“The audience is shocked into a rare silence as the lights dim to blackout”
Two short plays by Samuel Beckett are presented, directed by Richard Beecham, joined together and performed without a break. The combined running time only reaches forty minutes but every second counts. Putting the works together highlights their common themes: the rhythms of movement, the loneliness of flawed humanity and existential pain.
There is a totally black set (Design by Simon Kenny) with two distinct areas illuminated with tubular light (Ben Ormerod): on our left, Rockaby – a cube with a rocking chair encased within it; on our right, Footfalls – a raised catwalk.
Footfalls: May (Charlotte Emmerson) appears, startled by the light. Shabbily dressed in nondescript grey, she paces up and down – nine steps left, nine steps right – head bowed, her arms wrapped around her body, her hair long and lank, her face screwed up showing the anguish that torments her but which she is unable to relieve. May talks with her unseen mother and Emmerson barely lifts her voice above that of a stage whisper. In the intimate space of Jermyn Street every excruciating word is crystal clear. Charlotte Emmerson’s performance is painful to watch but masterly.
We hear her mother’s replies amidst chilling wind (Sound by Adrienne Quartly), but the fixed source of the Voice (Siân Phillips) suggests that this could be a voice heard only within May’s head. May continues her pacing (Emmerson twice restricted to eight steps by the limitations of the catwalk), and the strident ring of taps on her shoes resounds in the space.
At the close of the play, May dissolves into the darkness and a woman steps forward. The Woman’s Voice sings the nursery rhyme Rockabye Baby and Siân Phillips evolves from one role into her next and one play segues seamlessly into another.
Rockaby: The Woman (Siân Phillips) sits at the window of her apartment, rocking to and fro, subdued lighting catching the sparkles of a jewelled brooch on her black dress. We hear the woman’s voice as thoughts of memories inside her head. This is more radio play than theatre, but Phillips’ poetic diction is perfect. At the end of each short section there is a chime, a device that connects this play with the previous, and the Woman says quietly ‘More’. More memories? More life?
A spotlight picks out the white face of the Woman and the dark shadows of her eyes – a grotesque death mask even as she lives – until her head nods and she disappears into the darkness. The audience is shocked into a rare silence as the lights dim to blackout. No-one breathes. It is as if the soul and spirit of the Woman is passing before us. As the lights return, the spell is broken, and applause breaks out.
Retired tennis player Tony (Tom Chambers) hatches a plan to murder his society wife Margot (Diana Vickers) in revenge for her affair with film script writer Max (Michael Salami), requiring Inspector Hubbard (Christopher Harper) to investigate the ensuing proceedings. But that’s enough of the plot of this early genre-defining murder mystery – there are no spoilers here.
For a show that takes a telephony reference for its title – NB. for younger audience members, the letter M was included with the number 6 on an old-style telephone dial – it is no surprise that the telephone, positioned centre stage, has an important role in this play. A pity that the sound effect of the telephone ringing is rather underwhelming and that the too similar sound of the doorbell, on occasions, causes confusion.
All the action takes place in the living room of Tony and Margot’s Maida Vale flat (Designer David Woodhead). A large sofa takes up centre stage, the front door to the apartment at the rear and a pair of French windows to the side leading out past some fine-looking greenery into the sun-lit garden. It is up to Margot and the semi-undressed Max to set the scene for us. With a lot of narrative to get through, and whilst facing up-stage, some of Michael Salami’s diction is not completely clear. Diana Vickers’ performance is sublime. Her text is beautifully precise and, over the course of the evening, we see her turn convincingly through a range of emotions from the alluringly flirtatious to the hysterically distraught.
It is mentioned that Margot enjoys staying in to watch plays on TV, which is a nice touch as this play by Frederick Knott received its first public airing as an episode of BBC Sunday-Night Theatre back in 1952. It was Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 film adaptation, with a BAFTA winning performance by Grace Kelly, that brought fame to the play and the lighting design (Lizzie Powell) pays homage to this with beautifully cast shadow effects onto the white walls. Another effect of dipping the central lighting in the room at particular moments in the narrative is less successful.
Director Anthony Banks moves his four actors around the stage – circumnavigating the central sofa – with skill and dexterity. Tom Chambers’ pointed features and angular movements lift his character directly from the pages of a graphic novel. If he doesn’t always appear callous enough for his proposed actions, there is one exquisitely foreboding moment as his false smile turns in slow motion into a rictus grin whilst an unseen clock ticks loudly down the seconds.
Christopher Harper, playing a double role, first appears as Captain Lesgate – suave and debonair but with a chequered history – before taking on the dogged figure of Inspector Hubbard. Played in the tradition of the all-knowing detective, Harper’s performance is compelling. With nervous energy and vocal trickery, the Inspector’s after-thoughts are, of course, the crux to detecting the calumny and the audience wills him on to uncover the truth.
This play is a most enjoyable light entertainment and, despite the word Murder in its title, an amiable drama with more than a few laughs and with only a little threat to the watching audience.
Reviewed by Phillip Money
Photography by Matt Cawrey
Dial M for Murder
Cambridge Arts Theatre until 9th October then UK Tour continues
