“Every moment between them is overflowing with nuance and tension, with a beautiful unpredictability as to how their relationship will develop”
The stage directions in the plays of the likes of Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller are notorious for their length and level of detail – to actors, directors, and designers they can often feel like micromanagement of every aspect from the writer. Tamara Harvey’s production of Orpheus Descending defies the demands of the stage directions by instead having Valentine Hanson’s Uncle Pleasant speak some of them aloud. Amongst an unfocused opening, this comes off as a somewhat baffling choice, but key moments transfigure the function of the directions by weaponising them to make a stern point about the cyclical nature of hatred and fear within small-town communities, creating a rich and layered tapestry that delves directly into the human heart.
The titular Orpheus of Orpheus Descending is Valentine Xavier (Seth Numrich), a guitar-wielding, snakeskin-wearing drifter who has ended up in a small Southern town and is looking for work. Conveniently, Lady Torrance (Hattie Morahan) needs an extra hand at her general store since her husband Jabe (Mark Meadows) has fallen ill and although she’s reticent to employ an outsider, her decision to do so takes both her and Valentine on a passionate and ideological odyssey – albeit one threatened by the animosity from the rest of the town towards Valentine. The play grapples with a lot of hefty themes and ideas, chief among which seemed to be an exploration of outcasts and belonging – the clash of the townspeople who immediately dislike any intrusion into their tight-knit community with the free-spirited and open-minded nature of Valentine exposes the prejudices embedded into society and how can they affect even those who thought they were safe. In many ways, it operates as a microcosm for wider society and – sadly – still bears a lot of relevance today.
There are universally excellent performances on display here – even minor roles like Ian Porter’s Sheriff Talbott and Carrie Quinlan’s Nurse Porter carry a depth and gravitas that enrich the texture of their actions and dialogue. Jemima Rooper also does an incredible job as Carol Cutrere, another outcast whose circumstance and attitude serves as a smart counterpoint to Valentine. However, the abundance of praise must go to Numrich and Morahan as the central pair – the dynamic between the two is like a injection of rocket fuel directly into the bloodstream. Every moment between them is overflowing with nuance and tension, with a beautiful unpredictability as to how their relationship will develop; it’s never anything less than a total joy to watch the two interact.
Harvey’s direction and Jonathan Fensom’s minimalist design keeps the focus firmly on the performances, which is probably for the best given that there are so many – there are thirteen actors in the play, which results in an opening that’s quite chaotic and messy. It makes you wish the creative team had been as bold with presenting the most focused version of the play as they had with the stage directions, because once it does hone in on Valentine and Lady, Orpheus Descending is hauntingly seismic.
“Newham and the rest of the production team have serviced these plays well. They are just right and never overdone”
Hidden in plain sight in an alleyway off Hampstead’s High Street, Pentameters Theatre takes its charming home, where it has lived for fifty years. Old photos of historic theatrical greats pave the walls; nooks and crannies are filled with books and records; and the seats in the front row are an assortment of armchairs. The venue itself is as much a part of the action as what takes place on its oblong-ish stage. I was welcomed and shown to my seat by founder Léonie Scott-Matthews. It felt like to be in the theatre was to be a part of a secret party of authentic live art devotees. I was rather captivated by it all before the show had even begun.
To celebrate their fiftieth anniversary, Pentameters are working their way through rather beautiful stagings of Tennessee Williams’ early one-act plays, which he produced with amazing frequency and facility. Midnight in Manhattan transports the audience to New York, to three unhappy and cursed marital and extramarital situations. Theatrical readings of two of Williams’ poems aptly punctuate the drama.
Subtle jazz selected by Sound Designer Lee Ryda created a seamless through line as one piece moved to the next. Godfrey Old’s set used the space effectively, creating a bedroom and a living area simply but distinctly. Attention to detail, such as the labels on the bottles either being removed or in period, would have made the design great. Each central woman in each play wore a silk dressing gown, which was a lovely touch. Old’s hand-drawn publicity design is perfectly in keeping with Williams’ style: reflective of reality, yet slightly dreamlike. Ollie Edwards’ lighting design was simple and effective, but a lamp or other form of onstage light would have added a further layer of intimacy.
Every Twenty Minutes has a sardonic humour, which Andrea Milton-Furtlotti and Richard Stephenson Winter played very well, by preserving the text’s genius depressing sincerity. However, to mount the irritable tension between the couple, silence between retorts could have been used more effectively, to justify the Woman’s sudden outburst at the Man. Milton-Furlotti, in a difficult role as the sidelined wife, fleshed out her performance by avoiding being too pathetic, which kept the tennis match with her husband more interesting. Ava Amande in The Pink Bedroom was the perfect balance of haughty and tragic.
Director Séamus Newham’s choice to double up the Man in Every Twenty Minutes with the Man in The Pink Bedroom and Joe Cartwright in The Fat Man’s Wife works very well, as this allows the texts to interrelate, and their poignancy to hit home. Therefore, the tantalising offer to the audience is that Amande’s character is the lover of the Man in Every Twenty Minutes, as well as of the Man in The Pink Bedroom. The silent characters in one play are allowed to speak in the next. Stephenson Winter’s performance in all three is expertly odious – we love to hate him as the poor women in his life do. And David Angland as the Woman’s Younger Man in The Pink Bedroom and Jessica Boyde’s younger admirer, Dennis Merriwether in The Fat Man’s Wife, represents the possibility of a heavenly escape for these trapped women. That they can only escape by another man’s possession reminds the audience of just how trapped they are. Angland plays Dennis with youthful energy and just a hint of the tortured.
In terms of quality of writing, complexity of situation and length of duration, Williams certainly builds up to the final play in the trio, The Fat Man’s Wife. This is also the only play in the trio Midnight In Manhattan where the characters have names – they are allowed to grow to being more than archetypes and metaphors of unhappy predicaments. Jessica Boyde is utterly hypnotic. Her performance stands out in this strong company of five by its nuance and tenderness. There is a brilliant moment where her husband unclasps her dress, and it is clear that the spark in their relationship is long extinguished.
Newham and the rest of the production team have serviced these plays well. They are just right and never overdone. Overall attention to detail in the staging and more time for pause in the first two plays would have fully realised the precise tragedy of Williams’ writing. But I recommend Midnight in Manhattan with confidence, and Pentameters with a happy heart.
