A lot of West End theatres are fairly interchangeable once you get inside and not many of them have much historic atmosphere, despite the old photographs and programmes on the walls. One of the exceptions is of course The Old Vic, which has special memories for me because I began going there as a sixth former and then as a student in the late 1960s. I saw the original National Theatre production of Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, Sir John Gielgud and Irene Worth in Seneca's Oedipus, and Olivier in Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night. I think it was the only time I saw him on stage.
Since the National Theatre moved out, the Old Vic has had its ups and downs, but now it's firmly on the up again under Kevin Spacey's leadership. There have been a few misses, the low point probably being the late Robert Altman's production of Arthur Miller's Resurrection Blues, which was panned by the critics. I didn't see it, so can't judge. Spacey's choice of plays has been criticised as unambitious, but I think he's done a terrific job of bringing the Old Vic back to life and putting bums back on seats. Last night I saw Eugene O'Neill's A Moon for the Misbegotten, and it was to my mind a triumphant success. Directed by Howard Davies, it's a late work by a playwright whose work tends towards the long and shapeless (I'm thinking of Mourning Becomes Electra in 2003 at the National). But it's surprisingly well-constructed, and it's a play of huge emotional power. There are three plays I've seen in 2006 that were almost too painful to watch, and this is one of them. (The other two were Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and Bent). Like George and Martha in Albee's play, Josie Hogan and Jim Tyrone gouge lumps out of each other on stage and fight themselves to a standstill. Spacey plays Tyrone, a disintegrating alcoholic, and Eve Best is Josie, the awkward farmer's daughter who loves him. Best is perhaps too slim and attractive for Josie, who's supposed to be a muscular hunk of a woman, but otherwise she's terrific at conveying the character's outward bravado and inner uncertainty. I don't expect her to win this year's Olivier award for Best Actress, for the simple reason that she won it last year as Hedda Gabler, but she might make the shortlist. The scenes between Josie and her father, played by Colm Meaney, are just as powerful. And the Old Vic was packed.
O'Neill's writing is old-fashioned and has a streak of the melodramatic. His father was a great actor in Victorian melodramas, so perhaps that's not surprising. There's not much subtext and the characters tend to express directly what they feel. The cast work the play up to an emotional climax without tipping over the edge into something mawkish. There's an interesting comparison to be made with Tennessee Williams' Summer and Smoke, which I saw last week. O'Neill's play, at least in this excellent revival, comes out several lengths ahead.
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