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Shakespeare as teacher – the RSC way

Last week I attended an RSC education briefing event at the Barbican. There were nice sandwiches and a complimentary ticket for Titus Andronicus (deftly done for all its gore and David Troughton is, as always, extraordinary) immediately afterwards. So it’s a pity there weren’t more people there.

The handful of us who were heard Jacqui O’Hanlon, the RSC’s dynamic and passionate Head of Education, describing the growing number of partner schools her department works with. They provide resources, support, workshops based on rehearsal techniques and sometimes performances. All this and more helps children to start Shakespeare earlier, do it on their feet and see it live as set out in the RSC’s 2006 Manifesto, Stand Up For Shakespeare.

But the best thing of the evening – even better than Troughton’s Titus in its way – was hearing Azita Zohadi, headteacher at Nelson Mandela School in Birmingham and two of her pupils. Azita and her colleagues are totally committed to using the arts to raise standards and to develop whole children rather than crammed automata – she didn’t say that last bit but it was definitely implicit. In order to do this the school has many partner organisations, one of which is the RSC.

It’s a two-form entry school in which every single pupil has English as a second language. Yes, I queried that too. Had I heard aright? I had. The school website corroborates that 100% of the children at Nelson Mandela School have a first language which isn’t English. The school also has a higher than average number of socio-economically disadvantaged pupils with, for example, many of them entitled to free school meals. And large numbers of the children are underachievers when they start school.

When they leave it’s a very different story. The school’s results in reading and maths are way above the average for their local authority and Ofsted judged the school “outstanding” when it was last inspected in 2009/10.

And Azita thinks Shakespeare can take much of the credit because discovering him and finding that you can work with him builds confidence, does wonders for literacy and – transferable skills and all that – convinces children that there no limits to what they can achieve. Shakespeare might, in places, be difficult but provided no one tells you that when you’re say 6 or 7 you’ll just take it in your stride, enjoy the stories, relish the powerful words and shrug your shoulders or beam with glee.

Azita told us about a child in Year 2 (that’s aged 6/7) who was asked by an inspector who her favourite author was. “William Shakespeare” she answered promptly. When the sceptical adult pressed her she reeled off the names of lots of plays and explained what they’re about,

Then Azita’s pupils spoke – a boy and a girl each aged about 10. Understandably nervous, they’d clearly thought carefully about what they wanted to say. Both had seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Stratford and been captivated, especially in the girl’s case, by Bottom. Both stressed that they think Shakespeare is utterly wonderful and said how he had helped them to learn. It was heart warming stuff.

If only Damian Hinds, new Secretary of State for Education, could have been there to hear all this. Theatre in general, and Shakespeare in particular, are educators par excellence. They’re a lot more fun than being relentless drilled for tests too.

RSC 2

Alzheimer’s research hit a bit of an impasse last week. Pharmaceutical giant, Pfizer announced that it’s pulling out of it which seemed, at first glance and from where I’m standing – alongside My Loved One and the ever-predatory Ms Alzheimer’s –  pretty damned negative.

But read beyond the headline. It’s still negative but, in fairness, you can see Pfizer’s point of view. Their aim has been to find and develop a drug which will make a real difference. In the last fifteen years 99% of clinical trials have ended in failure. So – objective thinking and all that – it’s hardly good business to throw any more money at it. And it isn’t just Pfizer either. Eli Lilly in the US and Roche and Merck in Europe have all seen their “breakthrough” Alzheimer’s drugs fail at the final testing.

Scientists and commentators are beginning to hint that we may be getting ahead of ourselves. We simply don’t (yet) understand the connections in the brain. Received wisdom – all the way back to the eponymous Dr Alois Alzheimer who, in 1906, conducted an autopsy on a patient with memory problems and observed sticky clumps between the dead and dying cells – cites amyloid protein as the culprit.  But, it seems, drugs to combat these clumps of amyloid  don’t work so is the cause actually something else? Back to the drawing board, a mere one hundred and eleven years later. Some are saying that we need to return to basic brain research because we still don’t understand the workings of a normal brain well enough to be able to work out what happens when dementia sets in.

