Theatre _
Review
REVIVAL THE REAL THING .00
Seen at King’s Theatre, Edinbrugh (run ended); Theatre Royal, Glasgow, Mon 7— Sat 12 Nov
At the beginning of 1982, Thatcher’s Conservative government appeared to be on its last legs. An election
would have seen her party reduced to the rump it is now.
But a summer war against Johnny Foreigner and a good deal of bogus patriotism later and we witnessed a new right apotheosis. So too, in the theatre of that year, the big names were those of a declared angry radicalism, with McGrath, Brenton, Edgar, Hare and their like dominating the British stage. But by the end of the year, Tom Stoppard, displaced a decade before as the darling of the British theatre, and perhaps understandably jealous of these often working-class voices, launched a mighty, rumbling riposte from the right. The Real Thing was, if you will, the great Love Tory of the generation. And, as Tim Pigott-Smith’s West End touring production demonstrates, it’s still a piece of formidable intelligence and humour. In it, Henry (Tom Conti), a vaguely arty but actually populist dramatist, engages in an affair with Annie (Nina Young). Henry’s wife Charlotte (Elizabeth Paine) and Annie’s husband Max (Malcolm Stoddard) are abandoned, but in a new relationship, two years on, Henry struggles to come to terms with Annie’s affair with a young actor (Tom Frederic) as well as her
84 THE LIST 2t) O<:t~1$ Nov 2005)
guilt-inspired liberal crusade on behalf of an imprisoned soldier, Brodie (Steven Cree), who has written one of those nasty working-class plays that Henry (and no doubt Stoppard) so despises.
Very much of its time, the piece endorses rampant individualism in both political and aesthetic forms. Henry is given, unashamedly, all the best lines, defending a mystical version of love and of politics where people are simply born to their roles, be they as writer or estate dweller, and shouldn’t mess with them. Patriarchal attitudes, where men suffer for love (we see three men cry, albeit one in a play, over broken relationships) but women just get a bit catty, are endorsed, while the one brief encounter with the play’s only working-class character sees us exposed to a Glaswegian monster who’s quickly put in his place. Were this character black we’d be offended by the bigotry, but there’s always been a place for classism in British drama.
All the same, Stoppard’s dense and clever wordplay is immensely seductive, and Conti’s legendary endearing grins and winks are a winning combination with the character. But Bob Bailey’s 80$ lounge room set is a little drab and clunky in transition, while the tensions early on between Henry and Annie are so downplayed that we aren’t prepared for her affair. All the same, there’s no shortage of humour to what amounts to a likeable, against one’s better judgement, night out. (Steve Cramer)
POPULAR THEATRE
STONES IN HIS POCKETS .00 King’s Theatre, Glasgow, Mon 31 Oct—Sat 5 Nov, then touring
NEW WORK
HALF LIFE 0000
Tron Theatre, Glasgow, until Sat 22 Oct, then touring
There is something quite depressing about the thought of a nursing home — to end one's days languishing amid institutional furniture. So it is all credit to Canadian playwright. John Mighton. that he takes this sterile. ordered environment and creates a play bursting with life and humour.
In the opening scene. characters glide across the stage trance-like. slowing the pace as they lead us into the somnambulant world of a non- descript Nonh American nursing home. As middle-aged 'children'. Anna and Donald. wait to visit their elderly parents they strike up an awkward friendship, one that is soon counterpointed by the gentle ease with which their parents find a love uncompromising in its honesty. Or is that dishonesty? For, in Half Life. Mighton endlessly circles the issues of memory and forgetting. It is. claims scientist Donald. the ways in which information is lost as much as the way it is retained that sets apart the human mind.
Mighton has a PhD in mathematics. but his script is not one of cold. hard calculations: instead it seeks the patterns in humanity. The residents of the home raise important questions about our attitude towards the elderly. After years of growing up. Patrick. Clara and Agnes. three vastly different people. are lumped into one mollycoddled categOry. stripped of their free will and forced to quietly endure craft hour.
Under Daniel Brooks. direction. the cast from Necessary Angel Theatre Company succeed with a profoundly thoughtful and yet wonderfully light- hearted look at what it means to get old — at any age. (Corrie Mills)
There's no doubt that we all see the dangers inherent in Hollywood's all pervasive representation of the world. It produces surrogate realities that alienate us from history. class. Culture and even our own identities. But isn't it a bit seductive as well? It's this ambivalence that Marie Jones' popular comedy exploits so well.
There's no shortage of worldly-wise sardonic observation from the local people of a small Irish village about the film company that's invaded them. intent on an ersatz Irish histOry project. The failed Northern Irish small businessman Charlie (Allan Stewart) and his new mucker Jake (Andy Gray) provide plenty of ironic commentary on the assistant director. his ambitious female right hand. a Hollywood actress. and a host of others (all, along with other locals. played by Stewart and Gray) in the course of the shoot. But they are also somewhat taken in by the glitz. as is a local youth. whose inability to attain the dreams laid out by the film industry leads to tragedy.
Funny and endearing performances by two old hands. who don't release their familiar local audience from their hip pockets from go to woe. make this a really enjoyable night out. The odd ad-lib referring to their usual roles in the upcoming King's panto. as well as the occasional topical reference. add a bit of spice in David Bownes' production in front of Jack Kirwan's simple design. Perhaps this piece. fine though it is. has been seen rather too much in the last few years. but as a final run out this makes for nice Viewrng. (Steve Cramer)