6 ★ FINANCIAL TIMES Friday26 July 2019

ARTS

Struggle:

‘Maze’ at

The Shed

Kate Glicksberg

Apollinaire Scherr

Like every street-dance style, flex has its

tricksy manoeuvres — most conspicu-

ously the “bone-breaking”, in which

dancers turn their arms inside out. And

it moves to a beat, an alienated rendi-

tion of dancehall. Yet this motley Cen-

tral Brooklyn idiom is less gymnastic

than expressive, and less musical than

theatrical. Though male dancers pre-

dominate, it is less macho than men-

aced. Vexed and full of character, flex

begs to be translated to the stage.

A few years ago,Peter Sellars tried,

with the same East New Yorkteam of

dancers that gracesMaze. But the opera

maverick hadn’t seriously considered

what would happen when a form raised

in cramped basements before an audi-

ence of partisans was set adrift in the

huge Park Avenue Armory main hall.

At The Shed,Mazeco-directors Reg-

gie Gray and Kaneza Schaal don’t make

that mistake. They maintain flex’s inti-

mate scale while relinquishing the epi-

sodic structure that would sink an

evening-length work. To a finely cali-

brated mix of live and deejayed music,

the 80-minute, 20-person work sus-

tains a note of mystical sadness as it slips

from scenes of entrapment to those of

longing and hard-won escape.

Lighting designer Tobias Rylander

shrinks and swells the contours of The

Shed’s medium-sized theatre. He con-

jures islands of light for clusters of danc-

ers and carves an incandescent tunnel

that blazes into the distance for a hulk-

ing silhouette that eventually material-

ises in three dimensions as a man.

Rylander has a gaggle of dancers bleed

into an edgeless darkness or come rush-

ing in from the sides.

The dancers likewise shape the audi-

ence standing on the floor with them,

pressing us back to widen the perform-

ance ring, urging us forward to tighten

it, and travelling in duets along the line

that separates us from them so we

appreciate how permeable that border

is. This brave conviction that we will

follow their wordless directives and

encircle their ring provides a hopeful

counterweight to the sense of injustice

and struggle that pervades the piece.

But it could be more stirring still if the

dancers acclimated themselves to us.

They don’t yet know what to do with

their gaze when they’re near; they tend

to look right through us. As for us seeing

them, a few performers realise they are

just as visible in a group as alone. Andre

“Dre Don” Redman and Joshua “Sage”

Morales never go slack during ensemble

passages, such as when the group unfold

their arms like enormous majestic birds

or sway from side to side with the heel of

their hands pressed together as if shack-

led.Mazesucceeds in being more than

the sum of its parts when its dancers

believe they are — when they recognise

the power of their collective will.

To August 17,theshed.org

Bone-breaking dance towards hope

DANCE

Maze

The Shed, New York

aaaae

Max McGuinness

This 2008 play by Elaine Murphy con-

sists of a series of overlapping mono-

logues by three women from the North-

side of Dublin. In theatre, the grittier

half of Ireland’s capital is traditionally

identified with Seán O’Casey, who

immortalised its poor-yet-proud

working-class culture during the 1920s.

Amber (Lauren O’Leary) offers a very

different vision of Northside life at the

start ofLittle Gemwith her account of a

raucous school leavers’ party. Her

“debs” is an orgy of flash cars and

clothes, booze, cocaine and more booze.

The anecdote supplies a sharply drawn

vignette of the manic and rather joyless

hedonism that gripped Ireland during

its Celtic Tiger boom, which came to a

shuddering halt around the time Mur-

phy’s play was first staged.

Such reckless debauchery seems to

portend a lurch into catastrophe. But

Murphy steers clear of melodramatic

twists. The only real crisis here arises

from Amber’s unplanned pregnancy,

which she discusses in tones of humor-

ous apprehension. Her mother Lorraine

(Brenda Meaney) similarly avoids emo-

tional hyperbole as she relates an

underwhelming sexual encounter and a

run-in with her estranged, heroin-

addicted husband. Most matter-of-fact

of all is Lorraine’s own mother Kay

(Marsha Mason), who pluckily recounts

her efforts to alleviate the stress of car-

ing for her stroke-ridden husband by

investing in a “Rampant Rabbit”.