Other scientists take an avertive line. They want to find ways of identifying the disease a decade or two before its symptoms start to show because perhaps then the amyloid could be destroyed or dispersed with drugs in good time. The theory is, that once the patient, has become forgetful, clumsy, sleepy or whatever the disease has already taken hold and it’s too late to do anything about it.

Or perhaps they should focus on why – if it has – amyloid has built up in MLO’s brain but not in mine? What are the factors which allow it to happen?

And where does it all  leave MLO – a statistic in a huge horrifying, downward spiral. He is one of 850,000 dementia sufferers in the UK. Most of these have Alzheimer’s. One person in ten over 65 has dementia and one person in three if you are fortunate (or should that be unfortunate?) enough to live to be over 85. The current cost to the UK economy is £26m per year. Obviously, the figures are rising continuously.

This is unsustainable. If they don’t soon find some sort of drug to alleviate Alzheimer’s effectively then within twenty years we shall have voluntary (or maybe even involuntary) euthanasia for economic reasons. Ethics and morality will be luxuries that we, and other developed nations won’t be able to afford.

I’m sure  the efficacious treatment (or the hideous alternative) will come too late to make any difference to us. MLO and his 849,999 fellow sufferers simply have to cope with life as best they can for as long as they can. There are drugs at the moment but medics don’t seem to have much faith in them. They just keep telling you firmly that the disease is incurable. MLO is prescribed memantine which might – or maybe it’s my wishful imagination – be making him a little more alert.

It’s a horrible disease but, as I keep telling MLO, things could be a lot worse. He is still physically pretty good and can walk about and climb stairs although he’s much slower than formerly. Nothing hurts and there is no prospect of invasive surgery or debilitating treatment as would be the case with, say, cancer.  And after all research hasn’t stopped altogether. Always look on the bright side. …

Waterloo East Theatre until 28 January 2018.

Star rating: Two stars

The Second World War is raging and we’re somewhere between Dad’s Army and Secret Army in a show which, directed by Jonathan Moore with book and lyrics by Jonathan Kydd, could have been a cheerful antidote to Joe Wright’s new, highly-acclaimed film The Darkest Hour. Its premiere coincided with Doodle’s press night.

Top brass get intelligence that the Germans are planning a fearsome new attack. Barnes Wallis (Reggie Oliver), inventor of the doodlebug in real life, is kidnapped by the Germans and persuaded to invent the new weapon for them. He is having a quasi gay relationship with a robot named Trevor …

Read the rest of this review at Musical Theatre Review: http://musicaltheatrereview.com/doodle-the-musical-waterloo-east-theatre/

Joshua Glenister and Harriet Clarke in Wine

Tristan Bates Theatre, 10 Jan 2018

It seems to be a first date as Sam (Harriet Clarke) and Mark (Joshua Glenister) meet, with a lot of nervous constraint in the scruffy flat he is temporarily sharing with his brother. We soon realise, however, that these two have a shared past. And some.

In one of the most thoughtful and powerful two handers I’ve seen in a while this 60-minute piece explores their relationship in depth and gradually reveals why, although each professes still to love the other, there remains an insurmountable barrier between them.

The dialogue is beautifully written. Jack West may still be a novice playwright but he’s highly talented and will soon be better known, I predict. And in the hands of two fine actors, expertly directed by West, the tension soars. Each finds a naturalism which makes both characters – she’s beginning to make a name as an actress and he is keeping himself by supply teaching while he tries to find a voice as a writer – totally believable as they plead, reason, argue, fence and shout with, and at, each other.

And by golly we feel their pain. I read somewhere recently that current statistics now mean that at some point in her life one woman in three will have an abortion. That means that at every performance there are probably several women in the audience sharing, from first hand experience, the anguish, agonising, passion, debate, guilt and blame which is being acted out before them. No wonder the totally engaged silence was so palpable. It’s rare to sense an audience listening quite so attentively as they were at the performance I saw.

LAGO theatre was formed by a group of LIPA graduates wanting to create their own work. This is their third production and, good as the others were, Wine is better still. Well done, guys.

