Currently on at The Old Vic, London
The 47th was not originally on my hit list for performances this spring. It got promoted when another play was closed with covid (yup, that is still happening) and we suddenly found ourselves in the artsy middle class intellectuals seventh circle of hell – no theatre tickets. So I was grateful that there were seats at The Old Vic. ‘Dare always dare’ as the burlesque style neon sign said at the entrance; oh yes we do.
I’m not sure this play will stand the test of time, but it is an interesting reflection in this cultural moment and definitely good right now. In a curious way, Mike Bartlett is right when he gives Trump the line ‘you missed me.’ The constant jaw dropping stupidity had become a macabre addiction like a road accident. Trump brought his own form of theatre, although probably without Bartlett’s intentionality here, and even the kindest critic cannot imagine that Trump had read Machiavelli. Bertie Carvel is brilliant in his channelling of Trump, without resorting to mere mimicry. And Bartlett’s writing is very clever – his use of blank verse takes a moment to settle into but if you are familiar with the cadence of Shakespeare, then the use of the emphatic rhyming couplet (usually before dastardly plotting in this case) is both amusing and a signpost in a play that wiggles between genres. The dexterous direction of Rupert Goold keeps this multi layered idea together.
The 47th imagines Trump re-running for President complete with surprising but not so surprising shafting of allies. James Garnon as Ted Cruz looks suitably shocked when Trump, played by Bertie Carvel, uses his endorsement speech at a rally to actually endorse himself. I loved his offended wife, Heidi Cruz, played by Jenni Maitland. There was particularly clever use of staging with her role, bringing her from the side, in the box, to being one of very few who confronts Trump effectively. In this satirical setting, it would have been tempting to give her less depth, but Bartlett holds back enough so she is oddly sympathetic.
Bartlett has a great ear for the syntax and diction of the Trump children. The Lear referencing works really well although Donald Junior and Eric seem to lack the stomach of Goneril and Regan. And Ivanka is no Cordelia of the good heart. The dynastic issues of who inherits the kingdom are curiously balanced against a cruel Apprentice style winner takes it all, but I think it is clear that the immaculately coutured Lydia Wilson is the only one with the political intelligence to beat all the men who see the throne as birthright.
I suspect the Shaman of the 6th January is now passing into icon status (you wonder if he does regret it now?) and whilst visually this was exciting theatre and the references made sense to us now, I am not convinced that a future audience will see it as more than a dressing up stunt in slow motion.
Kamala Harris, rather like in real life, seemed to fall a little flat (Tamara Tunie) with much hand wringing and nurse maiding of Biden. I know others have found her performance compelling though, so maybe that was just the night I saw it. The characterisation of Biden as a Lady Macbeth character or, as Trump puts it the ‘elderly wizard’ was hilarious until you remembered that this is just how the leader of the free world does appear, and then it is depressing.
It makes for an interesting discussion, particularly about populism and the ability to see how others see. It certainly made me think, so for my money that is good theatre. Probably not going to be around in a few years, so catch it whilst you can.
