Tag Archives: Zawe Ashton

“The Maids” at the Trafalgar Studios

Jamie Lloyd might well be the perfect director for iconoclastic playwright Jean Genet. Both share an irreverent bold approach and a Baroque intensity epitomised in Lloyd’s stirring production of Genet’s 1947 piece. The sick, twisted, sexualised fantasies of two servants, role-playing the murder of their mistress, are made “drunk, wild, beautiful” in this visually arresting and accomplished show.

Lloyd also has a way with stars, enticing exciting talent to the West End and getting the most from many a performer. The luminaries here are Uzo Aduba (from Orange is the New Black), joined by Zawe Ashton, playing the titular revolting servants. Ashton gives a fine performance, Aduba a tremendous one. Intense from the start, Ashton drags up as her mistress for a disturbed ‘ceremony’ that’s an orgy of degradation, violence and kink – her jerky movements unsettle and excite. Aduba is an astonishing presence on stage, frightening and engrossing, her intelligent appreciation of the rhythm of the text carrying you forcibly through the traumatic, suspenseful, action.

Laura Carmichael and Uzo Aduba in The Maids CREDIT Marc Brenner
Laura Carmichael and Uzo Aduba

When Mistress arrives it’s a blunt shock to find she’s every bit as bad as we’ve been led to believe. Laura Carmichael holds her own (no small achievement given the brevity of her role) portraying a superficial, doll-like rich bitch. This contemporary, recognisable, figure allows Lloyd to emphasise the play’s political content: the accents may be American but a London audience is instantly connected to Kensington.

Fun is had by Lloyd, in keeping with the work of translators Benedict Andrews and Andrew Upton. Genet’s rich themes are explored bravely but there’s also humour from some of the exaggeration here – the maids giggle more than you might expect. The language is blue (very) but I can’t imagine Genet would blush. It’s surprising you don’t see this play revived more often. Lloyd’s production is a valuable addition to the reputation of a modern classic.

Until 21 May 2016

www.atgtickets.com

Photos by Marc Brenner

“Splendour” at the Donmar Warehouse

Abi Morgan’s play imagines a strained meeting between a dictator’s wife and her best friend, while they wait with a photographer and interpreter for a portrait shoot that’s running late. The location is an unspecified imitation democracy on the brink of civil war. It’s not a bad setup to explore politics and art, and Morgan does both with insight. The fact that all four characters are women makes a welcome change.

Morgan’s style might rankle some: the characters voice their inner thoughts and memories, while scenes are repeated, at different speeds with cuts to the dialogue. Remarkably, Morgan makes the play easy to follow and, for my money, the technique is a success. Knowing what someone is thinking, hearing them play with the presentation of events, alongside confusion over language in a very literal sense (the photographer doesn’t speak the local tongue), enforces unspoken communication and inner turmoil marvellously.

Genevieve-OReilly-Kathryn-in-Splendour-at-the-Donmar-Warehouse-photo-by-Johan-Persson-700x455
Genevieve O’Reilly

The four strong roles have attracted four great performers. The outsiders on the scene are Genevieve O’Reilly, who plays the hard-nosed photographer, managing to make this cool observer compelling, and Zawe Ashton, who acts as her interpreter, with an eye on the make. Ashton’s role is tough – she has to show us the desperation of regular people living in this toppling state, and this is done without making her seem a device. But the really interesting dynamic is that between Sinéad Cusack and Michelle Fairley, the president’s dolled-up wife, who might just be the power behind the throne, and her browbeaten best friend. Both actresses give tremendous performances.

Splendour has a simple plot that, a little like the characters, comes close to predictable. But what Morgan does with her, often startling, technique is the real source of interest. If all the stopping and starting of scenes sounds a little pretentious, the structure and rhythm of the text has a very down-to-earth function – to create tension. Weapons sound, but in the distance, specifics of time and place are never mentioned and no politicians or revolutionaries, as such, appear on stage. Yet Morgan has created a unique… OK then… splendid, political thriller of great originality.

Until 26 September 2015

www.donmarwarehouse.com

Photos by Johan Persson

“Salome” at the Hampstead Theatre

The press night for Headlong Theatre’s production of Salome was cleverly planned to coincide with the Solemnity of the Birth of John the Baptist. It served to remind us that Oscar Wilde’s seldom performed play is a religious one. Primarily interesting in that the play shows us a very different side to a writer we all think we know, its director Jamie Lloyd embraces Wilde’s darker side and gives us a sinister, fascinating take on the biblical story.

It is uncomfortable viewing. John’s guards are animalistic in the extreme, with movement directed by Ann Yee, they prowl around the stage, quickly establishing an atmosphere of danger and distrust. They have reason to watch their backs. Not just because they fear the wild prophet, played by Seun Shote with an appropriate physicality, but because the court they work at is simply mad. Dripping with decadence, Con O’Neill’s Herod stumbles and spits his way around the stage, revoltingly pouring wine down his throat and over himself. He grabs any and every available piece of flesh – except for Salome.

Zawe Ashton’s Salome is a fascinating creature. Aware of her power, she toys with all the men on stage and revels in the danger. Occasional ineptness reminds us of her age. Jaye Griffiths is in fine form as her maligned mother Herodias. Appearing like a painted doll, her paranoia is at a constant fever pitch. Lloyd has clearly directed all the cast to mark Wilde’s constant warning to “look upon” others. The gaze communicates and increases desire – it has an uncanny power. Not a glance among the ensemble is wasted. The drama is unbearably tense and somewhat exhausting.

Sacrifices have been made to achieve a breakneck pace. Much of Wilde’s poetry seems lost. His text is flushed with colour yet Soutra Gilmour’s set is a dystopian playground and her costumes army fatigues. The symbolism in the play seems neglected – here everything is brutally direct. But Lloyd isn’t running a Sunday School. If events like these really ever happened they probably did so in an environment this crazed, with people this unbalanced. This production casts new light on the Bible story. That was probably Wilde’s aim in the first place.

Until 17 July 2010

www.hampsteadtheatre.com

Photo by Helen Warner

Written 23 June 2010 for The London Magazine