Top Girls

After watching the disappointing Phaedra’s Love, I was almost grateful to return to the more traditional theatre venue of Trafalgar Studios to view Caryl Churchill’s Top Girls.  I wasn’t sure how I would react to this play; again the thematic elements of the play intrigued me but, through experience, I understood how vital performance would be in bringing the plot to life.  I was relieved as I took my seat and noticed the considerable improvements in set design and especially costume in comparison to Phaedra’s Love.  Unfortunately, as acceptable as the performances were this time, I sat in my seat in sheer boredom from the opening act.  Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood for a play that night, or maybe I was unprepared for the density of Churchill’s message.  In either case, I found myself to be utterly apathetic and at times considered walking out during both intermissions.

For me, the greatest problem with the play was it felt like I was watching a glorified soap opera.  Though I understood why the first act, the dream sequence in which famous women from history dine with Marlene to celebrate her promotion, was appropriate, it dragged on considerably.  I appreciated the animated conversation between the cast and respected the intricacies of the overlapping dialogue but it was the actual script that pulled me away from the play.  Simply put, I felt it was dull, tedious, and ultimately preachy.  I could hear the sighs of fatigue in the audience and my patience was quickly dwindling.

After the first intermission, my disinterest was slightly alleviated as the second act takes place in reality.  I decided to give the play another chance and it redeemed itself to a certain extent.  The character Angie was well played and her exchanges with her younger friend, Kit, were slightly amusing.  Most impressive was how organic the interviews conducted by Marlene and the potential employees were; they seemed to reflect quite accurately the economic and social climate of the time and the ruthlessness of it all felt very real.  It is through these interviews that the various obstacles women face is portrayed, and I enjoyed the realism of it all.  Though I felt it was overly political at times, I realized I had a sense of appreciation for Churchill’s desire to put this on stage so clearly.  I began to let go and immerse myself in the play but I felt myself quickly pull away as scenes continued to drag on.  It felt like every scene was collapsing on itself as it tried too hard emphasizing the ideals of the playwright.

I thought the end of the play, the encounter between Marlene and her sister Joyce summarized Churchill’s purpose sufficiently.  The scene was intense and incredibly dramatic, but this time there was credibility.  Unlike the actors and characters of Phaedra’s Love, there was absolutely chemistry between the sisters.  What made this scene the most successful above all others is the tension between the sisters was justifiably built up throughout the play.  Overall, this tedious play was saved by great performances and my admiration for its aspirations and influence.

Phaedra's Love

Admittedly, I was genuinely hyped up for this play; the purported rawness of in-yer-face theatre actually had me excited for what this rendition of Sarah Kane’s Phaedra’s Love had to offer.  I hadn’t learned of Sarah Kane until class that day, but her reputation as a dauntless playwright who explored unconventional and often controversial themes provoked my curiosity.  This was definitely heightened by the idea that these themes wouldn’t be expressed timidly on stage; I was prepared to be shocked and mesmerized by this gritty theatre style that was entirely inconsistent with my presumed notions of traditional theatre.

Performed at the Arcola Theatre, I was honestly in slight disbelief at how unimpressive and bare the entrance was, but my relatively high expectations for the play didn’t wane yet.  The actual theatre and stage setup seemed unrefined and scant; albeit appropriate I suppose to accentuate a dreary atmosphere to prepare the audience for the crude material that would soon follow.  I took my seat, top center, giving me what I assumed would be a great view of everything that would transpire on stage.  The ritualistic use of curtains to signal the beginning and end of plays was replaced by Nicholas Shaw, who plays Hippolytus, already in character sitting amongst piles of garbage, eating McDonalds and watching what sounded like Scarface, which I found amusing.  It reminded me that this was going to be an unorthodox theatre-going experience and I was ready to give it my undivided attention.  Unfortunately, what followed was a profoundly bland and tedious performance.

Essentially, the greatest problem with this version of Phaedra’s Love lies in the actor’s performances.  There was a sense of total lack of chemistry between the actors and I couldn’t get past the fact.  Particularly in the exchanges between Hippolytus and Phaedra; every line felt forced and lifeless.  Kane’s plays, as I understood, are supposed to be bold and confident but these actors invoke none of that.  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see through the monotony in which every line was delivered.  As the play continued, I became progressively less convinced of the purpose behind any of the interactions and reactions of the characters and the plot became increasingly nonsensical and almost laughable.  I couldn’t feel or even comprehend this supposed passion and irresistible lust Phaedra had for her step-son.  Many scenes felt unnecessary, as if they were added in simply for shock value, such as the scene when the priest gives Hippolytus a blowjob.  Not even the end mob/riot scene was convincing.  Undoubtedly dark and pretty graphic, it still looked like a bunch of confused teenagers making noise as they ran in circles.  It felt too systematic instead of chaotic.  Is this what was supposed to disturb and intimidate me?  Random, unconvincing blowjobs, semi-graphic violence, and curse words in poetic dialogue?

What made director Bronwenn Carr’s interpretation of this play inferior was it lacked any meaning and this undermines the purpose of Kane’s work.  My last thoughts walking out were simply, “That’s it?”