Original
Theatre Company at the New Wolsey Theatre, Ipswich
25.03.13
Sebastian
Faulks'
classic
novel,
with
its
psychological
insights
and
its
graphic
descriptions
of
trench
and
tunnel,
was
never
going
to
be
easy
to
adapt.
Perhaps
that's
why
this
first
ever
touring
production
is
Rachel
Wagstaffe's
second
attempt;
she's
abandoned
the
time
frame
of
the
printed
page
[retained
in
the
West
End
version]
for
a
much
more
free-flowing
memory
play.
It
begins
in
1916.
There's
a
kind
of
curtain-raising
ceilidh
behind
the
lines,
with
hints
of
Oh
What
A
Lovely
War
and
some
Journey's
End
jitters
amongst
the
men.
Stephen
Wraysford,
a
callow
officer,
reads
rats'
entrails
and
struggles
to
motivate
his
men.
Flash-backs,
seamlessly
stage-managed,
take
him
to
Amiens
in
1910
and
his
affair
with
a
married
woman
which
haunts
him
still
in
the
heat
of
battle.
Wraysford
is
superbly
drawn
by
Jonathan
Smith,
in
his
first
major
role
since
LAMDA.
A
humane
officer,
heartbroken
by
Isabelle's
desertion.
Drinking
heavily,
searching
war-torn
Amiens
for
traces
of
her,
weeping
at
the
kindness
of
her
sister
Jeanne
[Poppy
Roe],
determined
to
escape
the
tunnel
tomb.
A
deep,
honest
performance.
Sarah
Jayne
Dunn
is
his
Isabelle
– cool
and
aloof,
passions
kept
in
check,
she
is
especially
effective
in
the
powerfully
understated
reunion
scene.
As
in
the
novel,
the
strongest,
most
sympathetic
character
is
salt-of-the-earth
Jack
Firebrace,
given
memorable
life
here
by
Tim
Treloar.
We
meet
him
first
in
a
makeshift
drag
act,
we
grieve
with
him
for
the
loss
of
his
little
son,
feel
his
frustration
as
he
tries
to
capture
a
likeness
of
Arthur
Shaw
[Liam
McCormick],
witness
his
final
sacrifice
as
he
wills
Wraysford
to
escape
into
the
daylight
of
peacetime.
Excellent
support
from
a
hardworking
ensemble.
Much
doubling,
notably
the
Captain
Gray
and
René
Azaire
of
Malcolm
James,
and
Charlie
G
Hawkins
as
the
Azaire
boy
and
the
15-year-old
recruit
Tipper.
The
music
[Tim
van
Eyken]
and
the
movement
were
both
brilliantly
done
– hymn
tunes,
an
accordion,
a
fiddle,
all
underpinning
the
action
and
the
emotions
– and
the
palpable
claustrophobia
of
the
mines,
evoked
so
simply
with
a
couple
of
lamps,
a
wooden
brace
and
the
sheer
force
of
the
performances.
A
constantly
moving
production
from
Alastair
Whatley,
full
of
characters
we
can
care
about,
ceaselessly
reminding
us
of
the
savage
futility
of
warfare.
It's
hard
to
imagine
the
book
being
better
done
as
drama.
Two
minor
niggles:
the
French
accents,
though
subtly
done
in
the
main,
are
unnecessary.
And
the
strange
balletic
seduction,
violins
throbbing
on
the
soundtrack,
seems
to
belong
in
a
different
show
altogether.
this piece first appeared on The Public Reviews
