★★★

“And while the intimacy of the piece is fitting, Morgan and Straus fail to capture the richness and depth of the legendary characters”

More than a century before our Celebrity Culture took hold, the legendary actors Sarah Bernhardt and Eleonora Duse became the pioneers of superstardom. Their rivalry has been said to have changed acting forever, becoming two of the first to achieve lasting worldwide fame. George Bernard Shaw almost certainly fuelled their enmity, praising Duse for ‘the best modern acting I have ever seen’, going on to say that while Bernhardt was ‘charming, artful and clever’, Duse ‘touches you straight on the very heart’.

Their approach to their art couldn’t have been more dissimilar. Duse favoured a naturalistic and contemporary style, using the power of emotion on stage while Bernhardt adopted the method style of acting with flamboyant gestures. Yet they still shared the same passion and should have – could have – been friends. Their story is of two people who had too much in common but were as different as night and day. Otho Eskin, in his play “Duet” imagines a final meeting of the two; one month before Duse’s death and a year after Bernhardt’s.

Duse (Cynthia Straus) is in ill-health, backstage at a theatre in Pittsburgh. Alone and far from home she is about to perform, for the very last time, as Marguerite in Alexandre Dumas’ “La Dame Aux Camelias”. A role she has played many times before, and one which Bernhardt made famous. Threatening to cancel the performance she sends the theatre manager away so she can be left with her own reflections. Only it isn’t herself she sees, but the ghost of Bernhardt (Wendy Morgan) who wanders into her dressing room threatening to upstage her once more.

Duse initially reacts like a cornered cat. ‘You don’t belong here anymore’. Bernhardt fails to tame her: ‘We could have been friends’. ‘No’ replies Duse bluntly. The initial antagonism slowly gives way to a resignation that the two are confined together until they settle some sort of score. Over the next ninety minutes we witness their differences slowly bringing them together, while a diffident affection tugs at the hems of their overblown egos.

Ludovica Villar-Hauser’s unostentatious staging neatly cuts from their dialogue to flashbacks and reminiscences. They are fragments that shed some light on their backstories, focusing on a pivotal moment when Duse went to Paris to play Marguerite – a role that Bernhardt claimed was hers alone. Throughout their ghostly encounter, Nick Waring comes and goes as the various men who weave in and out of their professional and personal lives.

The crucial questions, though, remain unanswered. And while the intimacy of the piece is fitting, Morgan and Straus fail to capture the richness and depth of the legendary characters. We are seeing them both with their masks down, yet we never really do get a glimpse of what might have lain beneath. Eskin has done his research, but the somewhat flat delivery presses the dialogue into a monochrome portrayal. The sense of mystery or discovery we were expecting becomes the ghostly presence that the writer and performers can never quite grasp. And, as a result, neither can we.

MACHINAL at the Old Vic

★★★★

“a brave and exciting revival that mixes gritty absurdism with precision-cut stylisation and outstanding performances”

When Sophie Treadwell’s “Machinal” premiered in 1928, the New York Times was so intrigued that it reviewed the production twice – calling it ‘a triumph of individual distinction, gleaming with intangible beauty… an illuminating, measured drama such as we are not likely to see again’. The Times described it as a play that ‘in a hundred years… should still be vital and vivid’. Well – here we are, almost a hundred years later and – yes – it is still vital, vivid; and individual. Richard Jones’ revival at The Old Vic will ensure that Treadwell’s legacy will survive another century at the very least.

The play is inspired by (rather than based on) the real-life case of Ruth Snyder who was executed in the electric chair for the murder of her husband. Treadwell’s narrative gives us a fictionalised backstory in nine distinct episodes which describes the chain of events that leads an anonymous woman to her fate. We are shown the different phases of her life and the people she comes into contact with. Rosie Sheehy barely leaves the stage during her extraordinary portrayal of this ordinary woman. A woman who never finds her place. Never finds peace. Driven to eccentricity; disturbed and constrained, but essentially tender and pliable while the life around her is hard and mechanised.

It is a highly impersonal world in which the characters have no names. As a result, they don’t attract much sympathy and while we are drawn into their expressionist world, we are not invited to have any emotional involvement. It is the rhythm of the piece that keeps us going along for the ride. Jones’ direction is as stylish and stylised as the writing, although he is just one cog in the machine. Benjamin Grant’s discordant, staccato soundscape chimes with Adam Silverman’s lighting that both punctuate and underscore the narrative. Sarah Fahie is credited as movement director, but choreographer is a more apt description. Even Hyemi Shin’s mustard-tinged, claustrophobic set seems to have rehearsed its movements in time to the clockwork dialogue and the pulse of the play.

Repetition informs the action, adding to the sense of unease and entrapment our protagonist feels. She quits her humdrum job by marrying the boss – a misogynist who regards his wife as a business acquisition, yet Tim Francis brilliantly manages to find a very likeable eccentricity to an otherwise despicably outdated personality. Unfortunately, she can’t seem to just ‘quit’ her marriage, which eventually leads her to the extreme measures of murder, having bizarrely got the idea from a chance remark made by her lover (Pierro Niel-Mee). The feminist message is somewhat sabotaged along the way. And we never quite understand her detachment, nor indeed her disproportionate, sadistic treatment of her nagging, potato-obsessed mother (a wonderfully colourful and funny Buffy Davis).

Although a few of the scenes are drawn out, the pace never drags. We might not sympathise, but we enjoy the absurdity immensely. It is another world but uncomfortably like our own. Although we can see Kafkaesque influences, it is almost impossible to believe that “Machinal” was written a century ago; and we are also reminded of those that Treadwell has influenced in turn. This is a brave and exciting revival that mixes gritty absurdism with precision-cut stylisation and outstanding performances.

Tag Archives: Jonathan Evans

DUET

★★★

Theatre at the Tabard

DUET at Theatre at the Tabard

★★★

“And while the intimacy of the piece is fitting, Morgan and Straus fail to capture the richness and depth of the legendary characters”

DUET at Theatre at the Tabard

Reviewed on 19th April 2024

by Jonathan Evans

Photography by Ali Wright

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE SECRET GARDEN | ★★★★ | December 2023

ABOUT BILL | ★★★★★ | August 2023

DUET

DUET

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MACHINAL

★★★★

Old Vic

MACHINAL at the Old Vic

★★★★

“a brave and exciting revival that mixes gritty absurdism with precision-cut stylisation and outstanding performances”