TWO OF US at the Watford Palace Theatre

★★★★

“Both actors are pretty accomplished pianists, and we feel the bonhomie as they jam together”

“You and I have memories – longer than the road that stretches out ahead”. Although Paul McCartney wrote those lines – from the song ‘Two of Us’ – for his wife Linda, it has always been interpreted as a gesture of affection to John Lennon; made all the more moving as the Beatle’s were well on the way to breaking up. When the Beatles eventually split, the rift between Lennon and McCartney was famously chronicled in the pair’s musical output. Lennon’s “How do you Sleep?” was probably the most scathing, rebuffed by McCartney’s deliberately lightweight and tongue-in-cheek “Silly Love Songs”. The global phenomenon of McCartney’s “Yesterday” was always a bugbear of Lennon’s. The reality was always kept close to the couple’s chests, but speculation was fuelled across the media and around gramophone players as fans pored over the lyrics looking for extra layers of meaning.

Among them was self-confessed Beatles nut, Mark Stanfield, who used the song title for his 2000 film “Two of Us” which became a cult favourite. Now, re-written for the stage with Barry Sloane and Richard Short, it has evolved into a poignant study of friendship, of falling out, reconciliation and looking out for someone. “Two of Us” could be you and me; could be anyone. It’s an ‘everyman’ story, but built around the Lennon-MacCartney duo, it is an inspired choice that dishes out some gripping and honest dialogue.

We are in Lennon’s apartment in The Dakota, overlooking Central Park in 1976, and Paul McCartney turns up unannounced. It was to be the last time they met. The atmosphere is immediately evoked by Amy Jane Cook’s sparse but functional whitewashed apartment – complete with white grand piano. Adrienne Quartly’s realistic sound design firmly places Manhattan six storeys below. Barry Sloane’s Lennon is alone, dressed in a white kimono, jittery and distracted. We immediately wonder if he is okay. Cold Turkey comes to mind, but is it depression? Anxiety? Sloane masterfully gets under the fame, and the skin, to reveal Lennon’s vulnerability beneath the incisive shell. When Jay Johnson’s McCartney crosses the threshold, they initially tread cautiously around each other afraid to break the shell, yet past gripes are clearly seen through the cracks. Johnson is convincing as ‘Macca’ – at times the cheeky-chappy-Scouser whilst also having the gravitas and licence to neutralise Lennon’s acidity. But moreover, Johnson reveals a deeply caring soul who lives with the regret of being unable to fully express his love for his lifelong friend.

The ice breaks at the piano. Both actors are pretty accomplished pianists, and we feel the bonhomie as they jam together. But old wounds resurface, replaced almost as quickly by fond memories, adolescent mischief and a generous supply of wacky baccy. Scot Williams directs with a Pinteresque eye, allowing the action and the emotions to unfold in real time. Sometimes the pauses and silences drag, but for the most part they give us time to prepare ourselves for the next twist in the encounter. In a similar way, McCartney seems to be constantly bracing himself for the attack.

The two actors give powerfully realistic performances, although occasionally hindered by platitudes. And, although not necessarily a revelation, we see another side to the characters. Historical facts are teased out (sometimes via cringeworthy puns) rather than force fed to us, which is a refreshing change from the exposition that often plagues plays like this. Ultimately it is a love story. Of sorts. It comes from the writer’s heart. The final scenes hover between pathos and schmaltz, not quite sure which side of the boundary to land. Yet we are moved. And entertained. Whatever issues underlie the relationship, or sorrows that remain unresolved, “Two of Us” knows how to ‘take a sad song and make it better’.