Lloyd Evans

The Old Vic presents an eccentric new version of David Mamet’s ultra-masculine play, Glengarry Glen Ross. Director Patrick Marber populates the show with middle-aged actresses. And why not? Devotees of Mamet may find it patchy but the play is so powerful that it can survive any amount of experimental tinkering. The visuals are pretty incoherent and the Old Vic’s configuration gives the cast no help at all. The playing area is surrounded by concentric rings of seats, cage-fighting style, which makes the actors feel unsure where to pitch their performance. It’s like trying to post a letter while doing a twirl on the doorstep.

Bertolt Brecht’s classic, Mother Courage, is about a female war profiteer who drags a wagon of supplies through no man’s land and sells them to bedraggled soldiers. During the story, she loses both her children and she discovers that war is not as marvellous as she previously thought. This spiritual journey evidently mattered to Brecht, who was born in 1898 in Augsburg, and who greeted the outbreak of the first world war with enthusiasm only to become disillusioned by the mechanised slaughter of the trenches. His play is aimed at wrong-headed militaristic numbskulls who believe that war is good rather than bad. If you already hold pacifist views, you may find his tutorial a little simplistic.

When Rachel Reeves became Chancellor she found a lavatory in her private suite which had been used by Churchill in the 1920s. She vowed to remove it. ‘Smashing glass ceilings and urinals’ was her policy. The actor, Rosie Holt, felt inspired by Reeves’s petulance and she wrote a satire about a female politician who sets out to refit the pipes at No. 11. The Chancellor sits in her office taking phone calls from a secretary, a spin doctor and a divorce lawyer who wants her to finalise a settlement with her awkward ex-husband. Her campaign to replace the loo sparks national outrage and her office is besieged by throngs of far-right agitators. All are men. The urinal itself, played by a Churchill lookalike, becomes a personality in the play and offers advice: ‘Stand your ground.

1536, by Ava Pickett, is set in a wheatfield near Colchester during the final months of Anne Boleyn’s life. Three peasant women, Jane, Mariella and Anna, meet to discuss the latest news as it trickles in from London. When Anne is imprisoned in the Tower, they try to imagine her state of mind. ‘Terrified,’ says Mariella. ‘Furious,’ says Anna. ‘Starving,’ says Jane. After her execution, Jane shrugs, ‘She deserved it.’ The others are more sympathetic but their commentary is hard to care about because they can’t influence the events they’re discussing. Nor does Anne’s experience affect their lives in any way so their chitchat is narratively pointless. They’re far more interested in two local lads, William and Richard, who represent the extremes of male behaviour.

Please Please Me is a play about Brian Epstein whose brief and troubled life remains relatively unknown. Tom Wright’s linear script opens with the teenage Epstein enjoying secret affairs with teddy boys while working at his dad’s record shop on Merseyside. When he spotted the Beatles at the Cavern, he was smitten by their homoerotic energy rather than their music or their potential for making tons of cash. He put them in suits to soften their image while encouraging their talent for witty backchat. ‘A little pinch of naughty but family friendly,’ was his branding message. But he lacked artistic vision and he cut a lousy deal to sell plastic Beatles dolls which cost the band a fortune and angered Paul McCartney.

One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, adapted from Ken Kesey’s book by Dale Wasserman, is exactly like the movie but without Jack Nicholson’s star power. The cast have to impersonate lunatics for 150 minutes and they clearly love their job. Playing madmen comes naturally to actors and it’s an easy task because no creative discipline is required. Lunatics are capable of anything so the actor needn’t feel anxious about making a false move or indulging in an improbable gesture. Anything goes. The result is a hectic display of lazy, unfelt, superficial and repetitive caricatures. One actor holds a toolbox in his lap like a pet dog. Another jerks obsessively. A third leans against a pillar with his arms held out, dribbling and twitching.

A Doll’s House has been reconstructed at the Almeida with a new script by Anya Reiss. Torvald Helmer is an inept drug-addled financier who wants to sell his business to a wealthy American investor. But the deal is a dud. Without his knowledge, Torvald’s bossy wife, Nora, has stolen £860,000 from a client’s account to boost the firm’s apparent profitability and her crime is about to be disclosed by a bent accountant, Nils, who wants to blackmail her. She needs to get her hands on a small fortune fast. This cumbersome and intricate back story is explained to us during the first half which is set over the Christmas holidays in the converted cellar of Nora and Thorvald’s beautiful London home. The cellar appears to be the family nerve centre.

In The Print is a docudrama about the bitter war between Rupert Murdoch and the unions in the mid-1980s. Murdoch was determined to computerise the production of his UK titles and to terminate the far left’s stranglehold on his business. Daily papers are vulnerable to last-minute strikes and his thieving employees made no secret of their larcenous tactics. The print workers, known as ‘inkies’, earned £1,000 a week for 16 hours’ work and their union, Sogat, behaved like a bunch of racketeers. They laughed at Murdoch by submitting wage claims for employees called ‘Donald Duck’ and ‘Ronald Reagan’. Murdoch fought back with smart, imaginative tactics that Sogat, under Brenda Dean’s leadership, couldn’t handle.

Teeth ’ n’ Smiles is not quite a musical. David Hare’s 1975 play about rock’n’roll includes a handful of tunes performed by a group of failing musicians. It feels like several dramas rammed together. One strand concerns the aimless witter of instrumentalists who lounge around backstage discussing drugs and groupies. Another strand follows the lead singer, Maggie, and her destructive appetites for booze and casual sex. The third element concerns the band’s manager, Saraffian (Phil Daniels), who knows nothing about showbusiness and seems keen to advertise his ignorance to the world. Saraffian is a Dickensian figure who talks like Fagin and believes that pop stars should resemble school prefects.