Earthquakes in London

Synopsis

Burlesque strip shows, bad dreams, social breakdown, population explosion, worldwide paranoia. A fast and furious metropolitan crash of people, scenes and decades, as three sisters attempt to navigate their dislocated lives and loves, while their dysfunctional father, a brilliant scientist, predicts global catastrophe. Nothing I do means anything certainly and that’s depressing. But also, nothing I do is going to be the end of the world. There’s a comfort in that. An all-pervasive fear of the future and a guilty pleasure in the excesses of the present drive Mike Bartlett’s epic rollercoaster of a play from 1968 to 2525 and back again. It’s Cabaret, we’ve got our heads down and we’re dancing and drinking as fast as we can. The enemy is on its way, but this time it doesn’t have guns and gas it has storms and earthquakes, fire and brimstone. You were the glimmer. At the end of the tunnel. And you went out.

Our Review:

Michael Coveney - 5 August 2010

There was an earthquake in London recently. A couple of roof tiles were dislodged in Hendon. Usually, the nearest we get to the earth moving is either in the throes of sexual ecstasy or in the comforting rumble of a long goods train passing near our brick foundations in the middle of the night.

Dramatist Mike Bartlett and director Rupert Goold have other shaky ideas: they’ve concocted a three-sister scenario that taps into fears about the end of the world, political compromise with big business and birthing the next generation.

It’s a rickety roller-coaster ride of a play, bereft of the governing passion in the great Goold  project of Enron, and one that seems to be ticking too many boxes – green awareness, climate change, apocalyptic prophesy, cryogenic self-preservation, fathers and daughters, familial rivalries – without making any distinctive, throat-grabbing  theatrical statement.

A comparison, for instance, with [St...

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Latest User Review

rds - 1 September 2010:

"addicted to theatre", in this column, has it spot on, do read what he has to say. I can't really be arsed to comment on this trite, naive and patronising play, but I will. I guess Rupert Goold had to pull every stunt he could imagine to disguise the weakness in the writing. Why he didn't just go the whole hog and give the actors hammers so they could bludgeon us over the head and have done with I can't imagine? Earthquakes in London is neither ground breaking nor moving. If you like trashy flashy theater this may be for you, but if not don't waste your money. If you do avoid the bar stools as you'll be giddy by the interval twirling around all the time following the action, that is if you haven't been knocked off by the comings and goings of the poor actors who I feel sorry for having to dish up this crap every night and in the case of poor ol' Bill Paterson - they shoot horses don't they?...

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