THE VERTICAL HOUR. Directed by Fred Abrahamse, with Michael Richard, Jackie Rens, Richard Gau, Jaco van Rensburg and Sinakho Zolzufa. At Theatre on the Bay at 8pm Tuesdays to Fridays, and at 5pm and 8pm on Saturdays, until September 27. STEYN DU TOIT reviews.
PERSONAL politics and public lives collide in David Hare’s The Vertical Hour. Making its South African debut under the direction of Fred Abrahamse, this intelligent drama centred on conflicting views on the 2003 invasion of Iraq leaves one with much to mull over.
It is a production that wants you to get involved in the discussion, but also asks you to objectively consider the weight of your opinion against the personal reality that you’ve spun for yourself.
After dating for just over a year, Philip Lucas (Richard Gau), a British physical therapist based in the US, takes Nadia Blye (Jackie Rens), a professor of political science at Yale, to visit his estranged father in England’s West Midlands.
Predominantly taking place in Shropshire over the course of a day, the play unfolds as a series of conversations between Nadia and Oliver (Michael Richard), a reclusive GP with a chequered past. Among the topics under discussion are Iraq, terrorism, liberalism, love, patriotism, relationships, loss and the public personas we create.
Bookended by two short scenes during which Nadia – a former war reporter during the Balkan wars – is seen interacting with students before and after her trip (Jaco van Rensburg and Sinakho Zolzufa, respectively), meeting Oliver will turn out to be a profound, watershed moment for her.
Simultaneously, their conversation will become a micro-metaphor demonstrating global politics, relationship dynamics and warfare.
While they hold drastically different views, there is an immediate connection between them. We can see it, but we struggle to define it. Also noticing it is Philip, who circles over proceedings with a suspicious eye.
Is Oliver guilty of the crime his son suspects him of? Perhaps.
Is that what this play is about? No.
Via a text largely dominated by references to the invasion of Iraq, through Oliver’s and Nadia’s static-laden powwows we are asked, away from the obvious, to consider several other insightful questions relating to personal politics. All too often we know exactly when it is time to end or change a relationship.
Yet instead we find ourselves watching this window of opportunity, this vertical hour, pass us by. When the inevitable is later forced upon us, it comes with traumatic consequences made worse by the knowledge that it could have been prevented.
Another of the script’s concerns that left a deep impression on me relates to the definition of patriotism. Is it demonstrated in the hysteria every time Nadia and her countrymen chime, “God bless America!” or rather through the poetry of William Blake that Oliver loves so deeply, and in the view of the English countryside that he’s able to observe from his patio? Never providing an easy explanation, it is up to each viewer to navigate their way around finding an answer that works best for them.
Under Abrahamse’s usual insightful and first-rate direction, Rens delivers a convincing portrayal of a highly educated and streetwise woman, nevertheless one who can also surprise you with her almost childlike convictions.
Her filter is pretty thin and even when she doesn’t speak she still reveals a lot – notice how she looks at Oliver when she listens to him, or how she loses her composure after a few glasses of wine. We learn to like her over the course of the show and find ourselves rooting for her during the final scene.
Ultimately, however, The Vertical Hour out and out belongs to Richard.
He is a performer who radiates nuance and subtlety, demonstrated recently through his diverse portrayals of a consumed Mark Rothko ( Red) and a gentle, middle-aged homosexual bachelor living with his sister ( Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike).
“Let’s just say I knew who the surgeon was going to be,” he quips at one point after being asked why he opposed Iraq’s invasion right from the start. “So I had a fair idea of what the operation would look like.”
But while he has more than enough witticisms to deliver, it is when his character is not the deliberate focus point that he is most enjoyable to observe. Perfectly in control of the situation at all times, we revel in the way Oliver holds his cup of coffee, for instance, or soothingly prods Nadia along with affirmations such as: “Of course you are.”
When his character therefore displays a genuine moment of vulnerability during the second act, we are left to reconsider everything we’ve come to learn/suspect of him up to this point.
A perceptive production that explores both sides of the liberation/invasion coin, The Vertical Hour has the strong potential, as with any work of art, to polarise viewers.
It is best recommended for those searching for an alternative to today’s world of communication via grammarless tweets of 140 characters or less and sentences ending with “do you know what I mean?”
l Tickets are R100 to R165. Call Computicket at 0861 915 8000, or see www.computicket.com to book.