Imelda staunton & Bessie Carter in Mrs Warren’s Profession. Photo: Johan Persson
What is Mrs Warren’s Profession? Well, she’s a highly successful owner of brothels across Europe, sometimes called a ‘madam’. Not that the word “brothel” is mentioned once nor “prostitute”, but we know what the text is alluding to, and so did the Lord Chamberlain, the official censor back in late Victorian times. He banned George Bernard Shaw’s play and it wasn’t publicly performed in Britain until 1925.
It’s what’s known as a ‘problem play’, and the problems in society that it addresses remain relevant today. Shaw uses a conflict between mother and daughter to examine all kinds of issues- in particular, the lack of opportunity and subsequent poverty that forces women into prostitution; and the role of capitalism which sees all workers exploited.
And, in a marketing dream, Mrs Warren and her daughter are played in this production by real life mother and daughter Imelda Staunton and Bessie Carter. So before we delve any further into the play and the production, let’s address the question of whether we gained from the genetic connection. I’m going to say, ‘no.’ Of course, I don’t know what intuitive understanding the two may have, but, for me, this could have been any pairing of a great actor and an up-and-coming one. Interestingly there is little physical resemblance between them, Ms Carter being much taller and angular than her mother, which makes their characters’ similarly strong wills more of a surprise.
Imelda Staunton in Mrs Warren’s Profession. Photo: Johan Persson
Imelda Staunton was, as you might expect, phenomenally good. I can’t begin to tell you the complexity and depth she brings to the role. Her Mrs Warren speaks with that affected accent that people of working class origins often adopt when finding themselves in high society- vowels slightly stretched, a nasal tone- and it’s an accent that slips every so often when she’s stressed.
She carries herself stiffly, for the same reasons, but sometimes her shoulders drop along with her defences. She is firm and imperious, with a tight smile, but she is wary of her daughter, whose approval and understanding she craves. So she can be vulnerable, shown most in her widening eyes and loosening jaw. That’s just touching the surface of what she does, constantly offering subtle insights into her character’s feelings.
The daughter Vivie has all the benefits of being the daughter of a rich mother. She has just graduated from Oxford, is a star mathematics scholar and, while at this point society would expect her to marry, she is interested in pursuing a career. She is presented to us as a New Woman, a quasi suffragette who is not interested in such feminine traits as romance and subservience. She buries her emotions and is self contained.
There are two key scenes between mother and daughter. In the first, Mrs Warren, with whom Vivie has had minimal contact during her childhood, wants to get to know her child with the idea that they can be close and she can grow old with the support of a dutiful daughter.
She decides to explain where the wealth came from. She talks of the deprivation of her childhood and the limited choices available to poor working class women. Vivie is shocked but understanding and sympathetic. It’s a scene in which so many layers are stripped and both women, hardened by their lives, show touching emotion. It is especially a moment for Bessie Carter to shine when she reveals both trauma and compassion breaking through her normally buttoned up exterior.
Not for long. As the play progresses, Vivie discovers that the business was not a thing of the past from which her mother retired, as she assumed, but continues to thrive. A second scene is a confrontation in which both show their similarly strong will and stand their ground- Vivie idealistically deploring the immorality involved in prostitution, Mrs Warren pragmatically defending it as a way of becoming and staying rich.
Will Vivie accept the harsh realities of the world? Will Mrs Warren sacrifice her business, and thereby her status, for her daughter? I’m not going spoil any more, if you’re not familiar with the play.
Fabulous looking
Instead, let’s look at the production. I might have liked it to be less static to counter the almost constant adversarial dialogue but Dominic Cooke directs with considerable finesse. The action is moved forward a couple of decades to 1913, a time which seems less divorced from today than the late Victorian period, and the dresses from that time do look fabulous.
