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Stoppard Classics, Reborn for an Age of Uncertainty Stoppard Reborn, for an Age of Uncertainty
(about 20 hours later)
LONDON — Like many people in this discombobulating era of “Brexit,” the addled young man on the boat isn’t sure exactly what the country known as “England” is, or if it even exists. “I mean I don’t believe in it!” he says. Trying to imagine that island nation, he finds that “I have no image.”LONDON — Like many people in this discombobulating era of “Brexit,” the addled young man on the boat isn’t sure exactly what the country known as “England” is, or if it even exists. “I mean I don’t believe in it!” he says. Trying to imagine that island nation, he finds that “I have no image.”
So speaks one of the title characters in David Leveaux’s 50th-anniversary revival of “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” Tom Stoppard’s retelling of “Hamlet” from the perspective of its most memorably forgettable figures, which shimmers like a mirage in the desert at the Old Vic Theater. It is, to be precise, Rosencrantz who theorizes about the nonexistence of England.So speaks one of the title characters in David Leveaux’s 50th-anniversary revival of “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,” Tom Stoppard’s retelling of “Hamlet” from the perspective of its most memorably forgettable figures, which shimmers like a mirage in the desert at the Old Vic Theater. It is, to be precise, Rosencrantz who theorizes about the nonexistence of England.
Sorry, I mean Guildenstern. No, no, it’s definitely Rosencrantz. I think. Everybody’s always confusing these two longtime friends of a certain temperamental Prince of Denmark, including Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern — I mean, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz — themselves.Sorry, I mean Guildenstern. No, no, it’s definitely Rosencrantz. I think. Everybody’s always confusing these two longtime friends of a certain temperamental Prince of Denmark, including Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern — I mean, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz — themselves.
The theatergoers who have made Mr. Leveaux’s production a palpable hit are unlikely to be similarly befuddled, since Rosencrantz is portrayed by Daniel Radcliffe, who became world famous as the more proactive title character of the “Harry Potter” movies before he proved his stage chops. Mr. Radcliffe, happily teamed with Joshua McGuire as Guildenstern, may be disappearing most appropriately into the role of Rosencrantz the nonentity.The theatergoers who have made Mr. Leveaux’s production a palpable hit are unlikely to be similarly befuddled, since Rosencrantz is portrayed by Daniel Radcliffe, who became world famous as the more proactive title character of the “Harry Potter” movies before he proved his stage chops. Mr. Radcliffe, happily teamed with Joshua McGuire as Guildenstern, may be disappearing most appropriately into the role of Rosencrantz the nonentity.
But fans are still mobbing the stage door, because they think they know who Mr. Radcliffe really is. Which would suggest they haven’t absorbed the lesson of Mr. Stoppard’s play.But fans are still mobbing the stage door, because they think they know who Mr. Radcliffe really is. Which would suggest they haven’t absorbed the lesson of Mr. Stoppard’s play.
Across the Thames, another actor, also much beloved here, has been bringing exultant life to another of Mr. Stoppard’s unwitting equivocators. That’s Tom Hollander, star of the BBC comedy series “Rev,” who recently appeared (deliciously) as the gay aide-de-camp of Hugh Laurie’s evil arms magnate in the mini-series “The Night Manager.” Mr. Hollander incarnated the fumbling memoirist Henry Carr in Patrick Marber’s seriously silly (or sillily serious) production of Mr. Stoppard’s “Travesties.” (That “Travesties” revival, which originated at the Menier Chocolate Factory, ended its limited West End run on Saturday.)Across the Thames, another actor, also much beloved here, has been bringing exultant life to another of Mr. Stoppard’s unwitting equivocators. That’s Tom Hollander, star of the BBC comedy series “Rev,” who recently appeared (deliciously) as the gay aide-de-camp of Hugh Laurie’s evil arms magnate in the mini-series “The Night Manager.” Mr. Hollander incarnated the fumbling memoirist Henry Carr in Patrick Marber’s seriously silly (or sillily serious) production of Mr. Stoppard’s “Travesties.” (That “Travesties” revival, which originated at the Menier Chocolate Factory, ended its limited West End run on Saturday.)
Henry, at least, has no doubts as to who he is, or was. Maybe. He was, he says, the British Empire’s man in Zurich in 1917, and a close personal friend of James Joyce, Vladimir Lenin and the Dadaist poet Tristan Tzara, who all happened to be there at the same time. And if you would argue that historical data does not support Henry’s account, which brims fulsomely with the misty clichés of biographical writing — well, you’re just being pedantic, aren’t you?Henry, at least, has no doubts as to who he is, or was. Maybe. He was, he says, the British Empire’s man in Zurich in 1917, and a close personal friend of James Joyce, Vladimir Lenin and the Dadaist poet Tristan Tzara, who all happened to be there at the same time. And if you would argue that historical data does not support Henry’s account, which brims fulsomely with the misty clichés of biographical writing — well, you’re just being pedantic, aren’t you?
At a time when cultural and political identity is in disruptive flux in Britain (and most of Europe, and that big place across the Atlantic), Mr. Stoppard’s opalescent uncertainty feels alarmingly on the nose. Past, present and future all look ominously cloudy as forecast by the young, precociously fatalistic Mr. Stoppard.At a time when cultural and political identity is in disruptive flux in Britain (and most of Europe, and that big place across the Atlantic), Mr. Stoppard’s opalescent uncertainty feels alarmingly on the nose. Past, present and future all look ominously cloudy as forecast by the young, precociously fatalistic Mr. Stoppard.
