Candida (tour)
Pedestals are tricky perches, as any celebrity will tell you. The
idols of a century ago were not, of course, pop stars or television
personalities, but fervent preachers, articulate politicians and
charismatic poets. George Bernard Shaw‘s Candida, first staged in 1904 but
written ten years earlier, is set in the east London parsonage of a
Church of England vicar who exemplifies politician as well as
preacher with his Christian Socialism.
A poet and young aristocrat has been incorporated into this
Household. But what acts as a catalyst for the drama – but remember that this is also a
comedy – is the vicar’s wife, the title character, around whose star
revolves not just her husband, guest and (offstage) children but her
businessman father, the curate and the parish’s secretary.
What Candida
needs above all is ensemble playing and Christopher
Luscombe‘s production has this, as well as pace – the three acts
fizz along – and clarity (there’s some percussive articulation on
display). Jonathan Fensom’s design sets the
time, place and mood precisely and stage management manages to
organise a neat array of sound designer Fergus O’Hare‘s noises-off.
Morell, the vicar, is not an easy part; it is always difficult to
convince an audience of righteous sincerity in a flawed human being.
Andrew Havill pulls it off so that we laugh with him as well as at
him. Mr Burgess, who has foreshadowings of the later Undershaft and
Doolittle, is a gift of a role, which Barry Stanton seizes
with relish. Also tricky to bring to life is Marchbanks, poet of
impossible yearnings and very little commonsense. Richard Glaves
looks right, sounds right and creates a real character.
Alas, Serena Evans only convinces in her last speech, which comes a
little too late. Candida is in many ways an impossible part to play –
and that’s true of most of Shaw’s heroines – for she is the sum of
all those actresses for whom her creator lusted (but only in his
head). You need to project that sense of stage magic, more than
charm, which is star quality. And that’s rare.
– Anne Morley-Priestman (reviewed at the New Wolsey Theatre, Ipswich)
