When the first note was an ominous tone on Henrik’s cello and the cast first appeared in austere formal buttoned-up black costumes with the singing echoing coldly around the auditorium I thought, having seen the National’s Sondheim-staged-as-Chekhov production, that this would be Sondheim-staged-as-Ibsen. And whilst there was cold despair and explicit emotion, this production could not hide its musical comedy roots. So for the fourth time in 33 years London has another significant production of A Little Night Music; and it’s a near-perfect one. The chunter amongst the Sondheads afterwards was also that it was a very erotic one. Without any crass direction and by avoiding playing for laughs, there was no doubt that the more mature characters were well experienced in what they spoke of.
The set is of a drawing room walled with tarnished mirrors that fold back and open up to reveal the forest behind and create the various rooms in which the action takes place. The costumes are very pretty and unexpectedly lavish: the black is soon dispensed with as the characters head off for their weekend in the country. I’m no musician but to my mind the orchestra complemented the production beautifully and was perfect for the space; I didn’t miss anything of what I know from the many recordings I have of this piece.
Any doubts about Maureen Lipman’s casting were dispelled as soon as you saw her. This grand and imperious old lady was beautiful and elegant and easily could have “numbered kings among her lovers”. She also smoked as though she had, and when the night smiled for the third time you were left in no doubt that it had done so, unlike in previous versions where Madam Armfeldt just seems to nod off. Hannah Waddingham played an actress whose emotional vulnerability overpowered the acted façade which she spends the earlier part of the evening using to her advantage. Her “cracks in the plaster” and “page that has been written and rewritten” echoed Judi Dench’s but she was not Dench’s “wolf” until You Must Meet My Wife when, instead of being played just for comedy, she revealed herself a predator with decreasing patience and ever-increasing determination. Kelly Price was a Countess on the edge as opposed to the brittle and dry interpretation of Patricia Hodge at the National. Jessie Buckley had the impossible task of following Joanne Riding’s definitive Anne and, although she sang beautifully throughout and was touching in her scenes with the Countess, she was overshadowed in her scenes with Henrik.
And that brings us on to the major strength of this production. If the National’s production was stolen by the women, here the men retake their territory. Alexander Hanson is no tired, passive, middle-aged bore: this is a lawyer whose every measured response is made to get him that much closer to his objective. Alistair Robins gives a great comic tour-de-force as the Count: here is a Count who really does have “a brain the size of a pea”. The contrast between him and the too-smart lawyer stood out to me in a way they never have done before. I wondered when I read that Trevor Nunn had put Silly People back into the show why he had done so: I can only conclude it was to contrast more starkly the servants’ approach to carnality with that of their masters, and in the hands of Jeremy Finch (who was so good as Seymour in the WYP Little Shop of Horrors and who was also very eye-catching in The Producers) it certainly did provide a contrast. But the outstanding performance of the whole production is Gabriel Vick’s Henrik and this is a definitive performance. I’ve seen many Henriks and none of them have got the handle on the combination of sexual frustration, adolescent anxiety and conflicted moral fear in the way that he does. His voice is superb and he draws humour out of the character rather than the situation.
Minor quibbles: occasionally a couple of the cast perform as though they are trying to fill the Palace rather than a much smaller place and the moving of Madam Armfeldt’s death means the waltzing fades-out uncomfortably. However, after the various things I’ve posted on this site about Sir Trevor (who was in the house and trying to keep a low profile, undoubtedly because he knew I was there) I now have to eat a little humble pie and say Nunn of my fears were realised and this is another certain and deserved hit for the Chocolate Factory.
Updated On: 12/6/08 at 01:48 PM
.gif?width=300)
