Review: The Rivals (Richmond Theatre)

 The Rivals is Richard Brinsley Sheridan’s homage to Bath, the city that was the height of fashion in the eighteenth century for its elegance, Palladian architecture and therapeutic waters  (all of which it retains today- just not the huge frocks and hairstyles found in this play), and where Peter Hall’s production appropriately originated. There can be no better place to see it outside of the Bath itself than in beautiful Richmond, which has to be London’s answer to Bath. I am an admirer of Peter Hall’s ‘straightforward’ style, and his absolutely traditional production of Pygmalion (also with Christopher Woods’s sets and Simon Higlet’s costumes) was a great favourite of mine as every single aspect was so perfectly spot-on. The Rivals is played against the handsome backdrop of the Royal Crescent and the cast play their roles very appealingly, but the production itself is a little slow and lacked a certain flicker of energy to keep the exploits of Mrs Malaprop and friends consistently sparkling.

Eighteenth-century sentimental comedies of manners are tricky things to revive nowadays as the very mannered, formalised society they portray and satirise almost seem to belong to another world. They also cannot fall back on the innuendo and bawdiness found in seventeenth-century works (if you find that kind of thing funny; I personally do not). The humour is gentle, rather than laugh-out-loud funny, the plots convoluted with lots of mistaken identities and misunderstandings and there are plenty of stock characters- a flighty ingénue and her lover, a ‘she-dragon’ of an aunt, a disapproving father, an outspoken Cockney valet and a naive country bumpkin. In sentimental comedy style, the emphasis is on talking about feelings, but moments of spontaneous emotion are rather rare (Sir Anthony Absolute’s outburst being the exception).

As the poor little rich girl Miss Lydia Languish, who is smitten with her lover Ensign Beverley as a penniless soldier but disappointed when he turns out to be the son of a baronet (played by a smooth-tongued Tam Williams), Robyn Addison (in her professional stage debut) plays her role with assurance, but not for laughs. Annabel Scholey is demure and poignant as her friend and foil Julia and Kieron Self gives an likeable performance as the harmless buffoon Bob Acres, who is completely out of his depth in fashionable society.

Unsurprisingly a great deal of the publicity surrounding the production has focused on the reunion of To The Manor Born (one of the most accomplished British sitcoms) co-stars Penelope Keith and Peter Bowles in the roles of Lydia’s guardian Mrs Malaprop and Ensign Beverley/Captain Jack’s father Sir Anthony Absolute. Fortunately, both fit their roles perfectly. The ever formidable Ms Keith gives Mrs Malaprop a graceful dignity and whose misapplication of words (“The pineapple of politeness” receiving the biggest laugh) seem to stem from a desire to appear educated, in spite of her disapproval of women reading. Her purple gown is also absolutely splendid. Bowles, likewise, is excellent as the hero’s stern father, a role that does not come altogether naturally to him as he himself married for love.

This production provides a pleasant diversion, but I feel that it could have been a bit more than that if a little less stately and cautious. Underneath the affected politeness, there is a sense of mischief that is rather lacking here.

Written for A Younger Theatre

Review: Design For Living (Old Vic)

 This is probably as good a time as any to ‘confess’ to my fondness for watching bright young people in silk dressing gowns sipping cocktails and exchanging witty remarks. Anthony Page’s production of Noel Coward’s 1932 play Design For Living is lovely to look at and ought to satisfy my longings to escape into an artisan Parisian loft, a luxurious London apartment or a state of the art New York penthouse (designed by Lez Brotherton). Lisa Dillon’s blue-grey evening gown is also quite stunning. However, I never think it is a good sign when the design is by far the best aspect of a production. This is not to in any way devalue the designer’s work, but because I feel that the aesthetic ought to complement the play, rather than being the main attraction. It was quite a shock to discover that the man who is considered by some to be the greatest all-round theatrical talent Britain has ever had and whose plays I have very much enjoyed in the past could have written such an unrelentingly tedious piece.