First published by Sardines: http://www.sardinesmagazine.co.uk/reviews/review.php?REVIEW-West%20End%20&%20Fringe-Wine&reviewsID=3076

When you talk to students, drama school staff and recent graduates the words on everyone’s lips these days are “making your own work”. Suddenly, in the last few years, a lot of people have woken up to the idea that being entrepreneurial and collaborating with people whose talents and skills complement yours – as well as keeping busy doing what you love – is a much better option than  passively waiting for your agent to ring. After all, these commitments are flexible. You can dovetail jobs with other companies in if they come your way. It isn’t a case of one or the other.

Many drama Schools now actively teach students how to create work of their own with the European Theatre Arts BA course  at Rose Bruford being particularly good at it. Time and again I meet young, active, creative practitioners who’ve formed their own companies. Then I ask them where they trained and I wait for them to tell me it was ETA at Rose Bruford. I’m nearly always right too.

Or take the group of young LAMDA graduates who thought of the The Play That Goes Wrong and ran with their idea. Quite a success story.

Another college which is very supportive of student and new graduate work is LIPA which will sometimes even help with small grants to help companies to realise their potential. Last week – for the third time – I saw LAGO theatre in action and they really are a talent to be watched. All LIPA graduates, they named their company after the pub in Liverpool where they used to hatch and mull over ideas.

This time they were at Tristan Bates for a short run with Wine, a two hander written and directed by the very talented Jack West. An exploration of the way in which a fundamental moral, ethical and social decision can block an otherwise very promising loving relationship, it is both powerful and painful. The quality of the acting – two LIPA graduates – was very high indeed with silence used to moving effect. This lot deserve to go much further and I’m sure they will.

I was touched too by a recent conversation with Steve Green. Steve is the founder director of the training company Fourth Monkey and we were chatting over a cup of tea at the “Monkey House” near Finsbury Park. “Of course I’m pleased if one of my graduates gets a job with the RSC or The Globe but, do you know what? I’m even more pleased if someone says ‘No I’m not signing with an agent because I’m going to make my own work’. That’s what our training prepares them to do”.

In a vibrant, growing but overcrowded industry which is also swamped with good young people desperate to be part of it, the ability to create work independently has never mattered more.

  • Last week I saw Doodle The Musical at Waterloo East. Not a happy experience – don’t bother. Even worse, though than the poor quality of the show was the inaccurate printed information given to the audience. One of the cast had been given completely the wrong surname and since she was one of the few things in this show which were worth commending she is likely to be mentioned in reviews – by the wrong name. You really would think, would you not, that producers would know the names of the actors they’re employing?

 

I’ve been thinking about tablecloths. As you do on a dank, damp, dark January afternoon. Nowhere in any of the Alzheimer’s literature have I seen it mentioned but Ms Alzheimer’s has certainly hooked her claws into our napery.

Perhaps we’re old fashioned (OK – we are)  but we’ve always used a table cloth at every meal. Said item is then folded up and put away in nearby drawer in the dining room when not in use. The clean ones live in a different drawer.

In recent months I’ve noticed that My Loved One can no longer manage tablecloths. “Shall I lay the table?” he’ll say as he has done for 49 years when he can see dinner, lunch or whatever (I’m the family chef) is nearly ready. “Yes please” I reply and then, out of the corner of my eye, watch him confusedly trying to get the thing onto the table.

When we’re on our own we fold the cloth and cover half the (rectangular) table.  When anyone else is with us it goes over the whole table. The folding and the lining up – an oblong cloth which is larger than the table, I now realise, is a basic form of applied geometry. And geometrical concepts rely, at least partly, on spatial awareness – one of the things Ms A is attacking ruthlessly so that MLO can, for example, no longer drive or point towards Central London or Kent accurately. Who would have thought it would affect table laying as well?

In the dining room (contiguous with the kitchen in our house) it can take him as long as ten minutes flapping, laying, relaying and frustratedly trying it out in different ways to get the cloth neatly on the table. Often it’s all rumpled and lopsided even when he’s finished. And clearing away afterwards is worse because once the cloth is shaken he can never work out how to fold it.

