Made
in Colchester at the Mercury Theatre
15.05.2014
Sara
Perks' splendid design instantly conjures up a grim world of postwar
austerity, the grim industrial Nottingham where Sillitoe set his
state-of-the-nation novel.
The
steel girders frame sliding doors and screens; before the action, six
silhouettes come to life in a clever pastiche of movie titles. The
visuals say Sixties, the soundtrack, though, is a lively mix of
genres – Lovin' You, Lightning Ball, Rhythm Stick ...
Amanda
Whittington's adaptation, first seen in 2006, is punchy and
fast-paced. The utility furniture is pushed swiftly around to create
the pub or the shopfloor at Raleigh's, as well as more intimate, but
no more joyful, domestic settings. The fluent staging is enormously
enhanced by the presence of the “Community Chorus”, local
volunteer background actors who people the factory and the Goose
Fair.
Against
this sombre backdrop struts the cock of the walk, a fifty-bob suit
under his overalls, that seminal angry young man Arthur Seaton. A
self-styled communist, amoral, male chauvinist, he rages against the
system, but is always out for what he can get – more pay, more
beer, more sex - always ego-centric: even when helping a paralytic
Irishman he can't resist recalling his own misfortunes. But he's by
no means shallow – one prophetic political rant has tremendous
resonance sixty years on ...
He's
given a mesmerising performance here by Patrick Knowles; supremely
confident but immature and restless underneath it all. Hard to
empathise with him – he often eschews naturalistic speech patterns,
setting him apart from the other, more predictable characters – but
impossible not to feel some sympathy when, after a final soliloquy he
decides to try wedded bliss instead of domestic violence. The
luckiest bastard in the world ?
The
two married women he seduces – under the noses of their husbands –
are Gina Isaac as Brenda and Hester Arden as her sister Winnie. The
bright, bubbly girl who might just be Seaton's salvation is Elizabeth
Twells' Doreen. Ian Kirkby gives a nicely touching performance as the
cuckold workmate Jack, and Mercury favourite Tim Treslove puts in
overtime as half a dozen others, included that hilarious drunken Mick
and Robboe the Rate Checker.
Tony
Casement's energetic direction is often surreal, using the doorways
as lightboxes to frame a little scene, a few figures. The factory
floor and the funfair, when the balloon bursts, are both beautifully
done, with a balletic quality to the movement. And the sordid visit
from Aunt Ada, terminating Brenda's pregnancy with a steaming,
scalding bath and Mother's Ruin, is superbly staged: the red slip,
the screen, and Arthur's anxious cigarette smouldering in the
shadows.
this piece first appeared on The Public Reviews
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