Elaine had been a muse to a famous and universally beloved film director, but when she took the stage role he got jealous, stalked and threatened her, until she eventually went into hiding for her own safety. Now the director’s dead, and she’s ready to go public in a world that feels like it’s changing.
Perhaps not changing quickly enough for Kate though, who despite appearances still plays second fiddle to her husband Greg (James Corrigan,) himself a successful film director who gets the final say on everything to do with their family, despite rarely being at home: Kate nearly died of complications in childbirth and is clearly still traumatised by it, but Greg’s fixed idea that children should have siblings means he’s pressuring her to have another.
Lyonesse (pronounced “lioness”) is named after Elaine’s home, itself named after an Atlantis-like Cornish myth of a sunken land. The house, which is buffeted by the waves in bad weather, also feels at constant risk of ending up underwater, and the grand, crumbling building (in Georgia Lowe’s evocative design) is a suitably gothic setting for Scott Thomas’ Elaine – still an attention-seeker, some of whose eccentricities feel genuine (she insists on swimming in the sea every day regardless of the weather,) others like deliberate constructs she knows would be expected of a reclusive star. After the obligatory frosty start Elaine starts treating Kate as a member of the family, trying to matchmake her with her widowed neighbour Chris (Sara Powell.)
The draw for Skinner’s play is clearly the two big names (going by overheard interval conversations, this includes people who’ve come over from Dame Kristin’s adopted home of France specially,) and neither disappoints: Scott Thomas is comically over the top but with a genuine steel and heart underneath it, and the ever-impressive James deals with a character who’s far from consistently drawn; Kate is variously a steely producer and a doormat, a broken spirit and an enthusiastic visionary, old before her time and full of childlike enthusiasm, and even has to go full slapstick in one solo scene. Not that these can’t all coexist in one person, but they certainly all seem to come about because the scene demands it at the time.
And without the star draws I’m not sure the play would have ended up on stage in its current form, let alone been a success. Though often surprisingly funny it feels unfocused, rambling and bloated - well aware that the running time was going to clock in near the 3 hour mark, it was noticeable how many scenes are overwritten, going on long after their point has been made. Given many of the plot developments are pretty strongly telegraphed early on, the way they play out definitely didn’t need to be spelt out so much. Skinner certainly could have done with a stricter editor on this one, and Ian Rickson could have taken a tighter rein – maybe given the subject matter, he didn’t want to be the male director telling the women to get on with it. With interesting and entertaining individual scenes that don’t necessarily gel together, and highly watchable central performances, there’s a lot that’s worth seeing in Lyonesse but it long outstays its welcome.
Lyonesse by Penelope Skinner is booking until the 23rd of December at the Harold Pinter Theatre.
Running time: 2 hours 45 minutes including interval.
Photo credit: Manuel Harlan.
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