Effectively applied modern context makes this a funny, empathetic, must-see production of a Shakespeare comedy
This production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona had a wonderfully modern feel, but kept to the original words with a level of understanding, and modern humour, that ensured they came across with a purity that could be fully appreciated. The modernity of football boots, manicures, Hinge, and Take Me Home, Country Roads gave new levels of accessibility to this Shakespearean comedy.
My favourite thing about this production, without a shadow of a doubt, was that it did not shy away from the horrifyingly misogynistic and problematic language and actions of Proteus (played by Rob Wolfreys), and the allowances that Valentine (played by Will Shakleton) makes to his friend after he has apologised for the impact his actions have had on Valentine…but not the women. This acknowledgement was done silently, and carefully, with no direct impact on the speech or the spoken story – however the tone was beautifully managed by the women (Lilia Kanu and Rosie Mahendra, respectively) on stage in silence. Their body language, and facial acting demonstrated wonderfully their disapproval, shock, and that they no longer wished to be involved with these men who had forgotten that they have a say in the future that they wish to participate in.
The modern context that this show is being performed in is a post “Bear or Man” debate which gives even more meaning to Mahendra’s lines about preferring to be stuck with a tiger in the woods than with Proteus. Proteus, like a number of other men online, did not understand what this meant and threatened to make her care for him by use of force. It is a far more relevant play than people will expect given its age and the modern setting truly highlights this well.
The costumes and props were great, and used well to showcase more of who each character was within the society of the play. One excellent detail was the bright red heels worn by the bodyguards during the scene used to introduce Jake Roberston’s Duke of Milan.
The set design was also handled well with the modern context, the stages space was used well and never felt overcrowded. One picturesque detail was the hanging purple flowers during the outside scene at the Duke’s home. The scaffolding towers were used effectively and always enhanced the stage.
At the end of the first act there is a physical confrontation between Shakleton’s Valentine and Robertson’s Duke, and this moment should be praised for its commitment to the altercation, as should the later physical confrontation of Shakleton and Wolfreys’ Proteus. The masterful physicality of the moments made it effective for the emotions conveyed, and while I’m sure it was handled professionally and safely it was done so well that it looked like it hurt. Congratulations!
Another actor who deserves plenty of praise for his debut performance is of course Rocky the Labradoodle, who portrayed Crab. Rocky was attentive and drew laughter from the audience, his performance was touching. He deservedly stole the scenes he was present for, while working well with Jo Rich. Every single member of cast, and every creative involved, should be proud of the performance and the show they put together. I could not spot a weak link among them.
Truly this was a fabulous performance, that while modern in its setting and context stuck to the intended story with an enhanced level of human understanding that only expanded the comedy and emotional effectiveness of the story.
Plagued with technical issues, the performers held strong and made it enjoyable.
Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress is not the typical story of a Rake; the plot was unexpectedly about a man, originally with low funds, in love, who learnt more and more about love throughout the opera. Even with all the problems he faced, and the mental state he was in by, the end of the story, Tom Rakewell (the Rake) knew what love was, could recognise it, and could profess it to the woman he had loved throughout the opera. The performances of all the cast were touching, intense, and powerful.
That being said, the performance was filled with technical issues that made it challenging to enjoy in places. The lighting was inconsistent and problematic at times, there were several periods where lead cast members were performing in darkness because the spotlight was in the wrong place. Some of these moments could have been considered intentional, except that it happened so often, particularly prior to the interval, and others absolutely could not have been because the spotlight was partially on them. Another issue was the sound. While it is entirely understandable that the cast were not wearing microphones, operatic performances could make this difficult in practice, it was really difficult to hear them occasionally. The issue that conflated this was that the subtitles on the screens had their own problems. They were sometimes out of time, and while they occasionally followed both participants of a duet this was inconsistent, they also did not follow more than one person when it was three or more vocalists layered even if their parts had different lyrics.
