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Stars explained: * A production of no real merit
with failings in all areas. ** A production showing evidence of not
enough time or effort, or even talent, and which never breathes any real
life into the piece – or a show lumbered with a terrible script. *** A
good enjoyable show which might have some small flaws but has largely
achieved what it set out to do.**** An excellent show which shows a
great deal of work and stage craft with no noticeable or major
flaws.***** A four star show which has found that extra bit of magic
which lifts theatre to another plane. |
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Stabbing leads to superb drama
The company taking hglt along The Long Road are
(left to right) Sami Moghrabay, Josie Booth, Jon Richardson, Katy Evans
and Maria Whitehouse. The Long Road Hall Green Little Theatre ***** THE family has been shattered by the
senseless stabbing to death of one of its sons. We learn about its
members in a play that is beautifully written by Shelagh Stephenson. And
we are drawn into their anguish by a company of five whose commitment
and achievement are superb. For the family, the long road is their journey towards coming to terms with what has happened. It is a road that finds its members steeling themselves to take the first step – by visiting the murderess in prison. Early on, it is clear that the road will be as
hard as it is long, because John, the bereaved father, now drinking four
bottles of whisky a week, will not even talk about the woman who has
taken one life and wrecked three others. What he will do, and what makes any
rapprochement appear highly improbable, is give vent to a mighty,
raging frustration – achieved by Jon Richardson in a few towering
moments of blind, disbelieving fury. This is magnificent, frightening
theatre in Roy Palmer's fine studio production. It offers a privileged
glimpse of what is driving a man who says that every time he thinks
about the woman responsible for it all, his son is killed again. Maria Whitehouse is a gentle joy as Mary, the
dead man's mother – but even Mary can snap and there is a brief but
excellent scene when family grief becomes domestic violence. She, above
all, is the one who wants to understand what prompted the tragedy that
is tearing them apart. Meanwhile, she still buys her son the same
rubbish food she always bought him. To that extent, he is still with
them.
Sami Moghraby is her other son; similarly
grief-stricken, similarly bottling it up but similarly prone to
desperate rage for the brother whom he believes – mistakenly – to have
been his parents' favourite. The action is dressed simply, with a small
rectangular table and a few chairs. There's not much to distract us from
the quality on offer. But I am sure we would have remained riveted,
whatever was there. Katy Evans is Emma, the murderess. Black-garbed,
she is a permanent presence, sitting with her back to one of the studio
walls; always in our sight as she is always in the family's thoughts. We
get her measure pretty quickly. She is apparently without remorse; a
truculent, foul-mouthed harpie who sits with folded arms and holds forth
in Estuary English, to great effect and at a rate of knots. She is a
mesmerisingly unattractive thug. Katy Evans captures her essence
unerringly. Somehow, if anything is to be done about the pain
and the grief, the family has to meet her. An early attempt, guided by
prison visitor Elizabeth (Josie Booth) descends into a shouting match.
Elizabeth finds herself in a pig-in-the-middle situation. She is a
quiet, well-spoken person. When she throws back a single four-letter
reply to the recalcitrant Emma, we are just as shocked as we have been
by Emma's unlovely diatribe. This is our appropriate, well-merited
response to a finely reined-in performance. Just one quibble. When Elizabeth visits the family, she should occupy the empty chair at the other end of the table. Then she would have her back only to Emma, instead of to one of the three sides of audience. To 25.06.11 John Slim |
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