What The Butler Saw
by Joe Orton

Dukes Theatre, Moor Lane, Lancaster
26 September - 18 October 2003

Reviewed by

Well done to the Dukes for choosing to produce "What The Butler Saw' because it is a good play not very often done. Oddly, as far as I can discover, it has never been filmed. Well written, it confronts issues such as sanity (I avoid the word ‘madness' wherever possible), sexuality in all its forms, and of course Orton's great passion in life, the hypocrisy and the domination of the "Lobelia-growing classes'.

These matters, and the dramatists handling of them, were contentious if not confrontational in the 1960s and of course are still no less relevant today. The accursed clumps of Lobelia are with us still, pompously grazing on confit of pigeon with rocket and endive salad replete with balsamic dressing and other fripperies. Mental health has in some ways replaced the big ‘C' as one of the taboos of our time, and if sexuality has moved somewhat out of the closet for many, just look what it's doing to the dear old Church of England.

Orton's handling of the plot (which is far too complicated for a brief review) is masterly. So too must be the production. A piece such as this places enormous technical demands on the cast – split-second timing, rapid-fire delivery, measured pauses, movements to military precision and gestures carefully controlled so as not to degenerate into pantomime or burlesque.

These are all the ingredients of classic comedy from Aristophanes onwards, and it is not difficult to see in this production what an impact Orton has had on British comedy since his time. Basil and Sybil, Margo and Jerry spring easily to mind. As with all comedy, the play has a distinct subtext that speaks a clear gay message. Whilst it is farcical in form, its impact is that of satire.

Farce isn't really fashionable these days, it seems. "It's a sad play about a sad time', was one comment I heard in the foyer during the interval. Someone else "liked the production but hated the play.' Maybe the farce aspect is only part of the story. Orton once (probably uniquely) prayed that God might give him "the strength to rage correctly'. Maybe he, like Swift and others before and after him, is better seen as a master of satire, with the message firmly rooted in the present.

The company here were certainly equal to the physical challenges of the piece. Played in an appropriately sixties set from Vicki Cowan, no detail was too much trouble for director Ian Hastings, right down to the strangulated manner in which Geraldine Barclay perkily sat and crossed her minimally-beskirted legs. Even the programme notes were, thankfully, clearer and more informative than many I have seen in theatres in larger places.

Characterisation was clear and well-positioned, the action imaginative and never flagging, with dialogue that matched the rapid-fire quality of the lines themselves. Only Dr Rance's occasional lack of clarity prevented the full meaning and twists of the plot from coming through, but his extended tirade in Act II was a masterpiece of controlled hysteria.

The average age of the audience, perhaps predictably on a Press Night, seemed rather high, with few youngsters present. There was more of a hint of the tweed and lavender water which Orton would have so despised. But I am sure this will change as the run continues, for there is much here to delight and entertain the young as well as those of us who lived through the sixties.

I gather a group from the local gay community is planning a party booking; I hope and expect that the schools, colleges and universities hereabouts will be doing likewise, if not the Ladies Luncheon Clubs. The piece is a must-see for all students of both theatre and English at all levels.

This excellent production is also well worth a few quid from anybody's pocket to enjoy and support our own locally-grown produce (with or without Lobelias). If nothing else, just go and have a good laugh to brighten up the ever-darkening autumn evenings before the pantomimes take over.

Copyright © 30 September 2003 Michael Nunn