By
Terence Rattigan
Entente Non Cordiale
A
group of young gentlemen gather in Villa Miramar in France to learn French for the diplomatic
corps entry exams. Coming from a line of toffs himself with a
diplomat father and once earmarked for the same career, playwright Terence Rattigan was obviously writing,
to cite an old adage "what he knew" in 1936.
And
that year was a rum old twelve months for diplomacy. George V died to be succeeded by Edward VIII
who within a few months had abdicated in favour of his brother.
Stalinist purges swept the Soviet Union. France elected a left-wing government.
The Spanish army of Africa rose up against the left wing Spanish Republican
government,
Syria gained partial independence from
France, the Italian army marched into Ethiopa,
Japan and Germany signed an anti-communist pact and National Socialist Germany reoccupied the Rhineland.
And aged
25, Rattigan scored his first theatre success, inspired by his own experiences
at a German crammer, after honing an economic writing technique penning dialogue for quota quickies at
Teddington Studios. Luckily for us,
this Hi-De-Hi boarding house school for
toffs, distracted by the fairer sex, channels the more frivolous side of this era
in a delicious production directed by Paul Miller at the Orange Tree Theatre.
And my God, doe-eyed
Diana (Genevieve Gaunt) , an English rose cum Hollywood femme fatale, does cause
havoc at the crammer college of M. Maingot (David Whitworth). As she exercises her own seductive
divide-and-rule ruses, the men tumble
for her like diplomats unable to resist the most powerful she-nation.
Ambassador's
son Hon Alan Howard (Alex Bhat), already fluent in French, destined by family
for the diplomatic service but a novelist and pacifist by inclination, becomes
increasingly embittered. Stoked by Diana, his relations with the more
sentimental Kit Neilan (Joe Eyre) and bluff Royal Navy man Commander Bill
Rogers (William Belchambers) also become more than strained, eventually coming
to blows.
Meanwhile
the demure tutor, Jacqueline (Sarah Winter), daughter of the proprietor, and Kenneth (Patrick MacNamee), Diana's cadet
brother, are also victims of unrequited affections. Indeed, apart from M.
Maingot and the maid Marianne (perfectly French Laila Alj), only hearty
Englishman Brian Curtis (Tom Hanson), with sterling qualities and sex not love
on the brain, keeps his head when all about him are losing theirs.
Like
all the best farces, this has more serious undercurrents. Claws lurk beneath
the cut glass accents, cod French (anyone else remember Punch's Let's Parler Franglais?),
irregular verbs and present definitely tense as Bastille Day arrives with
carnival celebrations at the local casino.
Genevieve
Gaunt's timing (and claws) as predatory Diana are spot on, raising the
temperature and laughs backed by - what else but - French windows. The sparsely-furnished yet expressive set, from Simon Daw,
suits the performance space topped by blackboards fronting the
balcony chalked with French exercises.
The
costumes are satisfyingly recognizable
types while the transitions are pleasingly lit by Mark Doubleday to pass time
on the in-the-round stage with music by David Shrubsole.
The
male characters all make their mark and throw out their own point of view: Alex
Bhat as Alan, seemingly in control but with demagogic tendancies and
increasingly frantic behind his copy of Le Monde while Joe Eyre's Kit has an
underlying vulnerability; Tom Hanson makes barrel-chested Brian, for whom it is almost always business as
usual, stride through the wreckage; William Belchambers convincingly turns from
love struck suitor to bodyguard, while Patrick McNamee embodies nervy Kenneth.
David
Whitworth cuts an appropriately professorial figure, donning his Carnival fancy
dress with aplomb. Delicate Sarah Winter is sweetly besotted as daughter "Jack" (from
Jacqueline rather than Frรจre Jacques)
who by the end shows her own claws in a Oscar-Wilde-like scene with Diana. Even
with sometimes slightly dodgy French accents, there is a charm as the farce
unravels.
Ah
yes, and TLT had no idea until her trip to the West Coast of France via the
Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond that Mr Rattigan had already bagged the red,
amber and green light idea as his own in French Without Tears. Listen out for
it in the second act! :)
While
this may seem like a frothy piece of almost-juvenilia, Rattigan himself was at
pains to point out it dealt with matters close to the heart of the young
idealistic 1930s' playwright. This production has a pleasing clarity working on
many levels with at least two young children in the audience enjoying the
farce element of the show as much as the adults. A green light from TLT and her
bagnole, but not quite as Rattigan meant it in his play!
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