I love
going to the theatre. Movies have always been another matter, I don’t particularly
mind if I watch them in the cinema or in the living room. Well, possibly except
when the experience is better served by 3D and IMAX, you actually NEED to go to
the cinema for that. But all that aside, you might even say I prefer watching
films in my own living room, in my pajamas and munching as many noisy snacks as
my gut will hold. The magic of the theatre is completely different for me.
London is a great and wonderful place and if cheap theatre tickets are your
thing, there are a million and one different websites you can use to come by
them. You have to use your noggin a little bit, but with a minimal amount of
triage you can end up paying pretty much Band 3 prices for Band 1 tickets. I
tend to avoid Band 3 tickets, but for this play, the price was very good. So I
risked it. I ended up in literally the last row in the house, riiight up in the
rafters. I was kicking myself as I took my seat – never again such false
economies, I vowed – and my inner Middle Eastern started scanning the grand
circle below to see if there were empty seats I could sneak into during the
interval.
I am not
going to say that I will now sit in Band 3 for always and always, I will probably
still very much go for Band 2 at the very worst. But nor do I regret having got
these seats up in the rafters in this particular case. It reminds one how truly
powerful a live performance has to be. Especially as I now have pretentions at
crossing the curtain to the other side of the stage, it is awesome and quite
frightening that I, in a seat where I could comfortably touch the roof of the
building (or would be able to if I was only about a foot taller) I was actually
bowled over by the performances and the emotions. I cannot begin to conceive
how you would go about actually giving such a performance (I can’t yet,
anyway).
The Father
is the story of Andre (Kenneth Cranham). He is getting on a bit, but by and
large he is managing fine – or so he tells himself. His daughter Anne (Claire
Skinner) would tell a different story. Andre doesn’t understand why she insists
on finding him carers. Or why he frequently ends up still wearing his pajamas
at the end of the day. Or where his watch is. Some days strange men and women
come into his house (or is it is daughters?) and claim to be his daughter and
son in law, Andre just doesn’t understand. But surely it’ll all come to him…
He’s fine… Right?
Translated
from the original Moliere award winning French play by Christopher Hampton, The
Father gives us a toe-curlingly realistic portrayal of a decaying mind. The
truly fascinating thing is the way the play shows us both sides of the
argument. Kenneth Cranham’s Andre – who, in case you needed it spelled out for
you, is clearly suffering from some form
of dementia – is a larger than life character who is painfully realistic. And
the play is structured in a way that brings his disease and confusion right to
you with hair raising (in a good way) reality. But although the disease is
swallowing Andre whole, it does not swallow the story. In the midst of this
confusion we see Anne and her husband Antoine desperately trying to cope with
the effects of this disease. All characters are unflinchingly human. One
vacillates between wanting to strangle them and wanting to comfort them… And
this makes the story that little bit harder to watch if, for whatever reason,
the topic is close to your heart.
The Father
is definitely not your average evenings light entertainment. This is the kind
of show that makes you stop, shake yourself and seriously think about life.
You’ll go to the pub badly in need of a stiff drink and be a little too boisterous
and loud as you try to expulse the dark clouds that gathered in you throughout
the show. And as someone who has dementia in her family, I can testify to the
fact that you will get a powerful insight into what life with dementia truly is
like. I described the play in some detail to my mother and she reckons she
wouldn’t be able to watch the play. And for all her eccentric tastes in film (I
am yet to be able to discern a pattern with your viewing Mom, and this is from
someone who has known you for 32 years) Mom is a tough cookie. Sensitive souls
beware.
So how
would I summarize The Father ? Strong, beautiful and dark. Very dark. I would
also point out that it is in London’s Wyndham Theatre for a very limited run,
so I would strongly advise you catch it before it is gone. Go on. Get out of
the pajamas and put the popcorn to one side for two minutes. Life really does
begin outside of your comfort zone and it is worth getting a little
uncomfortable to really learn something about life.
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