Measure for Measure, HT Theatre Company, Baron's Court Theatre

By 1603, Shakespeare was wealthy and respected. Poet, playwright and shrewd businessman, the Midlands maestro was at the heart of Jacobean London. His relationship with the newly crowned James was amicable but careful. James was a fan of the Bard's work, and Shakespeare duly obliged with plays in tune with the monarch's interests - Scotland, witchcraft. and the rule of disparate peoples. In spite of a youthful phase torturing witches, James was a cultured man - he had been tutored by the poet George Buchanan - and had a liberal appreciation of theatre. His close engagement with each new dramatic work was highlighted by Ben Jonson in the First Folio, where he mentions ..

"Those flights upon the banks of Thames

That so did take Eliza and our James."

Shakespeare was in some ways a royal poet - but with the ruler peeking over the Bard's shoulder as he wrote. This tension between freely expressing the human spirit, and potential sanction by the powerful, explains much in his writing; and these contradictory pressures undoubtedly contributed to the greatness in his plays. Measure for Measure is a masterful, complex product of these tensions, which sails close to the wind in its examination of corruption in high places, and the caprice of royal rule. 

The scenario: Duke Vincentio has temporarily put his deputy Angelo in charge. Unlike the wise, tolerant Duke, however, Angelo is a puritan who has a dichotomous view on things. He has a particular problem with sex, and targets the suburbs, which in the 17th century were not places of faux respectability, but of crime, dissolution and vice. We thus find ourselves in a suburban brothel, where we witness drunkenness, arrests and confusion. Angelo has ordered a crackdown on the sex industry, causing consternation among the women and their punters. The suburbs are in chaos. 

The play interweaves two narratives. The virtuous Isabella seeks pardon for her brother - who rests in prison awaiting hanging - by petitioning the puritanical acting-ruler Angelo. However, he is struck by her beauty; and, overcome with lust, he demands sex for the release. Not a great guy. The second story line involves the wise Duke disguising himself as a monk, so as to check up on the state of his fiefdom, and the character of his deputy Angelo. His investigations lead him to the prison, where he hears about Isabella's desperate plight. 

Shakespeare is at the top of his game in disrupting these narratives, resulting in a classic "comedy" - one beginning with tragedy, and ending with resolution and marriage. It is a work, however, which involves  dark currents and bitterly observed scenes. Here is the Bard at his most Dickensian. 

HT Theatre has produced a powerful and sincere rendition of this play, and Director, Jaclyn Bradley deserves credit for convincingly evoking a threatening and atmospheric world, with no props other than a small table and a tankard. The narrative involves demanding roles, particularly that of Isabella, who was played with great conviction and skill by Leah Lawry-Johns. Meanwhile, her lusty tormentor, Angelo was portrayed powerfully by Adam Cunis - and the scenes between the two were fresh and taut. Jonathan Curry played a masterful Duke, embodying moral authority and wisdom, but occasionally lapsing into needless cruelty. At one point, the play was disrupted when a drunk man stumbled noisily into the theatre at a crucial dramatic juncture. The cast, however - notably, Jonathan Curry - forged resolutely on, with not so much as the bat of an eye. 

All the players were strong, however. Natalie Harper portrayed Angelo's estranged wife, Mariano, with restrained passion; and Joshua Jewkes' Lucio was light, time-perfect and entertaining throughout. Isabella's condemned brother, Claudio, is a pivotal role and Rob Fellman did a great job expressing the tensions between desperation and resignation. Carly Jukes' provost was one of my favourite performances - utterly convincing as somebody with a soul caught up in the ruthless machinations of state. Martin Sales' Abhorsen was brutal, with a strong and daunting presence. Finally, David Gurney's playing of Pompey - the dissolute bawd, or "tapster" - was delightfully funny and inventive. Here  is a group of hugely talented actors; and in Measure for Measure they have put on one of my favourite performances of the year. Well done to all concerned. 

Measure for Measure is a fascinating work - dark, clever, funny. Its portrayals of the vice trade reminded me of the later and quite wonderful Pericles, written with the dissolute bawd George Wilkins. Indeed, I wonder if there isn't a connection between the two plays. The bard was certainly familiar with the seedier side of London society, and was likely no stranger to the Winchester geese.

