“What am I doing here?”
When a revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Strange Interlude was first announced as
part of the National Theatre’s summer programme, the five hour running time of
the original struck a note of fear in many a heart of those who are used to the
cheap seats in the Lyttelton Theatre. And though it has been trimmed down to 3
hours 20 minutes in Simon Godwin’s production, it still proves something of a
considerable challenge – not least because I could not see for the life of me
why it has been revived.
Due to its length and winning a Pulitzer Prize in 1928, it is no surprise that
it ticks the ‘rarely performed classics’ box and featuring an absolute doozy of
a central female role in Nina Leeds, it is no typical piece of theatre. Sadly,
its main innovation – characters speaking their many, many internal thoughts
out loud as asides – is one which felt far too similar to last week’s Passion
Play to really impress. And it also makes what ought to be more seriously
considered drama into an unexpected campfest that feels more like an American soap
opera like Dynasty or Sunset Beach but with none of the schlocky enjoyment.
Nina – the excellent Anne-Marie Duff – is a WASPy princess of a girl who reacts
to the death of her fiancé in WWI and the stuffiness of her father by sleeping
around a lot until the most important men in her life force her into making a
decision. But though she settles for Jason Watkins’ solid businessman Sam Evans
as her husband, she keeps the doctor who became her lover - Darren Pettie’s
most handsome Darrell – and the family friend who has always admired her from
afar – Charles Edwards’ daffy Charles (who would probably be more at home in a
Tennessee Williams play…) – close at hand. Thus the long stretch of her life is
characterised by the way in which she keeps these three men in thrall, orbiting
her like moons around planet.
Trouble is, there’s no discernible gravitational pull. Not even Duff’s
considerable skills can really justify why Nina has such an irresistible effect,
aside from a flintily indomitable spirit, and O’Neill doesn’t really give us much
of a clue either. And though the men perform well – Edwards’ dry humour is particularly
well served – the enduring benevolence that characterises these relationships
rarely convinces, the play never really tugs at the heartstrings, and in its
final scene, it severely tests the patience.
And Godwin’s production did little to endear me to the play either. Soutra
Gilmour’s set starts off as an intriguing revolving doll’s house but soon turns
into the kind of lavish extravagance that just seems wasteful with the modernist
stairwell feeling the most pointless. The rhythms of the asides played strongly
to their comic potential, reducing both their emotional impact and the poetic
eloquence that occasionally reared its head. But whilst neither play nor
production did anything for me, it has received considerable critical acclaim,
which just goes to show you never know. A significant chunk of the row behind
us left at the interval - the lengthy first half is somewhat punishing if you’re
not feeling the love – and though some of the acting is good, I couldn’t help
but wish I had joined them.
Running time: 3 hours 20 minutes (with interval)
Booking until 12th August
Labels: Anne-Marie Duff, Charles Edwards, Darren Pettie, Emily Plumtree, Eugene O’Neill, Geraldine Alexander, Jason Watkins, NT, Patrick Drury, Wilf Scolding