Jez Butterworth, author of the zeitgeist-tapping play 'Jerusalem' and the "Noi-rish" stage thriller 'The Ferryman', didn’t have an easy path to his present position of eminence. The plays that followed on from his precociously successful debut, 'Mojo' (1995), failed to achieve the impact and cultural reach of his two recent ‘biggies’, and were sniffily received by critics. Consequently, both 'The Night Heron' (2002) and 'The Winterling' (2006), breathed their first and last on the stage of London’s Royal Court Theatre: and though both have been selectively taken up by amateur companies, to this reviewer’s knowledge, neither has received a second professional production in this country.
So, The Winterling is a welcome choice for presentation by Leamington’s enterprising and adventurous Loft Theatre Company: it’s the third Butterworth play they have mounted in the last decade. To those who like to slot things into genres, the play presents problems, being not quite a thriller, and not quite a comedy, and not really a domestic drama, though it contains elements of all three. But it would be superficial to dismiss it as a ‘dark comedy’, as the world the play draws us into is stark in its outline and nightmarish in its implications .
West, a ‘career criminal’ is holed up in a derelict cottage on Dartmoor, apparently the victim of professional blow out. We get the impression he’s been required to ‘leave town for a while’ after a job he was involved in went wrong. While awaiting the arrival of an associate from the smoke, he shares the space with Draycott, a local vagrant, who may be either cunning or mad, depending on your politics (he might conceivably be both) and Lue, a small-time whore with dreams of leaving for somewhere ‘better’. The associate, Wally, arrives accompanied by Patsy, his common-law stepson, with the news that West’s closest friend in ‘the firm’ has committed suicide. This would pass muster as the set up for a late night time-killer, but just as we think we know where we are, the author confounds our expectations and forces us to ask questions about what we are seeing. Is West as in control of the situation as he initially seems? Why exactly has Wally, the associate, brought his stepson with him? And what precisely is the nature of the business these three ‘gents’ seem to be in?
Much is left ambiguous, so your answer will be as valid as mine, but it’s typical of Butterworth’s generosity as a playwright that he allows an audience this ‘space’ to view the action through their own prism. And there are some stunning flights of dialogue (a bit of childish one-upmanship about an Iron Age fort being ‘in the wrong place’ tortuously elides into a confrontation about the real reason for the visit) that show the hand of the natural dramatist. But while violence is forever present - permeating the dialogue and ersatz bonhomie that West, Wally and Patsy try to create - not a gun is flourished, nor a head kicked in (notwithstanding the late in the day appearance of an axe).
Director Tom O’Connor’s production was well-paced, if lacking in the last degree of tension at key moments: more could have been mined from the turn on a penny shifts between jokes and menace, but a capable cast won through. Butterworth has always written bold, actor-attracting roles and justice is done to them here - Dave Crossfield impresses as a man who knows he’s reached his limits, James McCabe expertly catches the over-reaching innocence of the out-of-his-depth Patsy, and Phil Reynolds’ Wally is a masterly study in ambiguity. Richard Moore’s detailed set is almost a sixth character in the drama.
All told, a triumph for the Loft Theatre Company. See this while you can!
Reviewer - Paul Ashcroft
on - 22.2.23
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