The costume department and set design team deserve high praise. The staging was tilted, partially raised, and reflective. It was beautiful and provided atmospheric reflections during poignant moments. It was a clean and modern feel that fit well with the mixed 18th Century and modern feel that the costumes and props had. The costumes were wonderful, all the main cast had costumes that were excellently designed to provide symbolism for the audience. The crown that Frederick Jones’s Tom Rakewell wears at the beginning is seen in a few other scenes as well, and it is only its later uses that made its entirely out-of-place feel at the beginning make more sense. The ensemble had very intricate costumes, the masks were gorgeous. For one moment there was a murder of crows on stage, heavily suggesting to the audience that something terrible was going to happen. Other lighter moments included the use of a Greggs paper bag as a prop – a smattering of laughter was heard from the audience.
Jack Sheen, the conductor, was magnificent, as were all the musicians. One musician in particular stood out for the entirety of the opera. The pianist. The pianist spent the entire opera on stage, in full costume, with a straight face as though they were part of the scenery. Only turning the page of their sheet music occasionally and playing sometimes. They played brilliantly and added hugely to the moments they were required for. During the auction scene, the pianist had a SALE sign stuck to them. They were clearly committed to their role to be as unobtrusive as possible, and should be highly commended.
Truly there was no weak link in the performers, the musicians or the cast on stage. The vocals were astounding, with special mention to Nazan Fikret, who played Anne. It was unfortunate that there were so many technical issues on the night that took away from the otherwise enthralling performances of the gifted main cast, and talented ensemble.
My Blood, written by Leelou Lapteva, is about the inner drama of a well-off banking family that has survived, even prospered from, the 2008 financial crash. They are grieving the loss of the youngest daughter, and deal with more challenges throughout the 90-minute play.
The set for the play was clearly well thought out, and while the dining room set felt like it bordered on being disproportionately big for the space it seemed to suit the aura of the large and wealthy family’s domineering presence. There were later points of the show where the space was used excellently; two scenes occurred in tandem with each other, with lighting and actors freezing in place to help the audience focus as needed. At no point during these tandem scenes did the stage feel crowded.
Both Catty Williams-Boyle, who plays Eve Johnson, and George Loynes, who plays Oliver Atreides speak to the audience at various points in the play. Both were incredibly powerful in their respective roles and purposes, and both made effective eye contact with members of the audience which added to the authenticity of the emotions and attitude being portrayed. Williams-Boyle and Loynes both played characters who had several complex layers, and as they were peeled back the commitment that they showed to the roles became more and more apparent.
Williams-Boyle was consistently strong in her portrayal of Eve throughout the entirety of the performance. Most others picked up as the play went on. While everyone’s American accent appeared to slip momentarily at one point or other, which they can be forgiven for, none of the performers can be faulted on their dedication to their characters – with fierce screams, from Kelsey DeJesus, and forcible slams of one’s own head against the stage, from Loynes, these performers should be proud of their spellbinding presence on stage.
The only point at which I felt thrown from the story was using the word “cringe” in the second scene of the show. This felt anachronistic to the period that the play was set in, whether it technically is or not isn’t the point – it felt jarring to hear, and it took awhile to get back into the story.
Costumes were excellent and felt appropriate for each character. Seeping red into Williams-Boyle’s costume was ingenious, as was her use of apples.
My Blood isn’t perfect, but manages to effectively convey a lot of information, two twists within the occult plotline, and incredibly complex interpersonal dynamics in a way that felt natural. There are some truly funny lines thrown in as well, for good measure.
The bookends of the play are a conversation in the Atreides graveyard between Phoebe Winter’s Chloe Atreides and Williams-Boyle’s Eve. The conversations are clever; allowing the audience to see the depth of the shift in Eve’s demeaner, and the effect of power on Chloe. This poetic end is hit home with the final line, that the audience heard from the other actor at the beginning of the play – “Do you believe in Judgement Day?”
Funny and powerful, with some imperfections that should be ironed out.
