The Beauty Queen of Leenane
by Martin McDonagh
Directed by Allan Hart
November 10th - 17th, 2001
The Tower Theatre Company performing at the Tower Theatre, Canonbury
Cast List
Mag Folan : Sheila Burbidge
Maureen Folan : Jill Fear
Ray Dooley : Peter Miller
Pato Dooley : Michael Greener
Production Team
Director : Allan Hart
Set Design : Patricia Douglas
Lighting Design : Andy Peregrine
Sound Design : Simon Humphries
Dialect Coach : Des Spellman
Stage Manager : Michael Allaway
ASM : Steven Hyndman
Lighting operator : Jonathan Norris
Sound operator : Elvira Whitehead
Wardrobe : Members of the cast, Kay Perversi
Set construction : John McSpadyen, Keith Syrett, Robert Myer, Tom Tillery, John Sole, Ian Chaplain, Rachel Lacaille,
Steven Hyndman, Dorothy Wright, Jayne Lawrence, Hilary Allan, Lisa Kelvey, Libby Uppington, Jude Chalk, Celia Reynolds & members of the cast and crew
In-house review by Keith Hill
Keith
Hill got into the Tower in 1993. The locks have
been changed at least once since then, but he is
still here, often at the bar but also acting and
directing.
Martin
McDonagh has had four plays produced by major
companies in six years, has others waiting, and
is just 31. There have been some suggestions that
his later output is less deep, or even
patronising and stereotypically stage Irish.
Beauty Queen is his earliest play.
He is from Walworth. He has been to Ireland on holiday.
However, he knows the cadence of the language,
and the tragedies involved in the Anglo-Irish
diaspora. He knows the poor wages, insecure
housing and employment, the endemic depression
and substance abuse, and the bizarre mixture of
homesickness cynicism and self distrust which
contribute to that same Irish stereotype. It is
very striking that one would have no idea, from
watching this play, that he was not a 50 year old
Galwegian with a full theatrical career behind
him.
There is no
room in this play for codding about. The
relationships are extremely difficult, sometimes
to the point of abuse, The country is damp, grey,
hostile and dull. The local way of life is being
eroded by poor agriculture, emigration, and
Australian television. There are many laughs, but
they are those of guilty recognition, centring on
repetitive vocal patterns, and the demands of an
elderly relative become dependent. One senses
that every word spoken has been written out of a
profound instinct for the characters and where
they are.
This sets
very special problems for the company. The
accents must convince, naturalism is vital, but
an English audience's ear must be attuned and
attracted to every nuance of what passes on
stage.
The plot
could be very simple. Repressed spinster, nursing
troublesome mother, meets amiable builder, has
eyes opened, and decides to consign ghastly
mother to a home and run away as her sisters did.
Devious mother rumbles plan, intercepts love
letters, and stymies doubtful idyll. Mayhem
ensues.
In fact, we
have to remain in doubt almost the whole time as
to which of mother or daughter is the abusive
partner in the relationship. Just when we think
we know, we are made to rethink. Maybe both are.
We would never, of course, pour hot oil over our
own mother's hand, but if we were manic
depressive, and she had taken us out of hospital
and reminded us of it at minute intervals for
twenty years ...
The setting
of the play (design by Patricia Douglas) was
exactly right. The damp stains on the wallswere
enough to speak of years of neglect of the house,
but were not overdone so as to be incredible.
They are not starving poor. There are a new
fridge and a colour TV, if no inside lavatory.
One might
cavil that some of the kitchen items were a tad
pristine for a house occupied by a paranoid
depressive and a woman who empties her chamberpot
down the kitchen sink, but the overall design
succeeded in conveying a great deal more than it
appeared to, which is the essence of effective
setting. Even the angle by which people were seen
to approach the main door from the
outsidesuggested a building huddled into a
hillside, the door away from the prevailing
difficult, evil weather.
