Lyonesse, Harold Pinter Theatre, review: Kristin Scott Thomas and Lily James lead a flimsy yet fascinating creation
A fire-starting crotch is just one of the big tonal swings in this tricksy, incisive drama by playwright Penelope Skinner
We’ve mostly banished the casual sexism of the Noughties, but are women actually in control of their own narrative? Absolutely not, argues Penelope Skinner’s cynical, fascinating, flawed new play, one that’s soaked in pessimism and salty Cornish sea air.
Director Ian Rickson has brought some seriously bankable screen stars to this tricksy drama, which marks Skinner’s long-awaited return to the West End after Royal Court hits The Village Bike (2011) and Linda (2015). Kristin Scott Thomas visibly revels in the central role of Elaine, a reclusive actor who romps about in a swimsuit and fur coat (there are strong shades of Grey Gardens here). And Lily James is all posh, fragile chaos as film development executive Kate, who’s been tasked with bringing this mercurial star’s story to the screen. She’s dedicated to her job, but her personal life keeps messily spilling out, like the tangled contents of her overstuffed handbag.
Skinner’s writing is incisive and startlingly funny as she skilfully outlines the horrors underpinning Kate’s seemingly perfect life. Her supposedly feminist boss Sue (Doon Mackichan) is a staunch supporter of working mothers until it inconveniences her in any way, and runs roughshod over Kate’s childcare issues while using the language of empowerment. Meanwhile, Kate’s right-on husband, Greg (James Corrigan), is on hand to remind his wife to be grateful that she gets to combine work and a toddler, while pressuring her to have the second baby that would be the nail in her glamorous career’s coffin.
Literal and spiritual miles from the bitter-edged privilege of Kate’s north London life, Elaine’s Cornish seaside home offers a kind of utopia. Named Lyonesse, after a sunken kingdom from Arthurian legend, it has the power to loosen inhibitions and tongues, forcing Kate to voice all the feelings that have long gone submerged.
Rickson’s unfussy production is full of small joys. When Elaine tells Kate her life story – one of a career stopped short by a tyrannical film director – her loyal neighbour Chris (Sara Powell) sets the stage by putting up fairy lights and draping lampshades with silk scarves. There’s a ridiculous, symbolic slapstick setpiece where Kate’s scalded crotch sets flames burning in the fireplace. This Lyonesse is a place where inexplicable things happen, where suppressed desires can burn brightly in damp rooms.
Even so, Skinner’s unlikely blend of comedy, heavy visual metaphor and bleakness doesn’t quite synthesise into a coherent whole. The first act of Lyonesse is all biting satire and surreal comedy. The weaker second act slumps into tragedy – there’s a Chekhovian gloom to its ending, without the deft pacing that would make it bite.
Sometimes, too, its two female leads feel bluntly drawn and infuriatingly passive – there’s a half-buried message here about how the patriarchy immobilises and silences women, trapping them in place, but that doesn’t make Elaine and Kate’s failure to outwit this story’s chauvinists any less infuriating. Still, they get the last word, voicing their pain in lines that feel so raw, so windingly real, that it’s a genuine shock to hear them crash-landing onto a West End stage. Lyonesse is a flimsy but fascinating creation, an elaborate structure built on a solid bedrock of feminist truths.
‘Lyonesse’ is at the Harold Pinter Theatre until 23 December. Tickets are available here
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