I like to imagine Shakespeare sitting back with a cup of beer in a dodgy pub, hooting with laughter as his companions out-lewd each other. After a while, one puts down his ale, clears his throat, and slightly crooks his finger . . .

"Nah, nah . . Better than that . . . Much better . . . Groping for trout in a peculiar river". 

Silence. Gasps. I'll have that, thinks the Bard. 

That line will stay with me forever. Thank you HT Theatre. 

Measure for Measure is playing at the Baron's Court Theatre until 14th December. 

http://www.offwestend.com/index.php/plays/view/12226

Not a man in sight: Henry IV, and Man to Man, by Manfred Karge.

As I clapped at the end of an entertaining performance of Henry IV at the Donmar Warehouse, it struck me that in my last four visits to the theatre, I had not seen one man on stage. This trend started a couple of weeks back, when I saw Martin Parr's beautifully realised "Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang". Actresses Katherine Heath and Lucia Capellaro were so compelling, I was lured back the following evening. Sitting in the ruins of the Rose, I was even more swept away with the heady brew of sonnets, cello and narratives of loss.

The next women-only venture was a mistake, actually. I thought I had booked a ticket for Hamlet, so turned up at the Park Theatre, Finsbury Park ready to marvel at a finely wrought analysis of mind. Turns out, I had got there a week early, so I asked what was on that night. It turned out to be Man to Man by Manfred Karge - a solo play about an East German woman faking being a man, through her whole life. Her husband had died, leaving her with no livelihood, so, after considering her few options, she decided to go into work disguised as her dead spouse. This saga through Nazism, post-war reconstruction and German reunification sets up a harrowing tale of deception, risk, humiliation and slow and unsettling transformation into a defeated, bitter, male retiree, who has almost forgotten his sex. The play was written by Manfred Karge, who joined the Berliner Ensemble in 1961 at the behest of Helene Weigel, wife of Bertolt Brecht. The Brechtian themes are strong, and actress Tricia Kelly bravely laid bare the frustrations of sustaining male identity amidst wild lurches in German society and identity, transforming herself into an embittered, drunk, unattractive pensioner. You could almost smell him.

In the programme, special mention was made of the translator of the script, the late Antony Vivis, who produced an inventive, jarring and sometime rhyming word flow. Listening to the rhythms and juxtapositions made me realise the crucial role of the translator in art such as this.

Later on in the bar, an attractive well dressed woman  breezed in and greeted friends around the table. I realised with a shock, this was Tricia Kelly, who only twenty minutes earlier had festered resentfully in stained trousers.

A week later, I got a standing ticket for Henry IV, which was set in a women's prison. Effectively, this was most of the glorious Part 1 with the main bits involving Falstaff and the rise of Hal from Part II added on. This was highly entertaining, but worth seeing for one overwhelming reason - Harriet Walter playing Henry IV. Shakespeare was cautious in his portrayal of the usurper King, and the role thus has rather limited, subdued material. Walter, however, used these lines with such world-weary authority, that she shed new light on the whole role. No longer a marginalised part; with Harriet Walter, Henry IV reclaims the play that bears his name. It was an amazing performance.

Tomorrow I'm off to see the Hamlet I had intended to see last week. Looking forward to it - though seeing men on stage will be something of a novelty. 

Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang. The Rose Playhouse.

This performance expresses everything I love about theatre - a daring, high-wire piece that leads the mind through unexpected visions and emotions. "Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang" is woven together and directed by Martin Parr, who prior to this staged a memorable Doctor Faustus, also at the Rose. When I heard that Parr was doing Shakespeare's sonnets, I thought - great - that will be worth seeing. However, nothing prepared me for this.

What Parr has done here, quite masterfully, is to shape Shakespeare's most intimate writings into a haunting play, which explores every facet of loving relationships. He has done this through letting the Bard's words flow through a morphing love affair as it goes through stages of lust, longing, disdain, outrage, anger, separation and reconciliation.