Andy
Peregrine's lighting design was the sort of hard
work that one does not notice. The grey quality
of rain-soaked light was well suggested obliquely
though the windows. At the same time the main
acting area was neatly and economically lit. That
sounds like faint praise, but it is not. Nothing
distracted the eye, and the whole subliminally
enhanced our impression of the setting and what
might happen there.
Simon
Humphries' sound design was also in keeping with
the deft sublety of the production as a whole. It
consisted mainly of ambient noise, such as a
television on in the background. We have to hear
just enough to discern the Australian accents,
but not hear what is being said on screen. That
very delicate balance was confidently struck. The
operators, Jonathan Norris and Elvira Whitehead
worked efficiently and accurately to ensure that
they were never noticed.
Des
Spellman's input as dialect coach was clearly
effective. The accents were consistent, and the
inflection of rural Irish speech was especially
well commanded, without any loss of
comprehensibility. It is a credit to the hard
work of coach and cast\tab that the authenticity
was lightly worn and unobtrusive. The cast
therefore had the luxury of taking time 'where it
was needed to establish character and allow the
thought beneath (often very deep beneath) the
word to be seen.
The discovery
of Sheila Burbidge's Mag Dolan ensconced in the
rocking chair from which she rules the household
like a demanding baby, was highly effective. It
takes some courage for an actor to appear so
hugely unappealing, and there was very fine
control in balancing the rather queasy comic
effect of a manipulative old woman with the
sensation of lurking menace.
The physical
characterisation was impeccable. Mag was solid
enough to suggest the toughness which had enabled
her to survive her life, but had all the
difficult arthritic movement which simultaneously
allows her to claim hand and foot service from
her daughter, and leaves her vulnerable to the
routine mental and physical tortures which are
imposed in revenge. One of the problems of the
play is that this battered granny keeps winding
her daughter up, although she clearly knows full
well what she is doing. Here we were made to
understand a degree of involuntary collusion in
the abuse. These two just cannot leave each other
alone.
When Jill
Fear first appeared as the apparently hagridden
daughter Maureen we wanted to find out how she
coped with this cuddly ogress. We were kept
guessing constantly. The careless superficial
sniping between the two was refreshingly free of
melodrama. Actress and director trusted in the
ability of the play to intrigue and surprise and
put aside the temptation to show us too much of
Maureen's trouble at the beginning.
Thanks to
that control, we were still able to be frightened
by her quick, guiltless and cold preparations for
departure after Mag's death, at the very end of
the play. Too high a note too early, and we would
have been bored by then. When she was interrupted
by the news that the man to whom she is running
has married another, and she is trapped, we fully
understood the ghastly vista of her future,
seriously ill and alone, yawning in front of her.
The performance was by turns engaging and
sickening, but ever faithful to the mental
illness which is at its core.
Peter Miller,
emerging from the Youth Theatre to play Ray
Dooley, may have had more trouble than others
with the accent. If he did, he did not let it
embarrass or distract him. He produced a
wonderfully rounded characterisation. He had
every teenager's self centered world view and he
fancied himself light years ahead of the local
biddies and loons, with his ragamuffin fleece hat
and half digested bits of knowledge.
But you
couldn't help liking him, especially the circular
conversations with Mag (while both are glued to
the telly, taking nothing in) and the wrestle
with his conscience over whether it is safe to
give the love letter destined for the daughter to
the mother, Up to the last moment I wanted him to
choose right but genuinely couldn't guess if he
would. I only knew that I wanted to smack his
head - hard - if he didn't. Very engrossing
acting.
Michael
Greener as Ray's elder brother Pato has the
thankless task of innocent catalyst to the
tragedy. This was a highly principled and careful
performance with never a cheap trick. From the
artless boozy sincerity with which he courted
Maureen, through the awkwardness of emerging from
her bedroom to deal with her mother next morning,
trying loyally not to cringe at the coarseness
with which Maureen throws him in Mag's face, he
let us laugh, but never tried to make us do so.
The long letter in which he apologised for his
impotence was understatedly heartbreaking.
