What a return for the play of the century!
Jerusalem (Apollo Theatre, London)
Verdict: Turn of the century ★★★★★ Middle (Dorfman, National Theatre) ★★★☆☆
Verdict: Sweet to middling
Thirteen years since he first cleaned up at awards ceremonies on both sides of the Atlantic, Mark rylance is back as rural reprobate Johnny ‘rooster’ Byron in Jez Butterworth’s theatrical masterpiece, Jerusalem. And what a blast it remains.
now 62, rylance can still do a handstand in a horse trough and follow that by swallowing a raw egg, milk and vodka to cure his character’s morning hangover.
Some hail Butterworth’s Wiltshire-set pastoral comedy as the play of the century, but rylance’s performance as the ne’er-dowell hero is surely also the turn of the century. it’s a harley-Davidson of a role, throbbing with disreputable joy.
Living in a rusty chrome caravan in a leafy glade filled with mouldy sofas, rylance’s rooster is a flamboyant bum who elaborates his personal legend with tall stories told from a knackered Mastermind-style chair while smoking spliffs.
the play opens with him being served an eviction order by Kennet and Avon Council after locals have signed a petition to have him ousted. But before he goes, friends and enemies come to buy drugs, pay homage and get even, on their way to the St George’s Day fair in the fictional village of Flintlock.
rylance’s tattooed Lord of Misrule is a creation of shamanic legend. Most marvellously, the story releases something miraculous in rylance, who transforms this low-life fabulist into a champion of english libertarianism.
Mackenzie Crook fizzes, too, as his aging, emaciated, pusillanimous sidekick, Ginger, who tries to bring him to reason. But one of the sweetest turns in ian rickson’s sometimes melancholy production is from Alan David as the elderly Professor who’s a repository of Celtic folklore.
running in three parts in as many hours, with a raucous cast of 16, the evening is not a second too long. And no matter how strong the rivers of four-letter words, they bubble with rustic enchantment.
rooster and the Professor raise chipped mugs of morning tea laced with whisky to toast ‘St George and all the lost gods of england’ — and that’s what Butterworth’s play does, too.
the tragedy is that it’s almost completely sold out. We must pray that it will be extended and recorded for posterity. n CouPLeS beware: there are many home truths in David eldridge’s new play, Middle, about a husband and wife in the doldrums of a 16-year-old marriage.
it’s a follow-up to his 2017 play, Beginning, about an unlikely relationship that starts while clearing up at the end of a house party.
Gary comes downstairs at 4.20am to find his wife, Maggie, warming milk and telling him she doesn’t love him any more.
An hour-and-40-minute deposition follows as he offers to liven up their sex life, work less and perfect his pork crackling. She wants to lose weight, read books and ‘take a period of reflection’.
A potentially depressing evening is leavened with wry humour (mostly Gary’s), and i was glad to spend quality time with two people trying to rediscover love.
Polly Findlay’s forensic production is warmly indulgent of both parties. Claire rushbrook is guiltstricken yet tender as Maggie, while Daniel ryan makes a very cuddly Gary, who is desperate not to be caught weeping.
it does, though, feel part of a _ trilogy and left me craving a final part that’ll presumably be called end.