Journalism

Review of Jean Anouilh's "Traveller Without Luggage" - by Richard Herring

Revenge! IÂ’m reviewing a reviewer! Vengeance shall be mine.
Although critics have generally been kind to me, it’s only the bad reviews I remember… forever… word for word. It’s lucky for James Christopher that I wasn’t sent to review the play he directed, as I seem to vaguely recall that on the 30th August 1995 in Time Out he suggested that I was “a wanker”. Nicholas de Jongh, bless him, has, never written a bad word (or indeed any word) about me, so, maybe my prejudice can be checked.
“Traveller Without Luggage” is a play about identity, class and family. A wartime injury erases a young man’s entire memory. He becomes known as Gaston and spends the next 15 anonymous years in an asylum, cheerfully planting lettuces and bedding the occasional maid. He seems pretty happy about this and who can blame him? He has what we all dream of - no interfering relatives.
His peace is shattered when a progressive doctor decides to find out who he really is. The fact that Gaston also has a hefty disability allowance means he suddenly has six families claiming him as theirs. Worst of all it appears likely that sensitive, down-to-earth Gaston was once, arrogant, aristocratic Jacques, who tortured animals, embezzled from the elderly, crippled his best friend, and slept with his brotherÂ’s wife. Understandably he denies that he was this monster, despite the offer of rekindling the affair with sister-in-law Valentine (the gorgeous Kim Thomson).
De Jongh has assembled a fine cast and the impressive set, designed by Robin Don, is suitably dark and claustrophobic. His inexperience is evident in the sometimes over-directed lighting and music and occasionally turgid action, but even so this in an enthralling play, with some great moments of comedy (especially from the servants, Phillip Bird, Sally George and Will Keen) and a subtle, yet brilliant demonstration of GastonÂ’s internal struggle by Valentine Pelka.
Above all, despite his passion for Anouilh’s play, de Jongh is aware that his directorial debut is merely a rather sporting experiment, and is not taking himself too seriously. His prisoner’s number on the otherwise abysmally unimaginative “Usual Suspects” style poster is “696969”.
As for me, IÂ’ve learned how tough it is being a reviewer. Four hundred words to summarise every aspect of a production, based on one viewing, without using it as an opportunity to flirt with actresses in newsprint (cf Kim Thomson). I certainly have a lot more respect for critics. Except for James Christopher, who is a twat.