He sets the stage in Autumn, and sitting expectantly with glass in hand, I found the setting fascinating. The stage and lighting team of Florence Watts, Max Mosley, Christine Dubois and Francesca Baker present a scene of an unmade double bed, a half drunk wine bottle next to it, with several lamps, a bare table and a old chair, with dead leaves scattered around it. Highly atmospheric. A realistic nowhere. A double bed in a room for one person.

This is a fragile piece, that depends entirely upon its two actresses, Katherine Heath and Lucia Capellaro. Lucia is the muse of the piece, the partner, the object of desire, hope and regret; and she embroiders this role with virtuoso playing of the cello, which at times becomes a third person in the relationship. Katherine is alone, but not alone, expressing her evolving and sometimes contradictory feelings for Lucia, who is relatively unchanging.  Katherine, the lover, experiences wildly varying feelings - from infatuation to irritation; at times reflecting upon the inevitable death of her partner, at other times spitting out poisonous jealousy.

Sitting in the audience, this is powerful stuff, and the flowing, but unpredictable performance raises strong emotions. These come powerfully to conclusion in the final scene where a distraught, lonely, Katherine is trying to play her (possibly now dead) lover's cello in the hope of capturing just a little bit of her magic, her voice, her scent. I won't spoil this for you, but it is one of the most powerful and creative scenes I have ever witnessed in theatre - one that has stayed with me, and lured me back last night for a second chance of seeing it.

Walking away from from the performance, I drifted towards the Thames, and reflected that this gem of a play shows why theatre is increasingly necessary and important. In this era of easy media, of electronic access round the clock to any movie/ video/ Shakespeare play etc., a sincerely felt rendition like this becomes rare, precious and significant. One has to travel to see it. Pay to see it. One has to sit in real space, as breathing people take breathtaking risks. They play their heart out, and break ours. Like the tempestuous relationship between Katherine and Lucia, the performance enchants, excites and ends, leaving only memories.

"Where Late The Sweet Birds Sang" plays until 29th November. Go see it. It's that good. 

Edward II by Christopher Marlowe, Venture Wolf Productions, London Theatre.

"All they that love not Tobacco and Boys are fools". 

Gay is the word. Christopher Marlowe found a muse in man's love for man, and infused it in much of his work - particularly in the erotic epyllion, Hero and Leander. Turning over the weighty pages of Holinshed's Chronicles, the twenty something Christopher Marlowe chose Edward II's charged relationship with low-born Gaveston for dramatisation into one of England's first fully realised History plays - a genre that Shakespeare would adopt and make his own. 

Edward II is a pacy, racy, roller coaster of a ride, which establishes its theme in Gaveston's first delighted words - of male love and loyalty taken to such heights that it causes civil war, and the eventual downfall of a king. 

As with his earlier play, the Massacre at Paris, here is a drama in which plot takes precedence over language, without the psychological investigations and existential hand-wringing characteristic of Marlowe's illustrious contemporary. From the clearly chipped characters and fast paced plot, you get the feeling that Marlowe was an excitable, direct sort of character - just the type to get himself embroiled in a squabble in Deptford in May 1593. He never saw his thirties. 

Edward II was his final drama, published shortly after his death. It's a moody, antagonistic work - a play looking for trouble - a libertine fuck you to mainstream, respectable, puritan England. 

Shakespeare may have watched the play with mixed feelings. Marlowe had been the darling of the Oxbridge literati classes - the insider's outsider. Shakespeare meanwhile had no university education - he wanted to be an outsider, accepted by the insiders. How could he out-radical Marlowe, while keeping the punters packed in?  The anything-goes Edward II freed things up for Shakespeare, and encouraged the bard to push boundaries just as far. Richard II, penned shortly afterwards, resonated with variations on Marlowe's sexual politics. 

Edward II is a serious, adult work, and I feared the worst as I entered the subterranean London Theatre in New Cross. to be greeted by enthusiastic young actors in 1920s gear, doing the flap, the Charleston and getting up to the kind of pre-show japes one encounters in undergrad productions. My fears, however, couldn't have been more misplaced. Once the silliness had subsided, Venture Wolf  put on an earnest and thoughtfully wrought production that allowed the darker ambiguities of the play to surface. Imaginatively directed by Paul Vitty, this was a fast paced, creative rendering which was hugely entertaining. 

