Hounded by an intrusive media and disregarded by an insensitive police, Ido is left with no choice but to take matters into his own hands. Played brilliantly by Kathryn Hunter, the play charts his gradual decline into a dark labyrinth of violence, rape and revenge.

Without an aptitude for victimhood, Ido attempts to utilise the skills of his profession – he is a businessman – to negotiate his way out of the lamentable situation he finds himself in. When that fails, he disarms a highly comical police officer, Anchoku, and decides his chances of rescuing his family are best served by taking hostage Ogoro’s own family.

The play’s primary feat is its ability to blend humour into such a dark scenario, manifested through the satirical look at the role of the media and the police in society, as well as its manga comic strip form. It is a form which has taken on a growing significance in Japan, as the authorities have relied on its successful exportation to ease their economic woes.

It is ironic, then, that Ido and his family are failed miserably by the state, and the two fugitives descend into a desperate battle of attrition that draws on real yakuza – Japanese organised crime syndicates – traditions. The humour comes in tempering the spectacle of the punishments: rather than mimicking the cutting off of a finger, The Bee sees pencils held between fingers snapped in a series of scenes of escalating tension. The tension is partially broken when the kidnapped child volunteers his finger in anticipation, prompting a wave of unsettled laughter in the audience.

The acting, prop selection and mise-en-scène add hugely to the humour of the evening, with highlights including the use of elastic bands for noodles, a cylinder wearing a cap for a child, indelibly tangled wires depicting channels of communication and a mirror backdrop that spontaneously, then sporadically, becomes transparent.

Beneath the facetiousness and the depravity, there is a damning social critique: of the immorality of the press; of the ruthlessness of the capitalist attitudes that drive the businessman to revenge; of the eye for an eye mentality that drives a sane individual insane; essentially, of the ultimate price the bee pays for protecting itself using its sting.

The Bee is playing at Soho Theatre until 11 February.

As is the case with a busy and frantic rehearsal schedule, Sophie arrives looking thoroughly knackered wearing a sort of period-esque dress, high-heeled shoes and a light glaze of sweat. Although being an established actress, this is her first production at the National and her enthusiasm for the place is infectious. She describes it as a building packed with ‘brilliant people, all doing brilliant things’. Being in a bland rehearsal room all day she gains a real feel for the production and how it will look by walking through the National’s vast complex and seeing people ‘painting bits and building bits’ for the play wherever she turns.

When first approached, she admits she was very apprehensive, saying ‘I’ve never done this kind of material before, but it felt like a real, brilliant challenge to have a go at it and to work with Jamie [Lloyd] on this play, with this wonderful company.’ She describes these factors as a ‘myriad of ingredients, which makes you want to be in that cake’. She explains that ‘because I’d never really done a restoration play I sort of saw it in my head as a bit of a dusty thing. When I read the play I thought ‘oh crikey’ I’ll have to do lots of fanning and huffing and puffing. I feel I was seeing it in a dusty light and [Jamie] sort of blew the dust off and was like ‘well actually, its this’.

When asked how close the play is to the original style in which it was first performed, Thompson states that ‘in our production, we’ve chosen to be very true to the century that it was written in. All that Mark Thompson’s done with the design, the costumes and the set – it’s got a real authentic feel, which I’m really enjoying’.

Central to rehearsals have been lessons in dance, etiquette and how to use a fan properly. Thompson says: “we’ve got this amazing movement by Ann Yee, who did the movement on Comedy of Errors. She gets us all moving about and connecting up in that way, physically, which is fantastically helpful”.

The costumes are certainly a major factor in a production such as this, being a statement of its context and its class divisions. Thompson explains that when she sees ‘the dress getting more and more beautiful and the corset and everything and you think golly I hope I can create a Mrs.Hardcastle that can live up to this blinking frock!’

But much like the runaway success of the National’s One Man Two Guv’nors and the Old Vic’s Noises Off, the play is very much about the humanity of the characters. Thompson suggested that ‘apart from all the trappings and everything, the people are not so different from us. Although they behave in rather an outrageous and huge way, you want it to be true. So people can relate to them and go ‘oh I know a woman just like that’’. Having recently been in a few very modern plays, she seemed really encouraged by the fact that the Hardcastles are, in actual fact, ‘fantastically dysfunctional and in a way that makes it rather a modern family’ due to the fact ‘they both have children, but by other people’.

