I have now seen Steel Magnolias, Robert Harling’s witty
and sad play set in a Louisiana hairdressers, three times and each time have
come away with one overriding thought. You don’t half feel sorry for the men.
The odd good word is said in their defence but you could fit most of them on
the back of a Thomas Jefferson commemorative stamp. Collectively the unseen
male of the species, dead or alive, of Harling’s play are lazy, aggressive,
stupid or self centred. Usually all four. Men, of course, are not like that. In
rugby clubs and on football coaches, up and down the country, they spend most
of their time and energies revering the beauty and wisdom of ladies in delicate
and literate tones. No, I don’t believe it either.
Probably explains why I have no
difficulty in believing that when women get together in the tonsorial
equivalent of the confessional they can expand, in pithy and witty terms, on
the husbands and sons and lovers in their life. Apart from anything else, in
Steel Magnolias it creates a rich seam of comic lines against the backdrop of a
sad and tragic central story. Over four scenes, over two years, customer Shelby
marries, gets pregnant, has baby, gets ill, and dies. Solomon Grundy in
dramatic, feminine, relief. On Richard Clark’s sparse but realistic set,
converting a carport to a hairdressing salon, we follow a journey of two
complex hairdressers, two cranky customers, and a mother and daughter united in
the latter’s fateful journey. I would have liked a prominent and striking salon
door to both welcome the customers and facilitate stronger entrances from the
actors and I would have liked, personal nitpick, a telephone that rang
realistically. Here we had a play in Eaton Bray and a phone ring from
Whipsnade. Oh all right, I exaggerate, but you get my meaning. Good theatre
should draw you in, generally this well acted play did, but little things can
detract from that desired illusion of reality. I said I was nitpicking.
Having said all that I have few
quibbles with the acting skills on show. Front
Row Theatre Group may be a small village company but, on this showing, they
have some serious actresses. Mandy
Lindsay was a totally believable and wise cracking Truvy. ‘There ain’t such
a thing as natural beauty’ was her mantra and she attacked her ladies and her
lines with consummate aplomb. This lady only wrong footed once, and sinfully
drew attention to it, but overall her performance was an absolute joy. Susan Young matched her all the way as
Annelle, flowering from hesitant assistant to confident companion on her
journey of damascene conversion. Never dropping her guard, this was a sensitive
portrayal throughout. Clairee (Donna
Hughes) and Ouiser (Barbara Morton)
were chips off the same acerbic block and both played their characters to the
full comic hilt. I shall never look at chaps into track lighting and called
Steve in the same way again. Oh, read the script. Barbara Morton, beautifully
and quirkily costumed, scored heavily in every scene she was in and both she
and Miss Hughes hit the southern drawl lines with expertise and clarity. I am
still laughing at tinselled ‘Keep off the Grass’ signs as Christmas decoration.
Just in case this is beginning to
sound like a homely village piece I have to warn you that this blog ain’t like
that. I don’t do rubber stamping of worthy theatrical causes. Ask
Wheathampstead Players and Dunstable Rep if you don’t believe me. You have to
earn your stars from me. And truth to tell I had problems with both the mother
and the daughter. Bernadette Freed as M’Lynn initially lacked the ease of the
others mentioned, in character development and line delivery, but magnificently
came up trumps in her last scene. Her quiet retelling of her daughter’s final
moments, a rejection of the kidney she had donated, followed by her anger and despair
at the unfairness of life, was a compelling piece of acting. A difficult scene
to play, and this was the best interpretation I have seen of it. More variety
in her first half delivery and she would have been up there with the best of
them on stage. She probably wasn’t helped by Sonia Dean’s portrayal of the ill fated daughter Shelby. This
wasn’t a bad performance, in parts it was quite touching, but her diction was
low key and her delivery and characterisation was hampered by the southern
drawl accent. You felt for her passing but not as much as you should.
I hope that does not sound cruel.
I hope not because overall I greatly admired this feminine ensemble. Eaton Bray
are blessed to have such a good acting company in their small village. Director
Christopher Lavin had clearly worked his actors very hard and he had a pretty
good cast more than capable of realising his expectations. I intend to view
them again in November, I travel adventurously wide in the cause of blogging,
when they are doing Ayckbourn’s Absurd Person Singular. The men in that, this
time on stage, are a bunch of shits as well. Roy Hall
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