Bessie Carter in Mrs Warren’s Profession. Photo: Johan Persson
As does the set, also designed by Chloe Lamford. It’s far more minimalist than the naturalistic set Shaw might have intended. We start in a garden filled with a few chairs and lots of flowers. It seems everything is coming up roses. Then the flowers are removed slowly but surely by a troupe of women in period underwear, reminding us of the anonymous exploited prostitutes. At the end we are left with one bouquet of flowers dumped in a waste paper basket in Vivie’s office, dominated by a large desk and surrounded by blank grey walls.
Here’s the thing about Shaw. He may have been a socialist who wanted to write a play exposing a hypocritical society that devalued and exploited women but he didn’t simplify the problem. He created two rounded, flawed characters, who are more than ciphers.
His hero and chief protagonist Vivie is a woman obsessed with work and money, with no apparent love of life, not even theatre. It appears she considers her mother’s profession immoral, not because she has exploited women but purely because it involves sex work. On the other hand, the villain, if you like, has acted out of what to her was necessity and, from her point of view, has done her best for the daughter she loves. His genius is to turn their conflict into a complex drama, that conjures passion, sympathy, anger and laughter.
Other characters are more two dimensional. Sir George Crofts, who was an angel investor in Mrs Warren’s business and has made a fortune from it, is an arch capitalist who points out the business is no different to all the other enterprises that exploit their workers. Robert Glenister portrays brilliantly the man’s cringingly condescending attitude. The Reverend Samuel Gardner represents the hypocrisy of the Church, since he has previously used Mrs Warren’s services. I liked Kevin Doyle’s All Gas And Gaiters interpretation (that’s one for older viewers). His son Frank Gardner, played by Reuben Joseph, is a profligate looking around for a woman to marry so he can appropriate all her assets, as was the law in those days. Mr Praed, played by Sid Sagar, is an architect, but more importantly represents the aesthetes who put art and beauty above all else, including right and wrong.
So, is Mrs Warren’s Profession relevant today? The battle between world weary parents and holier-than-thou children is eternal, and we all face an internal conflict between doing the right thing and putting a meal on the table. Capitalism continues to be a dominant force, making a tiny elite very rich and, yes, bringing wealth to many, but also continuing to exploit an underclass, often these days in China as much as online order delivery drivers. Add to that, exploiting the planet. Women have gained many equality rights but continue to be discriminated against in male dominated industries. Has the hypocrisy regarding work involving sex changed? Clearly not as much as we might like to think. Just last week an male athlete was banned from the 2028 Olympics for raising money through ‘spicy’(his word) videos on OnlyFans.
So there’s plenty to chew on, and, if you’re familiar with the play, you might find a little less fat, since Dominic Cooke has made some judicious edits, which speed it up and remove some of the long-winded bits. The hour and 50 minutes without interval flies by. It certainly whetted my appetite to see more of Shaw, a great dramatist, who seems to be a bit unfashionable at the moment.
I would also like to see more of Bessie Carter. Her mother is one of our greatest stage actors, but she herself has shown in this production that she has the potential to reach that pinnacle too.
Janet McTeer excels in a dramatic tale of forbidden love by Simon Stone
★★★★
Phaedra at the National Theatre. Photo: Johan Persson
On the whole, I loved Phaedra by Simon Stone at the National Theatre‘s Lyttelton auditorium. There was just one element I didn’t like. First, let me tell you what was so good about it.
Don’t worry if you’re not keen on Greek tragedy. This is not a production full of togas and choruses. It’s a bang-up-to-date tale of a politician who has an affair. The essential story of Phaedra is still there, as told in Ancient Greece by Euripides, in Ancient Rome by Seneca the Younger, in the middle of the last millennium by Racine, and many times over since including relatively recently by Sarah Kane.
It’s always been a tale of forbidden love, originally of a princess falling in love with her stepson, but in this new version, the young man is already in his forties and he’s the son of a former lover. So, not a stepson, and certainly not a young man being taken advantage of. I guess most of us can understand the way love, or lust, can overtake reason. The forbidden love is, on the face of it, that of someone whose passionate feelings lead her into infidelity- simple adultery, although not so simple, as it turns out.
