Stage: A precarious friendship

Dear Martin
by Madeleine Brettingham
director Wiebke Green
with Alex Mugnaioni, Ben Simpson, Amelia Donkor, Edward Judge
set/costumes Kit Hinchliffe
sound Julian Starr • lighting Lucía Sánchez Roldán
Arcola Theatre, Dalston • 5-29.Mar.25 ★★★

A gleefully black comedy, this play by veteran TV writer Madeleine Brettingham centres around an unusual connection between two men who are caught in their own precarious situations. It's very funny, eliciting gut-level laughter largely at the offbeat disparity between these characters. And while the tone is arch, with broad performances and eye-catching staging, there are terrific themes running through the interaction. So even if the play never pushes the themes too far, the audience is provoked to consider friendship from an offbeat perspective.

On a white-on-white studio stage augmented by coloured lights, Dave (Ben Simpson) recites a letter he has written to Martin (Alex Mugnaioni), furious that Martin has been engaging in sexually charged correspondence with his wife, who has a history of adultery. Martin's reply oozes with charm and understanding, so Dave goes to visit him in a high-security mental hospital. And there is a clear spark between them. Over the following months, Martin makes a deal to help Martin fix his marriage if Dave convinces prison officials that Martin has an actual friend. But Martin never reveals why he's locked up.

Inventively staged with scenes that dissolve into each other, allowing characters to interact with each other on a range of witty levels, the story moves with propulsive energy, drawing the audience in deeply. These are hugely engaging characters, each with textures that are endearing, infuriating and hilarious. And they're played with out-sized charisma. Mignaioni makes Martin so magnetic that it's impossible to dislike him, even when we begin to understand his psychopathic tendencies. And Simpson gives Dave a relentless open-faced honesty, like a puppy dog whose only desire is to please. Their chemistry is fascinating, even when it drifts over the top.

Side roles provide context and interest, most notably the variety of characters Amelia Donkor disappears into, from Martin's acerbically sceptical doctor to a prostitute Dave attempts to hire on Martin's advice. And Edward Judge makes an impact as Martin's too-cheerful fellow inmate Ben and also as a journalist who attempts to get to the root of Martin's story. Here's where the writing, directing and acting are at their very best: even as we discover Martin's horrific true nature, he becomes increasingly sympathetic, because we are seeing him through Dave's optimistic eyes.

This is a fascinating exploration of what motivates us to make connections with other people, especially those moments when friendships emerge where we least expect them. These ideas add an involving emotional undercurrent to the production, which bristles with visual and verbal energy, including wry moments that involve the audience. And the story is punctuated by inventively edgy moments of drama, humour and intrigue. The overall tone feels rather smug, pleased with each clever turn of phrase or snappy visual beat. But it's also thoroughly entertaining.

For info, ARCOLA THEATRE >

photos by Charlie Flint • 7.Mar.25

Stage: Fear and loathing

The Misandrist
by Lisa Carroll
dir Bethany Pitts
with Elf Lyons, Nicholas Armfield
design Cara Evans
lighting Peter Small
Arcola Theatre, Dalston • 10.May-10.Jun.23

This play's pointed title lurks in the subtext throughout the entire first act, revealing its ugliness only in subtle hints. Then later, it blossoms into a colourful rant of loathing that feels perhaps too deliberately provocative, even as the point is forcefully made. Playwright Lisa Carroll is cleverly depicting, rather than exploring, a collision of gender perspectives. So the play will spark important conversations.

It's a chronicle of a relationship, and it opens with Rachel (Lyons) awkwardly but cutely meeting Nick (Armfield) at a party. Their tentative one-night stand becomes an ongoing sex-based connection, then begins to shift into a relationship. Wounded by her drunken lout of a father and a recent breakup from a guy who cheated on her, Rachel isn't ready to trust the open-hearted nice-guy Nick, so she asks him to trust her instead. He enjoys letting her be dominant, but while she finds the security that's missing from her freelance work-life, he wants more.

Much of the dialog sounds like a stand-up routine, peppered with observational jokes about objects from Tupperware to dildos. And several sequences are actually delivered as stand-up sets, complete with hand-held microphones and spotlights, offering glimpses into how both Rachel and Nick feel about their relationship. This skilfully highlights variations in perspective as well as the truth behind the bravado, but it doesn't offer much actual insight into the characters.

Both actors are excellent, balancing the verbal and physical banter within characters who are both likeable and compelling. Lyons plays up Rachel's sardonic wit and resistance to affection, leading to an astonishing extended monolog that's delivered brilliantly as a spiralling list of grievances that are funny, honest and also rather cheap shots. By contrast, Armfield gives Nick an authenticity that's remarkably endearing. His only flaw is being too accommodating, as it were.

There's a problem with the way all of this comes together, because Rachel's root issues are so specific, and also somewhat obvious, that they eliminate any possible nuance in the narrative. But the staging, with its clever use of lighting, space and props, offers an inventive simplicity that helps the audience look through the material to the ideas underneath. So if the text seems to answer all of the questions it raises, there are plenty of points of identification that will leave us thinking.

For details, visit ARCOLA THEATRE >

photos by Charles Flint • 20.May.23