Review The Treatment

The Treatment
by Martin Crimp

City Lights - Camera, Action!
https://almeida.co.uk/

"Where do you get your ideas?" So the continual question goes for the successful writer by those admiring, envying, incredulous who somehow can't believe the simplest answer, "I made it up". A writers' strike, now warded off, has just threatened to shut down Hollywood storytelling but the hunger for new stories continues.

We move to New York for playwright Martin Crimp's 1993 satire The Treatment. A treatment can of course mean a brief written blueprint for a screenplay, the way we all treat each other - or it can have a medical connotation.

Anne (Aisling Loftus) has answered the ad of two producers or "facilitators" as they like to call themselves, Jennifer (Indira Varma) and Andrew (Julian Ovenden) looking for distinctive true life stories.

They buy up Anne whose story they want to pimp up to fit into, what they believe, is a fit story for the camera and the expectations of the target audience.

In the meantime, they meet elderly down-on-his-luck Clifford (Ian Gelder), who apparently had a couple of Broadway comedy hits back in the day and has a script in his bottom drawer that he is eager to sell.

It's the package they have been looking for - they splice together the two stories, introducing him to the big name star John (Gary Beadle), although Clifford in his excitement unwisely forgets to ask for the precise arrangement in writing,

The Treatment is a distinctly odd but searing snipped up tale of dysfunctional metropolitan people trying to put themselves in functional holes.

We're never quite sure whether Anne and her electrical technician husband Simon (Matthew Needham) are genuine or may be would-be screenwriters trying to find the elusive "idea" and believe it can only be found by living it out.

Are the rooms simply rooms or are they elaborate movie backdrops (design by Giles Cadle)? Are the people going by really just office workers, passers by, or are they actors and extras hired for the day? Or, more disturbingly, has the city become an unstable mixture of both with violence seeping from one to the other?

There's a lot of piquant, uneasy humour in director Lyndsey Turner's smooth widescreen staging with a pinpoint sharp performance by Varma as the producer cannibalizing Anne's life and Clifford's work. Ovenden is equally convincing as her husband and business partner who begins to doubt the separation between storytelling and life.

Loftus's Anne is the Alice-in-Wonderland character who tries to apply common sense and Beadle's movie actor sprinkles his superficial stardust and draws the wrong conclusions while generating success.

Considering the play first reached the light of day at the Royal Court 24 years ago, it has lasted remarkably well to feel just as relevant in a world where boxed set dramas are the new movie blockbusters.

And Martin Crimp even anticipated your own traffic road furniture reviewers within the play 😉 with a taxi driver who needs exact verbal descriptions of everything for a very particular reason.  Oh, so you better tell the cab driver, it's a green traffic light from TLT and her co-producing automotive sidekick!

Review a profoundly affectionate, passionate devotion to someone (noun)

a profoundly affectionate, passionate devotion to someone (noun)
By debbie tucker green

Back To Basics
https://royalcourttheatre.com/

Three couples inhabit the universe of this 80-minute play, but five people - or is it five proper nouns? For the title of this cryptic play comes from a dictionary definition, apparently, of that otherwise undefinable thing called Love.

We have to admit when we first saw the title we thought of that other treatise on Love - yes, the one where the granddaughter of a Nobel prizewinning physicist wanders around in a nightdress hopelessly devoted to a summer lover.

It turned out we were not so very wrong as all the couples in debbie tucker green's ping pong match of a play wander around in their jim jams and dressing gowns and express the kind of brooding thoughts which may occur in the wee small hours.

The stage and set designed by Merle Hensel in the upstairs theatre of the Royal Court are a turquoise green ledge, wall and floor raised around three sides.

The audience perches on black swivel bar stools divided into regimented lengthways rows inside, allowing a swivelling round as the voices, action (movement director Vicki Manderson), lighting (Lee Curran) and sound (Christopher Shutt) demand.

This has the effect of training the audience to physically follow the action and each other like a shoal of fish. We'd already been instructed to leave our bags in the cloakroom and enter with the bare minimum.

Directed by the playwright, the men and women also have the bare minimum in terms of their monikers: A (Lashana Lynch), B .(Gershyn Eustache Jnr), Man (Gary Beadle). Woman (Meera Syal) and Young Woman (Shvorne Marks).

Drama, the text books often say, is conflict. We're certainly pitched in to a clash between A and B where the words do the grating, while the drawing of chalk lines from what seems to be two overlapping venn diagram circles is silent.

The play itself is a series of stripped-down gendered duologues with only the briefest moments of pleasure for the couples stemming from a baby, a mutuality and a kiss. We don't know anything about their lives except for these private twilight interchanges about their relationships. 

Except watch out, the male and female attributes swap with the second couple and there's a definite feel as the play progresses that we may be within a computer program or chat bot or a space where biology and software crosses over.

There's a lyrical, rhythmic, soundtrack quality to the dialogue, sometimes with a razor's jagged edge and an underlying sense of menace about the changes afoot. There are enough hints to suggest a subtext of an automated future patterned, for good or ill, on male programming - the subject of one of the best but also ominously unfair jibes against the sour, sarcastic drained Woman.

Does the definition of love in the play's title actually exist, we wondered? Is love always about "someone"? We weren't sure. It's the individual voices that came through strongest with the Young Woman moulded by the older lives but with a resigned but quietly angry sense of a poisoned legacy which she cannot yet fully analyse.

We're speaking in general terms because, despite the precision of the acting and sharp corners of the platform ledges and the words, it is a play that rarely names specifics. The playwright does specify in the published script that the characters are black or Asian. Yet the  visuals otherwise indeed sometimes distracted from our concentration on the elastic snap of the dialogue and occasionally we turned our head and eyes, just to listen.

So when the few human spikes of recognition came, they dug deep but we also felt manipulated. It's a play that invites some satisfying taut resistance as the words bounce hard against the walls of the room. It's also secretive and frustrating.

We don't doubt there is the sharp jab of visceral prodding and the configuration of language feels both literary and computerised. But we also felt conditioned into responding and it's an amber light for a disembodied, fascinating and flawed play dictating and yet wistfully cajoling us into obeying its terms and conditions.