Date Reviewed: 9th March, 2009
Venue: The Octagon

Surely the greatest British dramatist of the twentieth century, Harold Pinter’s work continues to astound with a freshness, curiosity and linguistic ferocity unrivalled by his contemporaries. The news of his death (at the end of 2008) is sure to spark a resurgence of interest; expect a swathe of revivals over the next few years. In total fairness to the Octagon, this, their revival of his 1960 masterpiece The Caretaker, was programmed well in advance, and Pinter’s death only adds to its poignancy.

As ever with Pinter, the plot’s secondary to a dazzling display of dramatic technique, and an acute examination of profound social and moral ideas. So much so that The Caretaker intrigues from its opening moments. Quiet, emotionally stunted Aston (Matthew Rixon) invites desperate tramp Davies (Paul Webster) into his grotty, debris-strewn apartment, shared also with Aston’s ill-tempered younger brother, Mick (Jeff Hordley).  The scene is set for a cunning verbal battleground, and a fight for status, acceptance, companionship and territorial gain.

Mark Babych’s production is as lean, economic and focused as this brilliant text demands. The direction is beautifully judged; the play remains faithfully ambiguous, whilst having enough neat directorial flourishes and intriguing moments to warrant a revival. Richard Foxton’s set is a thoroughly grim and gloomy 1960s affair, consisting of angular walls, smoke-stained ceilings, and pile upon pile of junk. It’s spot-on, claustrophobic, and has more than a hint of Steptoe & Son. Similarly, Brent Lees lighting adds an ominous and woozy air to the proceedings.

The Caretaker, like all Pinter’s work, remains “an actor’s piece.” It’s such a rich and beautifully structured examination of a post-war Britain on its knees, that actors could play this for a year and still not have got to the bottom of it. Full marks, then, to the excellent three-man company here.

Hordley is a brilliant and terrifying threat as Mick and his mere presence creates an air of menace. Veteran actor Paul Webster (in his Octagon debut) is simply stunning as the mercurial and shape-shifting vagrant. His Davies is ringmaster, victim, bully and hero and remains satisfyingly elusive, and endlessly fascinating. Matthew Rixon’s Aston is an astounding performance that suggests and hints, rather than ever giving the game away. His monologue in the second act is a masterclass in how to do this sort of thing, and his vulnerability and mental instability is heartbreaking. These are three exemplary performances that should be remembered by awards panels at the end of the season.

It’s not quite perfect though, as the second act doesn’t quite maintain the brilliant pace of the first, and the soundscape doesn’t entirely suggest the urban malaise that the rest of the design points to.

All in all however, this is the Octagon roaring back on form, and another triumph for Babych in his final season. When Pinter is done this well, it continues to enthrall, fascinate, and trigger debate. The man himself would, doubtless, be thrilled.

-Matthew Nichols

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