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Impulse Theatre presents Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
by Edward Albee directed by Scott Williams and Alison Mead
Landor Theatre
1 April - 5 April 2008
Ibsen
A review by David Hermann for EXTRA! EXTRA!
Regrettably, Impulse Theatre’s version of Edward Albee’s monumental play has so many serious flaws that pointing out its few passable moments would be misleading and, ultimately, unhelpful. Hence, the following review will limit itself to pointing out the production’s major shortcomings and offering suggestions for their eradication. Bearing in mind that this is a critique of the production’s first night it is still fair to say that the amount of instances in which the actors seemed uncertain of their lines serves as an indicator of the fact that Scott Williams and Alison Mead’s joint directing effort was too much of a work in progress. As frustrated, ageing academic George, Jestyn Phillips, the most experienced actor in a cast of four, stood out in his attempt to deliver the show from its intermediate state by displaying a high degree of optimistic livelihood and a willingness to tackle what appeared to be the production’s most damaging obstacle, the American accent. As Martha, Maria Moustaka - whose potential for greatness is clearly visible - seemed so unhappy with the task of emulating a drunk, posh American that she decided to relieve herself of the pressure and dropped the American accent, altogether, halfway through the second act, in favour of a pleasantly nuanced, English-sounding rendition that did Albee’s uniquely rhythmical writing a great deal more justice. Which brings us to the fundamental question. Is Edward Albee’s 1962 play about two intellectuals who go to extraordinary lengths in running from the truth of a pitiable coexistence really so quintessentially American that an English theatre company cannot take the courageous and innovative step to relocate the action to England? Surely, to think such a transposition impossible would be to belittle the magnificent, universally valid and perpetually relevant piece of writing that Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf is. Why not let George and Martha have their relentless way with Nick and Honey in the academic microcosm of Oxford or Cambridge? Or East Anglia? Or Leeds? The necessary changes to the text would have been minor (“Where’s the loo?”, for example, instead of “Where’s the john?” ), and the benefit to the cast invaluable. All four actors seemed to struggle so much with the alien timbre that they had no attention left to devote to pace, tempo, diction and, above all, a truthful exploration of their characters’ inner lives. This monumental stage classic of the twentieth century has been performed with overwhelming success in French, German, Italian and Dutch (to name but a few languages to which it has been translated), where the question of accent doesn’t arise in the first place. Why not do the same for an English audience? Similarly, there seems very little reason to let the action remain in 1962, when the play was first performed. At the time, Albee’s insouciant use of expletives caused a scandal and heralded a new era in truthful representation. Its tone seems no more archaic than that of British (or American) academics nowadays. If nothing else, shedding the shackles of 1962 would certainly have taken a load off costume designer Holly Jackson, whose decision to dress Nick (Steve Ram) in a suit that was blatantly from the 1980s was an odd and most probably unintentional parachronism. It is sad to find the acting-potential of these people so completely unfathomed. One felt almost indecent for watching the unfortunate four battle their way through a thicket of half-learned lines and hazardous pronunciations. And an overpowering sense of pity and compassion really isn’t the right basis for an audience-cast relationship. Watching this great play presented by a cast that seemed so grossly uncomfortable with its own performance was like watching a splendid fireworks-display through a smudged window. In Albee’s text, Virginia Woolf stands for the big bad wolf, who, in turn, stands for those bleak realities in life that we have to face with all our courage before they do us harm. I hope very much that Impulse Theatre are not afraid to do so and to concede that what they have here is an under-rehearsed show marred by a handful of unfavourable decisions. I wish them the best of luck with all future projects and hope sincerely that they find the time to devote themselves more intensively to their work. For now, however, I suggest you give this one a miss.
Landor Theatre 70 Landor Road, LONDON, SW9 9PH Box Office 020 7737 7276 Nearest tube: Clapham North Tickets £10, £8 concessions
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