Who calls so loud?

In a preview article for the Chichester production of Nicholas Nickleby, it was suggested that anyone who rhapsodises about long gone productions should be taken out and shot. But I make no apologies for doing so. My blog, my rules.

There are theatre productions that you never forget. Ones that when you think back, make you smile at the memory, and even recall something of the experience of what it was to be present. For me, the RSC production of Nicholas Nickleby is one of those. I never saw the original production on stage, only in its TV adapted form, yet I followed its development closely, and it was one of the landmarks in my at that time growing obsession with the RSC. One of my favourite theatre books is Assistant Director Leon Rubin’s book The Nicholas Nickleby story, which I read avidly, as it tells the tale of the development of the production in a time of financial crisis, and from the point when forty six actors walked into a rehearsal room. No other company of actors could be such an organic part of the production in the way that the original cast was. It was such an influential production. Things that we’re used to these days in storytelling theatre were new and innovative then.

What I did see was the revival in early 1986, first in Newcastle, and then in Manchester. Some of the original cast remained, though most were new, but the performances and production were modelled on the original, and it was quite simply mind blowing. I loved everything about it, from the actors mingling with the audience before the start of the show, to standing there at the end, the tears running down my face, but with the biggest grin. I had no doubts about giving them a standing ovation.

Once I discovered that the Chichester production was touring, I knew I had to go and see it. It was to be my ‘treat’ for getting through the stressful last few weeks. So on Thursday, I turned the car towards Newcastle. I had that excited anticipation that good theatre brings, linked with the memory of the earlier productions. I felt quite giddy with it.

The production is now six and a half hours rather than eight and a half. It’s difficult to see where two hours have gone, though there are whole sections that have been edited out. We’ve lost the re-capture of Smike, so I was a bit thrown when he suddenly drooped a bit and was dying. I commented to the woman sitting next to me ‘they’ve cut a bit’. Like me, she was someone who had been there 21 years ago. One thing I did feel was that although shorter, Part 2 actually felt longer, and more episodic, than before.

If it wasn’t quite as mind blowing as that original production, then that wasn’t the fault of the actors. I don’t think you can ever re-capture what it felt like to see it for the first time, when this type of theatre felt so different. There was so much that I enjoyed. Daniel Weyman’s Nicholas – he had to compete with my memories of Roger Rees, one of my all time favourite actors, and he did very well, bringing energy and vigour to Nicholas, Abigail McKern’s Mrs Nickleby, David Yelland’s Ralph, a more sympathetic portrayal than ones I remembered, he almost made me cry. As I watched Daniel Weyman’s Nicholas wander through the streets of London, I was reminded that the original production was the forerunner of Les Miserables.

The performance that stood out for me was Zoe Waites as Fanny Squeers/Miss Snevellici/Madeline Bray. I thought it was a master stroke to cast one actor as three women in Nicholas’s life, one fancying herself in love with him, one he is attracted to and the one he finally falls in love with.

I was less fascinated with David Dawson's Smike than others, perhaps because the portrayals of David Threlfall and John Lynch were so amazing, and are lodged in my memory, but I loved the way the character developed, and yes, of course I cried.

It’s such an ensemble piece, with even tiny parts being an essential part of the whole, and every member of the cast responsible for carrying the story along. The pace doesn’t slip. There are moments of high comedy (the Crummles Theatre Company production of Romeo and Juliet being possibly the highest), and poignant sadness with the death of Smike.

By the end of the first part, I knew I was grinning like a maniac. By the end of Part Two, many of the audience were on their feet. From hearing conversations, some had watched the two parts over two nights, and some, like me, had gone for the marathon day event. When a production is like this, it almost feels that you are a part of it too, particularly from my seat in the second row for Part Two. It’s the great magic of theatre, and oh how I loved it at the end, as the cast stood there almost reeling back from the applause, and returning for further curtain calls. Yet, I remained in my seat. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because, for me, it didn’t have that edge that tipped it over from excellent to superlative. But I totally except that this is a personal view, and is very much because of my memories.