Banality of evil
Lloyd Evans
Kindertransport Hampstead Rafta, Rafta Lyttelton Called to Account Tricycle Holocaust art must be approached with care. There’s a worry that by finding fault you’re somehow failing to take the world’s all-time Number one human rights violation seriously. Kindertransport follows the tale of Eva, a Jewish schoolgirl sent from Nazi Germany to Britain at the close of the 1930s. She’s adopted by a rough-diamond Manchester mum (lovely work from Eileen O’Brien) but when her real mother returns after the war Eva claims she’s been abandoned and stages a complete emotional withdrawal.
It’s rather heartbreaking and a touch over-familiar. The best moment comes early on when a sneaky German customs officer rifles through Eva’s bags, steals her money and fobs her off with a sweet. In that simple, horrible scene we see now that Nazi behaviour, far from residing in some outlandish realm of iniquity, is just ordinary neighbourly vindictiveness allowed to flourish unchecked.
Director Polly Teale has coaxed a fine performance from Matti Houghton as the vulnerable, angry Eva. Less effective is her decision to make the Ratcatcher, an allegory of evil, visible on stage. Poor old Alexi Kaye Campbell, wrapped in a fusty blanket, comes slithering ominously across the boards or uncurls in slow motion from behind piles of packing boxes. At one point a wardrobe door opens and his halfshrouded face peeps out, like the Phantom of the Opera entering on the wrong cue. I’m amazed that the actor agreed to all this silliness. I expect he was just obeying orders. Ultimately the play descends into shrill melodrama, and the closing scenes focus on two hysterical mother–daughter relationships. Clearly this is the writer’s favourite topic and I was left wondering if she’d used the holocaust as a peg for her emotional preoccupations.
At the Lyttelton the latest attempt to Hindify an English classic began with a big round of applause — for the set. Tim Hatley has built an entire Bolton two-up two-down and sliced off the side wall so that the audience is faced with a square containing four equally square rooms, all meticulously dressed. It’s ingenious, quietly opulent and distractingly stagey. The play is an update of Bill Naughton’s All in Good Time and it takes a while to fire up. The Dutt family has a new daughter-in-law Vina, who has married their eldest son Atul, an intellectual film projectionist. The shambolic wedding party drifts aimlessly, and though the banter is amusing and the characters are enjoyably spiky there’s no story.
Finally, after 50 minutes, something happens. The newly-weds clamber upstairs where they discover that Atul can’t perform. Shocked and ashamed, he swears Vina to silence. Vina agrees but alas she can’t help making one tiny exemption to her vow: her mother. Then it all kicks off. The scandal of Atul’s impotence spreads across the two families and into the wider community, but the problems lead to reconciliation rather than conflict and the show ends with smiles all round — not least on the faces of Vina and Atul.
This is an old-fashioned comedy drama briskly updated by Ayub Khan-Din and sprinkled with dozens of excellent new gags. The best of many delightful comic performances is Harish Patel’s turn as Eeshwar, the cuddly hen-pecked head of the Dutt family. As the curtain descended I detected an obscure but unmistakeable aroma, the scent of theatrical triumph. This one’s heading across the river.
Called to Account is a wish-fulfilment drama. If Tony Blair were indicted for war crimes what would his trial look like? This is a wordy, unflashy and slightly boring production and yet its effect is strangely gripping. There’s no judge, just a parade of weapons inspectors, civil servants and so on being cross-examined by two passionless barristers. The prosecution’s best tactic is to expose the vast gap between what the spooks told Blair about WMD and what Blair told us. And there’s the notorious affair of the attorneygeneral who gave advice about the legality of the war early in March 2003 and gave contradictory advice a week or so later. Mind you, is that terribly surprising? A lawyer who proffers one incontrovertible view is rather letting the profession down. More opinions, more fees. And at least Lord Goldsmith changed his mind before the war began, unlike Clare Short.
There’s one glaring oversight in all this. If Blair knowingly started an illegal war his guilt would be shared with the rest of the Cabinet who all voted for it, too. So Clare Short isn’t off the hook either. But does Blair have a serious case to answer? Ask Lord Goldsmith. And keep asking till you get the right answer.
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