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s Bristol Old Vic continues to be refurbished inside (I have written about how uncomfortable and creaky it used to be!), the enterprising team of Tom Morris and Emma Stenning (Artistic and Executive Directors, respectively) have taken to the streets to continue the theatre’s output. The result, Sally Cookson’s visually stunning, rip-roaring piratical adventure, is a triumph.

It’s hard to imagine more fun than sitting in balmy sunshine, full of pre-show Pieminster pie, watching a talented and extremely hard-working cast bring Jim Hawkins’ sea-faring, treasure-hunting, pirate-fighting exploits to life. Jim himself (Jonny Weldon) has an impressive range, and you cannot help but share his wide-eyed wonder as he finds his sea-legs, uncovers plots and finds the treasure. Tristan Sturrock’s villainous Long John Silver hops about the stage with admirable lightness of foot, and is clearly having a great time as the baddie with a heart, leaping around the split-level stage. On a side note, given that dead bodies not only get up and walk off-stage but also return seconds later reincarnated thanks to a swift wig-change, it seems kind of harsh to make Sturrock hop upstairs – no-one would have minded if he used his “missing” leg to get about a bit. However, he gamely hobbles about, wielding crutch, soup spoon and knife with accuracy and speed, much to the delight of the young audience.

Phil Edolls’ set is brilliant, full of ropes and rails to represent inn, ship and island, and back again. He has perfectly judged the small space, building up rather than out, and creating a playground of a stage across the front of the Old Vic that the cast embrace with gusto – using the first floor windows as entrances is a nice touch. The cast work incredibly hard, too, doubling or tripling up, and if this sometimes means that the accents get a bit lopsided, or take a while to catch up with the lightning-quick scene changes, well, this is easily forgiven on a warm summer evening when one is full of pie.

The whole thing is ridiculous fun, with pirates appearing left, right and centre, squiffy wigs transforming actors from pirate to doctor, and far too many rousing sea shanties. These are sung with more enthusiasm than skill, and although one or two are fun, overall they appear slightly too often – and the cast’s acting talents are not matched by beautiful voices. The music generally, however (composed, directed and performed by Benji Bower, with the cast chipping in), is well-judged and rousing – aided by un-scripted seagulls.

The whole cast displays an infectious enthusiasm, whether they are plotting foul murders or tucking into a glass of grog. The outdoor setting, screeching seagulls and neat Bristolian references are all nice, and make the play feel very at home in its temporary and rather hap-hazard space.

Treasure Island is being performed in a special space outside the Bristol Old Vic theatre until 26 August www.bristololdvic.org.uk

Unsettling, frustrating, confusing and brilliant, Brian Friel’s Faith Healer offers an ever-shifting perspective on the minutiae and dramas of the lives of the three characters. Through a series of straight-to-audience monologues, Friel undermines expectations and judgements to such an extent that my companions and I left the theatre in silence, still trying to digest what we’d seen and heard.
The Faith Healer, Francis Hardy (Finbar Lynch), tells us his story, which is then brutally undercut by his wife Gracie’s (Kathy Kiera Clarke) version of events. A third tale is offered (Teddy, played by Richard Bremmer) before the healer returns to round off the performance. Friel, and director Simon Godwin, never allow complacency on behalf of the audience – you never know which version of the story hits nearest to the truth, although all are plausible and some characters are more sympathetic than others.
Mike Britton’s design is very much of the “show don’t tell” school of thought – we are given hints and bit of props and set, which evoke Teddy’s shabby living room, Gracie’s cold flat in Paddington, the anonymous pub or church hall where Frank plies his trade. The lighting and sound are beautiful; you almost don’t notice the noise creeping up in volume, until it is threateningly loud, insistent, nerve-wracking. The light softens, in a Tennessee Williams-esque invocation of memory. We are invited to believe that each character believes in the truth of what they’re peddling, and yet to simultaneously distrust their version of events and to make comparisons with what we already ‘know’ happened from other characters. This constant shifting is cleverly done with the sharp script, but is not a comfortable experience as an audience; one ends up feeling rather stupid, rather duped, for being taken in by “the mountebank”, as Gracie’s father calls Frank.
Lynch is terribly charismatic, even an avowed cynic like me was swept away by his softly-spoken words, his gentle brogue and his tales of miracle cures. Lynch was persuasive and articulate, offering a lovely contrast to Clarke’s brittle, twitching Gracie, a woman who had clearly been pushed to the brink of her sanity. Bremmer’s Teddy was so convivial and charming that I could forgive his terrible cockney accent, and his was the stand-out performance for me. Perhaps his version of events was the most believable because his character has the least invested in lying or being evasive, but Bremmer invested Teddy with a grin-and-bear-it kind of pathos that tugged at the heart.
It’s hard to say I enjoyed the play, as watching it was not a comfortable emotional experience. (On a side note, it was not a comfortable physical experience either – after a matinee on the pews in the Tobacco Factory and two hours perched on a stool on the Bristol Old Vic studio, my posterior was not happy with me.) Godwin’s direction drew out a huge range from each actor, made more impressive by the fact that each character monologues with nobody else to act off or react to. To quibble, one could argue that some of the dramatic pauses wandered into the territory of milking them, but the pace was nicely judged, the performances nuanced and absorbing, and the production harrowing and thought-provoking.