*review contains some spoilers for the plot*
The Cherry Orchard is Chekov’s last play and was performed by An Exciting New, directed by Harry Brook. Chekov described it as a comedy, and it certainly had some incredibly funny moments, while depicting the shift in the classes of society. The central focus of the play is Lyubov, the aristocratic landowner who is having to sell her family land, and home, in order to pay the mortgage – she refuses to consider options of splitting the land off and letting pieces, and so has to put it all up for auction. The titular cherry orchard holds great importance in her memories so she cannot conceive of it being felled while she owns it. Lyubov was played by Ilse-Lee van Niekerk with remarkable skill and care; Lyubov is a complex character with a great deal of fracturing emotions and van Niekerk managed to get this across with empathy and realism.
Other particularly stand-out characters, and their actors, included Gaev, Lyubov’s brother, played by Cosimo Asvisio, and Firs, and elderly manservant, played by Joe Rachman. Both Asvisio and Rachman played their roles with total commitment that allowed the eccentricities of their parts to feel authentic rather than the punchline of a joke. While some of Firs’ aging eccentricities are sometimes part of the comedy they are never treated as such by Rachman, who played the part with remarkable consideration. This commitment to the role by all three allowed the audience to sympathise with these figures in their loss, and complete devastation, particularly in the final part of Act 2.
Act 2 sees the sale of the Lyubov’s land, and home, to wealthy Lopakhin who’s family come from the lower classes. This revelation breaks the final resolve of Lyubov, and as van Niekerk collapses to the floor, shaking with sobs, the rest of the cast deconstructs the set around her. This begins with Jules Upson, who plays Lopakhin, taking a painting from one of the walls – as he moves it, the audience can see that it depicts cherry blossom trees. This was a fantastic choice! As the rest of the cast deconstruct the stage, van Niekerk crosses the stage multiple times in great distress and confusion – clearly depicting the loss and anxiety of her character as everything she’s ever known gets ripped from her. The walls of set get pushed back and turned around, until the stage has very little resemblance to the warm, and lavish, home with bookcases that are 100 years old that everybody had been used to. The choice to have the cast members do this, rather than members of crew, allowed the audience to feel some level association with the characters and the loss of land; some of them added to the cause, and others failed to help successfully. Ultimately – Russian society, which all the characters are part of, was responsible for the shift and therefore the loss.
As van Niekerk moves on and off stage, she begins to shed some of her costume, until she is left with messy hair and just her undergarments. Asvisio’s Gaev is also left in only his green coat and underwear. Other members of the cast spend the rest of the play in modern looking clothes, including jeans and shoes resembling Doc Martins, while this suits some of the characters (Will Shakleton’s Yasha, for example), it is not obvious why other cast members are dressed so far out of the era. This “out of place” character clothing choices began earlier in Act 2, with one incident at the ball – Rosie Mahendra’s Anya is dressed in a very slinky slip dress, and her hair is down, for no obvious reason. Nobody comments on the outfit, or the stark contrast to all the other women’s dresses. If they had done so, it could have been used as a choice to mark her out as different and easily adjusting to the modernising times, and those refusing to adjust looking down on her as a woman with looser morals perhaps. However, as this was not done, it just seemed like a misstep in the costuming, that actually lessened the effect of seeing characters like Shakleton’s Yasha in modern clothes in the next scenes.
The only other critique I have of the performance was the extended pauses…that went on far too long. During some dramatic moments in the final part of the show, dramatic pauses are utilised far beyond their ability for effect. There is a pause when van Niekerk is sat in a chair, staring out at the audience over stumps that are used to represent the future of the orchard. She is surrounded by the rest of the cast who are all muttering quietly as they stare at, or through, her, while music also plays in the background. It is a gorgeous, and pivotal, moment of the play that truly got across the loss Lyubov is feeling, and the state of her mental health. However, it goes on far too long. Not only do we wait for the music to finish (which alone would be fine), we also wait and watch while it is only the cast muttering, for a considerable length of time. To the point that I was sat wondering if they had potentially missed a cue or were wating for one that was supposed to come, or that I was supposed to be able to pick up on what the cast were saying. If it was the latter, I could not. This moment was set up so well that if the lights had flipped to black and the cast had set up for bows, I would not have been surprised, or upset, but instead…the audience waited, and eventually the play continued. The excessive length of this moment ruined the emotional effect a little.
