Chris Eldon Lee reviews ‘Ghosts’, which is at Clwyd Theatr Cymru until Saturday 18th October 2014.
Were he alive today, I’d wager Henrik Ibsen would be writing for East Enders.
Certainly, his 1881 play ‘Ghosts’ has plot lines very familiar to the Red Top reading residents of Albert Square: domestic violence, disgraced celebrities, clergy affairs, assisted death, incest, lechery, alcoholism, deception, prostitution, negligence, bribery, press intrusion and the subjugation of ideology for convenience.
If I’ve missed a couple, I apologise to the old Norwegian play master. But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind because he’d be doing an infinitely better job than the current crop of TV scriptwriters and doutless making Hollywood blockbusters in his spare time. His grasp of drama is so good, you mess with it at your peril; and Emma Lucia’s production of Mike Poulton’s version is utterly respectful – for the first hour.
There is little colour in Simon Kenny’s graveyard-grey, barn of a set save a pile of bright paintings by Osvald, the son of the Alving household. He and the other four characters are introduced in dumb show, but they soon slide into loud despair at the shocking revelations about the late Captain Alving. In the heavy claustrophobia of small town relationships, Ibsen forces them to unravel a tightly wound ball of dark, destructive threads.
The play is often dominated by the pastor, but here Sian Howard places her Mrs Alving centre stage and commands proceedings. She’s a joy to watch.
At Clwyd she’s become the natural casting for the older female lead and I was in awe of the way she handled her character’s long decline from smouldering girlishness to horrible hysteria, fighting hopelessly against the ghosts of repeated failings.
Simon Dutton is a most pompous Pastor. He paints a stark picture of an uncompromising, unlikeable and overbearingly blind bigot. His quick fire delivery echoes his machine gun diplomacy, trying to ferret out vice that isn’t there and ignoring vice that is. Local figures of authority turn into beasts all over the world. Ibsen gives us a classic example and Dutton nails him to the boards, as he squirms to save his standing.
And I was equally impressed by Owain Gwynn’s rakish portrayal of the bohemian artist, condemned to madness by his father’s folly. When the wasting worm gets him, his body language bellows horror.
After the hour though, the production becomes strangely divergent and begins to lose its authority. The prospect of press pillory sends the Pastor into pure panic. Suddenly, shades of Brian Rix creep in, and the more farcical it gets, the fewer laughs it earns.
Ibsen sows the seeds himself, of course, with so many conflicting stories, excuses and counter excuses; and this won’t be the last time he’s played as a farce. But, for me, the change of tone undermines the huge mother/son climax. The ultimate tragedy is also infected by farce, and Sian Howard’s patient build is left stranded on the edge of melodrama. So I’d like to see some levelling of the excesses, please, in order to preserve the power of the play.
Visit www.clwyd-theatr-cymru.co.uk for bookings & information about Clwyd Theatr Cymru.
Photo : Catherine Ashmore