Primavera

My Cultural Life

30th Apr 2007 Katie Burningham

Freshwater, Virginia Woolf’s only play, was originally written in 1923 and revised in 1935. It is a sharp satire about some of the key intellects and artists of Victorian society. Not generally known for her sense of humour, Freshwater sheds a surprising light on Woolf’s persona, and in the words of the author, offers “an unbuttoned laughing evening”.

The play was performed for one night only at the Kings Theatre in Islington, as part of their Forgotten Classics series. It was the perfect setting for a drama that was originally played out in the living room of Vanessa and Clive Bell, members of the Bloomsbury set, because the theatre feels like it could be someone’s home. There are tables and chairs amongst more regular theatre-style seating and drinking is ‘actively encouraged’. Director Tom Littler took full advantage of the setting by placing the actors amongst the audience when they were not on stage. It works perfectly when one of them spots an ass. As they search for it in the crowd, and someone dutifully gives back a donkey impression, we wonder who are the greater asses among us, them or us? This is presumably how Virginia Woolf would have wanted it, given that her original audience of artists and intellectuals might have detected one or two similarities between themselves and characters in the play.

The story is simple enough. A group of friends have gathered at Lord Alfred Tennyson’s home Freshwater in the Isle of Wight to bid farewell to two who are soon ‘to start for India’. Photographer Julia Cameron and her philosopher husband Charles Hay Cameron cannot set sail until their coffins have arrived and Julia has found the perfect set of wings for her latest sitting – apparently a turkey’s will do. Meanwhile, G.F.Watts is struggling to sketch the perfect toe of Mammon, whilst his wife Ellen Terry protests at playing her husband’s perpetual, and very still, muse. Amidst all of this confusion, it is all that Lord Tennyson can do to read two lines of his melancholy poem Maud and nobody seems to notice when Ellen falls for another man. The play is peppered with contemporary references to and jokes about the characters, but you do not have to be a Victorian scholar to enjoy it: the performances are a joy to watch in themselves.

Lord Tennyson’s rejection of the letter ‘s’ in preference for the eminently more mellifluous ‘mmm’ sound is wonderfully played by David Barnaby. He has perfected the art of speaking in such a way that though you cannot understand what he is saying, you are sure that it must be important; a suspicion that is confirmed by the shaking of his raised hand. And Karen Ascoe’s ever so subtle twitch of the mouth was all that was needed to suggest a touch of insanity in Julia Cameron. This attention to detail was utterly absorbing and allowed you to consider as well as laugh at the character’s foibles. It was also absolutely necessary to lift their performances off of the text – they were reading from the script – and hold our attention throughout the two versions of the same play.

Now if I had to choose which edition I preferred, it would definitely be the first because my favourite scene was omitted from the second.

This pictured Ellen Terry and her new man, an Admiral called John Craig, delicately balanced upon the tip of the needles and nurturing their relationship by a common sympathy for the porpoise. Antonia Lewis (who is surely set for far greater things than being the understudy to Billie Piper, as she currently is in Christopher Hampton’s Treats at the Garrick) was hilarious as the frustrated little girl/wife looking for a simple romance – sausages will do for her. I found myself involuntarily scrunching up my face in imitation of Lewis, whose facial expressions were incredibly malleable and agile, as was her entire performance. I have also never heard the word ‘porpoise’ enunciated in such a brilliantly silly way.

Perhaps though, it was inevitable that Antonia Lewis would shine in this production, for her character is by far the most likeable and absolutely essential to the comedy.

Her ability to see through the vanities amongst her company weaves their individual performances together, and her straight talking makes their flights of fancy look all the more ridiculous and funny by comparison. It is a brilliantly balanced play and thoroughly recommended, regardless of whether you have read Maud or not.