It is easy to see why this play caused a stir in 1932: Gilda, an interior decorator, is living openly in Paris with her painter lover Otto, then Otto’s playwright best friend Leo (originally played by Coward himself) turns up and she runs off back to London with him. Eighteen months later, Otto returns and they sleep together as Leo is away at a house party in Surrey. Leo comes back early and he and Otto get drunk and share a kiss. In the meantime, Gilda has absconded to New York with old family friend Ernest. Not only is it all hopelessly dated nowadays, but (to this reviewer and her companion) not even at all witty. It employs the kind of visual and verbal humour found in bad sitcoms in which the audience knows exactly what is coming and laugh because their anticipation is vindicated when it inevitably happens.

Lisa Dillon (so good in Cranford) has the thankless task of trying to breathe life into a character who initially shows some promise, being a woman who has no intention of marrying because she doesn’t want children and has no need to obtain social position, but quickly becomes irritating beyond belief with her incessant rhapsodising about of a whole lot nothing. As her two gentleman friends, Andrew Scott certainly milks the frightfully affected camp mannerisms and Tom Burke looks quite good in a vest. It all comes to a head with the excruciating drunk scene that goes on forever. In real life, drunk people who think they are being so terribly amusing are the very opposite. It is no different on stage.

What was the point of reviving this? There was no doubt that a large percentage of the audience thought it was laugh-in-the-aisles hilarious, but there were also several seats that were abandoned after the second interval. I could have gladly pushed these narcissistic, vapid characters who nevertheless are adored and indulged by their creator out of the huge French windows of Gilda’s fabulous penthouse. It seems like rather an insult that the audience is supposed to root for them. It was hard not to be reminded of that ultimate dig in After The Dance (a superior play in every way imaginable)- “Don’t be a bore.” Well, Mr Coward, what an absolute bore you could be. I would much rather sit next to Terence Rattigan at a dinner party.

Originally posted on A Younger Theatre

Review: HMS Pinafore (Rosemary Branch)

Despite my intense, non-ironic love for the American Musical, I have always found the very British Gilbert and Sullivan harder to get along with and regarded their work as something to respect rather than love. There was always something a bit too fussy and cutesy about it that made me long to go home and listen to some Sondheim. However, the colourful and zany productions by young chamber opera company Charles Court Opera, who have produced over 20 operas in five years and feature some of the most talented young professionals in the business, have helped to change that. Having now seen several operas in the intimate Rosemary Branch Theatre (a perfectly formed black box theatre above a pub that seats about 60), it seems the best place in the world to experience the genre, especially comic operas. There is something that makes the entire experience so much more all-encompassing by being so close to the proceedings.

Director John Savournin (who also lends his rich baritone voice to a pompous Captain Corcoran with a touch of childlike naïveté) certainly extracts the full comic potential from this tale of entertaining naval nonsense about class, camp sailors and accidents of birth, in which Captain Corcoran's attempt to marry his daughter Josephine off to the First Lord of the Admiralty Sir Joseph Porter KCB (a delightfully jaunty performance by Simon Masterton-Smith) is thwarted by her preference for lowly sailor Ralph Rackstraw. Sir Joseph Porter’s entourage of sisters, cousins and aunts are de-pluralized for the simple reason that a whole gang of them wouldn’t fit on stage  (keep an eye out for the aunt’s droll cameo). James Perkins designs with elegant economy with a few nautical props and Sullivan and Gilbert’s own faces in the sun and moon keeping a watchful eye on the action.

As the bumboat woman Little Buttercup, Rosie Strobel is a total delight with her powerful voice and expressive eyes in the way in which she manages to milk the sensuality of the role without sexing it up (subtle distinction). Georgia Ginsberg and David Menezes are both very winning and sing charmingly as star-crossed lovers Josephine and Ralph, perhaps the hardest roles to make an impact in amongst all the clowning. The cast are supported by the four hands of Wigmore Hall piano duo David Eaton and James Young, who play with exuberance and sensitivity.

I can’t help wondering if you’re supposed to question or even notice the inconsistencies in the plot: Ralph Rackstraw can’t be that young a lover if he’s Josephine’s father’s age and is it supposed to be at all creepy that Captain Corcoran in his reduced circumstances finds solace in the arms of his former foster mother? Probably not. The idea of Gilbert and Sullivan with the subtext laid bare is not a particularly appealing thought. This has to be a case of accepting the ‘topsy-turvydom’ for what it is.

