Churchill Theatre Archives - thespyinthestalls.com

The Man Behind The Mask

Churchill Theatre

Reviewed – 8th May 2022

★★★★

“He’s eighty-eight. An icon. He can afford to mock”

After walking onto the stage accompanied by a packed auditorium whooping and cheering, Barry Humphries still feels the need to introduce himself. A paradox that defines the evening ahead; self-deprecation mixed with a majestic awareness of his celebrity. A man of many words he ad-libs but chooses his words carefully, ensuring a rich mix of humour and pathos. “I’m a recovering comedian”, he pronounces at the outset, setting the tone for the next two and a half hours. The throwaway, yet precisely worded, remark prepares us for the vivacious anecdotes, while also hinting at a night peppered with revelations of lost years and alcoholism.

It is a brave enterprise. Humphries has always hidden behind the characters he created. Even after shedding those characters, he has claimed he still always wore a mask, inventing a character called Barry Humphries. “The Man Behind the Mask” is his way of letting us see the truth. For Humphries, at his stage of life, the time has come to talk of many things. And talking is one thing he does exceedingly well. Clad in a rich claret velvet jacket, with Ben Dawson at a grand piano periodically underscoring his reminiscences, Humphries is a born raconteur. He occasionally takes his time, sometimes dipping into easy listening mode. As we approach interval there is a vague tug of disappointment at the cosiness; the lack of outrage or offensiveness. But we soon forget as we are drawn into his life story and the defining moments of his career. The shock of old is replaced by a newfound poignancy. Both bully and bullied as a child, his epigrams betray an outsider’s melancholy fused into a privileged life. He jokingly describes his mother as the “mistress of the vocabulary of discouragement”, and affectionately recalls discovering mementos his father kept throughout his life. He delves into the seemingly inconsequential – school days, art classes, interior decoration, driving lessons – with a novelist’s skill that lets us know that this trivia will have a point later on.

After the interval Humphries is in his stride and his element. For a while he lets Dame Edna Everage take over as he settles back in his Chesterfield and watches, with us, video clips from the nineties and noughties. Scenes from the “The Dame Edna Experience” (her chat show famously described as a ‘monologue interrupted by total strangers’) are highlights of the evening – including a hilarious and prophetic interview with a young Boris Johnson. Johnson is introduced by Edna as the “man who refuses to learn from his mistakes”.

Via a stopover in the guise of Les Patterson, we are soon treated again to Humphries without the mask. He makes frequent cracks at the politic ideology that is increasingly proliferating and shaping entertainment (and society). When his trademark offensiveness seeps through he asks, “will I be cancelled for that?”. He recalls suspected inappropriate attention from a director back in his early career, but brushes it aside: “that didn’t happen back then – it wasn’t invented”. When talking about the difficulties in breaking into comedy, he quips that these days it’s not hard to be a comedian. “You don’t need to be funny. You just have to identify as being funny”. He’s eighty-eight. An icon. He can afford to mock.

Humphries is not afraid of adopting a serious and respectful tone when needed. In plaintive mode he recollects his alcoholism. Laced, of course, with his comic flair. He talks of his stints in rehab at “a private nursing home for thirsty people”. He discards jokes entirely when he touchingly pays tribute to Emily Perry, the actress who portrayed Dame Edna Everage’s sidekick and former bridesmaid, Madge Allsop.

From the man who has always solved his problems by making them worse, we are treated to a relatively safe unveiling, with a slightly uncharacteristic nod to sentimentality. “Delving into one’s memories is often painful, and nostalgia can be toxic. You stir up a lot of sediment and unexpected recollections jump at you with a lethal savagery. You can’t take that journey back alone. You need a friend, a helping hand… an audience! So thank you”. But his declarations are earnest and sober. And thankfully his irreverent humour never dried out when he did.

“Have I slowed down?” he asks us. “Well, yes I have, the show should have finished half an hour ago”. Maybe it should, as we look at our watches; but our hearts disagree, and we would be perfectly happy to stay and listen to him for another two hours.

Reviewed by Jonathan Evans

Photography courtesy TEG Dainty

The Man Behind The Mask

Churchill Theatre then UK Tour Continues

Other shows reviewed by Jonathan this year:

Freud’s Last Session | ★★★★ | King’s Head Theatre | January 2022

A Level Playing Field | ★★★★ | Riverside Studios | February 2022

An Evening Without Kate Bush | ★★★★ | Soho Theatre | February 2022

Steve | ★★★★ | Seven Dials Playhouse | February 2022

The Devil’s in the Chair | ★★★★ | Riverside Studios | February 2022

Us | ★★★★ | White Bear Theatre | February 2022

The Straw Chair | ★★★ | Finborough Theatre | April 2022

The Silent Woman | ★★★★ | White Bear Theatre | April 2022

The End of the Night | ★★ | Park Theatre | May 2022

Orlando | ★★★★ | Jermyn Street Theatre | May 2022

Click here to see our most recent reviews

★★

“maintains what can only be described as a majestic pace throughout”

In Murder, Margaret and Me by Philip Meeks, and produced by Tilted Wig Productions, mystery writer Agatha Christie turns sleuth as she attempts to discover tragedy, and a murder, buried in the childhood of film star Margaret Rutherford. It sounds like an intriguing idea for a play, and playwright Meeks sets up Murder, Margaret and Me as a three hander for “women of a certain age” as he puts it in the programme. Based on true facts about Christie and Rutherford, this play even has all the elements of glamour one would expect in a story about a bestselling author, a film star and an ever-knitting hanger-on (who, as a devoted fan, keeps the action moving along).

Set in 1962, Murder, Margaret and Me opens on a film set in Pinewood Studios as Christie discovers that she and Rutherford have very different ideas about how Christie’s character Miss Marple should be played. In a ruthless attempt to wrest control of her creation back from Rutherford and her Hollywood producers, Christie sets out on a mission to discover all she can about Rutherford and what really lurks behind the beloved star’s eccentric public persona. Of course, Christie herself has a few skeletons buried inside her closet, and as the play proceeds, we get tantalising clues about those as well.

This is such rich material, and it is presented to us by the gifted cast of Lin Blakley (as Christie), Sarah Parks (as Rutherford) and Gilly Tompkins (as The Spinster). Director Damian Cruden does solid work, as do designers Dawn Allsopp and Richard G Jones. The costumes, supervised by Molly Syrett, give an appropriate sense of period. But if audiences come expecting to be held on the edge of their seats in the same way that Christie holds us in her novels, they will be disappointed.

Murder, Margaret and Me maintains what can only be described as a majestic pace throughout. While this gives the audience ample time to reflect on how artistic rivalries can ultimately poison a blossoming friendship, it does not create the sense of suspense and excitement that usually accompanies this kind of subject matter. Despite the witty dialogue and engaging characters, Meeks takes too long to bring all the elements of his plot together. Furthermore, there are some elements that are not well integrated, such as at the opening of the second half, where a before the curtain address to the audience gives advice on how to keep your man. (Christie advises marrying an archaeologist since “the older you get, the more interested in you he becomes”). The Spinster (or should she really be called the Knitter?) is a two-dimensional character at best, despite Gilly Tompkins’ best efforts to make her more fully realised.

This is a well-intentioned effort to show that women who come to success later in life have all the energy and passion required to imagine great futures for themselves, and to play hard to get them, even when swathed in tweeds, pearls and knitting. But it falls short in the attempt. Actresses of the calibre required to play characters like Christie and Rutherford should have opportunities to be let loose to show the full range of human passions, especially when rooted in childhood tragedy, and betrayals of art, love and friendship.

Reviewed by Dominica Plummer

Photography by Craig Sugden