Bertolt Brecht’s classic, Mother Courage, is about a female war profiteer who drags a wagon of supplies through no man’s land and sells them to bedraggled soldiers. During the story, she loses both her children and she discovers that war is not as marvellous as she previously thought.
This spiritual journey evidently mattered to Brecht, who was born in 1898 in Augsburg, and who greeted the outbreak of the first world war with enthusiasm only to become disillusioned by the mechanised slaughter of the trenches. His play is aimed at wrong-headed militaristic numbskulls who believe that war is good rather than bad. If you already hold pacifist views, you may find his tutorial a little simplistic.
The first half takes a while to get started as Mother Courage and her family arrive at a military checkpoint and behave like cocky film stars stuck in a provincial town. They stride around giving orders to armed guerillas and forcing them to buy overpriced wares from their inventory of supplies. In reality, Mother Courage would be executed on the spot while her belongings were looted and sold for a profit.
The story eventually starts when her son, Swiss Cheese, steals a safe full of cash and falls into the hands of an armed search party. They drag him in front of Mother Courage who disclaims all knowledge of him. Swiss Cheese is hauled off stage and dealt with by a firing squad while Mother Courage listens to the gunshots. An equally gruesome fate awaits her daughter, Kattrin.
Michelle Terry has found a role that suits her ferocious charm and her combative energy, and she dominates the stage like a modern Boadicea. Yet the show seems imbalanced because no other actor can match Terry’s star power, apart from the slinky stripper, Yvette, played by Nadine Higgin.
In Act Two, Mother Courage has to fend off the attentions of two unworthy suitors. Ferdy Roberts plays a fat, drunken, hypocritical parasite who swigs brandy all day and wears a large, weevil-infested beard. His job is to tell lies while sponging off the working class. In other words, he’s a priest. His rival for Mother Courage’s love is a peaky little chef with a filthy cap and a minor beer gut, played by Nicolas Tennant. The chef says and does nothing of interest but he ruins his chances with Mother Courage by insulting the hapless Kattrin. Brecht wants us to believe that love is as unreliable and dangerous as war.
This dispiriting message is reflected in the show’s visual stylings. The beautiful Globe has been transformed into a squalid junkyard full of vandalised furniture, wrecked car parts, discarded oil barrels, ratty old bits of sacking and other smashed-up industrial detritus. The costumes add to this wretched aesthetic. The top prize goes to Ferdy Roberts’s clingy grey tracksuit, which has been pre-stained with revolting patches of grease. In its favour, the show comes in at a brisk 150 minutes. And the Globe’s audiences clearly adore it.
High Society, directed by Rachel Kavanaugh, feels like a hit. Helen George does well as the prosperous bride, Tracy Lord, who must choose between three rival suitors. Her fiancé, George Kitteridge, is far too dull to marry. Her ex-husband, Dexter, doesn’t seem to care if he beds her or not. She takes up with Mike Connor, an ambitious young journalist who sneaks into the family mansion to report on the secret lives of American millionaires.
Michelle Terry dominates the stage like a modern Boadicea
Connor, the best role in the show, has gone to Freddie Fox who seems too sweet and angelic to play a hard-bitten reporter. He looks so youthful that he could easily take the lead in Home Alone – the Musical. And there’s a lack of romantic sizzle between him and his on-stage lover, Liz (Carly Mercedes Dyer). When he carries Tracy off for a naked swim, he looks as if he means business.
The song list includes a few extra Cole Porter numbers that don’t feature in the movie. And most of the cast get a chance to exercise their pipes. Some of them can sing. Some of them believe they can sing. Some of them know they can’t sing but have been ordered to anyway. The singing, let’s be honest, is a little patchy.
The show’s nominal star, Felicity Kendal, makes a sprightly contribution as Tracy’s mother and her throaty gurgle still gets a big laugh. James Hume does brilliant work as Chester, the supercilious butler. Perky newcomer Naomi Pacquette (Dinah Lord) catches the eye.
The story ends with an unexpected sense of deflation and anti-climax. Why? Because Dexter, who captures Tracy’s heart, doesn’t suffer or make any emotional sacrifices to gain true happiness. He just ambles on stage and walks away with the loveliest creature in the world. It’s a problem that can’t be fixed.
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