Henry Winterbottom played the demanding role of the King, as petulant, spoilt and inflexible. It was a fine rendering of an unappealing character, which showed scope and promise. Ramzi Dehani played the King's lover and ruin, Gaveston, with a sly coolness - except where it came to his encounters with the King, when Dehani displayed a warmth and commitment that glowed. Emma Gonella played a pitch perfect Queen Isabella, with grace, beauty and wit. All queens should be like that. Turan Duncan was terrific as the heroic usurper, quickly corrupted by power. 

Of the other performances, James Chadurn played a marvellously entertaining, Churchillian Warwick - a commendably restrained performance, in that the Stentorian lines could easily have crossed into parody or irony. Will Barrett was convincing as the young  schoolboy prince, who quickly grows up to be an avenging successor; and Pippa Caddick was a joy to behold, playing the complex Baldock with charisma and subtlety. There were 17 people involved in the cast, however, and all played their parts well. 

Bravo to Venture Wolf for treating Marlowe's moody masterpiece with the seriousness it deserves. There are laughs aplenty to be had in the punnery and ironies of other Early Modern plays. Not Edward II, however. Marlowe meant this one - and so did this marvellous troupe of actors. Hats off to you all. 

The Woman in the Moon, by John Lyly. Rose Theatre, Bankside, London.

Do yourself a favour, and grab the last remaining tickets to the Dolphin's Back production of John Lyly's comic masterpiece. Last Thursday, a sell-out audience grinned, cackled, and glowed with admiration as this talented troupe brought the long-forgotten 16th century gem to life.

John Lyly deserves to be much better known. A bright Kentish Lad, born in 1553 in cosmopolitan Canterbury (which also also spawned Christopher Marlowe eleven years later), Lyly excelled at Magdalen College, Oxford before bursting onto the London literary scene with the publication of Euphues, The Anatomy of Wit (1578), and Euphues and His England (1580). In these prose works, Lyly introduced nothing less than a revolution in the English language, which - in his work at least - made it sparkle with style, irony and wit. By the age of 30, Lyly was widely feted as England's greatest writer, and this reputation did not diminish until well after his death. Indeed, (as James Wallace, director, writes), in his introduction to Shakespeare's First Folio, Ben Jonson places Lyly among the pantheon of England's greatest writers.

The Woman in the Moon is radical - feminising and paganising the origins of the universe; exploring the nature of female character and actions. Dissatisfied with Mother Nature's generation of a perfection to rival their own, the planets decide to derail Pandora's transition into the world. Beginning with Jupiter, and depressive, moody Saturn, each planet's undermining of woman is a chapter itself. We encounter the despondency of Saturnine woman, the belligerence of Martian female,  the allure of Venutian temptress. Each planetary influence is an orchestral movement in its own right, and each somehow brings the person of Pandora to a complex, multivalent completion.

Men in the play are easily-duped, unilinear and comic; wholly dependent upon the mood or whim of womankind. It is interesting, then, that this was a play written with Elizabeth in mind - indeed it is documented that she attended a performance of it by the Paul's Boys. Like Shakespeare's later playwriting for James I, John Lyly was not precious, or consistent in towing a party or royal line; and Lyly's exploration of womanhood was ambiguous and provocative. At the end of the play, Mother Nature asks Pandora to choose the planetary influence she wishes to make permanent; she selects Cynthia (or the Moon) under whose spell she is mad, capricious, indecisive and self-contradictory.

Elizabeth, at the height of her powers in the 1580s, was none of these things; indeed, she would have been disdainful of the character Pandora chooses for women. This raises interesting questions about Elizabeth (whom Lyly would have known well). Was she disdainful of other women, or the modes of femininity approved of in the late 16th century? Which of the planetary influences upon offer would she have recognised in herself - if any? In raising such fundamental questions about female personalities, and doing so so publicly in front of Queen and audience, John Lyly shows a provocative confidence - cockiness even.

