Kyra Smith reviews London Assurance and apologises for the title of the review.
A peculiar placeholder between the bawdy cynicism of Restoration theatre, the glittering bon mots of Wilde and the leaden sentimentality of Victorian melodrama, Dion Boucicault's London Assurance is one of those plays you skim through as an undergraduate because it seems to have historical interest, and then never think of again. This is partially why I was so eager to seize a rare opportunity for seeing it performed. Nikolai Foster's vivid, mischievous production is on tour throughout the South East of England between May and July for anybody in the mood for some frothy, high-energy 19th century fun.
London Assurance (originally called Country Matters - tsk tsk) was Boucicault's second play (his first, the fabulously titled A Legend of the Devil's Dyke, was not a success, oddly enough) and, despite having been dashed off in a mere 30 days, it was an instant hit. A comedy of manners in a style he would never successfully recreate, turning instead of contrived and mawkish sentiment (sorry for the casual bitching, Victorian melodrama, although good for a laugh for about the first five seconds, has never done it for me), it anticipates Wilde while lacking his sophistication but makes up for it in sheer breathless exuberance.
The plot - if you can entangle it from its own ever-increasing intrigues - involves an aging fop, Sir Harcourt Courtley, and his impending marriage to a young country heiress, Grace Harkaway. However, Sir Courtley's rascally and debt-ridden son, Charles, has established himself at Grace's country home and is already falling head-over-heels for his mother-intended. There's an awful lot of rompish confusion and drawing room farce and a cast of suitably zany and (in)appropriately named characters, like the interfering lawyer Meddle, Courtley's unflappable valet Cool, Grace's sharp-tongued maid Mrs Pert, the identity-confused conman Dazzle and ... oh God I can barely bring myself to write it ... Lady Gay Spanker [pause for sniggering].
The play hurtles towards its entirely predicable climax with a great deal of zest, although the pacing suffers in the scenes revolving around Meddle (jokes about lawyers were cheap even in the 19th century) and it occasionally over-emphasises or loses track of its own themes in its enthusiasm. It plays a lot with the juxtaposition between town and country, love and materiality, appearance and reality and, for the most part, the unfolding plot seems to illuminate and explore these ideas. For example, the scene in which Charles proposes to Grace and their dialogue is interspersed with breathless asides to the audience about what they're really thinking is a piece of comic genius. Unfortunately the final speech of the play - the one, poor humble theatre-goer that I am, I would assume is meant to draw everything together - is so out-of-step with the rest of the play and a sentiment so very much of its time that it's a weak conclusion indeed and leaves one with the feeling that Boucicault wasn't quite sure about what he was trying to say either.
Regardless, it's still a remarkably assured play for a 21 one year old playwright and a highly polished performance on all levels. The cast is strong, especially Geraldine McNulty who is delightful as Lady Gay (snigger) Spanker and Gerard Murphy as Sir Harcourt who manages to inject just enough pathos into the role to make him into something other than a caricature. Clare Corbett and Laurence Mitchell were slightly outclassed but still competent (I found her a little too abrasively feisty for comfort but her hysterical Victorian weeping was spot on) and they were excellently supported by Alan McMahon and Ken Bradshaw as Cool and Dazzle respectively. I also have to mention the costumes, which were as bold and vivid as the rest of the production.
When we went - on an unfashionable Thursday to be fair - the audience numbers were disconcertingly low, which was a real shame because, although the play is neither deep nor hugely memorable, it's an accomplished production and damn good fun.
London Assurance (originally called Country Matters - tsk tsk) was Boucicault's second play (his first, the fabulously titled A Legend of the Devil's Dyke, was not a success, oddly enough) and, despite having been dashed off in a mere 30 days, it was an instant hit. A comedy of manners in a style he would never successfully recreate, turning instead of contrived and mawkish sentiment (sorry for the casual bitching, Victorian melodrama, although good for a laugh for about the first five seconds, has never done it for me), it anticipates Wilde while lacking his sophistication but makes up for it in sheer breathless exuberance.
The plot - if you can entangle it from its own ever-increasing intrigues - involves an aging fop, Sir Harcourt Courtley, and his impending marriage to a young country heiress, Grace Harkaway. However, Sir Courtley's rascally and debt-ridden son, Charles, has established himself at Grace's country home and is already falling head-over-heels for his mother-intended. There's an awful lot of rompish confusion and drawing room farce and a cast of suitably zany and (in)appropriately named characters, like the interfering lawyer Meddle, Courtley's unflappable valet Cool, Grace's sharp-tongued maid Mrs Pert, the identity-confused conman Dazzle and ... oh God I can barely bring myself to write it ... Lady Gay Spanker [pause for sniggering].
The play hurtles towards its entirely predicable climax with a great deal of zest, although the pacing suffers in the scenes revolving around Meddle (jokes about lawyers were cheap even in the 19th century) and it occasionally over-emphasises or loses track of its own themes in its enthusiasm. It plays a lot with the juxtaposition between town and country, love and materiality, appearance and reality and, for the most part, the unfolding plot seems to illuminate and explore these ideas. For example, the scene in which Charles proposes to Grace and their dialogue is interspersed with breathless asides to the audience about what they're really thinking is a piece of comic genius. Unfortunately the final speech of the play - the one, poor humble theatre-goer that I am, I would assume is meant to draw everything together - is so out-of-step with the rest of the play and a sentiment so very much of its time that it's a weak conclusion indeed and leaves one with the feeling that Boucicault wasn't quite sure about what he was trying to say either.
Regardless, it's still a remarkably assured play for a 21 one year old playwright and a highly polished performance on all levels. The cast is strong, especially Geraldine McNulty who is delightful as Lady Gay (snigger) Spanker and Gerard Murphy as Sir Harcourt who manages to inject just enough pathos into the role to make him into something other than a caricature. Clare Corbett and Laurence Mitchell were slightly outclassed but still competent (I found her a little too abrasively feisty for comfort but her hysterical Victorian weeping was spot on) and they were excellently supported by Alan McMahon and Ken Bradshaw as Cool and Dazzle respectively. I also have to mention the costumes, which were as bold and vivid as the rest of the production.
When we went - on an unfashionable Thursday to be fair - the audience numbers were disconcertingly low, which was a real shame because, although the play is neither deep nor hugely memorable, it's an accomplished production and damn good fun.
