[written for The Public Reviews]
Following quite closely on the heels of another comedy of manners, London Assurance at the National Theatre earlier in the year, comes Sheridan's The Rivals. Rivalling Fiona Shaw in the lead role of that former play is Penelope Keith and she, like Shaw, will prove a crowd-pleaser. Perhaps there is something about a romantic farce which we find appealing – it isn't a realistic reflection of the world, nor is it biting political satire, but rather a gentle poking of fun at human nature. The Rivals offers something we can all relate to, and laugh heartily at, without having to consider too deeply the social and moral ills afflicting the characters.
The Rivals transports us to eighteenth century Bath where Captain Jack Absolute woos Lydia Languish in the guise of a lowly ensign, Beverley. Taking her example from trashy romantic novels, Lydia has come to perceive romance only in a match which ill pleases her guardian, Aunt Malaprop. There must be impediments to her love for her to take any interest in it; hers must be a 'sentimental elopement' resulting in the 'prettiest distress imaginable'. From sending up the romanticism rife in the literature of the period, the target of the play's satire quickly switches to the purely mercantile view of marriage with Sir Anthony Absolute in the vanguard for marrying his son off for money, despite having wedded for love himself. Indeed he counsels the reluctant Jack on accepting whoever happens to come attached to a fortune: 'if you have an estate you must take the livestock with it as it stands'. Luckily for Jack, the very woman Absolute is proposing he shackle himself to is Lydia; happily he can fulfil his filial duty whilst bagging the woman of his dreams.
With its various subplots, romantic pairings and confused identities, The Rivals is classic farce and, as such, is a great platform for some excellent comic turns from the cast. Although Penelope Keith was an amusing Malaprop, delivering her characteristic linguistic singularities with the deliberate unconsciousness necessary for them to really work and be funny every time ('he's as headstrong as an allegory on the banks of the Nile' raised a particularly loud laugh), Peter Bowles’ Sir Anthony Absolute stole the show. His repeated threats that he would work himself into a 'frenzy' (threatening indeed from a man who is restrained and seemingly emotionally constipated, but also quick to anger) were accompanied by deadpan wit and brilliantly timed nods to the audience. Keiron Self's Bob Acres was also supremely funny as a country bumpkin and loveable buffoon. Tony Gardner was an excellent Faulkner; his body language and facial expressions enough to fill a stage left empty when he succeeds in finally chased the ever-suffering Julia away.
The only disappointment was Robyn Addison's Lydia, played opposite Tam Williams' Jack (looking very much like a young Tom Cruise). This was her professional stage debut and, although she looked the part, some of her delivery lacked animation and character. Surrounded by such extraordinary talent Addison was bound to look the novice. And everything here is beautifully done; the costumes are lavish and the set, designed by Simon Higlett, is as crisp and bright as an aquatint. In the hands of Peter Hall, what appears to be a convoluted plot on paper is in performance a neat comic entertainment touching on all the familiar themes but in the most expert and opulent way imaginable.
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