©Cam Harle

It’s impossible to underestimate the importance of The Forsyte Saga to the nation’s psyche in the 1960s. The Queen’s coronation aside, it was one of the first examples of event TV, when Britain stopped doing everything else to catch up with what Soames, Irene and Fleur would get up to next. One of my first television memories is a distinctly black-and-white Soames rushing back into the flames of Robin Hill to rescue his beloved paintings and not making it out alive. That and the Tingha and Tucker Club, naturally.

©Cam Harle

John Galsworthy’s evergreen Forsyte books – nine in total – were published between 1906 and 1933 and chronicle the lives of a ruthless family who knew only two things: the value of money and the importance of repressing one’s emotions. Anything that could jeopardise either of those two activities was to be eliminated from their lives. But people are only human, and they do have emotions, and money isn’t always available, so inevitably real life would permeate their walls and disrupt them.

©Cam Harle

Shaun McKenna and Lin Coghlan’s adaptation – originally for radio but now re-adapted for the stage – concentrates first on the beautiful Irene who cannot abide her husband Soames, and second on Fleur, the curious and independent daughter of Soames and his second wife Annette. And, of course, in Soames, Galsworthy created an extraordinary character – a true villain but with a multifaceted personality, answerable to nobody except his father, and who has to mask his human foibles in order to preserve that Forsyte resolute respectability.

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The Man of Property, as the first book of the saga is named, cleverly plays on the double meaning of the word property, suggesting not only Soames’ desire to have a great house to live in, but also his need to acquire things – and more disastrously, people. Fleur acts as a narrator for both plays – although less so in the second play – as she picks her way through an understanding of what happened before her birth, and what elements have combined to make the adult Fleur who she is. Will she go on to become a Woman of Property?

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The late Victorian and Edwardian times are perhaps not seen today as the most intriguing eras of our history – certainly not in comparison to fifty or sixty years ago when TV’s The Forsyte Saga led into the likes of Upstairs Downstairs and The Duchess of Duke Street. However, Galsworthy’s characters and their stories examine the most timeless of themes: familial relationships, secrets and lies, honour and dishonour, and they will never become irrelevant. Soames’ rape of his wife is a pivotal act, not illegal at the time but totally barbaric and unforgivable. And, of course, a modern audience quite correctly condemns him outright for it, as indeed do many of his peers. Yet, in one respect, he’s merely obeying the advice of his father, whom we see as an irascible but rather likeable and funny old duffer. Curiously, we don’t condemn him in the same way. This is all part of the gripping story line that gives you so much to consider and assess, which is why you’re hooked throughout.

©Cam Harle

That said, there’s a definite imbalance in the two plays being performed together as a whole. Part One, Irene, is truly brilliant throughout. You can’t wait for each scene to develop as you find out more about all these fascinating people. And the play ends on a delicious sudden moment that makes you yearn to watch the second part instantly.

However, Part Two, Fleur, doesn’t quite have the same irresistible plot. We miss the rich tapestry of the bickering, repressed older generation – the Forsyte Exchange, as Fleur puts it; it’s replaced by fewer characters, and a simpler, more straightforward domestic love triangle story. It’s a credit to the production that it still holds our interest, but it’s simply not quite as absorbing. I guess one can only blame Galsworthy for that (and he’s long dead). It’s possible to see each play separately on a different day, or to immerse yourself in a Forsytian binge with Irene as a matinee and Fleur in the evening. Watching the plays in that chronological order makes much more sense; I think if you see Fleur first, some aspects simply won’t make sufficient sense or at least won’t resonate as well.

©Cam Harle

It’s a magnificent double-production; a first-rate cast, fantastic storytelling, a delightfully bare stage, save for a few chairs and occasional other props, quality costume design, elegant writing and effective direction. Luxuriously rich red curtains adorn the back of the stage for Irene, that both indicate the wealth of the family but also represent those secrets that are hidden when the curtains close. They’re removed for Fleur, to reveal the stark, featureless brick wall that not only represents Robin Hill but gives the sense of a terrifying exposure, with no hiding place. Alex Musgrave’s telling lighting design works most effectively in Irene, where it starkly delineates her private bedroom against which she locks her persistent husband.

©Cam Harle

The cast are uniformly superb, without the remotest weak link, creating a splendid ensemble. Flora Spencer-Longhurst controls the stage from the start as Fleur, combining her narrator role with a constantly growing understanding of her ancestors’ motivations and problems; a truly believable central character around which the entire five hours of theatre revolve. As her character becomes more mischievous and wilful, we still identify with her, despite her reckless decisions. Fiona Hampton absolutely captures Irene’s tragically unhappy marriage and completely inhabits the remarkable dignity that the character maintains throughout. It is a shame that there is comparatively little for the character to do as the second play moves to its conclusion.

©Cam Harle

There is much in the way of clever doubling-up of roles over the two plays. Jamie Wilkes is excellent as the outcast Jo Forsyte in the first play, subtly portraying his slowly growing affection for Irene; and as the honest and positive young Michael Mont, who marries Fleur. His physical comedy of trying to take Fleur on a boat ride is hilarious, and he delivers a terrific exchange with Soames about the “ownership” of women. Andy Rush, too, is superb as Bosinney, the sharply determined architect with whom Irene has an affair, and the sunny-dispositioned Jon Forsyte who becomes an irresistible possession to Fleur in the same way that Irene was to her father.

©Cam Harle

Michael Lumsden gives us a brilliant Old Jolyon – his death scene was genuinely moving – as well as some other entertaining characterisations, and Nigel Hastings is superb as James Forsyte, Soames’ father, as the kindly and earnest older Jo Forsyte, and the aggressively opinionated painter Harold Blade. Florence Roberts’ marvellously effervescent young June steals a wonderful scene when she leaves her indelible mark on the remaining members of the Forsyte Exchange; as well as giving us an emotionally powerful Anne – Jon’s increasingly alarmed wife – and an amusingly manipulative Annette.

©Cam Harle

The truly outstanding performance comes from Joseph Millson as Soames, totally embodying the character’s slimy, reptilian nature, constantly lurking as a malign presence in Irene’s life, opting to endanger Annette’s life in order to obtain his son, and generally observing how his understanding of human nature is becoming more outdated as life goes on. I’ve only seen Mr Millson perform comedy roles before, and he uses his fantastic comic timing to perfection in this otherwise non-comedic role, placing his words and movements with absolute precision to create a riveting characterisation that endures long after curtain down.

It’s a stunning production that frequently gave me Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby chills. It’s unfortunate that the sheer thrills of Part One don’t quite endure into Part Two, but it’s still more than good enough to recommend it without hesitation. A hugely entertaining double bill, and an excellent Christmas offering from the RSC.

Five Alive, Let Theatre Thrive!