Theatre Review: The Vortex (Rose, Kingston)

Timothy Dalton, Rupert Everett, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Will Young: it’s a diverse range of contemporary actors who’ve been drawn to play Nicky Lancaster in Noël Coward’s The Vortex – the part that Coward devised for himself in the play that made his name in 1924. It’s not hard to see why, perhaps: the role of the talented, neurotic, coke-addicted young composer has a straight-up melodramatic appeal that’s hard to resist. Stephen Unwin’s new production of the play at Kingston’s Rose casts David Dawson (of the Donmar’s Luise Miller and the Royal Court’s Posh) as Nicky, with Kerry Fox as his mother Florence, the ageing beauty who’s presented as the cause of much of her son’s self-destructiveness and angst. And while lacking the charged-up, close-up intensity of Michael Grandage’s production at the Donmar ten years ago, Unwin’s sleek revival proves a highly engaging staging of one of Coward’s most potent plays.

Daring in its day – “un peu shocking,” in the words of its own author – The Vortex still has power and punch, as Coward views the decadence of the 1920s upper-class with a mixture of fascination and critique. The chief object of his disapproval is Florence: a socialite who keeps herself occupied with a string of toy-boys in order to hold back the years. But the principal emotional interest of the drama lies in the damaging effect that Florence’s behaviour has on Nicky, with tensions coming to a head when the young man returns to the family fold from Paris, only to discover that his mother’s current squeeze, a Guards Officer named Tom (Jack Hawkins), is a former beau of his own fiancée Bunty (Sophie Rundle).

The play’s move from classic Cowardian quippage to a final soul-baring duologue between Nicky and Florence that’s more than a little reminiscent of the Hamlet closet scene (with a touch of Ibsen’s Ghosts on the side) is challenging. But Unwin’s production remains alert to the play’s sharp shifts of mood and navigates them nicely, despite excessively jaunty music from Olly Fox and a design by Neil Warmington that has some questionable ideas (especially in the final scene) along with some clever ones (dig the red lips sofa!)

Key to the play’s success is the subtle complexity of its characterisation. There’s a whiff of misogyny, perhaps, in the presentation of Florence – a self-absorbed “Mommy Dearest” whose behaviour has broken both her husband (sympathetic William Chubb) and her son. But it’s offset by an edgy compassion, too. And Kerry Fox – a surprising casting choice for Florence – digs out the character’s underlying fears and insecurities while also conveying her vanity and casual cruelty, endowing Florence with a memorable tragic grandeur. She’s well-matched by the compelling Dawson who conveys both petulance and real pain as the tormented son. In recent years, it’s become commonplace to view part of Nicky’s “problem” as repressed gay desire, of course, and that idea is certainly implicit here, in the ironic spins that Dawson puts on certain lines and the sham that Nicky’s engagement to Bunty is shown to represent.

As the other members of Florence’s gossipy circle, James Dreyfus tosses out bitchy quips with panache and Helen Atkinson Wood gets some fruity comic moments, while Rebecca Johnson – too rarely seen on stage in recent years – brings exceptional candour and sensibility (plus an unexpected touch of Sapphic desire) to her role as Florence’s confidante, whose task it is to alert both mother and son to the possibility of a life beyond the destructive social vortex. Recommended.

Runs until 2nd March.

Reviewed for The Public Reviews.

Theatre Review: The Lady From The Sea (Rose Theatre, Kingston)

The stage curls into a wave; the backdrop suggests a Turner. It’s not every play that’s proved suited to the Rose Theatre auditorium. But Stephen Unwin’s production of Ibsen’s The Lady From The Sea—with its clever set design by Simon Higlett—feels right at home. It might be that the unusual contours of the space—the mixture of traditional and modern design—fit the strange contours of a play that shifts restlessly between modes and genres, merging domestic realism and folktale, naturalism and expressionism, as it dramatises a pivotal moment of crisis and decision in the life of its fascinating female protagonist.

There is evidently something about that protagonist, Ellida Wangel, torn between the compromises of her marriage and the danger and excitement offered by the reappearance of an old lover, that greatly appeals to the distaff side of the Redgrave clan. Tony Richardson directed Vanessa Redgrave in the play in the late 1970s, while Natasha Richardson gave a blazingly intense performance in the role in Trevor Nunn’s production at the Almeida in 2003.

In Unwin’s production, it’s the turn of Joely Richardson to wade into the waters previously navigated by her mother and sister. And, returning to the stage for the first time in a while, Richardson acquits herself extremely well throughout, finding plenty of variety in the role, and compellingly communicating the character’s contradictory qualities.

By turns vulnerable and defiant, bewildered and resolved, Richardson truly suggests a creature from another element, while the occasional appearance of her mother’s gestures and inflections—hands to the face; a throaty contralto note—adds an extra level of poetry to the portrayal. The scene in which Ellida reveals the “terrifying attraction” that “The Stranger” holds for her to her husband, Dr. Wangel (a terrifically sympathetic Malcolm Storry), is especially strong.

Unwin’s production, which avails itself of the director’s own supple translation, begins superbly, with all the interest and intensity one could hope for. If the second half doesn’t quite match the opening for impact Unwin nonetheless offers a lucid and engaging account of the play, that is, I think, one of the Rose’s stronger productions so far.

A great part of the play’s interest lies in its exploration of an awkward step-family situation, and Ellida’s difficulties in fulfilling the role of mother to Wangel’s two daughters, Bolette and Hilde; this aspect is powerfully conveyed here. Madeleine Worrall is a poignant Bolette, quietly nursing her own sense of frustration and entrapment, while as Hilde—cutting and contemptuous yet craving her step-mother’s attention—Alexandra Moen contributes a lively, unsentimental characterisation.

A weak element is Gudmundur Thorvaldsson who delivers a sadly stilted performance in the small but pivotal role of The Stranger from Ellida’s past: dapperly-dressed (in a very odd costuming choice), stolid and lacking in mystery or magnetism, he’s more “man at C&A” than man from the sea, with the result that Ellida’s dilemma loses some of its force. But the rest of the cast inhabit their roles vividly, with Sam Crane funny and exasperating as the sickly aspiring sculptor Lyngstrand, and Robert Goodale making pleasingly light work of Ballested, a stammering jack-of-all-trades who intones what turns out to be the play’s affirmative maxim: that, with freedom and responsibility, human beings can indeed “acclimatise themselves.” In sum, it’s worth diving in.

Booking until March 17th.

Reviewed for British Theatre Guide.