I was looking forward to this, having wonderful memories of being in it some years ago.
Firstly, someone needs to put Richmond somewhere else.
Secondly, to the thieving git who crashed into me at the ticket barriers at West Hampstead when my Oyster card did the old 'seek assistance' thing and
still had the audacity to push me through and take a free ride when it
did work, I can only hope that when you walked past the Lake Erie sized puddle outside the station, a ten tonne truck drove through and soaked you down to your undercrackers.
Thirdly, they should invent a new category of ticket - 'No View Whatsoever' would describe very nicely where we were sitting. I wouldn't mind (well, I would) but I chose (badly as it turned out) from the whole of the upstairs when I booked (nothing mentioned about restricted view) and the only way to see anything was to move the chairs right up to the railings, squashing our legs (and when have you ever heard
me moan about leg room?) and hang over the edge. Also, those who complain about the Nash building should take a look at the Orange Tree. Ok, not purpose built, but still.
So I'll start with the negative, seeing as I'm in a bad mood having recounted the above. Jonathan Broadbent. What an uninspired performance. Despite knowing the play well I found my mind wandering when he was on. At one point I spotted no less than 5 audience members fast asleep and when I got bored of counting them and placing bets as to which would be the first to end up on the shoulder of the person next to them, I became fixated on the hideous shoeage in the front row. I didn't think there was any chemistry between him and Rebekah Hinds and their scenes bored me rigid.
I don't even know where to start with Paul Bradley. Three accents in one sentence is some talent! He was, I think, trying to do a west country burr. Occasionally he did. Very occasionally. But when he shouted it was pure London. And then, sometimes, a totally generic 'northern' accent came out. He was dire. He did the buffooning around well enough and that was it. For me he was the creepy one, not Christopher Ravenscroft, who I really liked and who had one of those old theatrically trained, effortlessly projected voices. He was perfect.
I, along with others, raised a metaphorical eyebrow at Belinda Lang's casting. Well, I really liked her, particularly in the first scene where she came on and totally showed us what she was all about, what her relationship with her son was like and her superior, bullying attitude towards her 'friend' and neighbour, Mercy. In the final scene
she genuinely cried, which was moving and pretty impressive in such a small space.
I loved Selina Cadell's interpretation of Mercy. She had a difficult job playing so close to the audience as it would have been easy to have gone right over the top. Apart from some excessive head-waggling she managed to avoid this and played it in quite an understated way. Her timing on her one-liners was sublime (yes, of course they kept the Stephen Hawking bit in) and she held the audience the best. Her big speech was wonderful, though didn't get a round of applause afterwards, unlike *ahem*
other people in the role.
The gazpacho/ashes scene was ok but not enough made of it. They used thick, gloopy stuff. We used a more watery liquid, which is how gazpacho should be. At the last minute the director and I decided that when it slowly dawned on Mercy what she was actually eating, I would spray my mouthful of soup across the table. The fact that the director forgot to tell the other actors led for some genuine reacting (and a couple of cross prima donnas) on the first night. But we kept it in (the prima donnas made sure they were out of the firing line on subsequent nights) and it went down a storm.
All in all we enjoyed it, mainly because of those three really good performances. 3 stars.