Though the themes of the play run deep, the script is light, funny, fast-moving. The Dolphin's Back troupe did a wonderful job balancing deep, dangerous themes with light, saucy gags, and the result was ninety minutes of theatrical bliss. As Pandora, Bella Heesom took us on a dazzling journey through conflicting expressions of womanhood - a bravura performance, which showed amazing adaptability and inventiveness. Those playing the hapless men in the play worked to great comic effect, with James Askill again a joy to behold, and a name to watch out for. The great male foil in this was the crafty but appealing Gunophilus, who was entertainingly played by James Thorne. This was very much an ensemble production, however, and in a way it is unfair to mention particular names. Bravo to all.

The Dolphin's Back is a superb group of creatives, who have skill, wit and depth - from James Wallace's direction, to the quick, fun-loving cast, to inventive stage design and lighting. The DB are committed to resurrecting neglected scripts, and bringing them to life for modern audiences - and they do it with authority and a great sense of fun. As such, Dolphin's Back are my favourite troupe - and I can't wait to see them again in the Massacre at Paris. (Spoiler alert - it's brilliant.)

Julius Caesar at the Globe: Why Tony Blair should Give This a Miss.

Julius Caesar was a high-stakes venture for Shakespeare. He had invested heavily in the new Globe Theatre, and this was its opener in 1599. Shareholder, playwright, actor . . here was the collision of business and art in one man. The business-savvy Bard would have been nervous as the first customers arrived. With its smell of freshly sawed wood and whitewash, those entering the Globe were testing an untried hi-tech virtual reality environment. With London reverberating with globalisation and scientific revolution, here among the groundlings one was at the very peak of modernity.

So what was the focus of this 4D sensurround - this leap into the unknown? The downfall of dictators. The first drums resounding around the Globe introduced the themes of power, order, revolution and chaos to the Elizabethan masses. Shakespeare had a knack of identifying themes that would forever remain current, and Julius Caesar speaks volumes to us in this age of political disenchantment. One of the most macabre but accurate pronouncements on political change is Jacques Mallet du Pan's statement "a revolution devours its children." Looking back on the fall of the Berlin wall, and the prematurely named Arab Spring, we see a horrible pattern, as though carved in stone: the stagnation of rule; the toppling of the tyrant; the chaotic aftermath; and the reestablishment of order through tyranny 2.0.

Shakespeare understood this.

The play examines these stages with great insight, showing Cassius steering alpha male Brutus to spearhead the toppling of a burned-out Caesar. In this production, Cassius was played by Anthony Howell (of Foyle's War), who portrayed him less as a thin skinned Iago, and more like the bluff soldier he probably was. Tom McKay's Brutus was a well-adjusted, well-meaning man whose political and moral certainties break down in his failed attempt at justifying what he has done. I hope Tony Blair doesn't go to see this production, as parallels with his noble crusading would be obvious to all around him.

Initially, I was irritated by George Irving's insipid portrayal of Caesar, but then I realised that this was the point. Caesar was 56 and a husk of the man he once was. Referring to himself in the third person (even to his wife), Caesar believes in his own greatness and infallibility; and his once brilliant mind has now become blurred and paranoiac. Here then, we have Saddam, Gaddafi, Ben Ali . . . Caesar is all rulers who have lost the plot. His despotic apotheosis encompasses them all.

With these major themes being shouldered by key characters, it is amazing how Shakespeare rendered them human and sympathetic - all except the morphined Caesar. Christopher Logan camped up Casca beautifully, rendering a waspish survivor in dangerous tides. Luke Thompson highlighted Mark Antony's humane greatness - in contrast to the lovestruck middle aged has-been he is to be in the sequel, Antony and Cleopatra.

As I was watching the play, I was immediately struck by the playing of Caesar's wife, Calpurnia. I focused in, and realised that here was one of my favourite actresses, Katy Stephens. I last saw Ms Stephens as an unforgettable Tamora  in Michael Fentiman's production of Titus Andronicus at the RSC. And here she was now as Calpurnia, pleading with the vague, bloated Caesar to stay away from politics for a day. Katy Stephens is a superb actress who brings roles to life with insight and wit. Later in the play, she reappeared as a pleb ringleader who tore off the genitals of the mild poet, Cinna. You don't mess with Katy Stephens.

