The Company in Sylvia at The Old VicWith music by Josh Cohen and DJ Walde (set to Ms Prince’s lyrics), the show takes a slightly scattergun approach when identifying socio-political events to highlight from the 1903-1928 period. With so much to potentially shoe-horn into a 2hour 20min production (+ interval), perhaps less would have been more, but what to cull? As an audience member you are certainly treated to an intense but enlightening history lesson, but balance in pure entertainment’s favour might have served the production better and resulted in a punchier running time. For example, Keir Hardie’s early Labour Party connection (and presumed love affair with Sylvia) could have been covered in one or two songs rather than dwelt upon for most of the first half — which seemed unnecessarily prolonged. Having said that, the connection became the catalyst which caused Sylvia to encompass socialist worker’s rights rather than simply women’s suffrage, (ultimately leading to friction with her mother) so maybe it could be argued that every second was vital?
Putting such minor reservations aside, the quality of the overall offering is extremely slick and thoroughly deserving of the positive and enthusiastic buzz which pervaded the collective audience as it left the Old Vic and headed out into the chill February air. The second half in particular kicks-off with comic hi-jinx in the form of Clementine Churchill’s scathingly tongue-in-cheek anonymous letter to The Times and a self defence montage entitled Suffrajitsu.
Taking the title role, Sharon Rose delivers a somewhat idealistic yet prickly Sylvia as she continues the family cause and acts as the conduit for most of the storyline threads. Meanwhile Beverley Knight as the dominant matriarch of the Pankhurst dynasty, demonstrates precisely why she has become a dependable fixture of West End productions, generating the sort of spine-tingling powerhouse vocals which put bums on seats, but she is not alone in a cast which is universally talented and grabs every moment to shine — individually and collectively.
On the predominantly black and white set, a similarly projected backdrop is periodically adorned with red brush strokes used as a device to associate the suffragette movement with Keir Hardie’s fledgling Labour Party, otherwise it acts merely as a chronicler of dates and newspaper headlines - with one touching exception after Sylvia cradles her dying brother and we see his shadow evaporate and rise to become a star in the firmament.
Running at the Old Vic until 8th April, Sylvia will most definitely appeal to a younger theatre audience whose capacity to assimilate hip-hop versions of David Lloyd-George and Winston Churchill as out of touch tyrants from another era, (not to mention break-dancing misogynistic dinosaurs such as the Lords Cromer and Curzon) will be better informed by the internet age than oft-unquestioningly deferential previous generations. Even a moment where female East End factory girls are granted an Audience With Asquith ends with their polite dismissal by the Prime Minister and appreciative genuflections for having been heard. A better early example of a meaningless political PR exercise to dupe the masses into believing they have a significant role in the fundamentally skewed democratic process, would be difficult to conjure.
