Jamie Lloyd’s tenure at Trafalgar Transformed goes from
strength to strength. The latest
offering at the previously named Whitehall Theatre is the not be missed Ghosts, adapted and directed by Sir Richard Eyre. Having missed it during its run at The Almeida, I was thrilled to see its
immediate transfer into The West End and am I glad I got to see it. As far as I am concerned, it is a production
that cannot be faulted. The acting,
direction, adaptation and design all contribute to make a theatrical
masterpiece. What with this and the
excellent Dolls House recently showing at The Duke of Yorks, Henrik Ibsen is one hot ticket!
It
wasn’t always thus. When Ghosts was
first performed in an unlicensed ‘club performance’ in London in 1891, it
experienced critical disapproval, with the majority agreeing that the official
ban as regards public performance was “both wise and warranted”. The consensus of opinion was that Ibsen, “an
egotist and a bungler” had written a “deplorably dull play which was
revoltingly suggestive and blasphemous; a dirty deed done in public”.
Nowadays
we have no such qualms about plays centering around sexually transmitted
diseases, attacks on religion, free love and incest, but in the right hands,
Ghosts still has the power to disturb. Richard Eyre’s production has such a
powerful effect that it does just that and more.
The
sublime Lesley Manville gives a
magnificent performance as the recently widowed Helene Alving who is thrilled
to have her artistic son Oswald (the so, so believable Jack Lowden) back home following his decadent sojourn in
Paris. However her joy is fleeting for
her past and that of her debauched late husband all too quickly come back to
haunt her. Even if one is unfamiliar
with Ghosts, the sense that there is something extremely nasty in the wood shed
is apparent very early on, such is the tension that exudes from all
concerned.
Just
as the lack of an interval helps to rack up this tension, so does the
magnificent set and lighting. The clever
use of a mid-stage murky, glass screen, enables those off stage to be
glimpsed. A metaphor for the title of
the play?
Not
that it is without humour. Adam Kotz as the pious Pastor Manders amusingly
highlights a tormented spirit with enough religious zeal to fill Westminster
Abbey, who despite believing everything he does is right, actually gets
everything impressively wrong. The
exquisite Charlene McKenna as the pert
maid Regina Engstrand also brings comedic touches to her role as the object of
Oswald’s desire, lapsing into French whenever the fancy takes her. Her alleged father, the disreputable builder,
Jacob, portrayed by Brian McCardie also comes across as a humorous, if not
lovable rogue.
Despite
the excellence of these performances, the evening belongs to Lesley Manville. The disintegration of Helene’s life is
handled with a heartbreaking delicacy.
We were sitting in the middle of the front row and such is the intimacy
of all that happens on stage that we were made to feel like voyeurs. This wonderful actress portrays so many
emotions: The initial buoyancy of a
woman who is finally free from the shackles of a painful marriage. The panic she feels on realizing that Oswald
has fallen for Regina not knowing that they share the same father, the hint of
sexual tension as she tries and fails to re-ignite the romantic attachment to
Pastor Manders. And finally the
devastation that her darling boy is dying from syphilis and it is down to her
to put him out of his misery. These
final few moments are almost too painful to watch. Her tears brought on ours!
What
do they say about a good cry being as cathartic as a good laugh? This is a play that shouldn’t be missed, but
do take some tissues.
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