Berkoff bites back — and ‘Star’ quality from Paldi
Assembly Hall
ST E V E N B E R K OFF’ S caustic new comedy mercilessly exposes the back-biting, soulwrenching world of the actor. Berkoff stars as John in the t h r e e - h a n d e r , i n which he lauds actors as “warriors”, beset by “the living hell of forgetting their lines [after] the curtain rises like a giant eyelid to leave you facing a thousand cynical eyes, waiting to tear you limb from limb should you fail to fulfil their yearning for drama, passion and transportation [to another realm]”.
In typically splenetic fashion, Berkoff also takes aim the West End stage, likening it to “a stinking morgue, full of revival after revival after revival”; at Jonathan Ross-style chat shows; at selfimportant, dictatorial directors; and at the smoking ban, which reduces actors to miming any cigarette-related action. He even — possibly— takes a wry pop at himself, in a line about vaingloriousness.
Alongside him, Jay Benedict’s all- powerful playwright, David, flays extemporising actors who would ruin his masterly script, while Andrée Bernard excels as the angry, humbled understudy Sarah, willing to comply with the sexual “hazards of the game”.
They all revel in Berkoff’s trademark vitriol, peppered with rhyming couplets and Shakespearean references, in what is ultimately a celebration of acting that both frets and struts during its hour on the stage.
Until August 20
Pleasance Dome
HIGH CAMP MEETS political theatre in this searing journey into the troubled heart of the Israeli state. Director Nir Paldi, a London-based Israeli, and his Theatre Ad Infinitum troupe serve up a dynamic work ignited by random expressions of black humour which covers centuries of persecution, the joy of Israeli independence and 65 years of volatility.
Bedecked in a gaudy golden tunic, with a star of David belt and high heels, Paldi plays the part of Israel and also narrates the piece, in which his atmospherically lit Starlets turn cartwheels of joy or gyrate sorrowfully, the latter illustrating a tightly-packed train bound for the gas chambers.
All the while, in a far corner of the stage, the archly named Camp David (musical director Adam Pleeth) adds vim and vigour on the guitar, clarinet, trumpet, drums, percussion and xylophone.
As the narrator, Paldi is, by turns, sardonic, autocratic, vengeful and playful as he moves the action from its hate-filled historical narrative, manoeuvring his way around the psychological roadblocks to peace and understanding with the unseen Palestinian enemy. And when that fails, he is left remonstrating with his cast. It’s a brilliant device for conveying the frustrations of a political idealist in the face of the complexity of the issues surrounding even minimal progress towards peace. A gloriously trenchant, if ultimately bleak piece of theatre.
Until August 26