In the Victorian era, the heyday for popular theatre, audiences loved melodrama, spectacle and sensational scenes. “Sensation is what the public wants and you can’t give them too much of it,” said the highly successful actor, playwright and theatre manager Dion Boucicault. Plus ça change.
Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is not an adaptation of a novel by JK Rowling but a new play based on a story by her, Jack Thorne, the playwright, and John Tiffany, the director.
Harry is now an adult, aged 37, and he has a son, Albus, whom he sends to Hogwarts to be educated in wizardry. Albus’s best friend is Scorpius, son of Draco Malfoy, his father’s deadliest enemy. One of the major themes is about being a good dad. Just imagine what it would be like to be the son of Harry Potter. Parenting and growing up are already quite difficult enough.
The story is spread over two parts, totalling five hours. You can see both parts on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. You can see each singly on Thursday and Friday. The Palace Theatre is a good venue for the play, the building itself having a perfect Gothic ambience.
Jamie Parker is the deeply scarred Harry Potter. But it is Sam Clemmett as Albus and Anthony Boyle as Scorpius, and their burgeoning David and Jonathan friendship, which take centre stage. Paul Thornley’s middle-aged Ron Weasley is good for a laugh.
Choreographer Steven Hoggett keeps Tiffany’s production always on the move. A large cast, with swirling capes, act as stage managers. The two constantly sliding spiral staircases keep the actors fit and give the many scene changes considerable momentum. Jamie Harrison provides the illusions and the magic. Particularly awesome are the ghostly aerial gymnastics by the giant Dementors, who are so Gothic they might even startle Henry Fuseli.
The show will appeal most to family audiences who have read JK Rowling’s books and seen the films. If you have done neither, you could easily get lost in the convoluted, back-to-the-future plot.
Perhaps the strangest thing about the performance is the childish behaviour of so many members of the audience, who “ooh”, “aah”, scream, cheer and clap as if they were still in their early teens. I am told that more than 50 per cent of the audience are first-time theatregoers.
For film buffs, Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly are synonymous; but Truman Capote, who wrote the novella on which the 1966 movie was based, loathed her performance, thinking her violently psychologically miscast. He had wanted Marilyn Monroe to play the high-class call-girl. Hepburn sanitised Holly’s promiscuity.
The multi-award winning singer Pixie Lott, making her play debut at Theatre Royal, Haymarket, naturally wants to make the role her own; but she is defeated by Richard Greenberg’s bitty adaptation, which moves from one dead scene to the next.
Noël Coward wrote Present Laughter with the object of providing himself with a bravura part: a philandering, self-dramatising, overbearing, egomaniacal matinée idol. The comedy is inordinately long and needs cutting. Samuel West delivers two tirades with aplomb, and gets valuable support from Zoe Boyle, whose sexy and elegant predator has exactly the high comedy 1930s-style Coward requires.
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