Review: A Dangerous Method ***

When thinking of Freud, one thing springs to mind – sex, and lots of it. But horror king David Cronenberg’s biopic of the famed psychoanalyst and his work with Carl Jung is hardly the raunchy tale of lust one might have imagined.

The film centres around Sabina Spielrein (Keira Knightley), a patient at the mental hospital where Jung (Michael Fassbender) works. Far from the prim and pouty Knightley we are used to seeing, her Spielrein is haunted and disturbing, grappling with her sadistic sexual desires and seeking solace in the words – and bed – of her doctor. Her affair with Jung quickly sours when his reputation gets tarnished by their dalliance, and she writes to his contemporary, Freud (Viggo Mortensen), asking if she may study alongside him.

The simmering tensions between Jung and Freud reach boiling point when Spielrein comes between them, distancing herself from her past as an institutionalised schizophrenic and proving to be an astute psychoanalyst. But Jung, encouraged by patient and fellow doctor Otto Gross (the inimitable Vincent Cassel), cannot shake his longing for Spielrein, and further abandons his former strict monogamy after she leaves the clinic. Freud cannot forgive Jung’s lack of professionalism towards his female patient, and their subsequent encounters are fraught.

Mortensen is superbly subtle as Freud, and Fassbender delivers an assured performance as the creator of ‘the talking cure.’ But whilst the performances are strong, the film as a whole is missing a certain spark. The stunning scenery does not compensate for the fact that the script simply does not translate well to the big screen, and would work far better in its original play format. There is much potential for greatness within its framework, but aside from Knightley’s disturbing facial expressions, the vast majority of the film is forgettable.

Review: The Children’s Hour ***

 The stage is awash with talent in The Children’s Hour. Lillian Hellman’s tale of lies, love and betrayal is set against the unforgiving backdrop of New England in the 1930s, and Keira Knightley and Elisabeth Moss (of Mad Men fame) breathe life into this fraught production.

They play two schoolmistresses whose lives are torn apart when a troublesome teen in their charge spreads a rumour that they are having illicit relations. Their world soon crumbles around them as they become embroiled in a legal battle, and are forced to watch the school they have painstakingly built fall to its knees.

Throughout the damage and destruction that this mistruth creates, culprit Mary remains the only character to emerge entirely unscathed, and it is Bryony Hannah’s portrayal of the misguided youth that truly steals the show. Her manipulation, deceit and general loathsomeness are truly astonishing.

It is not director Ian Rickson’s revival that slows the performance, but rather the script itself. This subtlety was of course vital being written at a time when homosexuality could not be mentioned onstage in New York at all, but it is perhaps too muted for a modern audience. The leads do not come into their own until the second act, by which point emotions run so high that they verge on the implausibly melodramatic.

The show is well acted for the most part, but Hellman’s own confusion over what message she is trying to convey blurs what could easily be a slick storyline. The uneasy flitting between themes of false accusations and moral culpability underwhelm the audience, as does the bland staging. There are certainly powerful moments throughout, but a tale of misjudged lesbian lust would perhaps have more potency when written outside of the social constraints of early modern America.

Has Hollywood killed the West End star?

Being back on my home turf for the Easter holidays can mean only one thing: theatre, and lots of it. There’s something about the stage that always seems so alluring in London, and the adverts that adorn the walls as you bumpily ascend the Underground’s escalators are a constant reminder of what’s on offer. With so much to see, and so little time, I opted for a just a few shows that looked promising (and offered much appreciated student deals).

But what struck me upon making my bookings was not what, but who, I was paying to see. In each show was at least one star of film or television, and this makes me wonder whether or not this celebrity invasion is a positive move for London’s theatre.

It’s not as though I’ve never seen Hollywood’s exports on the West End stage, but the somewhat frightening frequency with which they are popping up is something I could not have predicted.  Two years ago, I broached this subject with a Time Out critic, who agreed that this intrusion was dulling the shine of undiscovered stage talent. Rather than nurturing unknowns who aspire to one day play Hamlet at the National, theatre executives are cutting out the middle man and employing well-known stars to do it instead. Step forward Jude Law, David Tennant et al.

This certainly isn’t to say that a film or television personality is incapable of producing a fantastic stage performance, and I have seen several big names which are a testament to this. What this does say, however, is that aspiring young talent is being left by the wayside in favour of them, and hugely skewing the future landscape of theatre in the process.

Something that has perhaps blurred the lines between screen and stage is the television searches that seek to find a new West End star. Lord of the musicals Andrew Lloyd Webber has been behind four series of talent competitions that offer a highly coveted leading stage role to the winner, and this seems to be playing a considerable part in affecting what audiences will pay to see. Recognisability – that which we judge the levels of celebrity upon – has become essential for London theatre.

But what it is doing for me, in all honesty, is quite the reverse. Flare Path, Terrence Rattigan’s 1940s love story, is currently playing at the Haymarket Theatre to positive reviews. But there’s one stipulation. Sienna Miller’s in it. I have nothing against her, and am sure that she is more than capable of a decent performance, but much as I want to see the play itself, I feel as though I am selling out somewhat if I purchase a ticket. I want to see a Rattigan play, not a Rattigan play with an A list star in it, but it seems as though the two are becoming synonymous.

I will undoubtedly seem rather hypocritical when I confess that I have tickets to see Keira Knightley in The Children’s Hour next week, and even more so when I indulge that I saw her on stage last year in The Misanthrope. Largely unconvinced by her as a film actress, I was pleasantly surprised by her performance, but I must reiterate that I first and foremost went to the show to experience some Molière. Desire to see the plays themselves should come first, and the Hollywood name tag second, but this order has become confused for the modern theatre-goer.

I could produce a considerable list of A list stars who I have seen giving convincing theatrical performances, but a far greater one of those who have not first dipped their toes into the Hollywood pool of fame. The saying goes that there is no substitute for real talent, but for theatre executives wanting to make a quick buck, it seems that a celebrity name will do. I guess that’s show business.