Following Chekhov
Lloyd Evans
Enemies Almeida Breakfast with Jonny Wilkinson Menier Coriolanus Globe When he wrote Enemies, Gorky was in love. The object of his desire was the artistry of Chekhov and this 1906 play is his attempt to emulate the master’s theatrical style. Copying from geniuses is risky. Any attempt is doomed, so it’s remarkable that Gorky fails so successfully. He reproduces Chekhov’s entire theatrical caboodle, the bubbling samovars, the smocked peasants, the candles glimmering through the silver birches, the bickering, lounging, drunken toffs, and to all this he adds an element of revolutionary prophecy. A local factory-owner stands up to Marxist agitators, but when he closes down the factory he is murdered by a mob. The assassin goes into hiding, the army arrives to investigate and the innocent community finds itself beset by the three great evils of the 20th century: ideological hatred, political violence and latenight debate about the merits of collectivisation. We the audience know where this is heading. Famines, evictions, death camps, firing squads and countless other horrors await the well-meaning land-owners and the blameless peasants. They on stage have no idea. This might give the play an atmosphere of poignancy and foreboding but I didn’t sense it at all. I felt very little, I’m afraid.
The show is presented with a sort of perfunctory bravura, Chekhov-with-our-eyesclosed kind of thing. But it’s no more than a curiosity for misty-eyed lefties still hankering after the purity and righteousness of early Bolshevism. In Islington, where everyone who owns a freehold property is a millionaire, it has nearly sold out.
Chris England can write one type of play but he does it brilliantly. A group of friends gather to watch a great sporting event on TV, and the on-pitch drama causes animosity, conflict and eventually vio lence. The format is endlessly adaptable. In 1990, he wrote a play about the world cup, An Evening with Gary Lineker, which ran for ages in the West End and, after a quick rewrite, toured Australia as An Evening with Merv Hughes. His new play is set during the 2003 rugby world cup.
A group of die-hard supporters meet at their local club to watch the final between England and Australia. But not everyone is happy. The manager faces re-election and there are rumours that a wicked property developer plans to buy up the ground. The transitions between intrigue and broad comedy are superbly handled and, though the play has a highly complex structure, Chris England is skilful enough to keep all his devices hidden.
The cast is outstanding. Abi Tucker dazzles as the louche, twinkling Lena, who slips naked into the showers and accidentally seduces the wrong rugger-bugger. If you don’t like sport, you’ll identify with the cynic, Exley (wonderfully played by the author), who shares the widely held view that rugby isn’t a sport but a mass-brawl sporadically interrupted by the application of some arbitrary and impenetrable rule. A big surprise is Norman Pace (remember him?) of Hale and Pace, the comedy duo whose most memorable feature was that no one knew which was which. Norman Pace (he’s the one who isn’t the other one, in case you were wondering) is at last relieved of the obligation to be funny and he turns out to be a charming and highly watchable straight actor. Best of all is Michael Beckley as Matt, the psychotic Aussie fan, who swaggers around the bar braying about England’s countless sporting defeats. ‘You shouldn’t invent games if you can’t play them.’ This wonderful comedy is the latest in an amazing string of successes for the Menier Chocolate Factory. The theatre world is a state of bafflement. The Menier is run by a pair of long-haired young bikers who wouldn’t look out of place at a Motorhead gig and yet they’ve discovered a secret that has eluded — and ruined countless impresarios before them. How to run a small theatre and make money. If this show doesn’t transfer to the West End, I’ll walk down Oxford Street naked.
The Globe’s new season kicks off with Coriolanus. Jonathan Cake is excellent as the war-crazed and adorably arrogant Roman general, while the ever-brilliant Robin Soans brings plenty of variety to the thankless and repetitive role of Menenius. A highly traditional and richly enjoyable show. My only quibble is that the new director, Dominic Dromgoole, has chosen to finish the evening — as his predecessor did — with a choreographed jig involving the full cast. What’s the logic here? Treachery, violence, rioting, murder, civil war. Then a clog-dance. I don’t get it.
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