Radio Plays, 2024
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Please note that newer material is posted at the TOP of the page. Harry Turnbull's Reviews
This is an aural version of a Carly Churchill stage play involving 100 scenes and 50 characters which zones in on the modern information overloaded landscape. Sneezing, sharing a secret, irrational numbers, God, sex and traffic lights float into earshot. It’s a muddled, scrambled, cornucopia of sensations, a conundrum enveloped in ambiguity and cloaked in mystery which communicates a central message that anything Churchillian is beyond reproach.
Competing with the hypnotic, ethereal visuals that the star man brought to the screen in Nic Roeg’s 1976 movie is challenging for a radio adaptation. This version, featuring Christopher Eccleston, has some aural dissonance, notably his faux American accent. At its core, this is a timeless story. It’s not solely a science fiction narrative; it delves into the experience of the outsider, with Harry Treadaway portraying a character who literally feels alienated by the society he finds himself in. He becomes subsumed by its excesses, ultimately falling drunkenly into a world he detests.
A strange, discordant theme tune sounds like a cross between a frog and someone plucking a comb.
Sean Bean donned the crown as King Creon for his first audio drama in twenty-five years in Jean Anouilh’s version of Antigone. Unlike Sophocles' original character, this belligerent sovereign shows a merciful side. However, Antigone, portrayed by the up-and-coming screen actor Rosy McEwan, is in no mood for compromise, even if it seals her fate. This conflict drives the story, which was thoroughly explained with a lengthy introduction from a member of the chorus—something that would have been useful for The Good Soldier (see elsewhere in this column). The Greek tragedy recounts Antigone’s desire to give her dead brother a proper burial against the wishes of the king, symbolizing the relationship between the individual and the State. Observers of Anouilh’s representation have noted its parallels with the hostility between the Nazi occupiers of France and the Resistance. Anouilh often explores themes of martyrdom, as seen in his depictions of towering characters like Thomas Becket and Joan of Arc. Conveying such powerful stories requires not just words but actors who can bring them to life. In Bean and McEwan, we have two compelling adversaries who are quite frightening at full throttle. The King of Thebes, barking at Antigone in a Yorkshire twang, was a reet grand listen, and I half-expected him to tell her to “shut thi’ cakehole” at one point.
I was intrigued to listen to this adaptation, having recently acquired a book about John Le Carré containing previously unpublished material. Adam Sisman’s follow up to his 2015 biography of the spy maestro reveals that Le Carré's go-to book was The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford. It soon became clear why. The story revolves around a patriotic married soldier, Major Ashburnham, who leads a life of complex infidelities. Le Carré himself, it transpires, treated his wives and, in one instance, his best friend, as vehicles for his duplicitous, hypocritical philandering. I’ve no doubt he preened while reading about Major Ashburnham’s irresistible allure to women, despite many wondering why. I found Le Carré's secret life so distasteful that I now look at the Le Carré shelf on my bookcase and contemplate a bonfire of moralities. But then again, who shall cast the first stone? I suppose we all harbour things better left unsaid. But back to Ford Madox Ford’s tale of betrayal. This is one of those stories that demands familiarity because I found it challenging to follow the plot in this broadcast. The Good Soldier is a complicated affair involving two couples entangled in cross-relationship treachery and various other shenanigans. The book itself is led by an unreliable narrator and is full of non-linear passages and flashbacks, making it no easy feat to reproduce faithfully in a radio drama. Despite the complexities, Baczkiewicz’s adaptation captures the essence of Ford’s intricate narrative, though listeners unfamiliar with the original work might struggle to keep up.
In his later years, Henrik Ibsen transitioned from realism to a more symbolic style, creating characters who strive to ascend towers, build castles in the air, or reach personal nirvana by scaling mountains. His final play, When We Dead Awaken, fittingly culminates on a mountain, where the artist Rubek and his muse Irene disappear into the clouds amidst a storm. The challenge of depicting an avalanche on stage might explain why this work is less frequently produced than Ibsen’s more famous pieces. This theatre of the mind may be better suited to radio, where a soundscape could recreate the atmosphere Ibsen intended and here eerie music and whistling mountain winds provide an evocative backdrop. Devoted Ibsen enthusiasts will recognize that through Rubek, Ibsen reflects on his own artistic achievements and potential failures. As this story unfolds there are strong suggestions that Irene, Rubek’s former model who reappears in a hillside spa town, might actually be dead—and perhaps Rubek is too. The climax sees the pair deciding to ascend a nearby peak together, seeking some sort of spiritual and emotional rebirth. Simultaneously, Rubek’s wife Maia and a gruffly spoken outdoor guide, Ulfheim, embark on their own ascent, symbolizing Maia’s desire to escape her oppressive marriage.
