Sandy Pritchard-Gordon

Sandy Pritchard-Gordon
Theatre Blog

Tuesday 22 December 2015

The Homecoming at Trafalgar Studios





Whether this 1965 play by Harold Pinter appeals or appalls, there is no doubting its ability to enthrall.  Written during the time when the Kray twins were building their dodgy empire through intimidation and fear, Pinter’s portrayal of a dysfunctional London family mirrors the menace a patriarchal figure can bestow on those around him.  The patriarch in question is Max, a retired butcher and father to Teddy, Joey and Lenny.  Nothing less like a model parent is difficult to imagine and there are heavy hints that ruling his boys with a rod of iron was only one of many despicable things to which they were subjected.  Now an old man, reduced to walking with the aid of a stick, Max still has the power to wound and subjugate with his foul tongue, which he does with abandon.  Sharing his house with his brother and two of his sons, Max is desperate to retain his power over them all.

The homecoming of the title is the visit from the States of third son, Teddy and his new wife, former model, Ruth.  Teddy is a philosophy lecturer who escaped the family power struggle six years before and the years haven’t lessened his anxiety at being in this toxic home environment.  His return highlights Max’s instability; initially rejoicing in his son’s unexpected visit before switching to unaccountable rage. 

Soutra Gilmour’s set is sparse but effectively eerie.  This London house has no creature comforts and the sitting room, where the action is set, couldn’t be more unwelcoming.  The palpable tension is highlighted by the acting space, lit by a malignant red light, and encased in a red steel frame.  One of the few pieces of furniture is an easy chair, placed centre stage in Act Two.  This chair belongs to Max and woe betide anyone else using it.  So when Ruth, the only female in the house breaks the unspoken rule, it’s obvious that a woman has, or is about to take charge.  For the first time?  Who knows, because we learn little about the boy’s mother, apart from hints from Sam that Jessie was no better than a tart.  The trouble is, can we believe him, because everyone has a power struggle with everyone else?  Sam goads his brother, Max.  Lenny goads Ruth and Teddy, whilst Max goads everyone.

For the most part, the cast is excellent.  Ron Cook’s Max, whilst undoubtedly a vicious, evil bastard, never slips into caricature and perfectly conveys the gradual slip of his patriarchal status.   The wonderful John Simm makes Lenny a more menacing character, masking his nastiness behind a sardonic smile.  But it’s a smile without warmth, which never reaches his eyes.  You’re never sure what he might do next and his quick wit is almost always at someone else’s expense.  Keith Allen’s Sam is nicely understated as the effeminate chauffeur brother, whilst John MacMillan makes the slow witted would-be boxer, Joey, thoroughly believable.  Gemma Chan’s Ruth is less so.  Her demure stance at the beginning rings true but not the metamorphosis into something much more sexy.  Inscrutable yes …… erotic, not so much!   Likewise her husband Teddy played by Gary Kemp.  He seems ill at ease throughout, as if he’s not terribly sure what makes his character tick and his performance appears forced.

The Homecoming is full of unanswered questions (not least why Ruth should do an about turn and decide to stay in this acrid environment), which you find yourself trying to work out long after leaving the theatre.  A play that is short on sympathetic characters, but compelling nonetheless.

Friday 11 December 2015

Evening At The Talk House at The Dorfman

I was looking forward to seeing this new play by Wallace Shawn but ended up being mightily disappointed.  The start is promising enough with theatre playwright turned TV script writer, Robert (Josh Hamilton), delivering a wry and witty monologue on his career and setting the scene for what is about to enfold.  The problem is with the enfolding.  It leaves the audience at a loss as to what Wallace Shawn is actually getting at.  Realistic it ‘aint, but it isn’t obviously fantasy either.  It falls somewhere between the two, but told in such a monotonous way that any discourse afterwards as to what Shawn actually does mean is deemed futile.

The Talk House of the title is a club where Robert and several of his old theatrical work colleagues have arranged to meet for a reunion ten years after they were all involved in one of his plays.  This genteel, old-fashioned dining club, slightly faded at the edges and somewhat drab and sinister is very well realised by the The Quay Brothers.  Nellie (Anna Calder-Marshall), the original hostess has faded along with her workplace and when we come across Dick, an ageing actor, hiding away in a corner, the “something nasty in the woodshed” atmosphere heightens.   He is sporting various facial bruises, the result of a vicious assault by his friends, but it is never explained why he has become a target.  As everyone else assembles and begins to open up as to what they’ve been doing in the interim years, it becomes clear that the world we’ve entered is a very odd one indeed.  But is it a parody of what we’re enduring now thanks to global terrorism, is it set sometime in the future, is it a criticism of American/our government policy or just a chance to spout forth on the eventual demise of the acting profession?  I really have no idea and, such is the tiresome way in which the cast are made to spill the beans about how they now make a living (carrying out targeted killings on those who mean the country harm) I really don’t care.

Wallace Shawn, himself, is one of the cast, as the poor, unfortunate Dick, who, it turns out was a pretty awful actor in Robert’s play ten years ago.  Maybe that’s why he was beaten up?  Anything is possible and nothing is clear at The Talk House and even the abrupt ending leaves everyone confused as to whether or not the strange conversations by the even stranger conversationalists is over or not.

The Director, Ian Rickson does his best, but even he can’t disguise the mannered, one dimensional quality of these odd people with the even odder raison d’etre.