Arthur miller

Grace Pervades by David Hare is a drama-documentary about the life and theatrical work of the great Victorian thesp, Sir Henry Irving. He was a morose and obsessive perfectionist whose style was considered dated even in the 19th century. Success arrived relatively late in life. He was making his way as a jobbing actor until he took the lead in an overheated French melodrama, The Bells, which turned him into a star in 1871. Ralph Fiennes delivers a dour, mirthless and deliberately stiff performance as the cranky and unapproachable actor. In drawing rooms, he shifts his feet awkwardly as if trying to find a floorboard that doesn’t creak. On stage, his mannered performances are presented as absurdities, full of grimacing, eye-rolling, jaw grinding and head tossing.

All My Sons, set in an American suburb in the summer of 1947, examines the downfall of Joe Keller, a wealthy and patriotic arms manufacturer. During the war he was falsely accused of selling wonky parts to the US military which caused the deaths of 21 airmen. He blamed his partner for the blunder but when the truth emerges he also finds out why his eldest son, Larry, went missing in action. The plot is one of the greatest inventions in world drama and it deserves to be presented with candour, simplicity and naturalism. Director Ivo van Hove dislikes Miller’s decision to set the play on Joe’s front lawn where the neighbours mingle, chat and exchange secrets. In his version, the vacated stage is overlooked by a huge blank wall decorated to resemble a doormat.

Sanity returns to the Globe. Recent modern-dress productions have failed to make use of the theatre’s virtues as a historical backdrop. The Crucible by Arthur Miller is set in the 1690s (about a century after Shakespeare’s heyday) and the script works beautifully on this spare, wooden stage. To make the groundlings feel involved, the playing area has been extended into the pit with two separate platforms for the judges and the witnesses. James Groom, as Willard the demented jailer, terrifies the crowd by striding around the arena, barking madly at anyone who gets in his way. It grabs your attention. The dashing Gavin Drea (John Proctor) looks terrific in the lead role alongside Phoebe Pryce as his mistrustful, nervy wife, Elizabeth. Both play their parts with strong Irish accents.

Every Hamlet is a failure. It always feels that way because playgoers tend to compare what they’re seeing with a superior version that exists only in their heads. And since disappointment is inevitable, it’s worth celebrating the successful novelties in Eddie Izzard’s solo version. He makes some valuable breakthroughs, especially in the comedic sections. Izzard makes some valuable breakthroughs. His Gravedigger is funny. Actually funny. That’s rare His Gravedigger is funny. Actually funny. That’s pretty rare. He plays Rosencrantz and Guildenstern as sock-puppets whose robotic yapping he imitates with his hands. Brilliant stuff. Well worth copying. His Osric is a greasy, cocktail-party flatterer with a faint Mexican accent. Osric, the Hispanic immigrant. That works too.

Clunk, clunk, clunk. John Gabriel Borkman opens with the obsessive footfalls of a disgraced banker as he prowls the attic of a shabby townhouse. On a beaten-up sofa lies Gunhild, his estranged wife, who guzzles Coke and watches TV game shows. The whole place stinks of stagnation and failure. The reclusive Borkman was once the country’s best-known banker until envious colleagues accused him of embezzlement and got him sent to jail for five years. After his release, he began a life of self-destructive solitude. The family are more riven with feuds than the royals. Gunhild loathes her twin sister, Ella, while Borkman blames both women for his downfall. His one hope, his son Erhart, openly shuns him and prefers the company of a sexy local seductress.