****
'Powerful performances in slick and strong production.'
Arthur
Miller’s The Ride Down Mt Morgan is
a funny old play. By funny I don’t mean it’s a bundle of laughs, it ain’t, but
funny in the sense that it has little plot and the bit it has regularly bangs
you round the narrative head. In essence a man should be free to do what he
likes, even if this includes two simultaneous wives, and hang the consequences.
In fact in the tortuous mind of central character Lyman Felt there aren’t any
consequences, merely benefits to all. Depending on your point of view it is an
idea, or premise, that both attracts and repels. You don’t just mislay your
moral compass; you willingly and joyfully fling the bloody thing into the
nearest ocean. As my old mother used to say, it will all end in tears. Or in
old Lyman’s case a car crash down the slopes of Mount Morgan.
It
all very conveniently puts him in a hospital bed close to death and,
inconveniently, brings those same two wives rushing to his side. Both in
imagination and reality they combine and clash in the waiting room. Happens all
the while at the L and D some say. On a simple but effective set, geometric
acting areas clearly defined, the past and present of the rich and likeable
bigamist is played out. I say likeable because although his morals may seem
loathsome, to some the man himself had an uneasy charm. He had success, money,
women, and a sympathetic lawyer and you don’t get all of those if you are a one
hundred per cent total shit. It struck me, watching Andy Mills’ powerful and
engaging performance of Lyman, that here was a man who wanted his essential
inner truth so much he was prepared to act out an outrageous marital lie. His
worst fault, in Miller’s writing, was his attempts to justify it. Why make one
woman miserable when it is possible to keep two happy. As an exercise in self
delusional narcissism it takes some beating.
As
the older wife, superficially discarded, Shelley Bacall as Theo turned in a
very strong portrayal that improved as the drama progressed. Her early scenes
seemed a little strident, hardly surprising given her discovery of the
consummate betrayal, but fleshed out in later scenes to a woman of sensitivity
and depth. Her suggestion that Lyman had tried to kill her on one occasion
stretched credibility in the flashback enactment, but that was the clear
intention. As was the contrasting overt sexuality of Jo Emery’s Leah, a second
wife rich in female swagger and fecundity. Who wouldn’t want her, she seemed to
say, much as Miller himself probably said about Monroe.
St
Alban’s Company of Ten is one of the best around and the sextet in this one
played as a slick and strong team. It took me a while to attune to the harsh
American accents and Miller’s wordy tract but, combined with director Angela
Stone’s seamless scene linking, they pretty soon won me over. Helen Miller was
a no nonsense but sympathetic nurse, David Bailey a refreshingly quiet and gentle
lawyer with a steely edge, and Amber Williams an emotionally wired daughter.
Her Bessie seemed an underdeveloped cipher in this drama, mainly underpinning mother
Theo’s views, but Miss Williams blended her scenes with a great deal of skill.
Florentia Chelepsis’ set impressed for its dramatic simplicity, vital in such
an episodic piece, and Don Hayward touched all the right switches in pleasing
lighting. But I reckon all will forgive me if I say that my lasting impression
was of a man deeply flawed with dubious morality, and an impressive portrayal
of him by Andy Mills which engaged and intrigued from the moment he first
amplified his outrageous views. No man flies to a concupiscent future whilst
clinging to a desiccated past. If he does then, as surely as God made those
little green apples, he will one day ride down his own Mount Morgan. Roy Hall