This Czech-born dramatist, who turns (no!) 80 this summer, is now one of his adopted nation’s most eminent men of letters, the author of plays of intellectual and emotional gravitas like “The Invention of Love” and “The Coast of Utopia.” The two early works by him that happily overlapped this season in major London productions are often regarded as the merely playful jeux d’esprit of a giddy lad with an insatiable and compendious mind.This Czech-born dramatist, who turns (no!) 80 this summer, is now one of his adopted nation’s most eminent men of letters, the author of plays of intellectual and emotional gravitas like “The Invention of Love” and “The Coast of Utopia.” The two early works by him that happily overlapped this season in major London productions are often regarded as the merely playful jeux d’esprit of a giddy lad with an insatiable and compendious mind.
Ha! The revelation of revivals by Mr. Leveaux and Mr. Marber is how profoundly touching these plays now feel. As Mr. Stoppard and the fans who have grown up with him edge closer to the void, these early contemplations of being and nothingness resonate with a new quiver.Ha! The revelation of revivals by Mr. Leveaux and Mr. Marber is how profoundly touching these plays now feel. As Mr. Stoppard and the fans who have grown up with him edge closer to the void, these early contemplations of being and nothingness resonate with a new quiver.
What’s more, the kind of self-conscious metatheatrics Mr. Stoppard practiced in these works has become as common as London rain. And all their talk about facts not being, uh, factual? You don’t need me to point out the raging topicality of such speculations.What’s more, the kind of self-conscious metatheatrics Mr. Stoppard practiced in these works has become as common as London rain. And all their talk about facts not being, uh, factual? You don’t need me to point out the raging topicality of such speculations.
I saw “Rosencrantz” and “Travesties” on the same day, fresh off the plane, and I had expected them to be heavy sledding. Instead, these comic fugues on masterpieces of English literature turned out to be perfect fare for a mind wrestling with the distortions of jet lag. I just went with the flow, and oh, the places they took me — from sophomoric sunniness to the shadows of mortality.I saw “Rosencrantz” and “Travesties” on the same day, fresh off the plane, and I had expected them to be heavy sledding. Instead, these comic fugues on masterpieces of English literature turned out to be perfect fare for a mind wrestling with the distortions of jet lag. I just went with the flow, and oh, the places they took me — from sophomoric sunniness to the shadows of mortality.
The actors, as well as their directors, were excellent guides for such long-distance journeys. As Carr, an elderly British bureaucrat who recalls appearing in James Joyce’s production of Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest” as a young man in Zurich, Mr. Hollander wanders through the shifting landscape of a faltering memory.The actors, as well as their directors, were excellent guides for such long-distance journeys. As Carr, an elderly British bureaucrat who recalls appearing in James Joyce’s production of Oscar Wilde’s “The Importance of Being Earnest” as a young man in Zurich, Mr. Hollander wanders through the shifting landscape of a faltering memory.
As he sheds decades, and a ratty dressing gown, to become the way he was, Mr. Hollander’s Carr cuts capers both physical and verbal with his contemporaries Tzara (Freddie Fox), Joyce (Peter McDonald) and Lenin (Forbes Masson), all blissfully dashing and ridiculous. But as Carr keeps reliving his memories — with variations suspiciously informed by the cadences of Wilde — a lost look invades his sparkling eyes. And suddenly you feel bereft for him.As he sheds decades, and a ratty dressing gown, to become the way he was, Mr. Hollander’s Carr cuts capers both physical and verbal with his contemporaries Tzara (Freddie Fox), Joyce (Peter McDonald) and Lenin (Forbes Masson), all blissfully dashing and ridiculous. But as Carr keeps reliving his memories — with variations suspiciously informed by the cadences of Wilde — a lost look invades his sparkling eyes. And suddenly you feel bereft for him.
Mr. Marber, himself a playwright (“Closer”), delivers the music-hall antics of “Travesties” with a joyful flourish. The same love of theatrical horseplay and artifice saturates Mr. Leveaux’s production of “Rosencrantz.”Mr. Marber, himself a playwright (“Closer”), delivers the music-hall antics of “Travesties” with a joyful flourish. The same love of theatrical horseplay and artifice saturates Mr. Leveaux’s production of “Rosencrantz.”
It’s a point of view that registers with antic melancholy in Mr. Radcliffe and Mr. McGuire’s portrayal of the title characters as a comic double act, sealed and doomed in their never-changing routine.It’s a point of view that registers with antic melancholy in Mr. Radcliffe and Mr. McGuire’s portrayal of the title characters as a comic double act, sealed and doomed in their never-changing routine.
Then there’s David Haig’s splendid turn as the leader of the band of traveling players, the same ones who perform the ill-fated “Mousetrap” for the royal court of Elsinore. These old troupers have a firmer sense of who they are than poor Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Slightly, anyway. They really know they exist only if someone’s watching them.Then there’s David Haig’s splendid turn as the leader of the band of traveling players, the same ones who perform the ill-fated “Mousetrap” for the royal court of Elsinore. These old troupers have a firmer sense of who they are than poor Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Slightly, anyway. They really know they exist only if someone’s watching them.
All the same, in ambiguous times, there’s a perverse ecstasy in watching the vagueness and vagaries of others embodied with such triumphant precision by a theater-drunk playwright and his players. O, the prophetic soul of Mr. Stoppard, whose younger self has resurfaced as both the poet laureate and court jester of our addled age of confusion.All the same, in ambiguous times, there’s a perverse ecstasy in watching the vagueness and vagaries of others embodied with such triumphant precision by a theater-drunk playwright and his players. O, the prophetic soul of Mr. Stoppard, whose younger self has resurfaced as both the poet laureate and court jester of our addled age of confusion.