Thrills amid the frenzy
Lloyd Evans
Forty Winks Royal Court Fully Committed Arts Theatre
Quite a starry affair, the press night for Kevin Elyot's new one at the Royal Court. 'Technical difficulties' delayed the start by half an hour and when we finally took our seats I spotted Kirsty Wark behind me, Michael Portillo four places along, and John Mortimer, plus assistants, making his way down the aisle. I was about to offer him my seat (it had his name engraved on it) but he seemed happy enough being trundled along in a cushioned chariot. The play is a macabre comedy which succeeds in at least three quarters of its intended effects.
But first the 'technical difficulties', which are wholly self-inflicted. The curtain rises on a poky hotel room. After a short scene, the curtain falls again. Frantic noises on stage suggest that an almighty transformation is taking place. After an aeon, the curtain rises. We're in the garden of a big Hampstead house in the aftermath of a boozy lunch: scattered chairs and parasols, a table laden with plates, glasses and empty wine bottles, the lot. A sumptuous mess, yet the effect is slightly diminished because the inner wall of the hotel room is clearly serving as the outer wall of the Hampstead mansion. The lunch scene over, the curtain drops again. Another agonising delay, with more lumblings, crashes, bumps and bangs, shouts and burps from on stage. Now what? Curtain up and we're back to the boring old hotel room. Oh no. There's another short scene and the curtain drops yet again. Further rushings about and dashings to and fro, and then curtain up again, and it can't be. It is! We're back in Hampstead. Totally crazy. To be fair, these Herculean labours mean that each scene finishes on a terrific note of suspense. But there's a heavy price. Chaos and panic in the wings disturb the rhythm of the play and prevent the audience from settling into a mood of acquiescent composure. A prudent director would avoid such disruptions.
On the plus side this is a skilfully written and often moving piece. A group of friends who haven't met since adolescence is brought together by a sudden death. Don, a damaged drifter, is still in love with his teenage sweetheart Diana, now miserably married to the nasty Howard. Diana and Howard have a child. Hermia, who suffers from narcolepsy after having being assaulted on the heath by an unknown deviant. A couple of gay oddballs provide light relief. Charlie is a young writer who looks healthy but has heart disease. His lover, Danny, a cardiologist, is a fat drunken slob who smokes heavily but is as fit as a fiddle. The fraught comedy between these old friends is full of nervy, quirky
dialogue. The press-night crowd loved this: 1. teach cultural studies to rich Americans,' says Don. 'What's that like'?' he's asked. An uphill struggle,' Lame on the page, but it got a big laugh. As did: 'We've tried taking her to a narcoleptic self-help group.' What happened?' Not a lot.' Most of the humour is understated, but when Charlie comments of his boyfriend, 'He ejaculates like a birthing scahorsc', there were gasps of bewildered laughter. It's cheap, it's disgusting and it's slightly illogical, but it's impossible to drive from your memory.
In the second half, the mood darkens and we discover the identity of Hermia's attacker. Elyot writes brilliantly about love, friendship and sexual envy, but I'm not certain he knows his way around the mind of a child molester. What playwright does? Child abuse has become a sort of theatrical `chers salad'. No one wants it, but it's always available. All the same, this show is a pretty effective thriller. As a comedy of manners it's one of the best new plays I've seen for ages.
There's another excellent play at the Arts theatre. Fully Committed by Becky Mode is set in a New York restaurant. Mark Sedock. a virtuoso impressionist, plays Sam, the hapless telephone booker who spends his day being harassed by pretentious, vain and demanding clients. Sam has to cope with feckless waiters, a narcis sistic head chef, and frequent calls from his lonely, widowed father, and what may sound like a flimsy idea evolves into an ingenious and riveting drama, Sam is a Chaplinesque archetype, the little guy who finally gets revenge on the bullies. His moment of triumph is an exquisite pleasure, the victory of patient virtue over posturing self-interest. I was moved to tears. More than that, 1 was moved to quote Roland Barthes. 'A justice that is at last intelligible: Absolute magic.
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