Synopsis Ivan returns from a trip to the seaside to find his home torn apart. Builders have unearthed a lost treasure beneath his floorboards: an ornate bath dating back to Roman times. As the excavation destroys his flat, professors, businessman with dodgy Swiss connections, local councillors, reporters and even the national union of lifeguards set up camp. Everyone wants to claim the discovery - while all Ivan wants is some peace. A ferociously paced satire about where the little man stands, and sleeps, The Roman Bath sees the first UK production of the work of Bulgaria’s great comic writer Stanislev Stratiev. Running time: 1hr 55mins Studio 1 - Double bill with The Titanic Orchestra
A metaphorical Bulgarian farce might not sound like a recipe for a good night out, but Stanislav Stratiev’s 1974 The Roman Bath, wittily adapted by Justin Butcher from a literal translation by producer Anna Karabinska-Ganev, is an engaging, pungent satire on finding yourself stateless in your own home.
The play is a product of the Cold War era, and Russell Bolam’s production retains the period “feel” of bleak, bottom-line austerity, as an innocent office-worker, Ivan Antonov, returns from a holiday by the sea to find his apartment invaded by builders, officials and a television crew.
It turns out that the flat he was born in is the site of a Roman bath complete with naked matrons dating from the reign of the Emperor “Pimpilianus” and therefore of immense cultural significance. He tries to get on with his life while becoming a spectator to its dismantling in the name of excavation.
He can’t even take a bath in his own bath. Gradually, the investigative, invasive campaign eclipses the irrelevant matter of his own dignity and well-being. An academic (Bo Poraj) accuses him of putting personal convenience above the public interest. A curator of fine art (Jonathan Rhodes) dangles the prospect of a cash killing with the cultural bigwigs and UNESCO.
And officialdom comes calling in the shape of a lunatic lifeguard (Lloyd Woolf) who commandeers the bath because of the pool shortage - and lavishes an exaggerated life-saving routine on anyone who goes near the four-square-metre oasis - and a lascivious estate agent (Wendy Wason) who has big development ideas curiously expressed in a striptease performance of “Hey, Big Spender” from Sweet Charity.
Bolam and his designer Jean Chan have converted the Arcola acreage into a building site of plastic sheeting, piled up furniture, sand and cement, and Gary Yershon has composed a wacky, wheeezy soundtrack of official-sounding folk music.
The action, though, becomes more frantic than funny in a space unkind to accumulative farce, despite the best efforts of Ifan Meredith as the Kafkaesque anti-hero who warms to his task as a simple sucker with the redeeming compensation of Rhona Croker’s glowing girlfriend.
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