Shortly after his adaptation of Mark
Haddon’s
The Curious Incident Of The
Dog In The Night-Time opened to acclaim at the National Theatre
last summer (it transfers to the West End in March), Simon Stephens
Tweeted that that was likely to be as much “crowd-pleasing” as he would
do for some time. This next production is not elegant entertainment
even of a Haddonite kind. Nor, however, is it in the vein of Stephens’
preferred recent mode of working, with a more opaque script which is
then further deconstructed by a director such as Swiss-based Sebastian
Nübling, whom he admires immensely. No, this is what you might call
classic Simon Stephens… to the extent of being a revival of a play he
wrote a decade ago.
Marianne Elliott not only directed
The
Curious Incident… and the 2002 Manchester premiere of
Port, but also Stephens’ 2008 NT
offering
Harper Regan; she
has both experience and sensitivity to material of this kind. As
Harper Regan followed a fortyish
woman on her journey across England to a family-related goal that
symbolised for her something greater but unspecific, so
Port’s eight scenes portray
discrete moments in the life of Racheal Keats, who ages from 11 to 24
between 1988 and 2002, and to a lesser extent her five-years-younger
brother Billy; the ’port in question is Stephens’ (and Elliott’s)
native Stockport, near Manchester. As so often, Stephens shows us a
succession of little breaking points in undistinguished lives, yet at
the end reveals a tiny kernel of indomitability.
Kate O’Flynn gives a terrific performance as Racheal through family
break-up, financial crisis, romantic disappointment, marital strife to
an uncertain kind of near-maturity. I had worried in the first scene,
when the NT audience gave one of the biggest laughs to a mother
smacking her young son’s face, that this might be patronisingly
misunderstood as northern exotica; however, O’Flynn and her seven
acting colleagues strike a fine balance between occasional laughter,
discomfort and even an exquisite emotional agony. Similarly, Lizzie
Clachan’s designs at first seem to leave the characters (most scenes
are duologues or occasionally trios) adrift on the broad Lyttelton
stage, but gradually we see that this is the point: they are indeed so
much smaller, but adrift? No. Rather, still heading doggedly towards
port.
Written for the Financial
Times.