It is a truth universally acknowledged that any review of a stage adaptation of Pride And Prejudice must begin “It is a truth universally acknowledged...” That’s an obvious joke, and not very funny at all. Nevertheless, it has more wit, flair and spark than this show. I’d read other reviews of Sue Pomeroy’s production earlier on its six-week tour, but I didn’t believe it could really be that dreary. More fool me.
Let’s not get carried away, though: the one-star rating I’ve given it isn’t intended to signify a total disaster. The set (such as it is) doesn’t fall down. Nobody bumps into the furniture, although it gets moved around so often (28 times, by my count) that Pickford’s may feel their business is threatened. It’s just stiflingly unimaginative, numbingly tedious, and directed and acted in a bogglingly antique style.
Watching this, you couldn’t believe that a TV adaptation of Jane Austen’s novel rekindled our love of costume drama, nor that it was remotely sexy. The Bennet family, Mr Darcy and company mimble around for two and a half hours, engaging in a dozen or so pointless dances and rearranging the chairs. The acting is for the most part stilted and one-dimensional, which at least means John Leslie doesn’t stand out.
This is TV presenter Leslie’s first acting gig, and it shows. He’s stiff, self-conscious and tries to look deep by keeping his eyes half-closed. Incredibly, experienced actress Rula Lenska is worse. Her Mrs Bennet utters every line in the same silly hoot, and as it’s the end of the tour she really ought to know characters’ names by now. Sylvester McCoy survives as Mr B only by putting his clowning skills to use.
The whole thing is astoundingly old-fashioned, not in the sense of evoking the period but of the sort of tatty mediocrity we thought had died out with the end of weekly repertory theatres. Pomeroy calls her outfit Good Company. There’s a Trades Descriptions Act case just waiting to be taken up there. Early in the evening, one of the Bennet girls gasps, “Oh, what fun we shall have, what balls!” What balls indeed.
Written for Teletext.
Copyright © Ian Shuttleworth; all rights reserved.
Return to index of reviews for the year 2004