Pinter’s 1965 drama has been claimed as his most ‘representative’ work - or, more accurately, the most representative work of his early period that began with 'The Room' in 1957 - though in several ways it anticipates the move into more obviously poetic drama of later plays such as 'No Man’s Land'. Characteristic Pinter themes - the intrusion of outsiders into an established situation, man as competitive animal, woman as enigma - are all present and correct, but there is a new spareness to the writing and we’re left to ponder, even more than before, whether any of his characters are telling any recognised version of ‘the truth’.
In Jamie Glover’s current touring production, the verdict would seem to be that they’re all fantasists. Matthew Horne’s spiv-ish Lenny, with his over-elaborate hand gestures, seems to infer that his tales of beating up pox-ridden hookers and pesky old ladies, are both of the shaggy dog variety; and it’s hard to believe that Keith Allen’s surprisingly frail Max - whose nippy first entrance belies his later struggles to stay upright - was once ‘one of the worst hated men in the West End of London'. Similarly, Sam Alexander’s Teddy, all glib expressions and ersatz politeness, is playing the role of the visiting academic rather than being the genuine article.
Although perfectly viable (‘How do we know they are what they say they are?’ Pinter once asked), this has the effect of reducing the play’s menace quotient, at times taking it dangerously close to sitcom territory as the penultimate scene, in which the family discuss setting their new daughter-in-law up as a prostitute, illustrates all too clearly. This was the scene that had early audiences walking out with cries of ‘Animals!’; the Leicester audience only giggled.
Rounding out the cast, Ian Bartholomew offers a credible portrayal of Sam, the taxi-driving uncle whose sexuality is the subject of some ribald speculation by his brother. Geoffrey Lumb’s Joey, the aspiring boxer who’s ‘in demotion in the daytime’ is more introvert than simpleton. As Ruth, Shanaya Rafaat is suitably enigmatic but not the dominating figure she needs to be to effectively reduce a whole family (literally) to its knees by the end.
Liz Ashcroft’s set, with its vertiginous staircase and acres of patterned blue wallpaper is both too big and too easy on the eye to match with the pre-gentrified North London setting, and Max Pappenheim’s sound design punctuates scenes with a synthesised subterranean gurgling, to no obvious purpose. Although The Homecoming remains a classic text, it can be a difficult one to pull off and, in this case, less than full justice has been done to it.
Reviewer - Paul Ashcroft
on - 27.4.22
No comments:
Post a Comment