In practice, of course, I try now not to let him do it at all because it is irritating and upsetting in equal parts for both of us. What usually happens is that – if, as I too often am, I’m in a cross-patch mood  – I snatch it from him and quickly do the laying or folding  with an impatient tut and toss of the head. If I manage to be kinder and gentler, I pop the cloth on before he appears or fold it up after a meal while he’s still drinking his coffee so that he doesn’t get the chance to fail.

The same thing happens, incidentally with sheets. The ones we use on our wonderful six foot bed are ten foot square. And – not having arms as long as Roger Hargreaves’s Mr Tickle – there is no way I can fold them on my own. MLO no longer understands how to help me without very detailed instructions along the lines of “Hold this corner in your left hand … lift your right hand to shake the creases out…fold towards me etc”. A year or two ago we would have done the job collaboratively, quickly and wordlessly, probably while chatting about something different.

I find it very interesting – when I can detach myself from the tragedy of it enough to make objective observations – to watch the concepts of space and geometry unravelling. His declining brain presumably now won’t allow him to visualise the shape and size of the table in relation to the cloth. And that’s a very obvious, minor, everyday thing so goodness knows what other more important faculties the same decline is affecting in a less evident way.

In very young children – our youngest granddaughter, Libby, who is 3, for example – you watch these concepts developing steadily and there was a lot of stuff about Piaget’s work on perceptions of volume when I trained as a teacher in the 1960s. Once Ms A moves into your life the process goes into reverse as you head back towards infancy. At present, if MLO and Libby try to set the table together, they’re about even in the tablecloth stakes.  But their brains are changing in opposite directions. Within weeks she’ll be streets ahead of him and saying knowingly “I’ll do it for you, Grandpa”.

I’ve just attended the press conference at which Michelle Terry revealed her first season at The Globe. And the dynamics in the room were fascinating.

Terry is in a strange position as the new Artistic Director following Emma Rice’s brief, flamboyant, controversial tenure and “hiatus” (the word used by Globe Chief Executive, Neil Constable) the Globe has been through. Rice’s “standing down” was announced only five months after she started in post although she led the Globe for two full seasons.

The changeover took place on 1 October so – looking at the forthcoming programme –  a great deal has been achieved in a short time. We have ensemble productions of Hamlet and  As You Like It to look forward to along with a tour which will – somehow or other – allow the audience to choose which play they see that particular night from a menu of three. New plays include Emilia and Eyam. “The original; Globe was always dedicated to new writing and it still is” declared Terry.

And, among other delights (such as Mark Rylance playing Iago to André Holland’s Othello) I’m excited about the Playing Shakespeare with Deutsche Bank project now in its twelfth year. For 2018 there will be 18,000 free tickets for state school students in London and Birmingham to see Much Ado About Nothing directed by Michael Oakley. These schools performances and the remarkable level of vibrant engagement they generate are, without doubt one of the best things I attend anywhere all year.

Terry was understandably nervous at facing the press – most of the big names from across the media were ranged in front of her and she must have known they’d push her hard. Railway idiosyncrasies meant I was there half an hour early so I sat quietly in the foyer for a while beforehand. I saw Terry arrive and engage in a long conversation with a man I later realised was her husband, actor Paul Ready.  He was evidently providing the reassurance and support she needed.

In the event she did brilliantly, having clearly thought hard about the angle she would take on the predictable questions. “Do you see yourself as a safe pair of hands?” One journalist asked. “is there only one answer to that question?” she parried, laughing” before adding “The whole production team is in this room and I can assure you that I feel very safe in their hands.”

Of course she was also asked about use of technology (which was one of the things Rice was criticised for) and eventually directly about how she feels about Rice. She told us that the Globe will use lighting because, unlike the original Globe, it wants to go on staging evening shows as well as matinees. But, she said firmly, there will be no sound system to amplify voices.

And here’s Terry, clearly a mistress of diplomacy, on Rice herself. “I think Emma was the best thing that’s ever happened to The Globe. It was a fantastic two years which forced the Globe to stop and work what it’s really for. And that’s a real bonus”.