I asked what it was about the play’s focus on class and the ‘merriment’ that ensues that was so appealing to audiences across all demographics. Thompson saw it as simply ‘people being brought down to a level’ by ‘silliness and daftness’. She adds with a giggle that ‘we’re all daft human animals and we all embarrass ourselves and fall over and fart at posh dinners!’. Was that in the play or was that something she has been known to do at posh dinners? ‘It might well happen with nerves and the rest of it’ she adds in her Mrs.Hardcastle voice. ‘Hopefully the Olivier audience won’t hear it’!

Thompson seems to have great affection for her character who she says ‘pretends to be a bit posh in front of Hastings because she’s a bit of a snob but it’s also because she want’s to belong and she wants to go to London. It’s the vulnerabilities of people that will always continue to make us laugh and cry’.

As is the case with this variety of theatre, it seems it is a brilliant chance just to have a good ‘chortle’. Looking back towards where she had just ran through the play, she smiles and just says ‘it’s just funny, and we’ll never know why’.

She Stoops to Conquer opens in the Olivier at The National Theatre on the 24th January. Tickets are still
available at www.nationaltheatre.org.uk. All remaining tickets on the night are available to students for £10 at
the Box Office. The production will also be streamed live to cinemas across the UK on the 29th of March as
part of National Theatre Live.

Play speaks to Internationally renowned spoken word artist Polarbear about his new show, Old Me

This is Polarbear’s third full length performance piece – following RETURN- A Spoken Screenplay, and If I cover my nose you can’t see me, which closed the London Literature Festival. Old Me is an autobiographical work about the changes he went through in his life six years ago – going from working on a Birmingham building site, discovering spoken word, to pursuing his a career as an artist, and becoming a father.  Polarbear has a talent for poignancy, and the minimal setting with evocative music and lighting (Daniel Marcus Clark and Cis O’Boyle ) give his performance real meat. It’s a deluge of voices, of moments from various times in his life jostling, stream-of-consciousness-style, but all addressed to a ‘you’ that shifts from his son to his partner. He voices the kinds of discontent and elation a working-class guy would have to becoming an artist, anxieties about the concept of a ‘proper job’, etc. I spoke to Polarbear about Old Me, his reading, and some other things. On Old Me: “There’s alot in Old Me about parenting, about how nonsensical rules are. I get a bit off my chest in this piece, which I’ve never done directly.” On protests: “Kettle people in and they boil over.” On not marching: “I imagine I’d be in the middle of it, but not getting caught up in it, feeling slightly like I did when I used to watch football. Asking myself: ‘What is this really doing?’ But… I’m just old in my mentality.” On performance: “I like the ‘sink or swim’ element, I get up, and I deliver, and people aren’t expecting it. ‘Go on, say something meaningful, and let’s see if you can take me with you.’ That’s the excitement.” But he had more to say, and here’s the staccato’d interview:

 RK: Does your work have a central message, as a whole? A friend sees it as ‘find your passion, and stick to it, work on that’…

PB: I don’t really think about it like that, I don’t think about a message. If that’s there, great. But I don’t… I set out to connect with people, to show that others could be in my position. And vice versa. And I hope that people get to know me too, to know that what I’m thinking is not that different to what you’re thinking.

RK: I really like that couplet you have: “Why say in ten words what you can say in two / why say in two words what you can shut the fuck up and do.” What do you think about art and politics at the moment, poetry readings at Occupy London etc.?

PB: It’s tricky. I have quite strong opinions but I keep them to myself. Those readings at Occupy, I don’t like the persona that makes you. For me, that is. I don’t like the ppreaching to the choir thing. I don’t like standing up in front of a bunch of people, knowing what they think, re-affirming what they already think. But there is something to be said for saying things that the masses are thinking. I think it’s important. But I don’t like it. I dunno. It always seems like a wee in the sea. It’s all about the impact you’re having. And it seems that they think they have more of an impact than they do. Because… it’s important to voice these things. But they always seem to get voiced to people who already know. I mean, I was asked alot… alot, to write about the rioting that went on in North London and back home in Birmingham. But to what end? I don’t wanna sound like I’m defeatist or shooting anything down, but it just annoys me. There is a tokenistic feel to alot of it, I think. And there’s some amazing things written in the heat of the moment. Responses to stuff. And then its just gone. Where is it now? What happened three or four months ago, nobody’s talking about it now. The responses are gone. I don’t know. What impact does it have? Y’know?

