Welwyn.
October 2018
****
A Classy Neighbourhood from the Barn
There
is no pretending. Neighbourhood Watch
is not one of Ayckbourn’s best. Hardly surprising. He has written as many as
his age and that is close to eighty. On both counts. The cream of those have
that wonderful frisson of middle class folk, superficially civilised, grasping
each other by the metaphorical throat in family dances of exquisite comedy.
Think Seasons Greetings, Absent Friends, Just Between Ourselves. The resident
lot on the Bluebell Hill Development do not have that comic potential. These
nice folk, well some of them, direct their angst at the anonymous oiks
festering in the off stage and threatening Mountjoy Estate. Put up the
barriers, erect the stocks, and create a private police force. We all, cosy
middle class that we are, fear the Mountjoy worlds and given the opportunity
would do the same. That is what Ayckbourn seems to be saying. It creates
comedy, it creates absurdity, but it lacks that recognisable reality that
underpins classic Ayckbourn. He really don’t do plot and Neighbourhood Watch
has a bloody big one.
But
even a minor Ayckbourn is littered with rich characterisations. The brother and
sister Massie’s have religion and sexual frustration in spades and their
misguided campaign to embrace their new neighbourhood in civilised vigilantism
captures a motley crew of willing, and unwilling, participants. The Bradleys at
number whatever are a wife beater and a sensitive musician, and the Janners, so
some say, a nymphomaniac and a masturbating loner. Mix in a security obsessed
ex army man and a gossipy old fogey completely out of her depth and you have a
heady mix for an interesting pudding. All united against those unseen monsters
of the Mountjoy estate. As my old mother used to say, it will all end in tears.
This one did as pigeons and people perished in fire and gunshot. And you can’t
say that about much of Ayckbourn’s canon.
I
take my hat off to director Bob Thomson. He not only flagged up the growing
threat to those cosy residents of Bluebell Hill with astutely filled living
room backdrops and Mosleyite donning of black costumes but he created a
delicious mix of complex characters in which there was not a single serious
weakness. I have never seen Godfrey Marriott on stage before, but by God I
can’t wait to see him again. His performance of Martin Massie, misguided lover
of Jesus and most of mankind, was a joy. A character who could have been bland
almost to the point of non existence was, in Mr Marriott’s hands, rich in
nuance and vulnerability. A central performance of the highest class. Linda
Vincent was an equally excellent Hilda, feet more firmly on the ground, and
Hazel Halliday a touching and sensitive wife beaten Magda. Her second act
speech on childhood abuse was riveting. Of the others, all totally believable, I
will only single out Ruth Heppelthwaite’s portrayal of Amy Janner. A refreshing
antidote to the righteous indignation of most she invested all her scenes with aggressively
strong characterisation and consummate skill. A booted bitch, we suspected, but
with an enormous sense of fun.
I
have a few caveats but that is probably because I saw the Scarborough original,
directed by that man Ayckbourn himself, and have played the obnoxious security
man in a later production. Directed by my wife. With all that baggage you could
say, unkindly, that I went to the Barn determined to theatrically sniff. If I
did, and I didn’t, those sniffs were quickly packed away. I know a good
production when I see one. And this, I am pleased to say, was one of them. Well
worth four stars. I reckon the one I was in only got three and a half. Roy Hall
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