The semantics of colonialism
Brian Friel’s Translations (National Theatre) brings to mind the situation in Cyprus, the legacy of imperialism and why the island of Ireland has been a thorn in the side of every British government since its division in 1921, orchestrated by Britain. Ian Rickson’s enthralling revival, with a few cast changes, remains a production of tumultuous emotions and an elegant polemic on the violence of language. At the heart of the play is the 19th century Ordnance Survey charting of Ireland – forcing Anglicised names on the Irish landscape, and trying to stamp out Gaelic from local schools.
Donegal is a wild place at the best of times but in the 1930’s the English imposed a form of linguistic oppression which forced Owen (Fra Fee), a young man returning to his birthplace in Baile Beag, to become an initially complicit but then guilt-ridden collaborator in translating from Gaelic to English. Friel makes classical allusions to Greek and Latin mythology – seeing Gaelic as a dead language in waiting, and the Irish as a culture in need of being swept away by the ‘modernising’ force of British Imperialism.
Just round the corner the potato famine awaits and Rae Smith’s set, a classic Irish bog, there are many, becomes a symbol for the political and cultural erosion of a nation. Schoolteacher Hugh (Ciaran Hinds), a man of mature years and scholarly wit finds solace in alcohol. His school sits in the middle of the bog like a bleak Edward Hopper painting. Regularly quoting Latin in romanticising the past but not making life much fun for his other son Manus (Seamus O’Hara), physically crippled and mentally scarred. The old man is twisted with torment knowing that language is so much more than just words and the loss will be profound.
The younger crowd like Maire (Judith Roddy) are keen to embrace the change and in the arms of her lover Lieutenant Yolland (Jack Bardoe), they are starry eyed with hope and expectation but instead light the fuse of tragedy. Superbly acted and directed this remains one of the best productions in town.
Meanwhile Junior Waight (6) believes he can fly…
No not me, The Snowman (Peacock Theatre). Daddy Chris told me this show is here every year. I thought it might be a bit silly and when it started it was slow but then it took off like a rocket ship. My favourite bit was the dancing penguins. They were funny and cuddly. And then at the end the snow came down on all of us and I even got to cuddle a snowman of my own. I am going to ask daddy to bring me again with my brother Simon because I think he will love it too. Final word to daddy…the perfect Christmas show, could perhaps be trimmed by 15 minutes but by the end we were all walking in the air and I couldn’t get that tune out of my head for the whole weekend.
And Sotira Kyriakides enjoys being transcended…
Aditi Mangaldas (Darbar Festival, Lilian Baylis Studio), gave us a unique dance and talk experience of Indian classical kathak dance. Three extracts were performed, where gestures and movement are used to summarise a narrative and encapsulate different emotions and states of mind. ‘Uncharted Seas’ beautifully conveyed a person who has fallen in love, whilst ‘Seeking the Beloved’ tantalisingly refused to define who or what is being sought – the thrill being the chase and the desire. ‘Autumn, Footprints on Water’ showed a person in thrall of nature. Live music accompanied the latter two pieces, the vocals as seductive as the dancing, the drumming and flute simultaneously mesmerising and uplifting. An artform that transcends time in its universal, human aspirations.
Finally, Susanna Efthyvoulou revels in the festive season…
It’s the most wonderful time of year again! The 1954 film with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye is a Hollywood festive classic, loved by Trump (no recommendation), and now the stage version of White Christmas (Dominion Theatre) is back sprinkling our capital with sugar and spice and all things Christmassy and nice. Who would not fall for those beautiful Irving Berlin melodies, far more than the soppy story of trying to rescue a ski season due to lack of snow. Nikolai Foster’s production is technicolour camp as and although it feels a little dated the cast are fabulous, singing and dancing their way into our hearts. Stand out by a country mile is Brenda Edwards, a former showgirl turned would be hotelier. A voice to warm your cockles and roast the chestnuts. Go on, treat yourself, then whatever happens on 12 December you’ll have a warm fuzzy feeling inside.
Translations – 020 7452 3000
The Snowman – 020 7863 8000
White Christmas – 0345 200 7982
