“the text is stilted and overflowing with platitudes that dilute the message”
A cold November or December evening seems the ideal time to head to the Finborough Theatre for, what is billed as, “a unique rediscovery” of ‘The Passing of the Third Floor Back’. Set in London, in 1907, at Christmas, it is described by its author as “an idle fancy” and was one of the longest running West End hits of its time.
The story focuses on a lodging house, home to an assorted group of unscrupulous residents. They all seem to be clinging precariously to their social positions with only one figure, the wealthy self-made businessman Mr Wright, being truly successful. The house is owned by the grasping Mrs Sharpe, who mistreats her maid, Stasia, a rehabilitated juvenile delinquent. The various members of the household are miserable and openly sneering and rude towards each other, the one exception being the respect shown by all to the powerful Mr Wright. In the case of one couple, Major Tompkins and his wife, this involves putting pressure on their daughter Vivian to marry Wright in spite of her obvious horror at the idea.
All of this is thrown off balance by the arrival of a mysterious stranger, who takes a room on “the third floor back”, and whose talk makes each character realise the selfishness and narrowness of their existence. Written back in 1908 by Jerome K Jerome (famous for his comic masterpiece ‘Three Men In A Boat’) it is definitely of its time, and Jasmine Swan’s set and costume wonderfully evoke the Edwardian feel, complementing the language and sensibilities. The atmosphere is impressed upon us as soon as we enter the space. A virginal dominates the stage, while a lone harp player fills the dimly lit air with beautiful melodies. The virtuosity of the harpist, Lizzie Faber, who underscores much of the action, is indeed one of the highlights of the production.
However, this introduction creates expectations that the unfolding plot fails to satisfy. Although it pre-empts ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ and draws on the themes of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ (and there are even moments where one can imagine a fledgling J. B. Priestley taking notes) the text is stilted and, surprisingly from the pen of Jerome K Jerome, overflowing with platitudes that dilute the message. The moralising is tiresome, patronising and repetitive.
This is an obvious challenge to the cast who are clearly doing their best, but all too often there is an apologetic feel to the performances. No real character decisions seem to have been made that could have saved the text by injecting some life into it, and Jonny Kelly’s direction does little to shape the piece for a contemporary audience. But in all fairness to the very able cast they are fighting against the words they have been given – and the intimacy of the space makes this show in their eyes.
This show has the potential to be a festive, feel-good morality tale – an antidote to the cold evenings that are drawing in – but somewhere this effect has been lost in the seventy years since it was last performed on the London stage.
“a delightful piece of skilled writing that oozes pathos”
John Holmstrom was a radio announcer and playwright who used the pseudonym Roger Gellert. It was under this name that he wrote Quaint Honour which looked at homosexuality in an English Public School. Now playing at the Finborough Theatre it is presented for the first time since its world premiere in 1958 and coincides with the fiftieth anniversary of the Sexual Offences Act of 1967 which partially decriminalised homosexuality in the UK.
Upon entering the compact theatre we are looking at what we learn to be a Housemaster’s study. In the opening scene Robert Hallowes, a housemaster in his fifties played by Simon Butteriss, is in conversation with Mungo Park a 17 year old Head of House about a forthcoming cricket match. We sense from these early exchanges that Park is a highly regarded and principled student.
Hallowes cuts short the meeting to announce he is doing his ‘set piece’ with Turner and Hamilton two fifteen year old junior students. His ‘set piece’ is an illuminating and often funny talk about the facts of life and the ‘tricky business of growing up’. He explains the physical differences between males and females to the particular embarrassment of the inexperienced Hamilton. The talk is concluded by informing the boys that in the absence of females within the school what may happen is that feelings can develop between boys though they should avoid any contact that may eventually ‘damage’ them.
When the talk is concluded Turner tells Hamilton of his bedroom experiences with some of the seniors. From here we learn more of the activities that are secreted away and it is clear that Turner has a very close sexual relationship with Tully a 17 year old House Prefect.
As the play progresses we learn more of the platonic friendship between Tully and Park who speaks of an unwanted sexual approach at school in his younger days and how keen he is to ensure protection of juniors from a similar experience. Turner challenges Tully to seduce Hamilton and the remainder of the play is about how their relationship develops, whether anyone finds out and if so what the consequences are. It makes for fascinating viewing.
The perfectly cast group of talented young actors are Jack Archer who is utterly convincing as Hamilton – cleverly depicting the character’s changes as the story develops, Jacques Miche who portrays the saucy Turner well and Oliver Gully who is a formidable Park bouncing off Harley Viveash’s stunning Tully. The experienced Simon Butteriss is perfect as the often twitchy Hallowes.
Overall this is a fascinating insight into life in a public school and how relationships alter following changes in circumstances. The cast are superb and each holds the attention of the audience as the direction from Christian Durham powers the play through from beginning to end. This timely revival of Quaint Honour is a delightful piece of skilled writing that oozes pathos, humour and provides an insight into seduction and survival in public school life in the fifties.
