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The Man of Mode
by George Etherege
Directed by Nicholas Hytner
Designed by Vicki Mortimer
Choreographed by David Bolger
Olivier Theatre at the National Theatre
South Bank, London SE1
Call +44 (0) 20 7452 3000 Tickets £10 - £39.50
In Repertoire
Running time 2 hours 50 mins with intermission
Through April, 2007
Styled by Microwave
Take a coterie of young, witty, sexy, beautifully dressed aristocrats, all in decadent competition for sexual favours, love and money, in any order, and you have the ingredients of a enticing theatrical soufflé. From a distance. A closer look at the cynical, manipulative, hedonistic lifestyle adds a powerful ingredient to the recipe. Take this bitingly incisive Etherege dramatisation, with its delicious gifts of restoration comedy delights, a heady aroma of decaying morals simmering beneath, and then slam the whole thing into the microwave with the radiation on full power for nearly three hours.
The play began with a series of extremely bright flashing lights, courtesy of lighting designer, Neil Austin, with director Nicholas Hytner and the National Theatre not considering it necessary to warn anyone. This disrespect of their obligations was symptomatic of what was to come.
The tacky world of photo-shoots and wine bars, with women propping up the bar, smoking and drinking, mobile phones ringing, text messaging and emails substituting for painstakingly quilled letters, was all grafted onto the body of George Etherege’s exquisite 17th century work. The transplant by Mr Hytner and designer, Vicky Mortimer, was not good tissue typing. Men Behaving Badly has its own language.
With the playwright no doubt staring wistfully from beyond at the friendly proscenium arch environment of the Lyttelton, the company battled with the critically demanding Olivier acoustics and thrust stage. The confident, flowing language of this ‘glittering masterwork’ (quote from the program) became a forced, barely audible burden on most of the company, with their less than perfect placing of voices, devoid, with one or two exceptions, of anything approaching the clarity needed for this theatre, whatever the social class of the speaker. The vowels and rhythms embodied in the language, and the sense of effortless style essential to the genre, appeared to have been removed to ‘modernise’ the sound.
Mr Hytner has teased some watchable performances from his cast, and kept the pace up, though at the expense of whole swathes of lines being gabbled away. The visual energy, speed and movement of the evening were provided by some imaginative and brilliantly executed dance sequences, wittily mixing capoiera-like routines, football goal celebrations and Olympic gymnastics. Had the actors the vocal and verbal dexterity to match choreographer David Bolger’s moves, the whole thing might have triumphed.
Opening scenes pointed to the difference between Tom Hardy’s indistinct Dorimant, and Bertie Carvel’s cut glass Medley. At home, Dorimant was all tattoos and underpants showing; out of doors, suited up as, and with the mien of a drug dealing Alfie. In spite of constant references to his great sense of style, he was a slouching, posing, tooth picking lounge lizard. His friend, Medley, most pleasing in his delivery, was an island of style in a sea of cheap modernism. This was not the penniless aristocracy of the playwright’s conceit, but the crass nouveau riche of commercial London. As if to emphasise the point, even the apparently elegant rooms of Mr Dorimant were given all the style of a Travel Lodge business suite.
The casting of Anglo-Indians as the family Bellair fell well within the concept of modern London, and indeed, Madhav Sharma, as Old Bellair, was not only one of the clearest performers on the night, with a strong handle on the wit of the piece, but almost made one forget that the transplanted style was being rejected by the host. Shelley King, as Lady Townley gave an amusing nod towards ‘The Kumars’ the hit TV comedy chat show, now with its US version.
It fell to Rory Kinnear as Sir Fopling Flutter to bring some joie de vivre to the proceedings. He produced such a huge leap of ebullience and ‘gay abandon’ that it was possible to think that the relocation of period style included modern sexual mores, except that the playwright gave his male protagonists overtly and relentlessly heterosexual agendas. Some gay promiscuity might have narrowed the credibility gap. Mr Kinnear managed to cross a good humoured oafishness with loads of camp energy, veering towards preferring young male company, without ever ‘coming out’.
The women of the story are generally there to be manipulated. Nancy Carroll’s comedic angst as Mrs Loveit was a pleasure to watch. Hayley Atwell’s Belinda and Amber Agar, as Harriet, were especially entertaining. Love being, perhaps, what it has always been, the women seemed more able to transcend the period misplacement, falling, as they do, in love, while the men simply deal in it.
A full auditorium and extended run have followed some very positive reviews. However, the slightly bemused audience, who were not persuaded of the emperor’s new clothes, gave the piece a mild reception at the curtain, with the biggest cheer saved for Rory Kinnear in recognition of his delightfully awful singing.
If you are visiting London for some of what this country does so well, viz., restoration comedy, you may well wonder why the National Theatre, having held out the promise of the Ritz, took you to McDonalds
Recommended
Saul Reichlin
London correspondent
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