Stratford-upon-Avon, until 6th September
‘There’s no possibility of being witty without a little ill nature,’ wrote Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816). This flamboyant rendition of his greatest play confirms his shrewd maxim.
In our woke new world of cancel culture, where the slightest faux pas can end in ignominy, Sheridan reminds us that causing offence is a fundamental part of art and life.
Sheridan’s scurrilous, vivacious characters are gloriously bitchy, trading snide bons mots and put-downs in an orgy of salacious gossip. But there’s more to his caustic comedy than cutting repartee, and that is why it has lasted.
Nearly 250 years since he wrote it, The School for Scandal’s central message endures: kindness always trumps cruelty, and character, like the truth, will out.
Unlike most comedies of manners, the plot is actually pretty simple. Sir Oliver Surface returns to London from the East Indies, keen to bestow his fortune on one of his two nephews. At first, the choice seems clear. Joseph Surface is a moralistic man of letters. His brother, Charles, is a drunken layabout, happily racking up huge debts to fund his lusty, boozy revels.
The clever twist of Sheridan’s play is that Charles is at heart an honest man – loyal and trustworthy, with no malice or hypocrisy in his nature. Joseph, on the other hand, is a pretentious, backstabbing humbug, hiding his duplicity behind a mask of piety and erudition.
There’s an equally entertaining subplot, an age-old cautionary tale: what happens when a rich old man weds a pretty, penniless young wife? These storylines are beautifully intertwined, and their final resolution is as perfect as a Mozart sonata. I wonder whether Mozart ever read this play. He was in his prime when it was first performed, in 1777, at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.
With such rich material, you might suppose that staging The School for Scandal would be a doddle, but I’ve seen other productions bend and buckle beneath the weight of Sheridan’s invective. It’s a very wordy play with a running time of nearly three hours (including interval). To make it work, the characters must be larger than life yet still believable.
This RSC production manages that balancing act extremely well. Director Tinuke Craig keeps these talented players on their toes. And there are deliciously catty performances throughout the cast, particularly from Emily Houghton as Mrs Candour, Siubhan Harrison as
Lady Sneerwell and Patrick Walshe McBride as Sir Benjamin Backbite (a camp cameo reminiscent of today’s influencers and Instagrammers).
The subject matter of this play is so contemporary (fame and status, love and money, the eternal tug of war between fidelity and lust) that any attempts to make the script more ‘relevant’ are entirely unnecessary – and rather irritating, too.
We begin with an updated prologue, which diminishes rather than enhances the drama, and there are several other anachronistic aberrations – most notably when Joseph’s servant tells her master to f*** off. This brought the house down but it made me cringe. Theatre is a fragile edifice and our suspension of disbelief is a delicate feat of mind over matter. Crass additions like this make the whole thing come crashing down.
Thankfully, such crude intrusions are eclipsed by the joie de vivre of this production. The exuberance of these performers is intoxicating.
You feel ten years younger watching them – sophisticated and flirtatious, just like the characters on the stage. Stefan Adegbola and John Leader are especially enjoyable as the warring brothers. Even the smaller parts (John Dougall’s Rowley, Jason Thorpe’s Crabtree) really live and breathe.
When it refrains from meddling with the text (invariably an error in any new version of a classic play), this reboot is full of nice surprises. A live band plays a funky backing track which matches the hedonistic mood of the drama, and Alex Lowde’s dayglo sets and costumes are a lurid delight. It’s a show full of fun, right down to the ridiculous wigs and make-up.
It made me wonder why the RSC doesn’t give Shakespeare a rest for a year or two and revive a few more Georgian plays instead. Craig’s sexy, sassy production reinvents Sheridan as a poster boy for the TikTok generation. In fact, his erudite, acerbic wit has never gone out of style.