From the off, this production was fresh, invigorating and had great momentum. This owes much to Dominic Dromgoole's energetic direction, and the overall play was greater than the individual parts - a true ensemble production.

As I left, with my hands glowing, I thought of that original audience at its first showing, walking towards the Thames and muttering about what they had seen. Did it make them think of the declining Elizabeth? Did they feel anxious about order breaking down into chaos? Among them, Shakespeare himself would have drifted, and listened, and, no doubt heaved a huge sigh of relief. The first show at the Globe was over, his investments were safe, and his message to the world was out. Revolutions eat their children. If only Tony Blair had listened. 

Kicking Against the Pricks: The Roaring Girl and Arden of Faversham

Two plays in a day. Always a good idea. All day drinking, and double the fun. Not much to dislike there.

The two plays I saw at the RSC in Stratford this Wednesday worked really well together. Both were analyses of women out of sync. Both were based on real people, who flouted convention in Renaissance England. Both productions were imaginatively directed . . . and both were performed by the same hard working troupe.

Following a theatre’s work day like this was enlightening. Putting on plays is hard work, and the troupe worked their socks offs. Everybody from the stage hands, to the lighting and sound crew, put in a long demanding day. As time went on I amazed at the stamina of the performers -  their ability to remember so much material, and deliver it with such verve and wit. From the first words of Geoffrey Freshwater at 1.30, through to the last smiling sentence by Lisa Dillon at 10.45 that evening, the players were in make-up, onstage or waiting in the wings. Some of the actors had highly demanding parts in each play. Keir Charles, for instance, was rarely off stage in both productions.

Had I not seen both plays in the same day, I would have missed this - and the stamina of these remarkable performers. Had I seen only one production, I would have missed the transformation of the theatre, from Arden’s warehouse to London’s cobbled streets. As I sat down to the evening show I literally couldn’t believe I was in the same theatre.

Arden of Faversham centres on a real life scandal, which happened 41 years before the play was published. Arden was a self made business-man who acquired the former lands of Faversham Abbey, which had been dissolved by serial killer Henry VIII. Though legally owned by the Church, much of the pasture had been common to local farmers, and Arden’s enclosure marked the dispossession of the villagers. Arden’s wife, Alice, was rich, spoiled and bored, and embarked upon an affair with a low born local, Mosby. Together they plotted to kill rich hubby to gain control of his wealth. They were, however, rather incautious in their plans, involving Arden’s servants, an aggrieved villager and two memorable London hoodlums, Will and Shakebags.

Yes, Will and Shake-bags. Conventionally the play is listed as anonymous, however, there has long been speculation that it was written by Shakespeare. Others have claimed that it was penned by Thomas Kyd, or Kentish lad Christopher Marlowe. I don’t buy the Bard claim - to me, the writing seems too direct, with little of the thorough soul seeking that marks out the Swan of Avon. Marlowe and Kyd are more likely candidates. Indeed, the somewhat modern plain-speak, reminds me of the text of the Massacre at Paris ("Come. Let's go". Exeunt).

That said . . . Will and Shakebags? For some, this is as clear an allusion to the Bard as Rupert Greene’s denouncement of the upstart Shake-Scene. So, if Shakespeare wrote Arden, how likely is it that he secreted his name into his own play? Mmmm . . . well he was prone to overuse the word Will, wasn’t he? OK, how likely is it that the established superstar Marlowe would take a swipe at the new kid on the block? Shakebags was a common term for a thief at the time, so perhaps the name is not quite the shibboleth conspiracy theorists claim it is. The date of the play, pre 1592 is very early for Shakespeare, and late for Marlowe or Kyd. My money’s on Marlowe . .  or maybe a Marlowe/ Kyd production.

