What
a lot of laughs there are in this Joe Orton revival! How few of them
are by Joe Orton! Which is absolutely not to accuse Leicester’s
greatest playwright son of being unfunny. In the few years leading up
to this, his final play, he perfected the authorial voice of a
depraved, polymorphously perverse 1960s Oscar Wilde. Here, when
psychiatrist Dr Prentice accuses his wife of nymphomania, she haughtily
replies, “My uterine contractions have been bogus for some time!”
Later, Dr Rance, whose inspection of the Prentice clinic is interrupted
by a chain of outrageous events in which he sees a best-seller,
declares that his book will include “incest, buggery, outrageous women
and strange love-cults catering for depraved appetites. All the
fashionable bric-a-brac.”
His years of experience in the deliriously funny duo The Right Size
have made Sean Foley probably Britain’s best director of farce
business. However, sometimes the acting side slips away from him. The
first rule of farce acting is “Play it serious.” Here, the high-calibre
cast led by Tim McInnerny and Samantha Bond as the Prentices and Omid
Djalili as Rance leave us in no doubt that their characters believe
every twist and turn of the incestuous, cross-dressing,
drink-and-drug-impregnated tangle is fiendishly important… but not that
they do, not that they are
those characters. They are so busy being overwrought that they smother
the aphoristic filth of the script, the verbal smoothness that should
counterbalance the increasingly chaotic behaviour. Djalili, in
particular, spends much of the second half expertly eliciting laughs
from tics of performance whilst failing to “sell” almost any of the
numerous gags in his lines. (Imagine what the premiere performance of
Rance must have been like, from Ralph Richardson.) McInnerny and Bond
have the excuse that their characters are growing progressively drunker
(there is some nice business with a series of concealed bottles of
Scotch), which gives them freer rein as matters accelerate.
The finest performance is in the comparatively minor role of Sergeant
Match, who spends all his time in a bewildered search for mostly
non-existent people and for “the missing parts of [a statue of] Sir
Winston Churchill”, which are indeed exactly the parts you’re trying
not to imagine. The sergeant is played by that hugely talented
physical-comedy actor Jason Thorpe, whose instincts and understanding
of the form realise Foley’s ideas to an extent frustratingly lacking in
his comrades’ performances.
Written for the Financial
Times.