In these modern days of social media and tabloid press, we tend to think that celebrity gossip is a relatively recent phenomenon. But no! Almost 250 years ago that bright spark Richard Brinsley Sheridan captured the essence of tittle and tattle in his evergreen comedy The School for Scandal, which receives a timely and welcome revival this summer at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. At the time, Sheridan was riding high on the success of his previous play, The Rivals, and had bought the Drury Lane Theatre from David Garrick and could fill it with his choice of plays and his choice of actors. Think of it as a bit like the government stacking the House of Lords but with arty types.
It was this kind of gossip-based, satirical lampooning that originally brought about the censorship of plays. Henry Fielding’s Historical Register for the year 1736 was the last straw for Prime Minister Robert Walpole, who could take being teased no more, so in came censorship in an attempt to restrain the wit of the current crop of playwrights. Luckily for us, in 1777, the Deputy Examiner of Plays and puritanical Shakespeare fan, Edward Capell, disapproved of The School for Scandal, and wanted it banned. But the Lord Chamberlain at the time, Lord Hertford, overruled him – and that was just as well; how much poorer our lives would have been without the escapades of Sir Peter Teazle and the gossip of Lady Sneerwell.
I’m sure you know the story, but, in a nutshell: brothers Joseph and Charles Surface seem to live very different lives. Joseph, an ascetic and “sentimental” man, is respected by all, but Charles is a debauched drunkard, keeping ill-judged company and spending his money, rather like the late George Best, on wine, women and song – the rest he wastes. But Joseph is a hypocrite, and equally desirous of the secret company of women, no matter to whom they are attached. He keeps the company of Lady Sneerwell, the 1770s equivalent of a News of the World gossip editor, who plots and intrigues to ruin people’s lives for the sheer fun and hell of it. Into this circle comes the young and flighty Lady Teazle, recently married to Sir Peter, a man of good repute but at least twice her age. Add to the mix the return of the Surfaces’ rich uncle Oliver, his attempts to test the morality of his two nephews, and the amorous attention paid to Sir Peter’s ward Maria by the insufferable Sir Benjamin Backbite, and you have a recipe for hilarity – at the very least.
There’s just one word to describe director Tinuke Craig’s vision for this production – pink. From the lighting, to the dominant colour of the costumes, to the backdrop, to the props; if it can be pink, it is. The text gives no indication as to why this should be the case; but maybe it simply comes across as a light-hearted, cheeky, luxuriant, slightly naughty colour. I think the question to be asked is not so much why is everything pink, but more, why not?
It’s very much a why not production, in fact. There’s no obvious reason why new scenes and entrances should start via three trap doors in the stage, rather than from the wings; but why not? Nor is there any reason why Sir Peter Teazle’s asides whilst contemplating revealing the little French milliner behind the screen to Joseph Surface should be delivered via a stonking great reverberating microphone – but why not? I’m still trying to work out exactly why that simple device is so funny. When we first witness Joseph Surface in full debauched mode, drinking and enjoying La Vie en Rose with his pals, he’s dressed like a – may I speak frankly? tart in her boudoir – whilst his mates are in corsets and nighties (all in pink, of course). Odd. Very odd, in fact; but why not?
There’s an entertaining use of musical leitmotifs; including when anyone – especially Joseph – starts spouting sentiment, a serene theme drifts in, which ridicules it mercilessly. The costumes range from the fanciful to the outrageous, apart from for those characters where respectability is a watchword (albeit with Joseph, a hypocritical one.) Clever use of back projections keep us informed as to where each scene is set; this also works well for the picture gallery scene, where Joseph sells off the family heirlooms at a snip, and for revealing the faked letters that Snake has been devising.
A lively, busy, packed and colourful presentation, then. However, what impresses me most about the production is that it tells what can be construed as a very complicated and confusing plot with simplicity and clarity. And whilst most of the characters beg their actors to “caricature them up”, and reduce them to two dimensions, they are all totally believable. The portrayal of Sir Peter and Lady Teazle, for example, shows them to be real people with real problems and concerns and, when you take away the fripperies, a real love for each other. Similarly, whilst Joseph Surface may – on the surface (Sheridan never wastes a surname) – be a disgrace, deep down he is a much more honest character than his seemingly pious brother.
This is all helped along by some superb performances that truly deliver the characterisations as well as the laughs. Geoffrey Streatfeild is a marvellously realistic and quietly reasonable Sir Peter, proffering confiding glances to members of the audience which engage us in his plight. Tara Tijani beautifully conveys Lady Teazle’s youthful exuberance and excesses, squealing like a spoilt child when he consents to give her more money, but realising over the course of the play that there’s more to life than expensive shopping. Stefan Adegbola’s Joseph is an excellent study of a self-aware man to whom hypocrisy comes as a given, whilst John Leader’s Charles, rather like Richard O’Brien’s Frank’n’Furter, gives himself over to absolute pleasure, but shows us the decency hidden below.
Siubhan Harrison commands the stage as a tremendous Lady Sneerwell, making entrances and exits sideways to allow for her ridiculous dress, plotting magnificently until she meets her match. Wil Johnson is also excellent as Sir Oliver, giving us a fine hail-fellow-well-met characterisation, but mixed up with an East End wideboy Mr Premium and a frail and humble Mr Stanley. Emily Houghton’s Mrs Candour cuts an impressive figure, beautifully gaping with awe at any precious nuggets of gossip that come her way.
There’s great support from Tadeo Martinez as Snake, oozing mistrust from every foppish pore, Yasemin Özdemir as a no-nonsense Maria, Jason Thorpe as a petulant Crabtree, Patrick Walshe McBride as a surprisingly realistic Sir Benjamin, and, getting the biggest laugh and spontaneous round of applause of the night, Jessica Alade as the servant Lappet, whose patience with her master Charles suddenly wears alarmingly thin, with a choice of language that you definitely won’t find in the original text.
However, I think Sheridan would have approved of the modernisations and liberties taken with his precious script. The play’s opening speech, in this production delivered by Lady Sneerwell, casts a net over the whole world of gossip, which here includes a reference to one Baroness M – we all knew of whom she was speaking; and the epilogue, which in the text is given to Lady Teazle, here is delivered by Maria, and, to be honest, why not?
A very funny, and well appreciated production, that satisfies all the senses but also tells its story with commitment and clarity. Who knew that the 1770s and the 2020s had so much in common?
Production photos by Marc Brenner
Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!
