REVIEW: A stellar performance of Spirit Level by the Bourne Footlights
When the late Jack Cameron and his wife Susie bemoaned their extended stay on Earth as ghosts, my first thought was “what are they complaining about?”
Thanks to Jack’s professed atheism, the couple – drowned together in a boating accident – were denied entrance through the Pearly Gates. Instead they remained invisible to ordinary mortals in their former second home, a rather fetching little country cottage in Hampshire.
No mortgage, food or utility bills to pay… no need to worry what to wear… to all intents and purposes they’d got it made, right down to their means of entertainment, which was to discourage tenants they deemed unsuitable with a few middle-class manifestations.
However, Bourne Footlights’ production of Spirit Level, by Pam Valentine, soon convinced me that being a phantom isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Imagine the pain of not being able to eat a juicy steak, enjoy a large gin and tonic or, most important of all, embrace the one you love. A living death indeed.
So, without falling into the trap of confusing a critical review with a synopsis of the plot, let me just say that this heartwarming light comedy celebrated the life force, be it here on terra firma or somewhere up in the clouds.
Your reviewer has a heart of stone, so he must have had something in his eye when Jack – going against all his principles – prayed to the Almighty to save the life of Flic’s newborn baby (cue, after suitable tension-building X-Factor style delay, its lusty cries). That was also the cue for the couple, via their unlikely Guardian Angel, to ascend the stairway to heaven.
Only seven characters in this play, but what a talented cast they were.
Martin, as Jack, had an easy ride. I well know that feeling, when you essentially play yourself… what a joy that can be, and the opinionated, short-tempered but good-hearted Mr Tyrrell on stage was the very same guy I go fishing and have the odd pint with! In real life, Martin takes great delight in winding up American evangelical bigots late at night on the internet – pastor-baiting, if you will – so he was perfectly cast as the man who railed against God (should He happen to exist, of course!).
Lynn Kirk, as Jack’s wife Susie, was superb… easy on the eye (never mind Helen Mirren, she’s a natural-Bourne babe), and the perfect counterpoint to her stage husband’s feet of clay. Lynn does ‘conspiratorial’ better than anyone I’ve ever seen, and in my view has a gentle comedic talent to rival that other put-upon lady of the boards, Penelope Wilton. A triumph!
Imagine the pain of not being able to eat a juicy steak, enjoy a large gin and tonic or, most important of all, embrace the one you love. A living death indeed.
Ish Kamran, who played aspiring writer Simon Willis, is new to Bourne Footlights but not to my own am dram group, St Nics in Spalding. In real life he’s a freelance, but a woodsmith rather than a wordsmith (Google Ish Build). Unlike his feckless, somewhat lazy and idealistic stage persona he goes and he gets, and works all the hours God (if he exists…) sends. Ish gave an assured, ultimately sympathetic performance as a young husband with big aspirations and little cash to back them up. Nice Christmas jumper too!
Flic Willis was delightfully portrayed by Laura Harwood. Her body language – shifting feet, baby bump and all – was amazing, spot-on for a newlywed not too sure of herself but determined to make the best of straitened circumstances. She and Ish pulled off the knack of not being aware of their less substantial co-players with aplomb, in fact all scenes where the two ghosts were interacting with flesh-and-blood were amazing. How difficult it is NOT to look at or react to someone standing right beside you, ruffling your hair or…
Which brings me to estate agent Mark Webster, played by James Shawley. I was not entirely convinced by his Act 1 appearance, perhaps too arrogant in a profession known for its obsequiousness – more Uriah Heap, less Jeremy Kyle maybe – although to be fair he was dealing with a couple lacking the wherewithal, and money does talk. But that was redeemed in spades (and Act 2) when he was transfixed by Christmas decorations floating through the air in the (invisible, to him) hands of Jack. His bleating incoherence as he downed Scotch after Scotch to steady his nerves was one of the show’s comedy highlights.
Speaking of comedy at groundling level, the remaining two characters nailed it. I last saw Neena Quinlan, who played dragon-like mother-in-law Marcia Bradshaw, as an ugly duckling Latino maid who morphed into a ‘hair-down, go for it’ vamp. In many ways her role in Spirit Level was very similar. She started off as a grieving widow of three years’ standing, determined to marry off her daughter to a more suitable spouse, whatever the cost. Then, after Susie’s laying on of hands, she suddenly decided to re-enact Love Island with James’ luckless estate agent, and the clothes came off as the defences came down. Wow! as the Yanks are wont to say.
And what of that Guardian Angel? No wings (in common with the floating Christmas tree fairy), no white robes, certainly no halo. Instead, Jack Dawson chose to play God’s intermediary as a Glasgow Scot, complete with kilt, Tam O’Shanter, ‘see you Jimmy’ wig and an unlikely backpack for a supposedly ethereal being. Clearly this Guardian Angel had to use public transport. I spoke to Jack after the performance and discovered that he is indeed a Scot, but of the “received pronunciation” variety, which made his Glaswegian persona all the more remarkable. He reminded me of another great comic talent, Jack (ph’wheh!) Douglas.
Congrats to the two co-directors for keeping this motley crew in the loop, and to all others involved. Last production I attended, I found myself on a table with a Badminton club who brought along enough food to fuel a small army, and gave me more than I deserved. This time I came suitably provisioned, and nobody wanted any. So this reviewer is doomed to a weekend of dips, crispbreads and sticky toffee cake. Whatever… I love Bourne Footlights.
Reviewed by Nick Fletcher
