Slow motion
Polly Toynbee
Amadeus (Olivier) Old Herbaceous (Mayfair) Amadeus by Peter Shaffer should have been a musical. The only moments that were really moving were when Mozart's music was played and these, alas, were all too few. More music and less talk would have made a. very long evening (three hours) seem a lot shorter.
The first part of the play is crisp and enjoyable, as the dying composer Salieri recounts his relationship with Mozart. Salieri a mediocre court musician, honest, hard-working and virtuous is confronted suddenly with the arrival of the young Mozart at court in Vienna. He. has heard of his musical prowess. A wonderful scene shows Salieri, awaiting his meeting with Mozart, in a drawing room hidden from view in a deep arm chair. Mozart cavorts into the room pursuing a pretty girl, and instead of a cultured young genius. Salieri discovers a vulgar foppish near-idiot, shrieking with laughter at kindergarten scatalogical jokes, foul mouthed and ludicrous in an extraordinary blond wig which stands up en brosse.
Later that evening he hears Mozart play, and is agonised and outraged at the exquisite beauty of the music. How could an unworthy, strutting lout be touched with such divine genius, while he, pious, serious and good had never for one moment been granted the gift to lift his music above honest mediocrity? It makes a fine opening to a play, a powerful image of the arbitrariness and injustice of God's grace. But unfortunately, with still another two hours to run, the play has nothing more to say. The story, retold by Salieri, unfolds to the point where Salieri convinces himself of the truth of the rumour that he was responsible for Mozart's death.
Salieri, as a good man dragged down by jealousy, is somewhat two dimensional, but Paul Scofield does the best he can. Simon Callow is a splendid buffoon as Mozart, but again, as the character does not develop, the wretched actor is left repeating himself over and over again in scene after scene, Felicity Kendal — as always exquisitely charming and delicious — is a perfect Constanze, flirtatious but virtuous. We have become used to such beautiful sets in the Olivier that the ugly plastic floor, and curious electric screen — which raises and lowers itself so fussily, is a disappointment. Modern historical plays, like historical novels, start with many handicaps. They tend to become over-involved in the plot and the history at the expense of having anything to say. Some rather cheap stagy tricks here try to disguise the fact that this is hardly a play at all, but more of a narration.
Old Herbaceous is a curious theatrical experience. An old gardener sits in his potting shed and addresses the audience for the whole evening, recalling his mild moments of triumph and catastrophe. It takes time to accept the slow and ponderous pace at which Old Herbaceous —as he was known in the village — unfolds his episodic tale. But once you settle down to the slow, rural style of the piece the enchantment takes over. The set, with its sieves, ancient tools, plants and raffia, mirrors the minute observation of this old and charming character.
Alfred Shaughnessy, dramatising a book . by Reginald Arkell, tells the tale of a boy at the village school selected to work as garden boy for the mistress of the manor, a beautiful newly married girl. Old Herbacious chronicles his slow progress up to head gardener, and his growing intense relationship with his admired employer. Roger Hume's performance captures an authentic tone of voice, almost lost and forgotten now, of the half-educated respectable rural servant. He plays the old man with exactly the right amount of self respect and independence to prevent the character becoming too servile, or too accepting of his lowly station in life.
Anyone intending to see this nostalgic performance should abandon themselves to the idea of spending the evening with a real gardener in a real potting shed — he even hands out herbs to sniff— for, as a theatrical occasion, it hardly moves faster than a caterpillar crossing a cabbage leaf.
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