Written by Rodney Ackland and telling the story of the large (a point I’ll come back to, often) group of misfits, alcoholics, GIs and people just looking for some mediocre food who inhabit the La Vie En Rose club in 1945 London, Absolute Hell is, thankfully, not a prophetic title. God knows I’ve seen some plays at the NT that merit that title (Waste, Common I’m looking in your direction) but this isn’t one of them. Absolute Strangeness would fit. Absolute Example of Something That Would Benefit From A Good Session With A Pair Of Scissors would be even better, though admittedly rather more difficult to fit on a poster.
Because that is, essentially, what Absolute Hell is: an odd, sprawling, slightly rudderless and flabby piece with far too many characters and subplots that go nowhere but which is still actually really quite entertaining. It’s at least twenty minutes too long, which given it’s already forty minutes shorter now than when previews began is kind of baffling. There are twenty - TWENTY - ‘main’ characters, only two of whom are really granted any degree of development and explanation. This combines with the eighteen billion plot lines, I exaggerate but only slightly, to render the overall narrative sometimes super hard to follow and the piece’s key themes hard to draw out except with the benefit of hindsight. It is, however, solidly entertaining and largely absorbing. And actually, with the distance of a few days thought, once you strip away all the crap and superfluous random characters there is at its heart an engaging study of the joys and dangers of escapism and what happens when you finally can’t escape anymore. The idea it hints at that for many of the characters and their real life counterparts, the Second World War was itself the greatest escape they could have hoped for is really interesting and seldom dramatically explored well. I would love to see a more daring version of this play that a really unprecious dramaturg and/or director has had a go at. Severely cut down to just a handful of its central characters and a couple of hours, I think this play could actually be quite brilliant.
If my imagined new version could exist within Lizzie Clachan’s gorgeous set from this IRL version that would be super. The set is the highlight of an otherwise fairly unremarkable production, but it’s a real beauty. Grim and grimy, oozing faded glamour, squalor, hope and despair from every crack. It also makes fantastic use of the gaping Lyttelton stage and stands up to the demand that the entire cast be on stage for more or less the entire time (not sure this is necessary tbh) whilst still allowing the action at any one moment space to breathe. No mean feat. Jon Clarke’s sympathetic, almost soft focus, lighting is a great back up for this. Director Joe Hill-Gibbons delivers on the visuals and aesthetic, but the script needed taking in hand far more than he seems to have done and the inclusion of the dreaded second act five minute pause earns him an additional demerit (where has the fad for these nonsense things come from and can it please go back there? Either have two proper intervals or don’t).
Though I’ve complained that there are too many of them, the principal joy of this production comes from the cast. There are some great actors here and everyone delivers what’s asked of them with class and chutzpah. It’s a shame that in so many cases what’s asked of them is so little (the under- and misuse of the excellent Jenny Galloway and Danny Webb is particularly egregious). In the two roles that do have some meat to them, NT casting has really earned their money. Charles Edwards as the tragicomic Hugh is one of the best pieces of casting I’ve seen at the Nash for a while. He’s perfect for the role; funny, vulnerable, heartbreaking, infuriating and someone you just utterly root for. Kate Fleetwood as Christine (the Judi Dench role the last time the NT did this piece) is equally - and entirely expectedly - great. One of the most reliably excellent and assured actresses around, Fleetwood is an acutely well judged mixture of brassy fun and deep, deep sadness which makes for a hugely affecting watch. Amongst the cast of thousands, the ever supremely watchable Jonathan Slinger also stands out as Maurice, a nothing-y part with which he still manages to steal many scenes, as does Martins Imhangbe as the touchingly earnest GI Sam.
Overall, then, Absolute Hell may not be absolute Hell but neither is it absolute Heaven (I’m sorry). It is absolutely one of the odder pieces I’ve seen at the NT but by no means one of the worst. At the very least, it’s entertaining and its hardworking, top drawer cast does so much to redeem it’s failings. True, there are better things to see in London theatreland at the moment, but Absolute Hell still has something to say that is worthwhile listening to. You just have to work quite hard to hear it.
Absolute Hell is in the Lyttelton at the NT until 16th June.
My seat for this one was O31 in the stalls for which I paid the pleasingly neat price of £31.
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