A Scottish swashbuckler sets the Lowlands alight. The RS Crockett tale of a young man with an older mentor caught between clans inevitably draws comparisons with his contemporary Stevenson’s more famous tale Kidnapped. One is struck forcibly by the old Scots vernacular although our hero Patrick Heron is called variously Patrick, Peytrick, and Petrick. Whether the brogue is authentic is not for these ears to determine, even though my lineage traces directly to Robert the Bruce's right hand man William Rule. One familiar trait of the adventure story is present of course, the implausible event that comes to the rescue of our hero. Still, it’s a rattling good listen for fans of Scott, Buchan and haggis toasties.
What a strange world this is. When I roamed the plains of West Lancashire as a reporter responsible for urgent matters like the price of potatoes and Fat Cows this sort of incident would have seen local journalists scrambling for copy like vultures around a lion kill. Perhaps some hacks might wake up for Alice the scapegoat’s crown court performance unless George turns himself in. @Turnbullissimo
IS MAMET'S BATTLE OF THE SEXES ON THE RIGHT WAVELENGTH?
An Audio Drama North production Can a stage play truly be transplanted into the heads of a purely listening audience without major surgery? David Mamet’s vicious two-hander Oleanna provokes that question after being converted into a theatre of the mind for BBC Radio 3. Stage adaptations are invariably underpinned by visual cues such as vexatious expression, the decoding of body language and the notion that clothing can evoke emotions in others. But this first-ever radio adaptation has none of these characteristics to draw upon, and indeed goes further, removing classic music and sound effects so often associated with the aural medium. This extraordinary departure from convention leaves vocal inflexion, tonality and language to drive sensory perception. Mamet’s university campus conflict pits older white male academic John against Bolshy young student Carol. The pair clash in a battle of postmodern feminism reflective of the 1980s, a period just prior to the playwright’s authorship of this work. Mark Bonner and Cecilia Appiah perform the two parts in American accents although there seems no clear reason why that should be the case. The listener is confronted with no more than these two voices and a noiseless background. All that is added is John's office phone ringtone and some fluting music to delineate the three acts. There are no radio-drama 'visual clues' in the script. So, we can hear how the actors sound but how do they look? Is the professor in a woolly jumper and pipe or in a smart shirt and tie? Is he bald or dark and tall? Is she in jeans or a mini skirt, pigtailed or behatted? Our mind deciphers and concludes based on our own experiences, and without transparent directions we are presented with the ultimate test of the imagination, creating a world in our mind’s eye. This simplifies matters, focusing entirely on the dialogue between the pair which starts as a chat about grades before eventually flaring into a struggle of power and gender dynamics. On hearing the increasingly urgent exchanges I wondered whether modern audiences would be as outraged as those in 1992 appeared to be. Women were up in arms at Carol’s diminution as a freethinking individual whilst men howled at the idea an accusation without trial was enough to convict. Of course so-called cancel culture makes that latter notion almost de rigueur these days. Even so, this stripped-down cadaver of a production exudes a growing sense of brooding disquiet as it becomes clear it is coming to life in the manner of Frankenstein's monster. The story opens in the professor’s office where Carol has arrived to discuss a poor grade but he is involved in a loud phone conversation about a house purchase. The contrast is immediate and jarring to us, for no one on either side of the student-tutor divide these days would find a personal phone call taking precedence over a discussion of coursework. At various stages the professor is interrupted but declines to take the old landline phone off the hook. The scene has been set - we infer his business is very important. As the exchanges unfold we start to understand what is happening but how does it differ to what might happen now? Having just finished university I can appreciate that on one hand we have the professor, all white privilege and worrying about saying the wrong thing and on the other the empowered student. I recall what seemed an amusing exchange when a student declared in class that he/she/they was thinking of changing gender. The lecturer looked troubled as if encountering a plumbing problem he had no idea how to fix. Some academics may navigate the world through carefully constructed language that ensures the sesquipedalian is king, until confronted with their own linguistic frailties. Carol begins hesitant and unsure but evolves, verbally unfurling a feminist banner as she shifts from dark to light, a phantasmagorical figure intent on eclipsing the symbol of privilege and superiority that hampers her progress. Emboldened by her initial complaint about inappropriate behaviour being upheld she goes further, claiming a charge of rape could be brought against the professor who pressed against her while bundling her out of his office. The twin protagonists Bonner and Appiah pair, out of his office but offering a sop, suggesting certain books be withdrawn including his own. Towards the denouement the professor concedes, realising his Tenure and secure future is at risk. However the idea of his book being removed sparks a descent into a violently verbal pas de deux.
