I have moved.

I've been lucky enough to see quite a lot of theatre in a short space of time recently. Creditors on Saturday with Maxine was the last play I'll be seeing for a while (at the moment anyway), and it was very much the icing on the cake. I had quite high expectations, and they were fulfilled.

Creditors was written by Strindberg in 1888, and was, in part, influenced by Ibsen's play Rosmersholm, specifically his exploration of the potentially destructive power of suggestion (at least, this is according to my undergraduate dissertation, which I wrote on representations of women in the work of Ibsen and Strindberg, through a comparison of six of their plays. I read over it briefly again on Sunday. My main verdict was that I hoped the version I have saved on this laptop was not my final version, as it would definitely have benefited from a good edit). As four years had passed since I wrote about it, I went in to see it with only a hazy remembrance of the details (although they did gradually come back to me as I was watching the play).

I'm not sure, when I studied it, whether I appreciated just how brilliantly structured this play is. I'm also not sure, having not compared translations, if it was brilliantly structured from the outset, or whether David Grieg's translation, and Alan Rickman's direction, improved it. Whatever the case, it was a thrill to watch. The opening dialogue in which Adolf (magnificently played by Tom Burke), a vulnerable artist waiting in a hotel room (a beautiful, clean white set) for his wife Tekla to return, pours his heart out to a stranger, Gustav (Owen Teale, also a great performance), was totally compelling. Gustav, unbeknownst to Adolf, was newly established novelist Tekla (Anna Chancellor)'s ex-husband. He transformed from a welcome confidant into a manipulative menace, clearly out to damage Tekla, the woman who abandoned him, and her new, young husband. By the end of the scene, he exerted complete control over Adolf, convincing him, amongst other things, that he had epilepsy, that Tekla did not love him, and that he should not sleep with her for a year. Creditors is known as a tragicomedy, and the tone was most certainly in keeping with this; despite the maliciousness of Gustav's intent, the audience often laughed at his bordering on melodramatic comments; not to mention the ridiculousness of some clearly misogynistic lines.

The first scene was not only riveting in itself, but the image of Tekla presented throughout as a manipulative, fickle, sensual and dangerous woman made me desperate for her to appear on stage. When she did in the next scene with Adolf, it was not disappointing. She was definitely sensual; but the line between affection for Adolf and controlling him as if he were a child seemed blurred, rather than presenting her as clearly dominating. Adolf struggled throughout the scene to establish control over her in the way that Gustav had advised him to; but his efforts became gradually more futile: whilst he appeared to be crumbling mentally and physically from apparent frustration and anxiety over their marriage, Tekla seemed simply confused by his behaviour and just wanted him to be normal again.  This seemed to absolve her from the comments that the men had made about her somewhat; although Adolf perceived an intellectual difference between them (at one point he commented exasperatedly that she can only play one note, whereas he is aware of nuances and undertones).

In the third, and final part of the play, Adolf left to 'get some air', and Gustav entered the room 'by chance'. After behaving in a convincingly humble and compassionate way, he almost managed to seduce Tekla. He assured her, when she worried aloud, that she was not hearing movements outside the door ("it's just a dog locked in a room"). But after a slight flaw in something he said, she caught onto the fact that he had seen Adolf previously, and it became clear that he was the reason Adolf had behaved in such a strange and tormented way. Gustav transformed, once again, this time very powerfully, into a man overflowing with the venom of years of internalised rage and agony. Tekla then opened the door to find Adolf outside, having heard the whole scene, shivering, ruined, and apparently on the point of death. She took him in her arms, knelt on the floor, and cradled his head, as Gustav said, "she really does love him. Poor woman!" Some reviewers have commented that the ending is melodramatic; but for me it was a moment of genuine tenderness, all the more potent for the absence of it until then. From the point of Gustav's second transformation, actually, I felt I'd been kicked in the gut: the play had built so steadily and perfectly to this emotional climax. Had there been no one else around me, I probably would've bawled like a baby. The most astonishing thing is that all this was packed into ninety minutes.

I wish I'd been able to see this production when I studied it. I also wish I'd seen Rosmersholm at the Almeida back in May: I think it might similarly have clarified and brought to life the play text for me in a way that even the closest studying can't quite achieve.

I used to work hard and think hard, and never tire; now, I neither do anything nor think anything, and I am weary, body and soul.
- Ivanov

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After a few months of theatre drought (and drought of most other exciting cultural events), I'm pretty spoiled in that area at the moment. Last weekend I saw Tom Stoppard's translation of Ivanov, part of the Donmar in the West End series, which was hugely enjoyable, mostly for its crackling pace and wit. At times it became farcical, but in an excellently handled way.

This isn't to say that there was none of the inevitable Chekhovian sense of futility and despair that tends to preoccupy his characters (and which, I have to say, is one of the reasons why I have a soft spot for Chekhov) - in fact, comedy and tragedy seemed to be balanced very well. However, like London Theatregoer I did find myself, at times, wondering exactly why Ivanov was the way he was. He told us, but I found it hard to accept just from telling and not showing (although, because I was enjoying the play so much, I did manage to push this to the back of my mind).

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This weekend I made a swift trip to Bristol to see Filter's version of Twelfth Night, which is one of my favourite Shakespeare plays. It was generally an energetic and enjoyable production. I admired their use of multimedia and high-tech gadgets (as I did with Water), and the fact that they played their own live music, which reminded me of Kneehigh at times.

They played up the drinking/partying scenes with Sir Andrew and Sir Toby, even dragging several audience members on stage to join in, and playing Butt Head between themselves and the audience (had no idea what that game was actually called until I Googled 'velcro hat balls'). I hadn't expected such a lot of audience involvement (although I suppose the quite casual and open-plan layout of the Tobacco Factory encourages it), and felt a tad exposed as they didn't turn the lights off above the seating at all. Ferdy Roberts was excellent as Malvolio, embodying firstly his puritanism and, even more so, his, er, pleasure when he believes that Olivia is in love with him (the yellow stockings were joined by yellow hotpants and nothing else). The rest of the cast were fantastic, too. The only problem was that, although I enjoyed the messiness and raucousness of it all to an extent, the story sometimes felt somewhat muddled and unclear; especially at the beginning, and towards the end, as Viola and Sebastian were played by one actor.

I've also just booked tickets to see Love's Labour's Lost this week (which has had rave reviews), and am looking forward to Creditors next weekend (ditto). I'd also like to see Othello, but don't know if I'll manage to fit it in.

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Finally, I was quite excited when I read that the British Library have released some new CDs of (mostly) dead writers talking (when they were alive, of course).