Murphy weaves these everyday sto-

ries together with deceptive skill, only

gradually revealing the links between

the three women. The monologue form

at first emphasises their isolation and

then, as the stories converge, hints at the

importance of family ties in a society

that here seems to have lost the broader

sense of community portrayed by

O’Casey. Unlike earlier doom-laden Irish

monologue plays by Samuel Beckett and

Brian Friel,Little Gemstrikes a cheer-

fully ambivalent note. Amber, Lorraine

and Kay all have their problems, but

none of them seem insurmountable.

Under Marc Atkinson Borrull’s direc-

tion, the performers take a little time at

first to find the right rhythm. O’Leary

and Meaney thereafter make the text

their own. Mason, whose Dublin accent

is never entirely convincing, continues

to struggle with some passages even as

she conveys an affecting sense of hard-

pressed dignity.

To September 1,irishrep.org

THEATRE

Little Gem

Irish Repertory Theatre, New York

aaaae

It’s sentimental stuff, which is not to

say it couldn’t work as a musical. Fleet-

ing love and lost chances are meat and

drink to the genre. But, despite a strong

cast led by the excellent Jenna Russell, so

much of it here comes over as trite and

corny. Francesca sees “tornadoes” in

Robert’s eyes (alarming); he advises

her that “people are vertical, usually”

(a chat-up line best left by the bathroom

mirror along with the hair gel).

It also, in Trevor Nunn’s production,

moves exceedingly slowly. Jon Bausor’s

set features video projections (Tal

Rosner) of the expansive Iowa country-

side, which eloquently suggest Franc-

esca’s empty emotional landscape and

work with the delicate, intricate score

that often changes tempo or mood

mid-song to reflect the turmoil of the

characters. But the design also brings on

huge literal props — a truck, a bridge —

which lumber into place and break up

the atmosphere.

It’s often at its best at its most acerbic

— Gillian Kirkpatrick is very enjoyable

as the nosy, caring neighbour — and

there is fine work from Shanay Holmes

as Robert’s ex and Maddison Bulley-

ment as the fiercely independent daugh-

ter. Edward Baker-Duly does a good job

with the clichéd role of Robert and

brings poignancy to the end, while Rus-

sell holds the stage as Francesca, bring-

ing real depth and confusion to her kind,

loyal but unfulfilled character. But

really, this is pretty feeble fare.

We’re back in a bar, drinking

to forget or to find hope, inThe

View UpStairs(Soho Theatre), a time-

travelling musical by Max Vernon. This

hub of humanity is in 1970s New Orle-

ans: a hideaway club for the city’s gay

community, safe from the homophobia

S

ummer’s here, the mercury is

rising and we’re taking a trip

to heartbreak hotel, dropping

in on the lost, the lonely and

the lovelorn, as London hosts

three musicals that talk of brief passion

and lasting heartache.

First stop, a mean little dive in 1930s

Chicago, where bruised souls nurse their

liquor and their grievances in the fabu-

lousBlues in the Night(at the Kiln The-

atre). Sheldon Epps’s 1980 musical

revue brings together 26 great blues

numbers and crafts out of them an evoc-

ative scenario: a hotel down on its luck

where three women and a man get

themselves through the wee small hours

on the wings of songs such as “Lover

Man” and “Blues in the Night”.

The plot is thinner than a showgirl’s

worn-out stocking, but in the hands of

four tremendous singers, two hot danc-

ers and a terrific onstage band, this

blues-soaked evening becomes atonic

for our overheated times. And frankly,

any show that has the superb Sharon D.

Clarke in the lead, dragging songs up

through the soles of her feet as if her life

depended on it, could get away with

being a staged shopping list and still earn

an ovation.