In the book by Helon Habila one of the two journalists who feature in this story of the Niger delta in Africa reflects that 'the story is not always the final goal.' A peculiar comment given that every news editor I ever had preached exactly the opposite and would sling a barrage of expletives your way if you didn’t bring home the story (it was the the days before Wokery and Snowflakes). So Habila often uses the journalist not just as observer and recorder but as moral delineater. A part of Nigeria ravaged in so many different way by oil extraction is the backdrop to this tale of a grizzled reporter and his junior sidekick on the trail of a kidnapped Englishwoman. The landscape, communities and wildlife have been pillaged while rebel groups vie for power. But this adaptation doesn’t simply reflect the harsh reality but rather meanders in a thoughtful way as the newsmen Zaq and Rufus take a trip down river in a reflective Conradesque-style journey. I wondered whether this more philosophical approach to an action led story had missed the point, so I put it to the book author Professor Habila of George Mason University: ‘You are right because I think they could have done more to emphasize the environmental themes of the book. But you are wrong because you really cannot separate theme from content that easily: when the Major pours petrol on the heads of Michael and Tamuno, for instance, it says a lot about the Niger Delta and the environment. The fact of the kidnapping itself speaks volumes about the Niger Delta crisis. ‘Could they have done more? Yes. But, I think they did a magnificent job given the limited resources they had to work with.’ The veteran Zaq is played by Cyril Nri, his deep bass voice resonating with the soundscape while Idris Debrand is the younger Rufus whose youthful idealism is quickly tested.
The title of this work references the possibility of sugar plantations in the Caribbean being usurped by cannabis cultivation. Sadly this particular aural dish is more sour than sweet and fails to convey a true picture of societal changes in the West Indies. The story contends that mass cultivation of medicinal hemp by corporations is a form of new Colonialism and disenfranchising the Rasta ganja growers. Yorkshire lass Alexandra Mardell is the idealist daughter of a Windrush deportee who snags a job with a U.S corporation to market the product only to quit on principle. It may have had more resonance if the full story had been told; that the Barbadian government has strived to ensure local businesses are in the supply chain and that pot has essentially been decriminalised to prevent Rastas being unfairly treated. In addition they could have explored the current sugar industry, the drop in foreign exports hitting GDP and the stratospheric explosion of diabetes due to terrible diets rather than throwing out the predictable Colonial tropes. The sub-plot about Windrush is clunky, doesn't fit the overarching narrative and appears to be just another lazy Brit - bashing episode. Or maybe that should be English bashing as this is a Drama Scotland production.
Some adaptations face an uphill struggle when an iconic screen version is branded into the collective consciousness. Well, certainly in the case of those of us of more advanced years. Probably less applicable to the younger audience for whom a reference to Noel Coward and Alec Guiness may be irrelevant. Graham Greene wrote this Cold War satire set in Cuba after experiencing some of the absurdities of the intelligence services at first hand. In this recreation Rory Kinnear is Wormwold, a vacuum cleaner salesman persuaded to spy for MI6 by the prospect of money rather than for Queen and country. It is the old story of an ordinary man catapulted into extraordinary circumstances but finding himself only able to deliver fantasies to satisfy his spymasters. The atmosphere of 1950s Havana is conjured up by Latina sounds and the menacing tones of the police chief played by Michael Bertenshaw. There is a contemporary dissonance in the shape of his pursuit of Wormwood's school age daughter but of course at the time such matters were not considered unethical. Miles Jupp hops in and out as the handler Hawthorne who is duped into believing sketches of a super duper new vacuum machine are actually a nuclear installation. Naturally the soundtrack reverberates with Buena Vista Social Club type vibes.
Mike Walker conjures up another audio slice of history storytelling about a ruling dynasty. What I like about these serials is the informative element as well as the entertainment. In the past he has conjured all sorts of dynastic delights including series about the Plantaganets, the Stuarts and the Habsburgs. The first of the six episodes was actually written by Catherine Johnson and features the dark tale of Alessandro, the Black Prince of Florence. This is the second series featuring the influential banking family who flourished in Renaissance Florence and who were at the epicentre of political power, art and moneymaking. Although each episode is being broadcast on Sunday afternoon all are already available on BBC Sounds.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much vitriol and contempt for current storylines. Of course there was a time when there were platforms such as Archers Addicts that were either officially endorsed or very much part of the feedback loop but the BBC has closed the door on audience engagement. The danger of sometimes relying on social media to keep up with storylines is the element of exaggeration you encounter but even so developments are somewhat unexpected…….Pip Archer turning lesbian, the Horrorbin kids virtuous and academic, sadistic Rob Titchener dead but his legacy very much alive. Some things never change though, the Grundys are still getting a kicking.
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