The cast,
coordinated by Kay Perversi, provided a wardrobe
that convinced throughout, and Michael Allaway's
first outing as stage manager was as efficient
and sympathetic as everything else he does for
the company. The time and effort that Ann
Watchorn spent tracing authentic dry goods in
Ireland paid off to the last detail.
Allan Hart's
direction was very fine; thoughtful and faithful
to a text which could easily be overdone or
cartoonised, and I left the theatre vicariously
very proud at what had been achieved.
The Beauty Queen of Leenane
by Martin McDonagh |
|
|
November 10th - 17th, 2001 |
The Tower Theatre Company performing at the Tower Theatre, Canonbury |
|
Cast List
|
Production Team |
In-house review by Keith Hill
Keith Hill got into the Tower in 1993. The locks have been changed at least once since then, but he is still here, often at the bar but also acting and directing.
Martin
McDonagh has had four plays produced by major
companies in six years, has others waiting, and
is just 31. There have been some suggestions that
his later output is less deep, or even
patronising and stereotypically stage Irish.
Beauty Queen is his earliest play.
He is from Walworth. He has been to Ireland on holiday.
However, he knows the cadence of the language,
and the tragedies involved in the Anglo-Irish
diaspora. He knows the poor wages, insecure
housing and employment, the endemic depression
and substance abuse, and the bizarre mixture of
homesickness cynicism and self distrust which
contribute to that same Irish stereotype. It is
very striking that one would have no idea, from
watching this play, that he was not a 50 year old
Galwegian with a full theatrical career behind
him.
There is no
room in this play for codding about. The
relationships are extremely difficult, sometimes
to the point of abuse, The country is damp, grey,
hostile and dull. The local way of life is being
eroded by poor agriculture, emigration, and
Australian television. There are many laughs, but
they are those of guilty recognition, centring on
repetitive vocal patterns, and the demands of an
elderly relative become dependent. One senses
that every word spoken has been written out of a
profound instinct for the characters and where
they are.
This sets
very special problems for the company. The
accents must convince, naturalism is vital, but
an English audience's ear must be attuned and
attracted to every nuance of what passes on
stage.
The plot
could be very simple. Repressed spinster, nursing
troublesome mother, meets amiable builder, has
eyes opened, and decides to consign ghastly
mother to a home and run away as her sisters did.
Devious mother rumbles plan, intercepts love
letters, and stymies doubtful idyll. Mayhem
ensues.
In fact, we
have to remain in doubt almost the whole time as
to which of mother or daughter is the abusive
partner in the relationship. Just when we think
we know, we are made to rethink. Maybe both are.
We would never, of course, pour hot oil over our
own mother's hand, but if we were manic
depressive, and she had taken us out of hospital
and reminded us of it at minute intervals for
twenty years ...
The setting
of the play (design by Patricia Douglas) was
exactly right. The damp stains on the wallswere
enough to speak of years of neglect of the house,
but were not overdone so as to be incredible.
They are not starving poor. There are a new
fridge and a colour TV, if no inside lavatory.
One might
cavil that some of the kitchen items were a tad
pristine for a house occupied by a paranoid
depressive and a woman who empties her chamberpot
down the kitchen sink, but the overall design
succeeded in conveying a great deal more than it
appeared to, which is the essence of effective
setting. Even the angle by which people were seen
to approach the main door from the
outsidesuggested a building huddled into a
hillside, the door away from the prevailing
difficult, evil weather.
Andy
Peregrine's lighting design was the sort of hard
work that one does not notice. The grey quality
of rain-soaked light was well suggested obliquely
though the windows. At the same time the main
acting area was neatly and economically lit. That
sounds like faint praise, but it is not. Nothing
distracted the eye, and the whole subliminally
enhanced our impression of the setting and what
might happen there.
Simon
Humphries' sound design was also in keeping with
the deft sublety of the production as a whole. It
consisted mainly of ambient noise, such as a
television on in the background. We have to hear
just enough to discern the Australian accents,
but not hear what is being said on screen. That
very delicate balance was confidently struck. The
operators, Jonathan Norris and Elvira Whitehead
worked efficiently and accurately to ensure that
they were never noticed.
