“What
in this world is real and not seeming?”
Featuring
a new ensemble of RADA graduates alongside some more experienced hands,
Southwark Playhouse’s latest main house show is a UK première of The Illusion. Adapted ( though most
freely I am told) by Tony Kushner from the 1636 L’Illusion Comique by Pierre
Cornielle, who was a contemporary (or thereabouts) of Molière and Racine, the play is constructed
as a potentially deft piece of meta-theatre, passing comment on the extraordinary
capacity that the theatre to create its own universe and the illusionary nature
of the very same. Kushner weaves his own idiosyncratic verbosity around this
tale, though the result is something of a curious mix.
Matters begin with the
arrival of Pridamant at the grotto - Sarah Jane Prentice's design and Howard Hudson's lighting playing to the strengths of the railway arches - of noted magician Alcandre. He’s there to
find out where Clindor, his estranged son is and Alcandre obliges, providing
snippets of the last 15 years of his son’s life as he deals with a number of
romantic entanglements and social adventures. But it is made clear that the
scenes are all visions, the uncertainty of what we’re witnessing enhanced by
the constant changing of the character’s names and we are joined with Pridamant
in the journey of discovery to his son’s real fate.
Though
director Seb Harcombe may have conceived this as a showcase for the four recent
RADA graduates in the ensemble, the show undeniably belongs to the more
experienced in the cast. James Clyde taps into a deep anguish as the woeful and
irascible Pridamant and Melanie Jessop is incandescent as the
Prospera-like
Alcandre, her silky presence dominates the stage and her powerful monologue forms
an useful anchor for the whole production. Charlie Archer makes an impressive
debut as the wayward son and I also liked the spikiness of Shanaya Rafaat’s
maid; elsewhere though, an overplayed lisp detracted too much from one
performance and a tendency to shoutiness revealed a few rough edges.
Personally,
I wasn’t a fan of much of Kushner’s style here which undoubtedly had an impact
on these performances. There’s such a dense wordplay at work here that means
that speeches frequently pull out to bum-numbing length; Corneille’s original
verse has been kept but only in places which made for sticky transitions; even
something as simple as the characters addressing the audience directly felt
completely out of place (as the ‘show’ is ostensibly being performed for
Pridamant, not us). The overall effect was an uneasy tension between the
storytelling and the devices which I am not sure this particular production addresses.
So despite some strong performances, this is one illusion that hasn’t quite
cast a strong enough spell for me, three stars if I did that sort of thing.
Running
time: 2 hours 30 minutes (with interval)
Programme cost: £2
Booking until 8th September
Labels: Adam Jackson-Smith, Charlie Archer, Daisy Hughes, Daniel Easton, James Clyde, Melanie Jessop, Shanaya Rafaat, Southwark Playhouse, Tony Kushner