The final moments of the play belong, exquisitely, to Rachman – after everybody has left the stage (and theatre!) via the back door in the stage, Rachman makes himself known to the audience. We had been led to believe Firs had been taken to hospital, but instead he had been accidentally left behind. We watch his panic, his continued concern that Gaev is probably wearing the wrong coat (he is), and his decent into such distress that he falls off the chair onto the floor. Rachman continues to push out the final broken lines, until he stills in the lonely darkness on stage and silence falls. This moment creates such pure empathy for this long-serving family servant that I actually muttered my concern under my breath. However, the silence continues, and continues…until members of the audience came to their own conclusion and began applauding. This was a problem because, while this was the end of the play, some people may have missed the chainsaw sound effect that signalled the felling on the cherry orchard and the family connection to the land, and the actual conclusion of the play. If instead of waiting for the cast to make their way back to the stage doors (which is what it felt like was happening), they left Rachman visible on stage for less time, faded to black and cued the chainsaw in the blackness, the audience would have happily waited in darkness for the bows. As it stood, we were waiting for something else to happen, as it had earlier, and it felt less emotionally effective than it should have.
Beyond those critiques, the play was wonderfully performed, if occasionally lacking in sexual and emotional tension between some characters, the costumes were gorgeous, and the set design was beautiful and clever. Using ties to create texture on the backdrop for the outside location were an interesting choice that worked very well. The use of the front of the stage during the changing of scenes was fun and kept the audience engaged. I laughed a lot, and found the performance powerful, it was a good way to spend the evening.
Absolute must see Christmas comedy with a twist. This show is something special.
Glacier is a festive comedy with a twist, written by Alison Spittle. Its premise is simple with a story driven forward by cleverly unique characters; three women meet, every Christmas day, to swim at a lake, an unofficial tradition they’ve created. All three characters, Dawn (played by Debra Baker), Lucy (Emma Lau), and Jools (Sophie Steer), are completely their own and distinctive in personality without becoming a stereotype or a caricature of themselves. All three were a joy to watch, and entirely engaging.
The show is made up of a scenes depicting the same day, Christmas Day, in the same place, the lake, every year over a number of years. This resulted in watching the cast enter and exit the stage many times, and yet, at no point did this create a feeling of being adrift or bored. Each time the lights went down some music would play, with news headlines or speeches as well, to help you get a sense of which year was being portrayed next which worked brilliantly.
The costumes were simple, everyday, and effective – they fit well with the realism that the deeply three-dimensional characters created. The set design was clever and also simple, so it felt complimentary to the cast and fit well within the space. Specific lighting was used to indicate when the cast were swimming underwater. Not only the lighting indicated this, but so did office swivel chairs! The cast would sit on them and push off with their legs, in various positions, to get to one side of the space to the other. The various positions were used to indicate the stroke being swum, there was even a butterfly stroke!
The humour felt incredibly British, in a deadpan way, and was packed in at exactly the right moments with the necessary subtlety for some moments of the show. The topics, even the difficult ones, were handled incredibly sensitively and appropriately for the show without feeling as though anything was dwelled on.
At its heart, Glacier is a story about the complexity of human relationships, and this is at the forefront of our minds particularly during the festive period. Over the course of the performance, you watch a beautiful friendship develop between the three women and explore those certain emotions which come with Christmas time. You see how life often takes dramatic and unexpected turns, that can’t always be explained.
This show was truly something special, I laughed, I was shocked, I was deeply saddened, and I was touched. Glacier is a gorgeous Christmas story about love, family, and loss, not just a story set on Christmas Day. Glacier is showing at the Old Fire Station in Oxford. Get your tickets here.
