Terence Rattigan, long patronised with faint praise as the master of ‘the well-made play’ – i.e. a work that dealt with the social and romantic mores of the middle class and featured smug jokes about gin and tonics and the price of servants – has been rehabilitated over the past 20 years, as audiences and theatres alike have realised that the brilliance of his writing and emotional power of his characterisations and plots, rank alongside the heavy hitters of twentieth century drama.
Thea Sharrock’s new production at National Theatre – his great ‘lost’ play After The Dance – marks the first time it has been produced in London since its short-lived premiere in 1939, confirming Rattigan’s pre-eminence amongst dramatists. It revolves around a group of hedonists, led by dilettante historian David Scott-Fowler (Benedict Cumberbatch) and his beautiful party-girl wife Joan (Nancy Carroll). They lead a privileged, gin-soaked life, full of friends (most notably permanent house guest John Reid, wonderfully played by Adrian Scarborough) and acquaintances, and where any serious chat is ‘a frightful bore, darling’. When David meets his secretary’s fiancee Helen (Faye Castelow) sparks fly; but in this brittle, ephemeral world, a divorce is just something to be laughed at over cocktails. Isn’t it?
Well, no it isn’t, and Rattigan’s play acquires much of its considerable emotional weight from the way in which Joan, who has always been desperately in love with David, deals with the revelation. Throwing oneself into parties and drinking isn’t enough. As one character notes, sardonically, ‘It’s the bright young people all over again, only they never were bright and now they’re not even young.’ Cumberbatch and, especially, Carroll are both sensational in incredibly difficult roles, having to convey jollity, weakness or strength as required and, when the chips are finally down, moral purpose.
They’re ably supported by an excellent ensemble cast including John Heffernan as David’s eager then disillusioned secretary and cousin Peter and Juliet Howland as Moya, a woman for whom the party has gone on for that bit too long. Sharrock’s direction keeps the play moving at a tremendous pace, making the three hour running time pass in the blink of an eye. And make sure that you can either stifle your tears or repress your emotions, as some of the play is deeply moving indeed.
Until August 11. National Theatre, South Bank SE1 www.nationaltheatre.org.uk