RK:Yeah…

PB: It’s tricky I guess. And I don’t wanna sound pessimistic about it. It just always seems that it’s like a wasted opportunity.

RK: Like what Žižek said at Occupy Wall Street, don’t go home and say what a great time it was…

PB: Yeah… The enjoyment, it’s selfish. But these people are intelligent enough to look at it all for what it is. And it feels great. Not to rebel, but to say something and be part of something that’s against something that is wrong. That everybody knows is wrong. But you’re gonna go home, yeah? Maybe wearing nike, maybe have some Kellogg’s or Nestle cereal. ‘Oh, it’s just a bowl.’… But that’s a lazy pessimistic way of lookin at it too. At least they’re doing something. What I like about the Occupy movement is the strangely passive nature of it. It’s not throwing a brick. It’s considered. There’s a maturity to it. 

RK: Before you did your first spoken word gig in 2005, you were rapping, right?

PB: I was rapping before that for a long time, and still do. But it’s for me, and my mates. There are people in Birmingham now listening to tracks by me and my mate, but it never travels anywhere, if you know what I mean. There’s no time to dedicate to it. Creating something that was worthy of mastering.

RK: What do you look for in writing, spoken-word-work, etc.?

PB: It comes down to choice. What is it you’re trying to say? Does it rhyme? Ok, well don’t make it rhyme. Don’t constrain yourself. I dunno, it feels like a step backwards.

RK: What about literary influences?

PB: My girlfriend was a massive influence on me, just getting me to read. I was reading Bukowski in my late teens and loving it, y’know, the antihero stuff. But, yeah, I think it’s more about an openness, not being closed to certain kinds of form. There woulda bin a time when I woulda dismissed poetry and stuff before I even read it. My tastes haven’t changed much. My father-in-law is giving me a classical education in music, literature, and stuff. Joyce’s Ulysses, I loved it. I think it might be the best… well, I don’t wanna say that. There’s so much out there. The other day I got sent a collection of poetry, from a group of recovering or recovered addicts. I worked with them a bit before in Bournemouth. It’s amazing. There’s a real rawness to it. The bluntness and the beauty… unbelievable. I dunno… ‘Why do you like it’, ‘I dunno, I can’t tell you mate, why I liked it or didn’t like it, its just what I got.’ Thats how I’ve bin all my life.

RK: What’s your writing process?

PB: For the shorter ones, they’re all formed in the mouth. I get 3 minutes of stuff, and only then do I write it down.  But with longer ones it’s very much writing. With Return, it was like 23 A4 pages when it was done, but I wrote about 190. With this one I write about the same again, over 60 drafts and I got 30 pages. I’m a bit obsessive.

RK: You’re used to being on stage now with these spoken-word/theatre pieces. Ever done any acting classes?

PB: No. I work with directors.  I don’t want anyone to think I’m someone else, or not fully there. My cousin tells the best stories, and its coz he’s in em. If he’s telling you about seeing someone get stabbed, he’s there. It seems a bit childish, but I love it. Anyway, I’m not an actor, I don’t wanna be an actor. But I want to be able to embody something.

RK: So Old Me is the final part of a trilogy, a kind of autobiographical trilogy. What are you up to next?

PB: I’m writing something for kinds about lying and storytelling, for next Spring. For ten year olds. Then there’s an epic multiperson story-project, and pending funding… I hope we get it…  it’ll be a year-and-a-half project… Anyway, I’m looking forward to the kids gig. But I wouldn’t want nippers seeing Old Me. But anyway, there will be less me in what I do next.

RK: You mentioned some friends, back home, don’t see what you do as a ‘proper job’. Do you feel that yourself?

PB: … I no longer feel unjustified. For awhile it just felt weird to get paid for what I was doing anyway. It’s proper though, I fill out tax returns. I’m proper.

Polarbear’s new show is running at the Roundhouse from 21^st Nov – 3^rd Dec. Tickets are £12.50. He blogs at http://www.homeofpolar.com/

The strength of the piece lies in some deft characterisation. Each character, on one level, seems to reflect a specific class or viewpoint, but they live and breathe in their own right, ensuring that while politics is ever to the fore the play is a piece of true drama. Acting and writing combine to ensure that each character has depth and personality. The character of Megan is a gloriously believable bitch, while some subtle understatement from Jess Austin as Wendy and Jordan Lee as Jim ensures that the good guys of the piece have genuine charm and never become cloying or self-satisfied. Austin, in particular, gurns away with convincingly reckless abandon, and the couple’s rhyming, Pete Doherty and Kate Moss inspired love scene works brilliantly.