Our protagonist, called not Phaedra but Helen, is a shadow cabinet minister. You might think her forbidden love is not so much for someone other than her husband but her love for herself. This play is dominated by an examination of a certain kind of liberal middle-class people who have no moral code beyond what they feel.
We first meet a family bickering over breakfast. A teenage son is uncontrolled in his language or subject matter in front of and towards his parents. The older daughter, just visiting, is not much less restrained. The affable father jokes with them about sex. It seems to be a family without boundaries. You may or may not approve of the liberal principle of treating the children as equals, as quasi-grown-ups but, in this case, the children seem to have become self-centred and lacking in respect. Helen, the mother, leads by example. This is brought home by the way they speak over one another, barely listening. You may find this scene appalling or laugh-out-loud funny or both.
The self obsession extends beyond family to the rest of the world. Helen can be seen as the patronising face of first world- imperialist, even- attitudes towards other cultures. For example, when Helen spent time in Morocco, she didn’t bother to learn the language, and she hasn’t taken the trouble to find out where her black, best friend was born.
McKenzie Davis and Assaad Bouab in Phaedra. Photo: Johan Persson
Then Sofiane arrives. He reminds Helen of his father- her past Moroccan lover, a man who died in a car crash and whose letter to his son provides an intermittent sub-titled voiceover expressing hope and regret. Sofiane makes clear he reciprocates the feelings Helen has for him. It’s not just that he’s like his father physically, he too is a political activist and that reminds her even more of how she not only has traded physical excitement for a boring marriage but has given up the thrill of activism for the compromise of party politics. I don’t need to tell you how often an older person has an affair to try to recapture lost youth.
Despite changes to the plot and the modern setting, this is still a Greek tragedy in its structure. I won’t go any further with the story, except to say Simon Stone has retained those ancient ideas that people who misbehave get punished, and revenge moves through the generations. So, there are many twists, and it does all end badly. In fact, the ending is very dramatic, almost melo-dramatic.
It’s a well-told story with much comedy and many great set scenes. One in particular takes place in a restaurant where the family and close friends are gathered for Helen’s 60th birthday. Revelation follows revelation in a scene that wouldn’t go amiss in a farce, with glasses smashing, home truths spewing out, and Helen all the while lamenting loudly about the distraction from her celebration.
Janet McTeer in Phaedra. Photo: Johan Persson/
The acting is marvellous. Janet McTeer is so on point as this totally self-absorbed politician. She talks at speed, with passion and intensity, and expresses her feelings so naturally, that you forget she’s acting. The script gives her the platform for what will surely turn out to be one of the acting performances of the year.
Paul Chahidi as her husband Hugo is terrific too in the role of this put-upon husband and father who manages to keep afloat with jokes and diplomacy. He’s charming and likeable, but also exudes insignificance. You can see why he appealed to the dominating Helen, but also why she was ready to be unfaithful to Sofiane, played by the handsome, charismatic Assaad Bouab.
All the cast impress but a special word for Akiya Henry as Helen’s friend and fellow shadow cabinet member Omolara. She portrays an easy-going person who seems to take Helen’s ignorance of her background and her mockery of her religion with good humour, but you sense an iron core that emanates from her moral grounding (something Helen lacks) and she has the kind of painted smile that conceals an objective, calculating mind.
Canadian screen star Mckenzie Davis makes an impressive stage debut, riding a rollercoaster of emotions as Helen’s daughter Isolde.
No thinking outside the box
So what didn’t I like? The design. All the action takes place within a revolving glass box . This was an interesting coincidence because only the night before I saw Phaedra, I saw The Lehman Trilogy which also features a revolving glass box. But, whereas the latter worked, this didn’t. The effect is perhaps of making the audience feel like the Greek and Roman Gods who would look down on humans and their folly. Or it could suggest the way in which the characters are trapped, in this case in a cycle of betrayal and revenge. The many uprights may have been intended to reinforce the idea of the characters being in a prison but they too often obscured the faces of the actors. It was a shame not to see the agonies their characters were going through.
