Artful revival of a modern classic
Red Wyndham’s ★★★★★
Chatter, chatter, chatter. The audience at the Wyndham’s plays its part to perfection as the curtain rises on Michael Grandage’s revival of Red – John Logan’s transfixing portrait of the artist Mark Rothko in the late Fifties.
One of the heavyweights of American abstract expressionism sits in a low chair, contemplating a mighty canvas. Yet the show hasn’t started yet, so people gawp at phones, gaily natter.
Point made before a word is uttered on stage. Rothko saw red when he visited the Four Seasons restaurant in the Seagram Building in Manhattan. He had spent ages toiling on a series of murals that were to hang among diners. But he somehow hadn’t foreseen the distracted clatter of consumers. Arriving at his studio like an angry bull, he ranted: “Anybody who will eat that kind of food for those kind of prices will never look at a painting of mine”, a line near-recycled here.
Rothko returned his commission and rescued his murals. Yet that retreat signalled a cultural turning-point – so Logan insinuates in his immaculately conceived two-hander. As Ken – the (fictionalised) assistant here – exclaims in an eruption stoked by suffering months of condescension and lordly demands: “Not every painting has to rip your guts out and expose your soul!” It’s an exhilarating showdown.
Alfred Molina is older, heavier, sadder – no less commanding – than he was at the Donmar in 2009; some of Rothko’s thinking-aloud flows past like busy Manhattan traffic, and could usefully slow a little, yet there’s no discernible join between actor and character. A face from the Harry Potter films, Alfred Enoch doesn’t quite match the intensity of Eddie Redmayne, who scooped awards as the decreasingly submissive gofer last time. Yet the character’s transformation is still vividly relayed. And further niggling is beside the point. It’s a joy to have this modern classic back, splendidly played, and finally reaching a wider audience.
Until July 28. Tickets: 0844 871 2118; ticketmaster.co.uk