Likewise, the script is sharp and witty, with a real ear for the language of student life. The characters slide from poetic eloquence to slang. And the writers’ ability to find wit, even in the darker moments of the play, is hugely promising; some great lines include the classic ‘You’re not a freedom fighter, you’re a sexual terrorist.’ It might have been improved, perhaps, by a more vigorous approach to editing, but in general it was tight, punchy and with an eccentric charm all of its own.

The design of the piece also works well. The use of a video projector to replicate the students’ paranoid, drug induced dreams was a very nice touch, and could perhaps have been made more of. While the manner in which the disintegration of the house’s ethos is mapped out by scrawled on, animal farm-esque additions to their rules, is inspired.

If the play has a weakness, it is that the structure can seem somewhat fragmented. The opening act is occasionally lacking in drive, and although the device of using heavy drug taking to justify lengthy political rambling works very well at times, it can also seem a little contrived. Fortunately, the sharp dialogue and nuanced acting means that this is seldom much of a problem.

Entertaining, engaging and thought-provoking, Bridges and Balloons is a promising beginning from a young company with plenty of imagination. The top-notch writing and great performances make for an evening that is refreshingly political, but which never runs the risk of taking itself too seriously. With a ‘two for three’ offer available to students, there’s every reason to see it.

Bridges and Balloons will run at The Rag Factory on Brick Lane until December 18.

The diaries of Chris Mullin, MP and junior minister for the labour party, are brought vividly to life in this sharp, witty adaptation by writer Michael Chaplin. Kicking things off with a predictable blast of ‘Things can only get better’, the production whisks us through over a decade of labour in power. The story it tells is one of broken promises, failure and disappointment, but the manner in which that story is told is hugely entertaining.
At its best, the play shines a spotlight on the reality of life at Westminster – at these moments it becomes a sort of mild-mannered The Thick of It. The versatile supporting cast glide through a vast number of different roles, and their impersonations of familiar political figures are invariably spot-on. John Hodgkinson gives an engaging performance as Mullin himself; perhaps a little over-ready to slide into caricature, he nevertheless succeeds in keeping the audience glued to the action. And Jim Kitson, whose roles include Gordon Brown and John Prescott, reveals a masterly gift for impersonation.
Above all, the play provides an invaluable insight into the mind of a labour minister. Perhaps unwittingly, it lays bare the extent to which the party bureaucracy co-opts Mullin’s naïve idealism, entrapping him within a careerist approach. Convinced that the labour party presents the sole solution to Britain’s problems, Mullin is forced to climb ever higher up the party ladder, in the forlorn hope of someday reaching that mythical position of power that will actually enable him to make a difference.
Unfortunately, the play’s portrayal of Mullin’s work in his constituency is rather  less insightful. His constituents tend to be portrayed as idiots who don’t ‘appreciate’ what labour has done for them. And the treatment of immigration was even worse, with diverse cases of injustice deployed, not so much to draw attention to the iniquities of the British system, but apparently to prove that deep down Chris is just a nice guy.
Even so, the production is deft, stylish and entertaining; what problems there are arguably owe more to the source material than to the adaptation. If you’re in the mood for an evening that combines a liberal dose of hilarity with a quick trip down memory lane, it is well worth seeing.

A Walk on Part runs until December 10 at the Soho Theatre.

Bridges and Balloons will run at The Rag Factory on Brick Lane until December 18.

La Boheme will run in repertory at the King’s Head Theatre until December 15.