The biggest problem caused by the design is that every change of scene took forever. Sometimes the scene change was longer than the following scene! When you’re dealing with a raised box with awkward access and egress, everything takes much longer than it would if the action had taken place on the stage floor and scenery could be rolled on and off easily. The extended blackouts would have been intolerable but for Stefan Gregory’s hypnotic sound which played as we waited.
Designer Chloe Lamford’s talent is beyond question, and the sets within the box did look fantastic. It’s just the box that didn’t work. I don’t want to lay all the blame at her door because it could well be that she was simply doing what director Simon Stone wanted. The last production by him that I saw was Yerma at the Young Vic, and that too took place behind glass walls, so maybe it’s his thing.
Aleshea Harris’ bloodbath thriller is a bit anemic
★★★
Cecilia Noble, Tamara Lawrence and Adelayo Adedayo in Is God Is. Photo: Tristram Kenton
Is God Is by up-and-coming American playwright Aleshea Harris is a revenge tragedy, or perhaps tragicomedy, in a tradition that dates back to the Old Testament and takes in Jacobean tragedy and Quentin Tarantino along the way. Perhaps it most resembles the plays of Martin McDonagh, but, in any comparison with them, I’m afraid Is God Is comes off worse.
17 year old twins find out that their mother, whom they thought had died in a fire when they were small children, is actually alive but finally succumbing to her injuries. The reunion is not entirely joyous because she wants them to kill the man responsible for her condition, her former abusive partner and their father. She wants him ‘dead. Real dead. And lots of blood is fine’. The young women, who were also scarred by the fire, don’t really question whether this is moral or legal or even practical. As far as they are concerned this is a mission from God, since their mother created them. They are driven by the need for vengeance and so is the plot.
So begins a killing spree.
Aleshea Harris’ play won the Relentless Prize in the USA and the relentless speed is helped by the device of the characters introducing themselves in the third person, rather than reveal their characters through their words and deeds. The killing spree leaves no time for a pause for thought about morality, family, class and race, which are all touched on. And the play’s high speed drive straight down the highway gives no opportunity for a twist or a turn, like the sudden slamming on of brakes and or a hairpin bend, except perhaps at the very end when you might be left wondering whether vengeance is worth it. Compared with all the plays by Martin McDonagh that I have reviewed in the last couple of years, The Lieutenant Of Inishmore, Hangmen, A Very Very Very Dark Matter and his early work The Beauty Queen Of Leenane, seen recently in Chichester and at the Lyric Hammersmith, there are no shocking twists or unexpected revelations, of the kind which enrich his work.
No blood but real fire
The older more extrovert sister Racine acquires a rock- which is thought to be the weapon with which Cain killed Abel- and proceeds to use it against all she comes into contact with, even after the slightest offence.
Unlike, I believe, the original New York presentation of Is God Is, there is no blood splattering Ola Ince’s production. So much for ‘lots of blood is fine’. The violence, while plentiful, is so stylised that it neither shocks nor is any more convincing than the characters’ motives. The horrific scars become symbolic tattoos. Once you take both horror and nuance out of the equation, you’re not left with much.
There might not have been any blood but there was real fire in Chloe Lamford‘s design. I liked her simple cartoon-like sets, with the titles for each scene like Going West and Showdown from the script writ large, encouraging the sense that we were watching chapters of a pulp novel being acted out.
I also enjoyed the acting. Out of a uniformly strong cast, I’ll mention in particular Cecilia Noble as the mother or God or, as in the cast list, She. It was a chilling moment when she conjured up what happened to her on the fateful day of the fire, and her powerful command to ‘make him dead’ was like the word of God.
Her two twins, the older Racine played by Tamara Lawrence and younger Anaia played by Adelayo Adedayo were a great double act. Their repartee was sharp and funny, made more so by the use of the Southern States vernacular and rhythms of speech.
It’s clear that Aleshea Harris is a writer to watch. She has a poet’s ear for dialogue. She is also able to make subtle homages to past masterpieces of the vengeance genre without laying it on thick. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more from her but I don’t think she’s quite there yet.