Des
Spellman's input as dialect coach was clearly
effective. The accents were consistent, and the
inflection of rural Irish speech was especially
well commanded, without any loss of
comprehensibility. It is a credit to the hard
work of coach and cast\tab that the authenticity
was lightly worn and unobtrusive. The cast
therefore had the luxury of taking time 'where it
was needed to establish character and allow the
thought beneath (often very deep beneath) the
word to be seen.
The discovery
of Sheila Burbidge's Mag Dolan ensconced in the
rocking chair from which she rules the household
like a demanding baby, was highly effective. It
takes some courage for an actor to appear so
hugely unappealing, and there was very fine
control in balancing the rather queasy comic
effect of a manipulative old woman with the
sensation of lurking menace.
The physical
characterisation was impeccable. Mag was solid
enough to suggest the toughness which had enabled
her to survive her life, but had all the
difficult arthritic movement which simultaneously
allows her to claim hand and foot service from
her daughter, and leaves her vulnerable to the
routine mental and physical tortures which are
imposed in revenge. One of the problems of the
play is that this battered granny keeps winding
her daughter up, although she clearly knows full
well what she is doing. Here we were made to
understand a degree of involuntary collusion in
the abuse. These two just cannot leave each other
alone.
When Jill
Fear first appeared as the apparently hagridden
daughter Maureen we wanted to find out how she
coped with this cuddly ogress. We were kept
guessing constantly. The careless superficial
sniping between the two was refreshingly free of
melodrama. Actress and director trusted in the
ability of the play to intrigue and surprise and
put aside the temptation to show us too much of
Maureen's trouble at the beginning.
Thanks to
that control, we were still able to be frightened
by her quick, guiltless and cold preparations for
departure after Mag's death, at the very end of
the play. Too high a note too early, and we would
have been bored by then. When she was interrupted
by the news that the man to whom she is running
has married another, and she is trapped, we fully
understood the ghastly vista of her future,
seriously ill and alone, yawning in front of her.
The performance was by turns engaging and
sickening, but ever faithful to the mental
illness which is at its core.
Peter Miller,
emerging from the Youth Theatre to play Ray
Dooley, may have had more trouble than others
with the accent. If he did, he did not let it
embarrass or distract him. He produced a
wonderfully rounded characterisation. He had
every teenager's self centered world view and he
fancied himself light years ahead of the local
biddies and loons, with his ragamuffin fleece hat
and half digested bits of knowledge.
But you
couldn't help liking him, especially the circular
conversations with Mag (while both are glued to
the telly, taking nothing in) and the wrestle
with his conscience over whether it is safe to
give the love letter destined for the daughter to
the mother, Up to the last moment I wanted him to
choose right but genuinely couldn't guess if he
would. I only knew that I wanted to smack his
head - hard - if he didn't. Very engrossing
acting.
Michael
Greener as Ray's elder brother Pato has the
thankless task of innocent catalyst to the
tragedy. This was a highly principled and careful
performance with never a cheap trick. From the
artless boozy sincerity with which he courted
Maureen, through the awkwardness of emerging from
her bedroom to deal with her mother next morning,
trying loyally not to cringe at the coarseness
with which Maureen throws him in Mag's face, he
let us laugh, but never tried to make us do so.
The long letter in which he apologised for his
impotence was understatedly heartbreaking.
The cast,
coordinated by Kay Perversi, provided a wardrobe
that convinced throughout, and Michael Allaway's
first outing as stage manager was as efficient
and sympathetic as everything else he does for
the company. The time and effort that Ann
Watchorn spent tracing authentic dry goods in
Ireland paid off to the last detail.
Allan Hart's
direction was very fine; thoughtful and faithful
to a text which could easily be overdone or
cartoonised, and I left the theatre vicariously
very proud at what had been achieved.