The scandalous secrets of the super-rich, once a shockwave, now barely a ripple? This is the question that lingers after experiencing 'Man and Boy' at the Dorfman Theatre. Terence Rattigan, a playwright known for lifting spirits with wartime comedies, surprises us with a late-career work that feels remarkably… somber. His 1963 play, 'Man and Boy,' dives into the downfall of a misanthropic financier, and when it first premiered, the idea of a father offering his son as a companion to a wealthy associate was considered utterly scandalous. But in Anthony Lau's current production, we're asked to confront a different kind of challenge. We've grown accustomed to tales of the wealthy being spiced up with the thrilling plot twists of a James Bond movie or the biting satire of shows like 'Succession.' Instead, Rattigan's play unfolds with a stark, unvarnished sobriety, offering neither the characters nor the audience much in the way of comfort.
Consider this: Rattigan penned this play during a period when Britain was emerging from the shadow of post-war austerity and beginning to experience a renewed sense of prosperity. Could it have been his subtle warning against abandoning traditional financial prudence for the more aggressive, free-wheeling capitalist model seen in the United States? The play transports us to the stark realities of Depression-era Manhattan. We meet Basil, a struggling pianist, and his girlfriend Carol, an actress, who are carving out a bohemian existence in the vibrant, yet impoverished, Greenwich Village. Their world is about to be upended by an unexpected visitor, signaled by a rather theatrical 'knock knock'.
Designer Georgia Lowe masterfully evokes the glitz and glamour of 1930s showbiz. A colossal, metatheatrical marquee looms overhead, illuminating character names as they enter. But here's where it gets a bit tricky: due to the auditorium's layout, a significant portion of the audience might miss out on this visual flourish. The atmosphere initially feels like a slow-burning backstage drama, making the abrupt arrival of the disgraced multi-millionaire financier, Gregor Antonescu, all the more jarring. He bursts into this humble setting, revealing that Basil is, in fact, his estranged son, Vasiliy, who has been living in hiding from the opulent world that shaped him.
Ben Daniels delivers a powerful performance as Gregor Antonescu, embodying a man consumed by the complex web of illicit financial dealings he’s spun. His pronouncements on market liquidity are accompanied by a physical intensity – flexing biceps, bulging veins – that vividly illustrates the pulsating flow of global capital, much like blood through veins. Rattigan's pacing is deliberate, perhaps even frustratingly so for some, leaving the audience to ponder the true intentions of this formidable figure towards his seemingly guile-less son. Is it a quest for reconciliation, or a desire for retribution?
From Rattigan's perspective, the ultra-wealthy are depicted as individuals adrift, profoundly disconnected from genuine human emotion. Antonescu’s desires are presented with a certain stark purity; he isn't seeking to purchase affection or material possessions. His sole ambition is to leave an indelible mark on the world's affairs. And this is the part most people miss: when his wife, Countess Antonescu, finally makes her appearance, her scenes offer a striking contrast. Georgia Laughland is, as ever, a comedic force, making a grand entrance in a luxurious mink coat that she discards with theatrical flair, like a crumpled sweet wrapper. She delivers witty, sharp remarks to her husband while clad in chic white satin pajamas. She’s clearly the only character who truly revels in wealth, yet her role, much like Carol's, feels underdeveloped. The stark reality is that no one in this play possesses the intellectual fortitude or the courage to truly challenge Antonescu, which ultimately leaves the viewing experience feeling somewhat incomplete.
The play's concluding moments arrive with a surprising swiftness, like a cascade of dropped coins, offering a welcome acceleration after a narrative that has, for the most part, been starved of action and suspense. Lau's production attempts to inject dynamism through various means: actors clambering over furniture, a lighting grid descending perilously close to the stage, or characters swaying in dim light as if engaged in a slow-motion duel. These inventive touches are certainly a breath of fresh air, but they do seem somewhat at odds with Rattigan's more profound exploration of moral decay, a subject that invites more contemplation than outright enjoyment.
'Man and Boy' is currently showing at the National Theatre’s Dorfman Theatre until March 14th.
Now, let's open this up for discussion: Do you believe that the themes of wealth and its corrupting influence are still as shocking today as they were in the 1960s? Or has our modern media landscape desensitized us to such portrayals? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below!
