Review: Winter Solstice, Ustinov Studio, Bath

I hadn’t seen any of Schimmelpfennig’s work before this and I like it. Alice Malin’s production is both robust and fun-filled. Each member of the cast is a delight to observe. It’s funny, it’s disturbing. It’s delicious. It’s horrendous.

It’s Christmas Eve. Albert (Felix Hayes) and Bettina (Kirsty Besterman) are talented ‘multi-hyphenates’: historian-writer-anthropologist (he) and dancer-various-other-things-turned-art-filmmaker (she). They have lots of books. A too-expensive table they acquired in the end. A big painting by a family friend. The inherited piano. Red wine. His books. Her films. A daughter, aged seven. Perish the thought they should ever have voted conservatively.

Are they happy? She’s shagging his best friend, Konrad (Gerald Kyd) – the artist who painted that big thing in the living room – and he’s shagging a younger woman from work.

And as I said, it’s Christmas Eve. Her mother, Corinna (Marian McLoughlin) has come to stay – for who knows how long – and she’s brought a stranger she met on a train. So far, so (mostly) theatre-typical. But. But. What we see is – sort of – none of this.

On stage, a rehearsal room ready for a table-read: folding tables, swivel chairs, snacks, vitamins, water, tape, mess. And we don’t see much action. Breaking every rule from Writing Theatre 101, we’re told (rather than shown) it, as though this is AudioBooksLive. It’s as if a novel (and sometimes a screenplay with camera directions) has been cut up and the narrative shared between the cast. This is an odd play – and it’s a lot of fun.

Schimmelpfennig’s observations of this liberal family life are cutting, damning and so good at forcing “oops / argh: is that me?” that we can’t help but laugh. And that laughter, goodwill and shared vulnerability with the characters means that while we’re distanced by the rehearsal room set and the novelish text that both scream, “THIS IS NOT REAL”, we’re drawn tighter and tighter into the ‘room’ and its itching, inescapable discomfort.

This educated world’s emotional parry and thrust is all in the tongue and so the play is wordy but whip-smart, with some wonderful subtexts. Hats off to the cast and creatives for how they handle Schimmelpfennig’s “narrator” lines. The script says they can be spoken by any character – and so, he’s deliberately disturbing the actors as much as his audience.

And that’s what matters here: disruption. What we see, or hear, and what we understand, are far from being the same thing.

You expect theatre, but get a sort of play rehearsal, with some novel and screenplay thrown in. You expect characters to have set lines, but it turns out they haven’t always. You expect the liberals to challenge the increasingly far-right/Germanic (vague) eulogising that Corinna shepherds in, via her “stranger on a train”, Rudolph (David Beames). But – on the whole – they don’t.

Corinna has told Rudolph that she’s called Gudrun (her middle name) – a “traditional” name. They bonded over talk of “chivalry”. He clicks his heels, says there were no notable Jewish composers, and makes a toast – for “1000 years” and to Odin.

And everyone – except Albert – nods and smiles, and over time, becomes enthralled, as time and again Rudolph breaches boundaries (always asking, “May I?” first) with vague but bone-chilling assertions about motherhood or nationhood, purity or being “human”. And with terrifying ease, these liberals use his rhetoric to justify the world they always wanted, but were too afraid to ask for. It gives them the comfort they so badly need.

This play is a timely shot across the bows for the comfortable elite – and reminds me (although I was 12 when it was screened) of the TV film of Alan Ayckbourn’s Third Person Singular with Maureen Lipman, Michael Gambon, Geoffrey Palmer and Prunella Scales. Funny, familiar and extremely disturbing. Power is a strange and dangerous thing, and it often looks ridiculous. Be careful.

Winter Solstice continues at the Ustinov Studio, Theatre Royal Bath until Saturday, March 3. For more info and to book tickets, visit https://www.theatreroyal.org.uk/event/winter-solstice/