I can’t have been the only person present who noticed the sentence which began “As someone who loves Shakespeare …” either. Rice, rather oddly, intimated that it wasn’t really her thing.

No wonder Terry was apprehensive. I hope that afterwards she realised just how well she’d handled it. And for myself I’m delighted that we have an actor at the helm again – back to the modus operandi Mark Rylance used when the (new) Globe first opened 21 years ago. Terry is in the ensemble for Hamlet and As You Like It. “But we shall work out who plays what when we get into rehearsals” she said.

“Will you play Hamlet?” someone asked her. “We don’t know yet” she reiterated. “Would you like to play Hamlet?” the questioner persisted. “Sure as shit, I’d like to play Hamlet” Terry returned with a huge smile and without missing a beat. “I couldn’t be a director of The Globe who didn’t want to play Hamlet, now could I?”

Well played, Michelle. I think you and the Globe are going to do very well together.

 

2017 was quite a year and, for once, I don’t mean Brexit and Trump. My turn-of-the-year reflections are rooted closer to home. In April Ms Alzheimer’s moved in for good. Well I suppose she’d been here for a while actually, but it was on 29 April – Diagnosis Day – that we were told firmly, finally and unequivocally that My Loved One’s brain scan showed that he has Alzheimer’s. A stop-you-in-your-tracks game changer to put in mildly. Eight months on and we are, in a rackety, rickety kind of way learning to live with Ms A – as we must.

During the same period, we’ve done a lot of pretty radical work to the house we bought in autumn 2016 which has meant dozens of tradesman busily, but disruptively, working their magic on our premises and, every morning, a rather plaintive question from MLO “Is anyone coming today?”.

We also had a couple of pretty fabulous holidays – first in Malaysia where MLO really wasn’t well for much of the time and then in Corfu where he seemed much more “with it” and gave me hope that perhaps the medication really is having some effect.

Meanwhile – busy working arts/education journalist as I am –  I have seen 109 theatre shows and been to 25 classical music concerts, mostly to review. Recurrent tiredness means that MLO doesn’t come to quite as many of these with me as he once did but he’s been to a good few. All the Alzheimer’s advice tells you to do as many brain stimulating activities as you can and theatre is good for that. So is the Polygon in The Times which he does most days. He used to do the Code Word too but bloody Ms A seems to have destroyed that little pleasure.

Goodness knows there has been plenty of anger, sadness and frustration during the last twelve months but we also laugh which feels like the sun coming out and Ms A retreating temporarily into the shadows.

So that’s what we have to focus on as the new year gets underway – laughing and counting our blessings. After all, we have each other, two brilliant sons and their equally brilliant families and a nice home in a very convenient location as well as half a century of shared happy memories. Without those things dealing with Ms A would be an awful lot worse – and it is for many people.

And I’ve said before, people are very kind. For example, one night last week I overheard the lifelong friend, almost another sister, who stays with us twice a year,  gently helping MLO run his bath because he’d momentarily forgotten which tap was which and how the bath and shower taps relate to each other. Then there are people who leap to their feet on trains so that he can sit down or patiently assist him in shops when he takes an unconscionably long time to find his money and organise his purchases. There’s nothing like illness for bringing out the best in people and making you pause for a bit of blessing counting – especially as one year gives way to the next.

2017 was rich in Alzheimer’s cure/prevention stories too. Almost every day, for the last eight months during which I’ve been especially attuned, there’s some sort of medical research report which makes the national media. Most of them come down to eating whole foods and getting plenty of exercise because it seems to work for mice. And that’s pretty irritating because MLO has always lived like that. He and I were eating whole grains, pulses and nuts with lots of vegetables and fruit on a daily basis before most of the researchers were born.

Then, on New Year’s Day I read (in a small The Daily Telegraph side panel) about a University of Lancashire study. It found that a “triple receptor drug” created to treat type 2 diabetes helped – in more of those unfortunate mice at any rate –  to reduce memory loss and the hateful amyloid plaques which are what Ms A really is. The scientists who published their findings in the journal Brain Research argue that their “very promising outcomes” could bring new hope to thousands of Alzheimer’s sufferers.

I wonder …? Onwards and upwards into 2018.