Florian Zeller’s play was raved about on
its British première at the Ustinov on Bath this time last year, and
again on its first London transfer to the Tricycle in May. I see no
reason why the raves should abate now it has deservedly hit the West
End. It is terrifying and brilliant in its portrait of Alzheimer’s from
the inside.
In James Macdonald’s flawless production, we identify with 80-year-old
André as he grumbles about a “stolen” watch that he has merely mislaid
and is part-endured but also part-patronised by his daughter Anne. We
share his disorientation when a man turns up in his apartment declaring
himself to be Anne’s husband of ten years, since she had been a
divorcée only a few minutes ago. And when “Anne” returns with an
entirely different face, we find it as hard as André to keep a
dependable grip on anything. Scene follows scene with changes of face,
biographical data and even furniture; sometimes a strand shows some
consistency, only to be snapped by a difference of detail. The nature
of theatre itself puts us inside the confusion, naturally empathising
as André grows quieter and sadder, neglecting even to change out of his
pyjamas. Piano music between scenes is similarly discontinuous, with
skips, reverses and intrusive sine tones. Miriam Buether’s set is
half-distanced from us behind a rectangular cut-out frame. Nothing is
reliable in this all-too-plausible portrait of a mind and a world at
odds with each other.
Actually, two things are reliable. Christopher Hampton’s translation is
as deft as his work from the French usually is. His rendering of
Yasmina Reza’s
Art was first
seen on this stage;
The Father
is Reza for grown-ups, with both a heart and a mind. The other linchpin
is Kenneth Cranham’s performance as André, which begins enticingly to
draw us into this reality with him and then keeps us on the journey,
somehow growing more towering even as he subsides into morose,
bewildered silence. Anyone who has ever entertained consideration of
such a condition either in themselves or another will be at once
gripped and shaken by this remarkable play. I repeat: terrifying and
brilliant.
Written for the Financial
Times.