| The Woods Finborough Theatre And so, by what director Robert Shaw modestly describes as 'a historical accident', a David Mamet play gets its British premier at a small pub theatre in Earl's Court. The accident is a happy one. If there's any justice, this should transfer to more prestigious premises forthwith, but until that happens the small stage of the Finborough is a fortuitous space for this intimate two-hander. Mamet fans should not miss the chance to see it there. Shaw has been trying to stage the play for years, running up against opposition from both Mamet's American distributors and some of London's larger theatres. It's surprising, not least becasue of the recent success of 'Oleanna', but also because the play has an enormous amount to recommend it in itself. Sharing some of the concerns of 'Oleanna', but less sensationalist and zeitgeisty, 'The Woods' takes us to a country cabin where urbanites Ruth and Nick (Emma Bird and Peter Polycarpou, both excellent) have gone for a romantic sojourn. 'In the city we can never really know each other', opines Ruth, begging the unwelcome question, do they really want to? From there the rustic isolation of these |
| lovers becomes an all too open space for them to talk themselves out of conjugal bliss and into a black hole of miscommunication and mistrust. Mamet's wiley dialogue is a poetic series of reprises, a tightly structured impersonation of aimless meandering, ranging through such questions as whether waves make a difference to the fish, what it's called when you try not to show anything and whether Viking women went to sea. Unanswered questions, unfinished sentences and stories that deftly fail to cohere are the hallmarks of a very human postmodernism in which we recognise ourselves even as we are prevented from knowing the characters. In the face of the consistently brilliant wordiness, Shaw's direction is supremely balanced, never allowing the linguistic concerns to swamp the considerable dramatic possibilities of the piece. Understatement is the key. It's sustained at every level, from Emma Fryer's sturdy wooden set to the wry intrusion of twangy jazz bass to mark the scene changes. Violence erupts in this muted setting like jagged lines on a heart scanner and the whole is quietly astonishing. |