At the psychological/ philosophical level the play concerns material greed and lust. Such themes are embedded in wider social/ economic realities, such as the after-effects of the dissolution of the monasteries, the new commerce and commodification, and the brash nouveau riche - of which Arden and his wife were sour embodiments. The other harsh contextual reality, was the oppression of women. Whereas Alice Arden’s accomplices in the murder received death sentences, the judge reserved the worst punishment for her. Burning. At the time, for a wife to murder her husband shook the foundations of the social order, and doing so was the civil equivalent of regicide. It was, in other words, an unthinkable act . . hence the nationwide scandal when this crime was perpetrated; and the episode was deemed important enough to be included in Holinshed’s Chronicles, the historical source for many plays of the English renaissance. Unlike most of these works, however, Arden of Faversham concerned common people - traders, butchers and thieves - and this marks out the work as historically significant in its own right. Here was a revolutionary play on a shocking episode in recent history.

With these tabloid themes, and a script by Marlowe/Kyd/ Shakespeare, this was a sure fire hit, and indeed the play was performed by Shakespeare’s own troupe, the Chamberlain’s Men in the 1590s - perhaps at The Theatre, Shoreditch.  The themes, and the tight modern script resonate today in an England wracked by social change and the commodification of everything. To reflect this money-obsessed spiritual wasteland, director Polly Findlay set the reptilian parvenus in a chavtown in Kent cum Essex. I think Sittingbourne fits the bill beautifully - so close to (now posh) Faversham, but a microcosm of cultureless new millenium entitlement.

Arden is a cold hearted trader, who thinks only of money and his trophy wife Alice. Ian Redford plays the saturnine businessmen as a hollow man, a hungry ghost, who has everything but is never satisfied. As he is musing about his spouse’s indiscretions, she enters the stage - and what a sight that is. Actress Sharon Small totters into the narrative, and never really leaves it, entrancing with her lack of taste, her shallow lusts and problem-page philosophies on life. She is a mesmerising creature, witty and amusing, in a frothy kind of way, but depressingly vacuous - indeed, the embodiment of modern have-it-all celebrity culture. With her husband drifting off stage, Alice talks dreamily about her boyfriend, Mosby, a bit of rough from the wrong end of town. Then in he strides, the uber-chav - cocky, stupid and cultureless, and brilliantly played by Keir Charles - the first of two huge roles he played that day. What a charismatic performer - I feel like I know Mosby, in the same way as I knew, and avoided, Dogsy in the school yard.

Other superb performances stood out. Jay Simpson played the thief Will Black as a thin skinned assassin. Christopher Middleton portrayed the poisoner Clarke as a disgusting sexual predator, eliciting repulsed reactions from the audience. Not the kind of person one would like to encounter - even at a distance. Lizzie Hopley played an aggrieved villager who pursues the dismissive Arden about his appropriation of her land, eventually delivering a memorable curse, that momentarily pierces Arden’s thick skin. Hopley played two memorable parts that day, and they couldn’t have been more different - as you shall see.

On the whole, then, this was a highly creative and powerful performance of a play that speaks volumes to us today. As wealth becomes the only measure of success, and morality, education and spirituality are marginalised or lampooned, the reptiles of Faversham are in the ascendent. This play warns us all, that we should be worried.

Lots to think about there, then - and I did so during a couple of pints before the next play, The Roaring Girl. I returned and entered the transformed theatre, amazing at the industry of the stage hands. Very impressive!

The Roaring Girl was written a couple of decades after Arden, but it too was based on real events. The focus of the play is Moll Cutpurse, actually Mary Frith (1584 – 26 July 1659) who became famous for dressing like a man, publically smoking tobacco and hanging out with street ruffians. She was done on several occasions for minor transgressions, but later, turned into an informant and unlikely celebrity. A very interesting figure amidst Jacobean London, she became the subject of public interest and gained the attention of the entertainments industry. In 1610 John Day wrote The Madde Pranckes of Mery Mall of the Bankside. Unfortunately, this play is lost in the midst of time, but isn’t it amazing that an eccentric 26 year old woman was having major plays written about her in the midst of Jacobean witch hunting?