Great potential lost in a tangled, overcrowded, script.
bodies is a single act play, depicting a single evening in the lives of 3 people and an AI home assistant. The decisions made with the lighting used to portray Home were excellent; they were on the ceiling and the walls either side of the stage. This brought the feeling of being surrounded and observed to a higher level. In the final moments of the show, where Home is being switched off, the use of the lights again was wonderful as they went off one by one until it was pitch black. Another clever, and very fun, choice was the costume for Thomas Kemball when he was on stage as the embodiment of Home – the bright orange was a stark contrast to everybody else on stage, so he stood out as different, but the choice of having “virgin” emblazoned on the top was incredibly funny given some of the conversations had during a game of Never Have I Ever part way through.
However, it was never completely clear as to why Home is represented on stage for a significant portion of the show by a person. For some of the show, particularly the beginning, Home has a disembodied voice and is conversed with like this. When the narrative Home spouts is that they do not have a body, and therefore do not totally understand humanity, it is strange to give them bodily representation on stage – this was emphasised during a long portion of the play where Kemball was stood to one side on stage and not part of the action. It was clear that Home was watching the people, it seemed unnecessary to have someone represent them.
That was not the only seemingly unnecessary aspect of the play. The script felt extremely tangled in places, and often unnecessarily busy, in other places it felt as though the cast had forgotten their lines. Although as this happened in multiple places it is, perhaps, more likely that this repetition and loose dialogue was, at least on occasion, found within the script. The characters felt inconsistent, occasionally weighty and more developed, but at times two-dimensional with repetitive dialogue that seemed to be going nowhere. These speeches created many moments of feeling “where is this going?” – this was sometimes due to being excited by where something might be leading, and sometimes due to not being able to follow the purpose of something that was clearly seen as important.
bodies lacked a clear direction, with so many threads involved in the story and not enough time to put any respectful amount of weight into any of them it would have benefited from cutting some of their mentions completely or lengthening the show. The play touched on relationships, infidelity, polyamory, AI, AI wanting to be human, love, feminism, the meaning of life, emotional labour, and mental health issues – to name a few. This was too much for a 55-minute play to cover and effectively consider. bodies also lacked clear pressing or manipulation from Home of the three people present in the house. The description of the show suggests that Home decides to press their insecurities intentionally, knowing it will cause distress, so that he can learn more about humanity – this manipulative intent did not come across at all. Home seemed more like a distressed child watching his parents on the brink of divorce than anything even remotely resembling self-interested manipulation.
I wanted to like this play, I really did, I was intrigued by the description and had hope throughout the opening despite the opening night technical difficulties, because there was so much potential in it. The actors portrayed their characters well – I liked some characters more than others, for example, I found it hard to empathise with Sam because I found her difficult to like but that was due to the effectiveness of Deborah Acheampong as an actor. However, despite the potential in the script, and there being so many threads in the air to grab onto, absolutely none of it landed.
This fly-on-the-wall depiction of a true story leaves you wanting to know more
Farm Hall, written by Katherine Moar, centres on the story of six of Germany’s top nuclear scientists, who are detained by the Allied forces at Farm Hall, after Hitler is dead, but war continues in the Pacific. Unknown to the scientists, during their time at Farm Hall, the building was bugged and their every action recorded. This play is inspired by the true events that took place at Farm Hall between July 1945 and January 1946. Directed by Stephen Unwin, this production felt intimate and special. It gave the feeling of being a fly on the wall in a very private gathering. The mismatched, almost patchwork, wallpaper was gorgeous and added to this feeling, also reflecting the mismatched mix of the physicists living in the house. The costumes are reflective of the period, and are used well by the cast – they are clearly comfortable additions to their characters, allowing them to move in ways that reflect their positions and personalities.
