Bakersfield Mist, Duchess Theatre, review

 

Paul Taylor
Wednesday 28 May 2014 13:00 BST
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

In Polly Teale's slick English premiere of this Stephen Sachs two-hander, Kathleen Turner returns to the London stage as a character based on the real-life Teri Horton, an uneducated former truck driver who bought a splatter painting as a joke-present for three bucks from a junk shop only to discover that she might be sitting on a priceless Jackson Pollock.

Set in the character's Californian trailer home, stuffed with naff, scavenged bric-a-brac, the play dramatises the encounter between Turner's appealingly blowzy, street-smart, foul-mouthed Maude and Ian McDiarmid's impossibly snooty and uptight English art expert, Lionel, who treats her and her picture with instant condescension.

The ballsy outsider versus the snobby closed world of connoisseurship; so far, so cliched. The trouble is that, as the unbroken 90-minute piece gradually reveals that Maude has a lot more emotionally invested in her tireless crusade for validation than the prospect of millions, it continues to trade in contrived and hackneyed devices.

Improbably fuelled by slugs of Jack Daniels and climaxing in an all-out wrestling match, the odd couple double-act is conveyed with expert comic gusto by Turner and McDiarmid. But in its musings on different types of authenticity and value, the play is too compressed, glib and reliant on facile twists to be deemed the genuine article.

To August 30; 0844 482 9672

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in