High Noon (Harold Pinter Theatre, London)
VerdictWell-performed, but lacking sufficient tension
The creators likely expected that presenting the iconic 1952 western High Noon live on stage could act as a warning regarding the condition of today’s America.
I definitely found it extremely difficult to accept that the leading manBilly Crudupand the remainder of the cast for this world premiere did not have Trump in mind while thinking about the tale of big bad outlaw Frank Miller, who arrives in town looking for vengeance, after being imprisoned six years earlier by Sheriff Will Kane (Crudup, most recognized from Apple TV+’s popular series The Morning Show; and also Almost Famous).
To begin with, there’s no doubt that Frank’s floor-length leather jacket outshines the Don’s long red ties.
Still, Kane’s efforts to encourage the scared townspeople to stand up and fight come across like a gym instructor trying to gather unenthusiastic teens for a long-distance run.
Sheriff Kane, portrayed by Crudup in this version written by Frank Miller (the writer of Forrest Gump), comes across as much more approachable compared to the serious Gary Cooper in the original movie. However, I’m not certain I’d rely on him during a shootout.
Each actor delivers a strong performance. Denise Gough, portraying Kane’s new wife Amy Fowler, who is grappling with her anti-war beliefs, comes across as more courageous compared to the delicate Grace Kelly. Meanwhile, Billy Howle brings a sly charm to the role of Kane’s young assistant Harvey.
However, the most captivating is Rosa Salazar as Helen Ramirez, the proprietor of a small-town saloon. She is a no-nonsense businesswoman and a seasoned sex worker, as well as a resilient ethical thinker.
Thea Sharrock’s interpretation fails to capture the feeling of the small town’s fragility, isolated within the vast, dusty landscapes of the Midwest. Rather, designer Tim Hatley presents a confined, barn-style setting.
If they expected a clock on the wall to create a sense of urgency, it doesn’t work — a watched clock never boils (twisting a saying). Rather, fragments of songs — such as Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire — enhance the feeling of longing for traditional ideals of honesty and adherence to laws.
What we seek, however, is not a longing for the past, but the feeling of our hearts racing in our throats when that cursed clock chimes 12.
At the Harold Pinter until March 6.
Gerry and Sewell (Aldwych Theatre, London)
Verdict: Canny lads
Remaining at the Aldwych Theatre until the end of next week, this bold portrayal of life on welfare in the former Labour stronghold of Gateshead seems like a greasy chip butty that has somehow ended up in the Dorchester Hotel on Park Lane.
How to portray the disordered, sociological journey, inspired by Jonathan Tulloch’s book The Season Ticket?
Well, it centers around two young troublemakers who believe their redemption comes from obtaining season tickets for Newcastle United at St James’s Park.
In an effort to gather funds, they start by attempting to sell a used toilet, salvaged from a landfill, to a hairdo-wearing sex worker who resides in a damp caravan.
It could easily be dismissed as a simplistic, bold, and openly biased experiment.
However, the program — inspired by the Tyneside comic Viz; and set up on what appears to be an unauthorized dump site — takes that innocence, boldness, and audacity and turns it into something entirely new.
Dean Logan, aged 38, injects vigor, determination, and a uniquely inventive business spirit into the character of Gerry.
And Jack Robertson displays a unique comedic talent as Gerry’s friend, Sewell — a big young man, remarkably unconcerned with his own sense of dignity.
The language is as fresh as a fish meal that’s been sitting for a week; and I can’t really suggest it — but I’m happy I watched it.
Gerry & Sewell is running at theAldwych until January 24.
ALSO PLAYING…
Orphans (Jermyn Street Theatre, London)
VerdictLearning through experience
Dressed in blue jeans and a denim shirt, Treat (Chris Walley, full of restrained anger) appears to be an average Eighties guy. He provides food for his younger brother using canned fish and Hellmann’s, by taking jewelry and watches from unsuspecting people, always having his flick-knife handy.
Young and innocent Phillip (Fred Woodley Evans, charming and far more complex than he appears) spends his entire day wearing pajama pants and a Tom & Jerry shirt because the strict Treat insists he will perish if he steps outside their old Philadelphia apartment. Either way, Phillip can’t tie his sneaker laces. Or that’s what he says.
Garments convey a lot in Al Miller’s compelling reimagining of American Lyle Kessler’s unsettling, elusive 1983 play for three actors that draws us into a realm of brutality and nonsense.
One evening, Treat takes home Harold, an older man who’s extremely intoxicated — selected because his elegant mobster-style suit, alligator leather shoes, and a well-filled briefcase containing bonds lead Treat to think he’s a wealthy individual worth abducting.
However, things may not be as they seem. There are clear similarities to Pinter’s The Caretaker in how this intruder disrupts, and then reestablishes the dynamic of power within the household of the two orphaned brothers.
Since Harold (a brilliantly cunning and peculiar Forbes Masson), who is also an orphan, was raised by a one-eyed German in a Chicago orphanage, he is aware of how to take advantage of Phillip’s need for love — and yellow loafers, and he recognizes his wish to run away.
He also acknowledges Treat’s desire to evolve into a more sophisticated outlaw, appearing the part in a sleek Pierre Cardin suit and blue alligator shoes.
In an instant, a “Home Sweet Home” image appears on the wall with peeling paint, a rubber plant sits on a nightstand, a beverage cart is present, and solitary, fatherly Harold, wearing an apron, is serving corned beef and cabbage along with bouillabaisse.
However, Harold appears to be a man fleeing from something.
Miller’s gripping direction and strong acting keep the atmosphere steadily rising, though the play never fully reaches its peak.
Orphans runs at the Jermyn Street Theatre until January 24.
GEORGINA BROWN
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