Kings Theatre, Edinburgh
1 star
Monday night’s opening of Alan Ayckbourn’s 1980s adaptation of Will Evans and Valentine’s 1920s farce was cancelled due to three of the cast being stuck on a slow train from snow-bound Berwick. Given that when the curtain finally went up on Tuesday for a show so throwaway as to be running the risk of violating some ancient litter laws, one wonders why the absentees didn’t simply phone in their performance or else not bother to turn up at all.
Because this ghastly tale of an idle rich couple permanently in hock who, with their stately pile about to be repossessed, inherit a fortune, really isn’t worth all the effort assorted directors and costume designers have put into it. Regardless of how ill-timed a statement from patriarch Aubrey such as “If the bank refuse me credit, I’ll take my overdraft elsewhere” is right now, Aubrey’s assorted faked deaths and identity changes to dupe his and spouse Louise’s creditors makes one wonder if the recently imprisoned canoeist who attempted a similar scam was a fan.
One can only puzzle at Ayckbourn’s motivation for dusting down such dated rubbish, let alone producer Bill Kenwright’s purpose for reviving it. Perhaps it’s to show up what a moribund place the National Theatre, who first staged the play during the height of Thatcherism, was back in those dark days. Mark Curry and a fragrant Caroline Langrishe – the latter sporting an array of colour-co-ordinated frocks – go through their paces with assorted telly-friendly faces in tow, but the whole thing is so bankrupt at every level as to wish all concerned were safely back in Berwick.
The Herald, February 5th 2009
ends
1 star
Monday night’s opening of Alan Ayckbourn’s 1980s adaptation of Will Evans and Valentine’s 1920s farce was cancelled due to three of the cast being stuck on a slow train from snow-bound Berwick. Given that when the curtain finally went up on Tuesday for a show so throwaway as to be running the risk of violating some ancient litter laws, one wonders why the absentees didn’t simply phone in their performance or else not bother to turn up at all.
Because this ghastly tale of an idle rich couple permanently in hock who, with their stately pile about to be repossessed, inherit a fortune, really isn’t worth all the effort assorted directors and costume designers have put into it. Regardless of how ill-timed a statement from patriarch Aubrey such as “If the bank refuse me credit, I’ll take my overdraft elsewhere” is right now, Aubrey’s assorted faked deaths and identity changes to dupe his and spouse Louise’s creditors makes one wonder if the recently imprisoned canoeist who attempted a similar scam was a fan.
One can only puzzle at Ayckbourn’s motivation for dusting down such dated rubbish, let alone producer Bill Kenwright’s purpose for reviving it. Perhaps it’s to show up what a moribund place the National Theatre, who first staged the play during the height of Thatcherism, was back in those dark days. Mark Curry and a fragrant Caroline Langrishe – the latter sporting an array of colour-co-ordinated frocks – go through their paces with assorted telly-friendly faces in tow, but the whole thing is so bankrupt at every level as to wish all concerned were safely back in Berwick.
The Herald, February 5th 2009
ends
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