MATT WILLIAMSON

Flora Neville checks out the grand re-opening of the relocated Bush Theatre.
In a funny way, I was most looking forward to seeing the sunrise. I had this rather romantic vision of 140 actors, 66 writers and a dwindling audience littered around the rooms and garden of the newly opened Bush theatre, basking in the comforting light. Anti climatic on this score would be an understatement, partly because it was one of those grey and miserable days and partly because we spent the best part in a squalid and darkened room, like a family of moles, slowly becoming one with the theatre benches over the course of 24 hours, 7 pm till 7pm – yes, a whole day of plays.
Writers and academics such as Rowan Williams, Jeanette Winterson, Carol Ann Duffy and Kate Mosse, were commissioned to respond to one book of the bible, in an event that was to mark the anniversary of the publication of the King James Bible, and establish the Bush ‘in this big moment for our small but significant history’. All sixty six books were interpreted into performances, each radically different from the next. By the end of the marathon we had seen Arthur Darvill strumming away the Gospel of St Luke on his guitar, an utterly camp Samuel Barnett playing St Paul, referring to Jesus Christ as ‘a naughty boy’, and even Rafe Spall proclaiming ‘I’m not a fan of anal’ in the lesser known book of Hosea. You may well ask how these plays related to the stories they were representing and to be honest, often the links were more than tenuous, but all of the interpretations were interesting and the standard of acting consistently phenomenal.
The plays were interspersed with fifteen minute intervals, during which we explored the new theatre or ‘home’ as it is lovingly referred to by the driving forces. Following the biblical theme we ate whole trees of ‘tempting apples’ and cut up the dance floor of ‘Club Heaven’ decked out with neon lights, edgy photographs and pews, what else after all? The theatre is located opposite Sheperd’s bush tube stop, next to the market, the general public looking in through the wire mesh that separated us from them probably would have thought that we looked like theatre fanatical zombies, pale and washed out, ironically celebrating Halloween.
Despite appearances, I had little difficulty in staying awake for the full whack, and I think I could even do it all over again. I don’t think this is because I am an extraordinary theatre nut or an insomniac or even a raucous student, the feeling of camaraderie is so strong throughout, and there was perhaps even something slightly miraculous and epic about the event, almost supernatural. One audience member put it so perfectly during one of the fifteen minute breaks, ‘this is making theatre history’. Though we were all pretty delirious by that point.
FLORA NEVILLE

Philip Lee as Ko-Ko in The Mikado. Photo by Bill Knight.

The Mikado, written by Gilbert and Sullivan, was first performed in London in March 1885. In 2011, their classic comic opera has been brought to “London’s Little Opera House”, otherwise know as the King’s Head Theatre in Angel, performed by the Charles Court Opera group, and directed by John Savournin. Gilbert and Sullivan aimed to satirise British politics with The Mikado; a concept that Savournin’s small but very talented cast of nine execute with some excellent singing. 
Set in the fictional Japanese village of Titipu, The Mikado follows a complicated love triangle between the ex-tailor Ko-Ko (Philip Lee), his reluctant schoolgirl fiancée Yum-Yum (Catrine Kirkman) and her true love Nanki-Poo (Robin Bailey). In order to escape his recent sentencing to death for flirting, Ko-Ko has himself become the Lord High Executioner of Titipu, advised by Pooh-Bah (John Savournin). The love story is soon overcast however, with death and cruelty arriving when the bloodthirsty Mikado of Japan (Simon Masterton-Smith) arrives at the village complaining about the lack of executions taking place. What follows is an amusing depiction of the villagers’ attempts to escape ‘the chop’ in the form of faked deaths and secret marriages.
Initially I was put off by the tiny theatre, and slightly disappointed with the very basic set of a few boxes and the plain costume design. But as the opera unfolded it became clear that this tiny cast did not need an elaborate set or flamboyant costumes in order to bring the story to life, their talented vocals and passion alone were enough to pull off a remarkable production of The Mikado. In fact, the minimal set and simple costume meant that there was nothing to distract from the excellent vocal talent of the cast. Similarly, the small venue made the performance all the more engaging for the audience, as did the faultless accompaniment provided by the two pianists (the Eaton-Young piano duo) sharing a single piano. Needless to say I was too quick to judge the stripped-back nature of this production of The Mikado, as the simplicity of the performance merely allowed the talent of the cast to shine.
Rosie Strobel especially stood out within the small group, playing Katisha, the draconian, husband-hungry old woman who had been previously betrothed to Nanki-Poo. Although Katisha’s character is only introduced late into the opera, the combination of Strobel’s commanding stage presence and powerful voice certainly made her the most memorable performer in the production. Director John Savournin was similarly notable with his pompous Pooh-Bah. 
Combining opera and comedy is no easy task, yet the Charles Court Opera succeeded in executing a production that was not only hilarious, but also incredibly well sung.
The Mikado is playing at the King’s Head Theatre till November 29, with a new season announced for February 2012.