Russell Bolam directs a new production of David Mamet’s rarely performed two-hander first produced in 1977 and not seen in London for twenty-five years.
The set (Anthony Lamble) is a beautifully carpentered wooden façade of a lakeside summer house, complete with decking out front, upon which most of the action takes place. If anything, the house looks too good for its supposed age as it has been Nick’s summer place all his lifetime. His rowing boat, presumably of similar vintage, is discovered by Ruth to have half rotted away.
Our first view of the couple shows Ruth (Francesca Carpanini) to be madly in love with Nick (Sam Frenchum), prattling away to him about not very much of consequence; conversation which is received with monosyllabic and noncommittal answers. Nick stares with unblinking eyes and a featureless expression. We ascertain from the outset that this man is not quite all right, and Frenchum acts the part to a tee. Over three parts of the day – dusk/night/morning – the couple tell each other part-stories, never quite ending their tales. Ruth talks of her grandmother, Nick of his father. The stories involve bears, birds, fish, and even Martians; stories that are started, and left unfinished.
Subtle subdued lighting (Bethany Gupwell) changes over the course of the night and into the next morning including a well-designed lightning storm. Some superfluous flickering of a porch lamp between the scenes alongside ominous eerie sounds (Ali Taie) hint at the supernatural or, perhaps, a representation of Nick’s bad dreams.
Just as seen in Shakespeare, life in The Woods is different from that of The City but there is little evidence that Nick is liberated by the country idyll. It appears the more Ruth professes her love for him, the more clammed up Nick becomes until things turn ugly. Special mention here for Fight/Intimacy Co-ordinator Haruka Kuroda whose work with the two actors ensures the close scenes between the couple are totally credible and produces a most convincing on-stage scuffle that is indeed uncomfortable viewing.
The morning after the night before produces the finest moments of the play as Ruth finds some stoicism in her dealings with Nick and this audience finds some humour here that resonated. Whilst we can say that Mamet does not go far enough in exploring the possibilities between the couple – perhaps what we see and hear today was shocking enough forty-five years ago – this is a beautifully presented production of a play that gives little for the actors to work with. But Sam Frenchum and Francesca Carpanini work well together with what they have and the performance of Carpanini, in particular, is captivating.
“Sometimes it’s like a fine vintage wine, in other places, it’s dusty and antiquated”
Southwark Playhouse starts the new year Stateside as it transports us over to the Windy City. Cops, a new play by Tony Tortora, focuses on personal conflicts and professional unrests.
Chicago, 1957. A time and place where change and betterment is on the horizon in every aspect of society. But the murky underworld of Mafia crime and dirty police corruption is hard to erase. Stan (Roger Alborough), Rosey (Daniel Francis), Eulee (James Sobol Kelly), and Foxy (Jack Flammiger) work together in the Police Department. They may be of different ages, ethnicities and social standings, but their joint disgruntled attitudes towards the work and each other bonds them together. They’re on the hunt to bring in a gangster-come-star witness, before the Mob gets their hands on him. However, the operation soon becomes trickier as the cops get more entangled in the thickening plot, whilst their lives and relationships with each other begin to crumble.
There’s definite Arthur Miller-type undertones to Tony Tortora’s writing. Stan, for example, is a downtrodden everyman, with only his job to live for, much like Miller’s Wille Loman from his masterpiece Death of a Salesman. Yet, like Foxy who yawns during a long all-night stake out, it’s hard to not want to do the same at times. The stake out scenes in particular move at a dirge-like pace. The dialogue may be fast moving, but any physical, engaging action comes in dribs and drabs. The storyline of mob violence and corruption in the police department promises being full of grit and suspense but is rather lacklustre in final execution. Tortora is excellent at nailing the vernacular and true day-to-day movements of a 1950’s cop, but for theatrical purposes, this doesn’t translate into being engaging enough.
Where Tortora and director Andy Jordan do shine is the examination of interactions between the intergenerational, interracial work colleagues. The office offers a dissection of society at the time. The throwaway un-PC comments, and racial nicknames flung around by Stan, reminds you how much things have changed since 1957, but also how relevant social injustice still is today.
The cast give near-faultless performances as each and everyone one are believable and truthful in their delivery. From the scenes of bantering office talk, to introverted moments of opening up their hearts, they balance the fine line between the two with utmost precision.
The set (designed by Anthony Lamble), accurately captures the look of an American cop shop of the 1950’s. Maps, documents and photographic evidence plaster the walls. Archaic ash trays are dotted everywhere. The four detectives have their own desk. A charming, subtle touch from Lamble is that each workspace is arranged in the style of each characters personality. Stan’s is messy and full of paperwork, Rosey’s impeccably clean and organised. The back half of the stage is exposed brickwork and undecorated windows, making the transitions from office to stake-out in an abandoned warehouse run smoothly.
As contradictory as it sounds, this is a refreshingly traditional piece of new work. Cops examines masculinity in a classical style and structure that is fitting of the time period the play is set. Minus some in-jokes for the modern day audience, the play feels like it could have been written sixty years ago – for better and for worse. Sometimes it’s like a fine vintage wine, in other places, it’s dusty and antiquated. Authenticity is clearly the driving force, meaning captivating, gripping action is sadly put on the back burner.