Clarke plays The Lady, a one-time big-

shot performer, now locked in her room

with her photo albums and her memo-

ries. She is our guide to proceedings,

introducing us to the other residents:

The Woman (Debbie Kurup), a classy

looking type, who nonetheless siphons

cheap gin into a fancy French brandy

bottle and trades her jewellery for junk;

The Girl (Gemma Sutton), who arrives

bright-eyed and fresh-faced but is soon

swigging straight from the bottle; and

The Man (Clive Rowe), a twinkly

charmer who has all the patter and all

the moves of those no-good sweet-

talking men who roam the blues canon.

Not much happens, but Susie

McKenna’s deft direction finds a sort of

narrative line through the songs and

tracks the subtle changes in the charac-

ters, while eachwoman brings a differ-

ent sort of battered defiance to her role.

There’s hope in Sutton’s “Taking a

Chance on Love” and abject misery in

“Willow Weep for Me”; there’s world-

weariness mixed with seductive swagger

from Kurup in “Rough and Ready Man”;

there’s raunchy, suggestive mischief

from Clarke in “Kitchen Man” and deep

longing in “Lover Man”.Rowe, mean-

while, lends his own brand of chipper

sweetness to numbers such as “I’m Just a

Lucky So-and-So”.

But the song that brings the house

down and brings the show back to its

base — to the dragging poverty and

struggle of Depression-era America — is

Bessie Smith’s “Wasted Life Blues”,

which Clarke delivers with a soaring, sad

power that gives you the shivers.

Francesca, inThe Bridges of Madison

County(Menier Chocolate Factory),

doesn’t sing the blues, but she probably

should. Life hasn’t been hard to her — at

least not Depression hard — but marry-

ing a GI, leaving her native Italy and rais-

ing two children on a farm in Iowa has

left her... wanting. Our next stop on

the heartbreak trail is Jason Robert

Brown’s musical version of Robert James

Waller’s 1992 novel (also a 1995 film with

Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood) about

a frustrated housewife who has a brief

affair with an itinerant photographer.

It’s 1965, but the Swinging Sixties are

passing Francesca by. So when her hus-

band and their bickering teenagers head

out for three days to the county fair, and

a rugged stranger with a creative eye and

a cool box full of beers drives up to her

door to ask for directions, one thing, you

know, leads to another.

Songs and stories

from the heart

that still threatens them outside.

We start in the present day as Wes, an

achingly cool internet influencer, arrives

in the now disused building with the

intention of converting it to showcase

his fashion designs. But his presence

releases the ghosts of those who would

congregate here in the 1970s before a

horrific arson attack in 1973 destroyed

the place, killing 32 people (the piece is

based on a true story). Wes finds himself

at the centre of a party atmosphere, pro-

pelled by Vernon’s 1970s-influenced

score, with a group ofbrave and troubled

souls, who drink, sing and squabble in

their safe(-ish) space.

If you can get over the somewhat

mind-boggling plot twist of Wes falling

in love with a ghost and the fact that the

format, giving everyone their turn in the

spotlight, feels a bit too pat and stereo-

typed, this is, by turns, a joyous,

thoughtful and distressing evening. It

sets up an interesting dialogue between

the present and the past, questioning

what has improved and what has not for

the LGBT+ community. And over the

whole piece hangs the shadow of the

bar’s terrible fate (and the recent rise of

homophobic attacks in some countries).

In Jonathan O’Boyle’s production,

Tyrone Huntley brings a nice mix of

bravura and vulnerability to Wes and

there are fine performances from Garry

Lee as a burly drag queen and Victoria

Hamilton-Barritt as his supportive

mother. Flawed, certainly, but a musical

that winds up our time-hopping tour of

heartache by reminding us just how

dangerous love can be.

‘Blues in the Night’ to September 7

kilntheatre.com. ‘The Bridges of Madison

County’ to September 14

menierchocolatefactory.com.

‘The View Upstairs’ to August 24

sohotheatre.com

THEATRE

Sarah

Hemming

Blues in the Night

Kiln Theatre, London

AAAAE

The Bridges of Madison

County

Menier Chocolate Factory

London

AAEEE

The View UpStairs

Soho Theatre, London

AAAEE

Above: Sharon D. Clarke

in ‘Blues in the Night’.

Above right: Cedric

Neal in ‘The View

UpStairs’

Matt Humphrey; Darren Bell

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