©Johan Persson
George Eliot’s Middlemarch is considered one of the finest novels in the English language. As an English undergraduate, I remember buying the chunky Penguin paperback and starting to read it – and it became one of those many books that I started and never finished. Not because I wasn’t enjoying it, but because I simply didn’t have the time. Have you seen how many pages it is??
©Johan Persson
It occurred to me as I was reading it all those years ago, that if George Eliot had been writing in the 1970s, she would probably have been a scriptwriter on TV’s Crossroads. I appreciate that will be an unconventional and probably unwelcome opinion. What, however, is welcome, is to watch the RSC’s two-part adaptation at the Swan Theatre, to see for oneself just how good a book it is, without having to read it! Decades ago, their outstanding and equally long Nicholas Nickleby, adapted by David Edgar, made me determined to read Dickens’ original. Would Nina Raine’s new version do the same for Middlemarch?
©Johan Persson
Adapting such a major and well-known work for the stage is fraught with problems; perhaps none bigger than the fact that, as with nearly all novels, it starts small and grows as its threads, characters, themes, events all develop. As a result, Middlemarch Part One is expository, introducing characters, setting scenes, creating relationships. Dramatically, it’s limited. If this were indeed a soap opera, don’t expect much from the end of episode cliffhangers – they’re just not that exciting.
©Johan Persson
If ever it was vital to see the two parts in chronological order, it’s with Middlemarch. Indeed, if (like me) you didn’t know the story and only booked to see Part One, I think you’d go home feeling very short-changed. However, see both parts on the same day and all the work you put in for the matinee pays dividends in the evening. Everything falls into place, situations that were left hanging are resolved, and there’s even a happy ending. George Eliot can look back and say that her work here is done. That’s because she is a constant presence throughout the whole six hours, introducing the story, acting as a narrator, and casting an affectionate, proprietorial eye over the proceedings.
©Johan Persson
But she’s more than that. There’s always a forceful power when a work of art grapples with its own creative process. John Fowles’ French Lieutenant’s Woman is a prime example, both in novel and film form, where the creation of the work is as important a dimension as the work itself. On a (maybe) lesser level, think of Spandau Ballet despairingly asking Why do I find it hard to write the next line? in the pursuit of defining whatever it is that is True. In Nina Raine’s adaptation, George Eliot becomes almost a life coach in Middlemarch, helping her characters find ways out of their predicaments, criticising their behaviour but also having to defend herself against her portrayals (Rosamond rounding on Eliot saying you don’t think much of me do you is a fantastically meta moment). Many’s the time when Eliot doesn’t have the answer and her facial expressions as performed by Amanda Root simply suggest let’s play it out and see what happens. This creative device is either going to endear you to the production or alienate you. For my part, I loved it.
©Johan Persson
Grace Smart’s set truly excels with a blank stage surface but with hidden secrets beneath a myriad of traps. Open a trap and you never know what lies under there; it’s as unpredictable as a nineteenth century provincial advent calendar. The set also features a series of vaulted arches high above the stage, suggesting a church or a town hall, two aspects of life which would dominate smalltown society in the Victorian age. I confess it’s only in retrospect that I appreciate the appropriateness of the overhanging arches; whilst watching the plays, I didn’t feel that the plot and subject matter sufficiently dovetailed with the overriding sense of religion that these arches convey. True, the plays are bookended with candles and hymn-like singing, but this element of spiritualism fades as we get into the meat of the story.
©Johan Persson
In fact, what primarily comes across from the text and performance is a world of financial management and mismanagement, the growth in understanding medicine, and the will to reform politics – debt, doctors and democracy in fact. It’s how Eliot’s characters cope with this changing world that gives the work its spark. They are real people, handling the devastation of unexpected poverty, disastrous marriage, alienation and the fear that your sins will find you out. This all bubbles beneath the surface of the behavioural requirements of polite society; and this production expresses that conflict between a brave public face and private disaster beautifully.
©Johan Persson
The marvellous cast, many of them playing several roles, handle this mammoth task superbly. Amanda Root is exquisite as Eliot, creating a conduit between the audience and the characters, probing, questioning and cajoling her creations to make sense of their choices and motivations. Nia Towle is mesmerising as Dorothea, the very definition of an upright citizen as her high aspirations lead her into a calamitous marriage that will continue to blight her even into widowhood. Lizzie Annis is delightfully guileless as both Celia and Mary, delicately bringing out the comic potential of both characters. Ian Drysdale is superbly withering as the humourless, selfish Casaubon, and marvellously open and generous as the moral Caleb.
©Johan Persson
Peter Forbes is hilarious as the blustering Brooke, and truly sinister as the malignant Raffles, Emma McDonald invests Rosamond with a very believable sense of entitlement and vanity without ever making her a pantomime villain, and Gunnar Cauthery is superb as the posh Sir James and heart-on-his-sleeve Farebrother. His moment of realisation that he stands no chance with Mary is exceptional. Rory Alexander gives us a feckless but likeable Ladislaw, dithering his way through life, Andrew Richardson is great as the principled but emotionally rudderless Lydgate, and John Hodgkinson is outstanding as the cold, calculating Bulstrode, and steals every scene as the outrageously positive Trumbull. In a production full of serious, demanding scenes, Mr Hodgkinson plays a lively part in the two brilliantly funny scenes – the will reading and the auction, both of which warrant the ticket price.
©Johan Persson
Ebenezer Gyau is also terrific as the lazy and irresponsible wastrel Fred, lamenting his bad luck and failed schemes whilst carrying off all the elegance of someone who’s never done a day’s work in his life. Penny Layden brings wonderful characterisations to all six of her roles, and there’s superb support from Anita Reynolds as the hearty Mrs Vincy and accidental murderer Mrs Abel. There isn’t the slightest suggestion of a weak link throughout the whole cast.
©Johan Persson
Overall, as a theatrical experience, the excellence of Part Two doesn’t quite make up for the perhaps inevitable dramatic sparseness of Part One. But patience is a virtue and once this dramatisation fully gets going there’s no stopping it. And, yes, when I got home, I downloaded Middlemarch onto my kindle, which must be a good sign. The production continues at the Swan Theatre until 16th January.
Four They’re Jolly Good Fellows!