Harold Pinter’s first full-length play was a flop in 1958: “Oh, you poor fellow,” an usher consoled him in front of empty seats.
What put off early audiences and most critics were the unsolved mysteries. The solid setting of a seaside boarding house houses people with dubious backgrounds. Is Stanley, the long-term lodger of landlady Meg and deckchair attendant Petey, actually a former concert pianist? Why does Goldberg have three different first names (Nat, Simey, Benny) when a gangster duo checks in to check on Stanley, and is his buddy McCann actually both a former IRA terrorist and a dismissed Catholic priest?
The Ustinov Studio is a compact and convivial space that encourages discussion during the breaks. My fellow audience members wonder whether some characters exist only in the memories or fears of others, or whether they were once in a mental institution, secret society or cult together. These answers are all legitimate, because the democratic ambiguity of interpretation – for actors and audience – is the key to Pinter’s greatness. One audience member said it reminded him of Inside No 9 – indeed, the current popularity of macabre surrealism is why Pinter, approaching his 100th birthday, remains a writer for our times.
Richard Jones’ direction emphasises the horror, and a scene in which party games are played by torchlight during a power outage is reminiscent of The Shining. Ultz’s sets and costumes feature lights on, exaggerating a documented aspect of 1950s Britain. Brown is the only colour for walls, chairs, suits and shoes, and is also used for shirts and dresses. When Meg and sprightly neighbour Lulu don evening gowns for the titular celebration, it has the effect (as does a line in the play) of garish tulips bursting out of the earth.
In the potentially stereotypical roles of unexpectedly lascivious women, Jane Horrocks’ Meg and Carla Harrison-Hodge’s Lulu suggest explanations in past injuries. As Stanley, Sam Swainsbury exudes instability through a vocal range from screaming to silence, and sudden grabs to his temples suggest possible past ECG treatment. As Goldberg and McCann, John Marquez and Caolan Byrne can be terrifying, but also have crucial moments of terror. In the role of the token husband, Nicolas Tennant plays with the mystery of how much Petey knows about, and relishes, the central anti-authoritarian phrase: “Don’t let them tell you what to do!”
There are two references to a “caretaker,” a preview of the title of the 1960 masterpiece that saved Pinter’s career. But most dramas still can’t hold a candle to The Birthday Party.
