From Mary, Queen of Snores – to a blast of Strictly escapism
Rona Munro has extended her James Plays trilogy about Scottish kings, covering James I, II and III, into a longer cycle, taking in James IV (on tour in Scotland) and James V (due next year). Chronologically the last of the six, Mary – the story of Mary, Queen of Scots – over-leaps those to arrive in London. No wonder: she is the most familiar figure.
Yet Mary herself is barely seen here. Instead, three figures from her court discuss various tricky political situations. They include James Melville, an adviser apparently devoted to the Catholic Queen, plus two fictional members of staff, the ambitious Thompson and a servant named Agnes, an outspoken Protestant.
The three fight, in eloquent, thorny speeches, over the future and the soul of Scotland, and offer shifting, turning perspectives on Mary herself. Has she fecklessly led their country into turmoil for a bad marriage? Or is she a victim, abused by powerful men?
Munro’s play packs in interesting ideas and biting moral dilemmas, and Douglas Henshall captures the battle in Melville’s soul between what is right and what is politically expedient.
But as theatre, this is wordy and inert: set against an oppressive, dark set, Roxana Silbert’s direction remains static to the point of tedium. All the action is reported, rather than embodied, until a final burst of feminine fury that feels as if it belongs in an altogether different play.
If you were to travel as far as possible in the opposite theatrical direction from Mary, you’d probably land at Strictly Ballroom: The Musical – loud, brash, good fun, and camper than a row of sequined tents. It’s all surface, no depth: but what surface! Let your senses be assaulted by day-glo spangled 1980s costumes, crassly outsized performances, and glorious dance numbers.
This is pop culture eating itself: a UK tour of the stage version of Baz Luhrmann’s 1992 movie, which inspired Strictly Come Dancing – directed by Strictly’s Craig Revel Horwood, and starring Strictly dancer Kevin Clifton and Strictly contestant Maisie Smith.
In fact, such casting is both a cunning and a cute move, their professional/contestant status nicely mirroring the plot of the show, where rebellious ballroom dancer Scott loses his partner just weeks before a big competition, and must train up the young beginner Fran.
It is completely over the top (and painfully over-amplified in the production I saw), but knowing in its crudeness. Horwood ripely sends up how seriously the cheesy Australian ballroom dancers take this art form. It makes taking the odd heartfelt ballad seriously a challenge, and no one here will be winning any awards for their overblown acting – although Smith brings some shyly determined charm to Fran. But if you’re strictly looking for escapism, it delivers
tens across the board.