David Eldridge’s latest play begins with
a domestic death-bed scene. Family strife then develops over a recently
changed will, before flashing back in the final scene to the
twenty-year-old reason why the two surviving sisters are at
loggerheads. It all revolves around territoriality and in particular
home ownership, which may be ascribed to commonalities of private and
public Essex politics but is also Eldridge’s theme: inheritance, and
the myth of place.
If the opening exchange, “Hello, Maureen” / “Hello, Doreen”, does not
sufficiently set the social scene, then the additional jingling pairing
of dying Len and his best mate Ken may do so. Eldridge is deeply
ambivalent about his native Essex, as an epigraph by Arnold Wesker to
the published playscript makes explicit: he respects his characters
without necessarily liking them.
Matters are complicated, though, by the venue. After so long as the
clichéd champion of grim working-class dramas, five years of Dominic
Cooke’s artistic policy of “explor[ing] what it means to be middle
class” may have defamiliarised the theatre’s audience to an extent that
they now respond with patronising complacency to a genuine
working-class family portrait. It seemed to me that on press night the
laughter was a little too free and easy. Eldridge has clearly included
a strong vein of humour, but he is not mocking his characters... with
the possible exception of his surrogate, a would-be playwright whom he
makes upper-middle-class in order to lessen this figure’s understanding
of his girlfriend’s family environment.
As theatre, this is a prime evening. Cooke’s production is finely
judged; Ian MacNeil’s design adds a bank of seating behind the stage so
that more of us can be closer to the action, and also confronted with
each other’s responses to it. Linda Bassett is a mighty actor, at her
best when being crumpled, and as Doreen she is in her element, with
sterling support from the likes of Peter Wight, Lee Ross and Debbie
Chazen. But Eldridge seems too close to his subject to be at ease
dramatising it. Party-political arguments, for instance, seem almost
brutally injected into the proceedings; if this is deliberate, it is
ill-considered. Eldridge is now one of our major playwrights, but I am
unconvinced that
In Basildon
is one of his major plays.
Written for the Financial
Times.