Thomas Middleton and Thomas Decker were a little late off the mark producing their own play, The Roaring Girl, a year later in 1611. They were obviously fans of the gender bending reprobate, but unlike Day, who dramatised her life, they weaved her into an urban rom com. Incidentally, Thomas Dekker wrote the heartbreaking The Witch of Edmonton a decade later in 1621. He was obviously fascinated by, and sympathetic to, rebellious women such as Mary.

The Roaring Girl  was highly unusual in that it focused on an existing person who was defying convention.  What would the modern equivalents be? Joe Orton writing a play about Quentin Crisp in the 1960s? Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell?

The plot is complex and ludicrous. Sir Alexander Wengrave is dissatisfied with his son’s choice of a bride, because of her lack of an adequate dowry. The emotionally intelligent Sebastian thus hatches a plot to make his father suspect him of having an affair with the infamous Moll Cutpurse. He calculates that papa would be so horrified by this, that he would change his mind and welcome his marriage to the respectable Mary Fitzallard (superbly played by Faye Castelow). So far so simple, except that the narrative then splits into several subplots about marital intrigue among Sebastian’s acquaintances, most notably that involving Mrs Gallipot and the spivvy Laxton; and Mrs Openwork and Goshawk, who whispers that her hubbie has been keeping a whore.

At the centre of this domestic maelstrom is Moll, who dominates, manipulates, mentors and massages the various personalities.  She is quite quite wonderful. At the start of the play, the lights go up to reveal her, slouching cockily on a chair, lustily drawing on a cigarette and surveying the audience with confident, mocking eye. Lisa Dillon’s portrayal of Moll is fresh and energetic. She is in charge. She is the focus, and that’s the way she likes it.  Whereas the original Moll was damned for transgressing gender boundaries, Lisa Dillon transcends them - her Moll, is above all, true to herself. Like everyone else in the audience, I fell in love with this self-actualised being, and towards the end she lasered me with an amused look, took my hand and kissed it. “Thank you, darling” she said, retreating, mockingly mopping her brow. I almost swooned.

She mocked, carped, plotted and flirted. She sang, played electric guitar, acoustic bass, climbed the stage and danced. How could anybody else get a look in?

Surprisingly, perhaps, they did. Although Moll dominated, this was a tight ensemble performance and other characters were brought to life brilliantly. The other scene-stealer of the night was Lizzie Hopley’s portrayal of Mistress Gallipot. You may remember, that Hopley earlier played the decent, timid Mrs Reede, who placed a curse on Arden. Her portrayal of Mistress Gallipot couldn’t have been more different - knowing, flirtatious, mischievous, she toyed with her lines, sparking off and involving the audience. It was a thrilling performance.

Many of her lines concerned her beau, Laxton, played by Keir Charles - who thereby played two major cads in one day. Both were a joy to behold, slightly different in personality, but as manipulative and shallow as each other. Timothy Speyer was terrific as the aggrieved but understanding husband, Mr Gallipot - a very likeable character. Indeed, one of the differences between this play and Arden was that here in London there were streams of goodness, charity, and benign humour - while leafy Faversham resembled a crocodile pit.

Another fine performance was put in by Tony Jayawardena as the slandered Mr Openwork, who loved his wife, and beamed good will throughout. The contrast between this role and that of the brutal Shakebag couldn’t have been greater. Ian Bonar also put in an amazing double shift, with sharply different characters. Likewise, Ken Nwosu did double time in eye catching fashion, stepping in at the last minute to take on the role of the aggrieved Gull.

Of course, as all rom coms do, the couple get married and live happily ever after. At the end, we are left with Mol, who reflects on the events, and announces the appearance of the real Mary Frith on stage at the theatre in the near future. No doubt Mary would have been in the audience at the original play, and may have stood up at this point to receive the applause of the audience. That I would love to have seen.

Leaving the theatre I slipped into a pub to catch the tail end of the Argentina-Holland game. At the table in front of me, I spotted Peter M. Smith, who had played the cross-dressing Bawd in the Shakespeare Institute’s fine production of Pericles last year.  What a wonderful place Stratford is.

Later, as I cleaned my teeth and reflected upon the day’s events. I looked down to my hand. Kissed by Moll Cutpurse. The soap sat by the sink, begging a question.