**** Four stars
It is all too easy to lavish praise upon an ambitious production that manages really rather well to transfer Wilde’s keenly critical social view, reflections on the role of art and the artist, and complex relationships and language to the stage. Yet while an admirable adaptation – with a really quite powerful script at times – it was not perfect.
Jordan Waller delivers a show-stealing performance as Lord Henry “Harry” Wotton. His initial entrance and earlier exchanges with Basil Hallward (Henry Faber) threatened disappointment as he came across as far too believable a married chap, not at all predatory, and meandered pointlessly across the stage – but he soon warmed up and his every movement took on purpose, his wrists limp as lettuce. Epigrams slid free with all spontaneity from his enticing lips and he owned the stage with each entrance.
Dorian Gray, as Jamie MacDonagh plays him, is at his most effective in the second act – commanding and persuasive; however, it is the flaw in his portrayal of the character in the opening scenes that presents the production’s greatest drawback: Dorian is never likeable. In a tale that depicts the corrupting influence of fickle values on either normal or especially virtuous people, there is no blank canvas, no great height from which to fall (to think in tragedic terms). MacDonagh’s Dorian is cocky and arrogant, and far too authoritative from the start for my liking.
The scenes with him and Sybil Vane (Nouran Koriem) are fantastic; her suffering at his hands is exactly how you imagine it. It’s Dorian at what we think is his vilest (before we discover that he is actively capable of murder); again, the only issue is that it’s nowhere near as far from the opening Dorian as it might be. “You were the most unspoilt creature in the whole world” Basil tells Dorian in arguably the best-presented monologue of the play, and we want this to be true.
Henry Faber as the erstwhile painter, Basil, was certainly the most consistently superb character on stage. From his first appearance he was simply spot-on – earnest, plaintive and then imploring. His death had real meaning and provoked real feeling (as obscured and devoid of passionate as it was).
The chorus. Special mention goes to the actor and actress playing Alan and Mrs Vane respectively. The chorus seemed to be the ‘risk’ element – an innovation entirely of the directors’ own, it was the main area in which directorial liberties were taken. Sometimes it worked – and certainly provided much comic relief – but it often felt as though Lucinda Dawkins and Adam Scott Taylor were simply giving them things to do. The device of Sybil’s suicide letter, for example, seemed unnecessary, being related twice before enacted. Some of the synchronised speech seemed pointless, which reduced its effectiveness when used cleverly, and synchronisation in flourishes (e.g. with chairs) was a little off – often the chorus members looked unsure of their cues.
Anna Lewis has designed a wonderfully conceived, magnificently multi-purpose set. Yet it feels unfinished, bare and, consequently, a little bland – there’s nothing of the excess we might expect. The only suggestion of decadence is in the paltry chaise longue, hiding coyly beneath a raggedy sheet for the majority. The same goes for some of the costumes, notably Wotton’s. None of his florid outward nature is reflected in the bright, simple clothes he wears. It felt very Americans-doing-Shakespeare and lacked warmth or character.
Pace throughout the drama was hit-and-miss. The domestic scenes with the Vane family were agonisingly slow and I became almost intolerably aware of the litany of coughing and ill noises in the theatre.
There also were a few problems with projection and with the shrieking violins overpowering the chorus, and the lighting was often questionable, although whether this was inherent in the design or simply due to technical difficulties, I can’t be sure: large patches of unfathomable darkness swallowed characters when they were speaking, and not ominously. A wonderful patch of darkness enveloped MacDonagh as he sat, despairing, on the chaise longue for Hallward’s ill-fated final visit, only to be vanquished seconds later by bright, inappropriate spot.
To pass judgement on this show is difficult, since it is one heck of a feat to accomplish. For a student Playhouse production, it was impressive. The direction is clever and individual performances make a lasting impression.
| 4175325339 |