The slice-of-life journey these people go on is peppered with incredibly realistic moments like being bored, and the slow movement of life with people you may not know very well. The audience watches them discover their issues with each other, and their constant bemusement of why they’re even in this situation anyway. The impressive cast move all the props and set up the scenes themselves – they do this all entirely in character and so it feels like the passage of time, almost as though somebody’s hit the fast forward button.
There was very little change in the staging, as it is all set in the same room of the Hall. One important addition is the broken piano, which they spend longer talking about getting, then fixing, than enjoying because it becomes boring quickly. The lighting also rarely changed but, notably, made the Hall feel homely with the warm, yellowed, glow from the lights. The only change was a dramatic one, and it was done beautifully. During their stay at Farm Hall the physicists hear the news of the USA successfully building atomic bombs and one being dropped on Japan. When the bomb is dropped, there is an explosion sound effect, and the lights change. They lose the yellow, and shift to a clean white. This gives the feeling of all the colour draining from the world, and everything sharpens slightly, as if something fundamental has changed. This is the trigger point of the interval.
The interval gap is utilised cleverly, as when the show resumes it is from that exact point of revelation. The cast resume their positions as if nothing has happened, and the lighting effect is used in reverse. The soft colour seeps back into the world, and, as if recovering from a trance, everybody needs the information repeated because they cannot believe what they’ve just heard. They listen to a radio broadcast about the atomic bomb drop. The lead up to this is fascinating because they’re all standing around and waiting; pacing, watch-checking, and demanding that the volume is turned up as soon as it starts.
We learn about how Hitler had set the physicists against each other, rather than encouraging them to work together, in a failed attempt to further their successes. With this came a big debate; how did the Americans build the atomic bomb before they did and was the German failure down to intended sabotage by Heisenberg? Lots of the characters struggle with this, and these discussions feel genuine, fraught with judgement and emotion.
The show finishes with the physicists leaving Farm Hall. Having joked early on about how the British aren’t advanced enough to have bugged the Hall, it is, perhaps, a revelation that Heisenberg walks back in and speaks aloud to the Hall, addressing the audience, saying that he hopes they are still listening. He expresses his gratitude for being given a place to regroup and get away from the stress. He had spent enough time there to have cleared his head and designed an atomic bomb. The suggestion that their are listening devices in the house, makes the audience feel like they are the listeners, that they have given Heisenberg the space and time to clear his head. It is, after all, only once he has completed his work that they are allowed to leave.
Unique, profound, and beautifully raw. An experience that will stay with you
Kin at Oxford Playhouse is a unique show, performed in multiple languages, that moved most, if not all, of the audience in their own personal way through the story of immigrants and migrants. As an individual with no ear for languages, I missed out on the impact of all the various languages used, however I felt a different impact – a show where I felt I was missing something, confused, a little lost, but deeply confronted and helpless. This was one of the marvels of Gecko’s Kin, everybody’s journey was their own.
The show was a visual and musical sensation, with much of the journey being shown through carefully choreographed dance and gorgeous music. Another clever choice made with the story was the use of light. Throughout the show it is utilised in multiple ways, both as something the cast members pick up and move around and as something that exists out of reach. Light is an important part of the show, it symbolised safety and hope, but also confinement and captivity. With light comes shadow, which was also used, along with silhouettes. Other very clever staging decisions included the use of the stage turntable. It gave a sense of perpetual distance and the passage of time. Unfortunately, on occasion, due to the use of a highbacked chair, it meant some cast members were obscured at moments.
The puppetry was gorgeous, powerful, and deeply moving. Their involvement in the movement throughout the show gave the feeling of the ancestors that the characters kept close. They provided support and comfort, but also pulled the characters back to the past they were leaving behind and sometimes this led to painful memories. The white paint was similarly impactful. It told of the frequent requirement of immigrants to give up their identities to be accepted and given safety. The painful process of trying to gain entry and being turned away eventually chips away at a person, and so as a last resort it might not feel like much to give up everything else. The pain of being forced to cover your identity, and losing the last links of what you must leave behind was obvious.
