The Whitehall Theatre around the corner from 10 Downing Street has always been a bit of a white elephant since the 1960s when the farces for which it was once famous went out of fashion. Then about ten years ago it was converted into two theatres, The Trafalgar Studios, one which seats around 300 and a tiny little basement studio that seats fifty. Last week I had the chance to see shows in both spaces.Khan-Din himself plays a domineering Pakistani father struggling to keep his wayward children living according to tradition in a northern British town. His idea that parents should be given unquestioning respect and obedience is constantly challenged by the next generation and things come to a head when he arranges marriages for two of his sons without their knowledge. The play climaxes in a very funny comedy of manners during which the family struggle to persuade the snobby parents of the prospective brides that everything is on track. Central to it all is mum, a white woman who has married into and adopted the traditions of Pakistan whilst retaining sympathy for those of her children who want to rebel like British teenagers.
This is where the star casting comes into play and national comedy treasure Jane Horrocks is terrific as a matriarch.
This is where the star casting comes into play and national comedy treasure Jane Horrocks is terrific as a matriarch, supposedly tough on the outside but emotionally vulnerable beneath. It’s a wonderful performance. I loved how she stands, feet wide apart, in a crisis; a tiny woman anchoring herself against an engulfing tide of problems, often faced with fag in hand, always with a thin smile not far away. Ayub Khan-Din, although a big man, is not a naturally formidable actor, cuddly and vexed rather than the towering knot of rage and frustration his story seems to call for but when Horrocks is frightened by him we are too.
Although this is a story from Britain’s South Asian community, something we rarely see on stage, it’s not an issue based evening. In fact it seems closely related to traditional northern comedies about over powering father’s learning compassion, the grandchild of plays like Hobson’s Choice or Spring and Port Wine by Bill Naughton, indeed that playwright has directly influenced another of Khan-Din’s comedies. Take out the arranged marriage elements and this could be the story of any violent working class dad, hogging the TV for the news, and blustering to cover his insecurities.
Tom Scutt’s set nostalgically recreates back-to-back houses in towns like Bradford, outside loo and coal shed in the yard, which brings to mind the very English sensibilities of Coronation Street rather than a culture of which we understand little.
None the less it is a snap shot from a community, a tiny percentage of whom still believe in honour killings and are becoming radicalised in their hatred of things British. Perhaps it would have been more exciting to hear a new voice tackling these contemporary issues rather than a revival of this unashamedly old fashioned domestic comedy. And although it’s wonderful that up and coming director Yates has been given a chance to direct in the West End (he makes his mark with rather busy scene changes) perhaps the gig could have gone to a rising Indian director in this instance.
It’s a fun, often very funny evening which will chime with battling kids and parents everywhere.
Despite these slight qualms I’m happy to report that it’s a fun, often very funny evening which will chime with battling kids and parents everywhere. Hopefully it will attract a more cultural diverse audience to Trafalgar Studios, on the night I attended it was 98% white.
The production down stairs, THE TRIALS OF OSCAR WILDE, is best avoided. Played out against an ugly cheap-as-chips set, Merlin Holland and John O’Conner have cut and pasted transcripts from the prosecution of the Edwardian playwright, hounded out of the UK for being gay, into a very lumpen evening. It’s not helped by some poor acting. The defence and prosecution lawyers, presumably the most vocally erudite public speakers of their time, are voiced in grey two dimensions by an actor with repetitive sing-song inflections and the inability to pronounce words with an “L” clearly and an actor who never modulates from just sounding a bit cross.
At least John Gorick lands Wilde’s witticisms with aplomb and it’s good to hear the old boys oft quoted barbs still getting laughs.
It may get better in the second half however I couldn’t face any more and fled in the interval.
Despite knowing more songs than I thought of the Kinks’ extensive back catalogue, this musical didn’t “really get me going” and was definitely not a “sunny afternoon.” This particular songwriter should stick to doing that – writing a musical storyline was not his forte.