FEMALE
GOTHIC
Dyad
Productions at the Cramphorn Theatre
23.02.13
A
Woman in Black stands and addresses her audience, still and expectant
in the darkness.
She
speaks naturally, as if we were friends, but the three tales she
tells reflect the Victorian fascination with death and the macabre.
Rebecca
Vaughan, mistress of the one-woman show [Austen's Women, I Elizabeth]
brings these very different stories to life, using sound, lighting
and especially her art of mime, filling the stage with credible
characters and the paraphernalia of their lives. The show is directed
by Guy Masterson, no stranger to the solo stage.
The
first is a tale of love, ending in tragedy at a masked ball in Paris,
the second a scientific story of potions and paralysis, ending in an
echoing Sussex mausoleum. And the third, the most immediate, is a
personal story of a Victorian villa and the nameless, shapeless evil
that lurks within. All of them told with clarity and compelling
energy; the two women who wrote them, and their servant who adapted
and performed them, conspire to produce more than one involuntary
shudder, even in the warm safety of the Cramphorn.
and for The Public Reviews:
M
R
James
has
appeared
on
this
stage
more
than
once,
at
least
in
impersonation.
Now,
in
a
similar
setting
– leather
armchair,
candelabra
– it's
the
turn
of
the
sadly
neglected
female
exponents
of
the
ghost
story.
Female
Gothic
is
an
amalgam
of
three
spooky
tales
– alas,
uncredited
– from
the
genre,
cleverly
woven
together,
and
brilliantly
performed,
by
Rebecca
Vaughan.
Here
she
is,
in
stern
Victorian
black,
for
all
the
world
like
Miss
Jessell
from
that
other
great
chiller,
The
Turn
of
the
Screw.
She
begins
by
addressing
us
directly,
then
moves
seamlessly
into
the
first
piece,
a
tale
of
love,
Mary
E
Braddon's
The
Cold
Embrace.
It's
a
dark
subject,
with
a
tragic
suicide,
a
heartless
artist,
and
the
icy
grip
of
vengeance
in
Cologne.
The
characters,
and
their
emotions,
are
brought
superbly
to
life
in
a
very
natural,
engaging
style.
The
props
the
story
needs
are
skilfully
suggested,
plucked
out
of
the
air:
the
artist's
Meerschaum
and
his
sketchbook,
for
instance.
A
reminder
that
the
director
of
this
chilling
entertainment
is
Guy
Masterson,
unsurpassed
as
a
one-man-showman.
The
second
story,
[The
Five
Senses,
by
E
Nesbit]
owing
more
than
a
little
to
Dr
Jekyll,
and
to
the
Modern
Prometheus,
is
concerned
with
science
and
its
experiments
[again,
impeccably
mimed].
Professor
Boyd
Thomson,
who
chooses
vivisection
over
the
affections
of
his
Lucilla
– a
pin-sharp
middle-class
characterization
– and
goes
on
to
try
a
new
potion
on
himself,
its
effect
being
to
enhance
sensory
perception.
An
effect
brought
to
vivid
life
in
a
virtuoso
sequence,
enhanced
by
sound
and
light.
We
could
feel
the
prick
of
the
syringe
…
It
ends
in
tragedy,
of
course,
with
the
Professor
paralysed
in
a
mausoleum,
as
the
narrator
philosophises
on
science,
magic,
and
"the
depth
of
that
gulf
of
fear
that
lies
between
the
quick
and
the
dead".
The
last
offering
is
very
different,
based
on
the
same
author's
The
Shadow.
A
tale
told
without
artifice,
in
the
first
person,
where
"nothing
is
explained".
A
haunted
suburban
villa,
a
mother
and
baby,
and
a
story
all
the
more
powerful
for
not
being
"artistically
rounded
off",
and
with
the
highest
goose-bump
count
of
the
evening;
one
particularly
thrilling
moment
when
the
narrator
realises
that
the
apparition
is
"not
almost
any
more".
This
effectively
understated
performance
– no
melodrama,
no
histrionics
– is
a
strength
of
the
show.
As
is
the
fact
that
these
stories,
being
less
well
known,
come
to
us
fresh
and
original.
They
celebrate
the
women,
prolific
writers
in
this
and
other
genres,
who
were
eclipsed
by
their
male
rivals.
And
they
leave
their
audience
with
a
sense
of
unease,
as
all
good
ghost
stories
should.
As
Vaughan
says
by
way
of
valediction,
"Take
care,
my
good
Ladies
and
Gentlemen,
there's
awful
strange
things
in
this
world."
this piece first appeared on The Public Reviews
