The Writer - Almeida

This is a ridiculous comparison

As people constantly get up and come in and out at the cinema

And walk about

Also the seats are a lot more comfortable in the cinema

Like leather car seats

It’s silly to compare cinema to theatre

Sitting in the cinema is a lot more comfortable more leg room


Have a chat

Eat food have drinks

Not sitting on rock hard benches

Crammed next to BO stinking people

Reviews on here are mixed. The two hours without interval puts me off but I am still looking forward to seeing this...if I can get a ticket.

Just had to return a great middle row J £28 ticket for tonight’s sold out performance so call the BO and grab it if you want to see it cheaper

The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse and the gallery of the Theatre Royal Haymarket have rock-hard benches. And even theatres that have lovely plush seats just don't quite hold a comfort candle to my local multiplex.

You might get a couple of people per screening leaving partway through the feature to go to the loo (or wherever); as a cinema showing is generally less well sold than a theatrical performance, it's hard to say if you would get a couple of people leaving for an early toilet break during any film or play, or if it's a percentage of the audience, therefore there would be many more leaving during a theatrical performance if similarly confronted with a two hour show with no clear toilet break.

Are you kidding? I CONSTANTLY eat at the cinema, and I'm absolutely not the only one. Concessions are where cinemas make the bulk of their money, so they like it when people buy popcorn/nachos/drinks. They don't like it when people smuggle them in, but given the prices, a lot of people do go for that option, so even people unwilling to purchase snacks at the cinema will often still be eating. I don't eat at the theatre (I occasionally remember a chocolate bar in my bag at the interval, but not during the performance), but you are definitely going to some odd cinemas if there aren't a decent number of your fellow audience members merrily snacking away.

I'm also on 1500+ trips to the theatre (over the last 14 years rather than 30 though) and have only ever once encountered truly offensive body odour, at The Exorcist. It wouldn't have been so bad if the gentleman in question had just kept fairly still, but he was a terrible fidget and I got a proper whiff every time he shifted in his seat. I agree that theatre-goers are no more likely than cinema-goers to smell bad, but I'm usually more likely to be sat nearer people when at the theatre than when at the cinema.

I couldn't say if cinema-goers or theatre-goers are more likely to talk. I've experienced quietly respectful audiences in both venues, and I've encountered people who'd have been better off staying out in the bar so the actors wouldn't have been interrupting their conversation so much in both venues.

"I must have seen 1500-2000 plays in the past 30 years and have never been offended at someone's smell"

I wish I had such luck

Oops! I worded that post rather badly, didn’t I? Of course I don’t think Theatre is heavyweight and film lightweight. My perception is that the way I process each art form is different. Theatre by it’s nature and aits most basic (words spoken in a black box) makes demands on my listening and imagination that I think is different to film. A bit like when I read a poem I often have to read in a different way to how I read a novel. Any reception theory experts on here would be welcome but perhaps we should do this on a different thread so that people can discuss The Writer on here

Well. I think this can be filed under 'hot mess'. I did not have a clue what it was about. I think it might have been being lesbian gets you a nicer house but I'm not altogether sure. There was also a moment I got confused and thought I might have stumbled into 'Tipping The Velvet' but that soon passed.

On the plus side there were a lovely pair of pink velvet chairs on show plus a nice drinks trolley (although I think the gin was Gordon's so clearly the budget had been spent in Ann Summers rather than upgrading to Sipsmith) which rather made one wish there was an interval. Plus there was a cute baby (a real one) to distract you momentarily, an amusing dance break and a couple of rather noisy orgasms which makes you glad you don't live next door to the cast.

Oh and remind me not to accept an invitation to Samuel West's house for dinner. I don't think cassoulet is one of his signature dishes.

Yes.  The noise Goold makes about something at the Almeida (see that initial tweet) is of course advertising, not criticism.

Saw this last night. Can't believe I was in the same room as RYAN!




Wow, were you there last night! I was partially restricted, at the back of the stalls. Wish I could have spotted you.

Please don't file this under "Hot Mess." Hickson's previous play, "Hot Mess" is already on file, and it's confusing to file another play under "Hot Mess" for an author who has actually written a play called "Hot Mess" lol.

Warning, Experimental Theatre! Warning, Experimental Theatre!

