It is all but unheard-of for a West End
show to open in the fallow period between Christmas and New Year.
Strictly speaking, this is merely a transfer: Lisa Kron’s play ran at
the Trafalgar Studios during the autumn, and has been upgraded to the
Apollo for a few spare weeks between major productions. It both looks
and feels out of place here. Nicky Bunch’s fragment-of-a-room set
design deliberately appears inadequate on an otherwise bare stage, and
Kron’s material is more suited to a studio than a Shaftesbury Avenue
playhouse.
This is where things get complicated. Lisa Kron has written a play
whose protagonist is Lisa Kron; in the American production, Kron played
herself, but here she is played by Natalie Casey. The other major
character is Kron’s mother, played by Sarah Miles. Lisa-onstage
frequently repeats Kron-author’s assertion that this not “about” their
relationship, but rather is an “exploration” of issues of health and
illness: Ann has been chronically debilitated for decades, whereas Lisa
suffered from severe illnesses when younger but then “got well”.
Despite her physical frailty, however, Ann Kron is such a strong
personality that she unintentionally wrests Lisa’s play away from her,
by suggesting anachronistic or irrelevant episodes and coming to
command the attention of the other four actors so that, after Lisa
throws a hissy fit, they desert her; Lisa then leaves her mother alone
onstage before returning for a final candid duologue.
It’s a piece that plays with theatrical conventions, what we do and
don’t expect, and for much the time it is an interesting mess. Not all
of its messiness is intentional: why do the supporting actors break
character, back into English accents, to converse with Miles, who is
still in character as Ann Kron of Michigan? Why does Miles herself
break character later but not when the others do? Why, in the midst of
all this role confusion, is no allusion whatever made to the fact that
Lisa is not actually Lisa? Then, in those final moments, it becomes
apparent that the play has merely been biding its time before plunging
flagrantly into “this is my therapy” self-indulgence. Just in case we
miss the point, the curtain call is taken to Sly and the Family Stone’s
“Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)”. Subtle as a flying mallet.
Written for the Financial
Times.