A merrier, more beautifully sung show in London would be hard to find. I would particularly recommend it to anyone who is feeling a little disillusioned as it would be very difficult indeed to leave without succumbing to the infectious charms of this compact and uproarious production. Take along all your sisters, cousins and aunts (and all other friends and relations).

Originally posted on A Younger Theatre

Review: The Thunderbolt (Orange Tree)

Arthur Wing Pinero (1855-1934), a contemporary of George Bernard Shaw, is not exactly a household name these days in spite of being one of the most prolific and popular playwrights of his time with an oeuvre that included light farce, sentimental comedies, and ‘problem plays’ about contemporary society. Like Shaw and Ibsen, Pinero had a particular interest in the role of women in Victorian and Edwardian society, the most famous on the subject being The Second Mrs Tanquery, which was referenced by Hillaire Belloc in his poem about Matilda who told such dreadful lies (indeed, I never realised that it was a real play before doing my research for The Thunderbolt). The female characters in this play are shown to be grasping vultures (but no more so than their husbands), desperately nervy and almost too good and forgiving to be true. It is the illegitimate daughter who has far more class than any of her ‘legitimate’ relations.

The Thunderbolt could probably be best described as a family drama filled with unpleasant and desperate characters satirising greed, petty rivalries and the desperation of keeping up appearances in the fictional Midlands town of Singlehampton. At nearly three hours long, some of the long-winded passages could be trimmed, but it refrains from the tedious philosophising that certain Ibsen and Shaw plays suffer from and has an agreeable lightness of touch.

This play works beautifully from being presented in the round as the audience steps through the late Mr Edward’s library (designed by Sam Dowson) to get to their seats. Set changes are deftly handled by the cast re-arranging the furniture to create a whole new room. The dining room table in Act II is revealed to be three separate cabinets that form part of Mr and Mrs Thad’s drawing room. Very simple, but so effective.

The Mortimores have to be one of the most ghastly families in fiction. The sudden death of the eldest brother Edward Mortimore, a wealthy brewer who was estranged from the rest of the family has his three surviving brothers and one sister and their spouses descending en masse, calculating what they believe to be their rightful inheritance as next of kin to the last penny. The introduction of Edward’s lovely illegitimate daughter Helen (Grainne Keenan) temporarily complicates the celebrations. Helen refuses to accept an allowance from her newly discovered relations, determined to make her own living as an artist through the invaluable education that her father ensured she received, in spite of being deeply hurt not knowing whether her father meant to provide for her or not. The Mortimores are only too happy to respect her independence.

The acting amongst the entire cast is impeccable, including Geoff Leesley as bluff family spokesman and property developer Mr Jim and David Whitworth as local newspaper editor and insufferable pedant Mr Stephen. Brenda Longman and Julie Teal make the most of their roles as their sour wives. The sole sister Rose (Janet Spencer Turner) is an aspiring London society hostess and her husband Colonel Ponting (Osmond Bullock) might actually be the most avaricious of the lot.

The society of Singlehampton is one in which to be a grocer’s daughter is a fate worse than death, evidenced in the abuse that youngest brother Thaddeus’s wife Phyllis receives from her in-laws. Natalie Ogle excels in the role of this complicated woman who is deeply vulnerable and scarred from the years of cruelty. She is well supported by Stuart Fox as her husband. The very fact that Thad and Phyllis love each other and had the spirit to rebel by getting married sets them apart from the other Mortimores.

While I am not entirely sure if The Thunderbolt is a lost ‘masterpiece,’ it retains its power to expose the timeless themes of greed, hypocrisy and social snobbery in a quietly angry way. It is impossible not to feel indignant when Mr Jim grovels to Helen, stretching her generosity to the limit. It could hardly be better served by Sam Walters’s stylish production and the flawless ensemble cast. I am still not certain as to whom (or what) the ‘Thunderbolt’ of the title refers- perhaps it is the way in which the Mortimores’ smug complacency is suddenly threatened by public scandal. Of course they’ll never appreciate Helen’s compassion that protects them from this, but Pinero must be suggesting that she is the richest in the end, being the only one who can move forward with a clear conscience and build a life to be proud of.

Written for A Younger Theatre