This warning is for those who don't like that sort of thing, as choices are too many, and life is too short to go to this if you don't. You like Tim Crouch? See this. You like latter day Caryl Churchill, with a soupcon of early Churchill, see this. Those names bother you, don't!

Overall, I loved this. On the minus side, this play's internal logic is not rigorous enough for my taste, certainly not as rigorous as Tim Crouch always is, more a reflection of the meandering ideas that spin around all day, in all our heads, than a shaping of that meandering into artistic direction. On the plus side, this exploration of the meaning of art, and the meaning of femininity, is very meta, very involving, very well acted, exciting to watch, and never ever boring.

Spoilers follow. . .

I think Ella Hickson is a very honest person (I remember how she once declared that she felt sorry for boy writers cos they get ignored, while girl writers get all the buzz, a statement so naive, specific and honest, that I felt, I'll always trust this person), and, so too, here, from scene to scene, she takes us through The Writer's struggle for the meaning of what it is to be a woman (and a white woman), and what it is to be an artist, in an utterly honest, open, inquisitive, meta way that the journey here is always stimulating.

From Tim Crouch, she cribs her title and starting point: the first two scenes feel like a direct response to Crouch's "The Author," in which he analysed the morality and audience-stimulating intent of exploitation in theatre. For example, Hickson asks us specifically what the point of Laura Wade's "Posh" was, if the Hooray Henrys depicted were the ones who enjoyed the play the most?

So too from Crouch does Hickson crib techniques, such as blurring the boundaries of who is the audience and who is an actor, like showing us the construction of stages (complete with the presence of stagehands), like showing us actors acting, contrasted with the characters they are supposed to be acting, and again from Crouch, she doubles down on his disconcerting audience-awakening naturalism-distorting technique of throwing in a random unselfconscious child, by not only giving us a genuine baby, but by pointing out the baby's real mother at the side of the stage.

In all this, she seeks to throw us out of fiction, and make US part of the questioning that her own avatar, Romola Garai's Writer struggles with throughout the play.

All four actors channeling this questioning are fabulous: with Garai impassioned, disconsolate and lost, Lara Rossi sometimes hot, sometimes cold, always deliberate, Michael Gould patriarchal and smarmily knowing, and Samuel West also patriarchal but lost as hell.

After the first two scenes, Hickson veers from Crouch's meticulous play construction to a more open desperate, meandering questioning of artistic existence. The spirit of Caryl Churchill, and her relentless deconstruction of femininity, possesses Hickson's Writer when a flight of fantasy depicts her search for a core identity, apart from her female body, apart from breasts and bum. I was reminded of the work RashDash have done in coming to terms with the meaning of their physical bodies. As in the TV Show, "The Voice," the sense of sight is withdrawn from players and audience to imagine such an identity, apart from body. This central flight of fantasy is a pivot, only illuminated by a design that fascinatingly flashes female curves of light absolutely everywhere.

This play is ever fascinating, ever open, ever honest, ever vulnerable, always compelling, but ultimately it lacks the searing insights of Tim Crouch into the questions it is asking. For some, that may be a plus. Not for me.

I'm feeling 3 and a half stars, but I'm saying 4 stars anyway, because I know from experience that works of this (inquisitive and experimental) kind grow in stature in the memory, for me!*

*(I rated Tim Crouch's "Adler and Gibb" 4 and a half stars at the Royal Court, BUT now feel it was a solid gold 5 stars, and one of the best things I've ever seen. Recalling how the fake news of the film-within-the-film felt more true than the reality of the actors apparently recording it, how Denise Gough's entertainment-driven power-obsessed amoral Trumpesque psychopath was slowly constructed from stillness, to slow movements and faltering language, to her full reptilian monstrous malignity, I feel that Crouch effectively foretold everything pertinent about Trump, fake news, and the role of distraction and entertainment in fuelling and bolstering him. Effectively, Crouch was a seer, where Hickson is ordinary, like the rest of us lol).

Brilliantly perceptive review Steve and Crouch/Churchill/Rashdash is ticking a lot of boxes here. Adler & Gibb, by the way, played at the Unicorn in a revised version and Crouch is writing quite a lot of new work for younger audiences, his play 'Beginners' having just finished there as well. I'm sure he finds it refreshing to have an audience that doesn't arrive with so much baggage.

Oh P, Vuitton? I expected more from you.