A female Alf Garnett risen from the grave
MIRIAM MARGOLYES is an undersung legend of the British stage. Dames Maggie smith, Judi Dench, eileen Atkins and Joan plowright are more often lauded. But Margolyes is a mini theatrical titan in her own right.
And now you can enjoy her at close quarters — and in terrifying form — in Finsbury park, in eugene o’hare’s black comedy, sydney & the old girl.
Margolyes plays a housebound septuagenarian in London’s east end. it’s as if Alf garnett had risen from the grave and had a sex change, ready to launch a barrage of comic tirades on an unsuspecting 21st century. her character, the ‘old girl’ Nell, is locked in deadly enmity with her son sydney, who is pushing 50.
o’hare has a knack for a memorably combative turn of phrase — one that might make a glaswegian navvy blush. At the printable end of the spectrum, Nell chastises her son for giving her the longest case of postnatal depression ever known.
he returns the compliment with interest, and although there is mutual loathing, there’s terrific vitality, too.
Fresh air, literal and metaphorical, is provided by an irish care worker, who comes round to air out the musty flat, armed with Celtic blarney.
After the interval, o’hare goes in search of a melodramatic ending to resolve his story, but i’m not sure that it needs tying up. it’s enough that it revels in characters who are bound together in torment. BesiDes,
marvellous Margolyes more than fills the stage as a Boadicean battleaxe in a wheelchair, her days structured around sneaky shots of whisky and clockwork trips to the loo.
But there’s more than just ferocity here; Margolyes brings impishness and pathos to Nell.
Mark hadfield plays the toxic sydney — a furtive misogynistic virgin with a mortal fear of sirens. his end- of- tether despair reminded me of the exasperated harry h. Corbett in steptoe And son.
And vivien parry brings some much-needed warmth and levity as the garrulous carer who, in her spare time, volunteers for the sister Aloysius hospitable Charity for the orphaned irish in London.
the play could be a cue for caricature in phillip Breen’s production. But instead he’s committed to eking out each character’s private agony.
And though Max Jones and ruth hall’s set is festooned with chintz, floral wallpaper and swirly carpet, the play is never sarcastic or sneery. Whatever the shortcomings of the plot, any play that can mobilise Margolyes like this will get my vote every time.
the season is a likeable, bitesized musical rom-com about a bright- eyed Brit who goes to New York over Christmas for his estranged father’s second marriage — only to fall for the hard- boiled sister of Dad’s bride-to-be.
they tour the subway, hit the bars and shops, and crash in the plaza hotel. All in just 48 hours. the plot is thoroughly unrealistic: a perfect festive fairy tale.
Crucially, composer Jim Barne and lyricist Kit Buchan take the jingle bells out of the Yuletide setting, with a jaunty soft-rock score that focuses on hangovers, parental woes, tinder dating and an anti-Christmas song (that’s entirely pro-Christmas).
tim Jackson’s warm production hinges on the two lovers. As turbo-chatty Dougal, Alex Cardall has the enthusiasm of a labrador puppy. in real life, robin — played by lusty singer tori Allen-Martin — would wipe the floor with him.
thankfully, real life is kept out of harm’s way, and Dougal steadily erodes robin’s tough outer shell.
savvy enough not to be too sweet, and sweet enough not to be too cynical, catch it now in ipswich, or later this month when it moves to Northampton’s royal & Derngate.