes for a brilliant scene. I’m just not sure much else about the play is that memorable.

Until 6 May 2023

www.menierchocolatefactory.com

Photos by Manuel Harlan

“Urinetown” at the St James Theatre

Finally receiving its London premiere 13 years after it was such a success on Broadway, Urinetown The Musical opened this week at the St. James Theatre. The dystopian satire, by Mark Hollmann and Greg Kotis, earned a host of awards in the States. Although it struck me as strangely dated, a standing ovation at the performance I attended makes it clear that there’s an audience desperate to go.

The unprepossessing premise is that an ecological disaster has resulted in a world where people pay to pee. There’s surprisingly little toilet humour actually. Instead it’s a satire on politics and the musical form itself. I say it’s old fashioned since the mischief and the tastelessness now seem predictable, but the second act provides some memorable musical numbers and it’s always nice to see a musical trying a little bit of politics.

There’s certainly nothing wrong with the production – indeed it makes the show worth spending your pennies to see. Jamie Lloyd’s direction is deft and dark, Soutra Gilmour’s design crying out for a West End transfer and the performances from a top rate cast are strong.

Urine Town
Jonathan Slinger

Jonathan Slinger is a revelation as the narrator and police officer Lockstock, ably abetted by Adam Pearce as officer Barrell. Police and politicians are merely the henchmen of business baddy Cladwell, performed archly by Simon Paisley Day, who is ultimately willing to sacrifice his daughter Hope, played by Rosanna Hyland. Hyland is joined by Richard Fleeshman, whose character Bobby Strong leads a Les Mis-style rebellion (wearing a pre-shrunk T-shirt despite the water shortage), both young leads look the part and sound great. Stealing the show, though, is the excellent Jenna Russell, who gives such a spirited performance as Mrs Pennywise she stops you thinking she’s wasted in the role.

As the characters’ names will have indicated, and direct addresses to the audience make clear, Urinetown is all very knowing. The conventions of musicals are prodded mercilessly, and this joke, though performed well, tires. Maybe the final irony is that the show shoots itself in the foot – if it doesn’t take the genre seriously then why should we? It’s clever, but not that funny and sacrifices serious points. After all, it’s difficult to say that much with your tongue in your cheek all the time.

Until 3 May 2014

www.stjamestheatre.co.uk

Photos by Johan Persson

Written 13 March 2014 for The London Magazine

“Ghost The Musical” at the Piccadilly Theatre

Many would rather die than see Ghost. A West-End musical that’s blatantly yet another attempt to cash in on the popularity of a movie that wasn’t very good in the first place, it sounds strictly for out-of-towners. Yet Ghost has some serious talent both behind the scenes and on stage. While its trite tagline asks us to ‘believe in love’, should we believe that this Ghost is worth seeing?

The plot is a given. A young woman becomes haunted by the ghost of her fiancé after his murder, aided by a medium who discovers, to her surprise, that her gifts are genuine. The first coup is the casting of Sharon D Clarke, who has fine comic skills and the kind of voice that makes you suspect she’s too good for the songs she’s singing. Which is certainly the case with the star of the show, Caissie Levy, who plays the lead role of Molly. A performer from America with the kind of belting voice and acting skills Broadway produces so well, Levy is a real star.

The important thing about Ghost is that it contains original music. There are occasions – such as the trio finale of the first act – that are very good indeed and, if some numbers fail, I think Dave Stewart should be given a break, as writing for this must have been a thankless task. With the ‘theme’ from the Everly Brothers already in so many heads, anything else penned is bound to seem incidental. Yet Stewart has produced a score that is interesting and deals with that tune intelligently.

Talented director Matthew Warchus adds credibility to the project and his speedy handling of the story is commendable. But the show seems hampered by flashy projections and the ensemble underused. It is tempting to imagine Ghost as some kind of chamber piece and possible to see that a stripped-back production could have been something very different indeed. The illusions added to the show by Paul Kieve are spectacular and the projections mark a new high technically, but both achievements move the production uncomfortably close to its cinematic heritage and make it strangely untheatrical.

That Ghost is so technically accomplished will not seem a fault to many. But the role of the leading man is a flaw that should have been corrected. As the programme reminds us, the departed fiancé, Sam Wheat, joins a long line of supernatural characters in plays. Unfortunately, Sam has the distinction of being the most boring ghost in theatre history. Richard Fleeshman deals valiantly with this fact, seemingly under the impression that if he sings loudly enough we will forget his character’s insipid sentimentality. He is mistaken. It is difficult to believe Sam is the grand passion of the rather wonderful Molly – love may be blind but here it is in danger of ending up deaf as well.

It is difficult to care about this ghost, so should you bother to see him? Yes. After all, any belief takes a leap of faith and the power behind the central performances, along with the competence of those who have put the show together, should be more than enough to convert all but the most cynical.

Photo by Sean Ebsworth Barnes

Written 30 September 2011 for The London Magazine