In London, Big Talent in Small Spaces

LONDON-Ah, the joys of being up close and personal. One thinks of Nicole Kidman in “The Blue Room,” an experience (in London, anyway) that had less to do with the virtues (or not) of David Hare's 1998 take on Schnitzler's theatrical daisy chain, “La Ronde,” and everything to do with an audience being able to see Tom Cruise's then-wife in the playhouse equivalent of their sitting room. And briefly â€" very briefly â€" naked, no less.

Or, earlier that same year, Kevin Spacey's barnstorming performance at the Almeida Theatre in “The Iceman Cometh,” the O'Neill epic that Mr. Spacey then took to the Old Vic and Broadway. Mr. Spacey's performance as the illusion-shattering Theodore Hickman never had quite the full-on power elsewhere that it achieved at the Almeida, a 325-seater that turned the audience into implicit barflies taking their places alongside the drink-sodden habitués of Harry Hope's saloon.

These shows and their stars have been in my mind am id a current theater season that boasts comparable intimacies between spectators and some mighty names. At 78, Eileen Atkins needs scant introduction as one of the leading actresses of a formidable generation that includes Vanessa Redgrave, Maggie Smith, Judi Dench, and Diana Rigg. So how unexpected â€" and enticing â€" it is to find Dame Eileen in a piece of Beckett esoterica called “All That Fall,” and within the confines of the Jermyn Street Theatre, a bijou venue that seats 70. Yes, 70.

You won't be surprised to hear that her star turn, on view at its current home through Nov. 3, has been rewarded with an upgrade. She and her co-star â€" a not inconsiderable presence of his own by the name of Michael Gambon â€" are transferring for 23 performances later next month to the larger Arts Theatre, near Leicester Square. The move increases the chances of people actually being able to see the director Trevor Nunn's take on a 1957 piece written for the radio that the Ir ish master had expressly said he did not want performed live. As if in concession to Beckett's wishes, Mr. Nunn's clamorous production dresses the stage with radio mikes, which combine with a busy array of sound effects to give the impression that we are in the recording studio.

But I, for one, am glad to have caught Ms. Atkins's witty and baleful performance from within what one might call spitting distance, if that term didn't seem too crude for a performer whose innate elegance comes through even when playing such an abject soul as Mrs. Rooney, who wants nothing more than to collect her blind husband (played by Mr. Gambon) from the railway station and lead him home.

It's partly that I relish the chance to hear the actress's way with the language of a playwright whose work, rather surprisingly, she has never done before. “Oh cursed corset,” she remarks near the start, the alliteration among the few playful aspects of a life that, one comes to realize, has n ot been kind to this often exasperated â€" and, probably, exasperating â€" woman.

Ms. Atkins has paired with Mr. Gambon before, on the 1998 London premiere of the Yasmina Reza play “The Unexpected Man,” which she subsequently took to New York with Alan Bates.

It does the sonorous Mr. Gambon no discredit (in what is a much smaller role) to point out that “All That Fall” belongs to its distaff lead. The staging may have about it a fussiness that comes from existing in limbo between live performance and its origins as something heard but not seen. But you simply have to witness Ms. Atkins in action â€" and, if possible, from a vantage point where those oval eyes look as if they could devour you whole.

Across town at the Almeida, another noted thesp, this one a two-time Tony winner, is giving us his long-awaited King Lear, a role we began anticipating from Jonathan Pryce when he appeared in March 2009, at the Donmar in “Dimetos,” a little-known Atho l Fugard play that allowed its leading actor moments of Lear-like fury and pain. (“Lear,” directed by the Almeida's artistic director Michael Attenborough, runs through Nov. 3.)

But as is sometimes the way of such things, Mr. Pryce's actual Lear isn't nearly as moving as was suggested by “Dimetos.” Sure, it's vaguely disconcerting to find directly before us the suggestion of Lear as an abusive, possibly incestuous father who plants a lingering smacker on his revulsed daughters' lips. And yet, what ought to be heightened about the experience in such close confines only makes one aware that the actor, who is 65, seems far too animated and vigorous for the part. (Among other things, Mr. Pryce may be the biggest Lear I have seen.) On this occasion, one wonders not so much whether Lear will go mad but what the king's exercise regime is: If this level of spryness is what growing older is like, bring it on.