My personal favourite storyline was the story of the soldier, played by founder and artistic director of Gecko, Amit Lahav. It was not merely the creation of the soldier that I found gripping, but where he ended up. Lahav’s soldier went to great lengths to try and say no to becoming the torturer, but eventually the torture he suffered became too much. He revelled in the power once he had settled into it, but occasionally a sympathetic audience member could interpret cracks. Despite all these awful choices that Lahav’s soldier had to make to try to survive and stay safe, he still ended up with everybody else: cold, scared, in a life jacket, and trying to stay in the boat. At the time, it reminded me of a line in Pastor Martin Niemöller’s poem First They Came, ‘then they came for me’, because despite everything this solider, and the others, had done to stay safe, they still ended up fleeing for their lives. In those final moments, the cast stepped forward and shared their stories with the audience before slipping back into the dance and continuing until the end. It allowed us to understand the individual person behind each role.
Kin is timeless and placeless (given the mix of languages, or to me the wall of near indistinguishable languages), and so had the ability to touch each audience member in a deeply personal way. The show can appear as any moment in history, or current era, and any geographical location or conflict.
Classic, clever, and comical in places, this show is still loved for a reason. This marvellous cast, gorgeous costumes, and beautiful staging is a brilliant addition to the archive.
The King and I, a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical that premiered on Broadway in March 1951, directed by Bartlett Sher is a fantastic addition to the show’s history. The diligent use of the stage, with thoughtful positioning of the cast and clever props, ensured the space was not only well used but also never felt crowded unless except when intended to overwhelm Anna. The ship seemed to fill the stage completely until there were people sharing it, then it seemed to fit perfectly.
Each and every scene change was smooth, fitting in to the show with ease and preventing any gaps in the story. Lighting was utilised effectively, to show changing spaces in ways that complimented cast without distracting from them. The costumes were beautiful, with rich, deep, colours chosen intentionally – one such deliberate choice can be seen clearly in Anna’s dresses. Anna, played by Maria Coyne, began the show in a rich light blue, her second gown was very pale blue, her third was a pale pink, and her fourth and final costume was an incredibly deep, dark, red that matched that worn throughout the show by most of the residents of the Palace, and the King himself. It gave some physical indication of growth of Anna’s attachment to and affection of Siam, and it’s King.
While every single cast member was truly phenomenal, including the children and ballet dancers, the absolute gem in the crown was Cezarah Bonner’s performance as Lady Thiang. Bonner’s stage presence was astounding, she held herself with power and dignity throughout, while truly complementing the power and hidden vulnerability of Brian Rivera’s King. However, when she was highest ranking person on stage, she truly commanded and clearly oversaw everything – nothing happened that she was unaware of. When she was alone, Bonner filled the stage, both with her vocals and her sheer presence. It was a sight to behold, and an honour to watch.
The children were wonderful, each having their own distinct personality and bringing beautiful humour to some special moments. The eldest sons, played by Caleb Lagayan (Prince Chulalongkorn) and Charlie McGuire (Louis Leonowens), were performed in delightfully complementary ways, that perfectly highlighted their similarities and differences, this culminated in their duet.
The vocals from each performer were compelling and showed the great emotional depth of each character and the performers understanding of them.
The King and I contains some difficult themes, after all it is over 70 years old, and they were navigated gracefully. There’s also the ability to be open to new interpretations of some of the songs, including agreeing with the Palace women about the ridiculousness of the women’s fashion and culture of the Western world in the 1860s. While the show hasn’t changed, the continued enjoyment of it allows the changing interpretations and the ability to review history, and historical views, that encourage a desire to learn from mistakes. This, at its heart, is what the show is about – learning from each other and the past – there isn’t a particularly happy ending to the show, but it is one of opportunity and hope for the future. Every end of an era brings the dawn of a new one.
The desires within the show are timeless and universal – to love and be loved, to live honestly and be understood, and to have a home where people are safe and happy. It’s worth the watch and is clear why the show has lasted the test of time.
