• Rutherford & Son, 6/15/19 (Sat), National Theatre

Revival of a 1912 show written, unusually for the times, by a female playwright, Githa Sowerby (adapted here by Polly Findlay). I had automatically assumed this would be a feminist tract, but that proved untrue: all here are trapped under the thumb of the domineering father and their own insecurities, their fates portrayed honestly if pitilessly. The show is less interested in grand themes than presenting an unflinching portrait of the destruction of a family.

A no-nonsense boss is working to save his flailing glass business, but his strict reign has alienated his three children: one son has become the local vicar, now seeking to relocate; the other son and presumptive heir was sent to a posh school and returns with a promising glass-making formula that he has risked everything on but refuses to give to the company (i.e., his father) without compensation; and the daughter is playing around behind her dad’s back with the latter’s loyal worker of 25 years. When the father learns that the worker has possession of the son’s formula and has been dallying with his daughter, he takes ruthless action with devastating consequences for pretty much everyone other than himself.

The show opens in a discouragingly dreary atmosphere as each character reveals his/her troubles in a long exposition, but picks up quickly once the father comes onto the scene. The father, a brilliant creation, is not evil, just quick to read the weaknesses of others and weigh how that will affect the business. His refusal to consider a reprieve for a boy accused (unfairly, says the tearful mom) of stealing, for instance, appears heartless at first, but he reminds her that it was he who gave the boy a chance in the first place despite reported troubles elsewhere. That is, the boy’s fate was in his own hands, and it’s not the boss’ job to turn the worker into a good person, a fair enough verdict. The dominating father’s uncompromisingly businesslike approach to life, extending to his own family, makes him the absolute center of the piece.

The bleak lives of the others come across at least partly as result of character flaws, posing an interesting balance between victimization and self-victimization. The second son is destroyed by his own intransigence and dreams of grandeur, while the daughter is dumped both by her father and her lover due to her indiscretion. Class as usual plays a big role, as in the second son’s lesser born wife and the family’s lowly servant. The only character with real guts is the wife, whose startling offer to ensure her child’s future earns great praise from the father for her courage.

Everything is in synch here: all characters are precisely drawn, the dialogue is sharp, and the story emerges organically from the characters. The National Theatre has named this one of the best 100 plays of the 20th century, and it’s hard to argue from the evidence here.

The non-curtained set was enveloped by an atmospheric (if unnecessary) rainfall as the audience enters the theater, with the characters inside the house moving about visibly before the show opens (and throughout the interval) as if life is going on outside the drama. The irritating accompanying choral voices were a less fortunate choice that kept me waiting outside during the interval as long as possible. The entire set shifts forward toward the audience at the opening when the rain stops and, as if the world is shrinking, pulls back toward the close. The single realistic set is incredibly intricate, showing the living quarters and kitchen, the father’s workspace and several exits. The stage revolves in the final moments for an impressive if again entirely gratuitous moment. Aside from those unneeded special effects, the large-scale production, dark both literally and emotionally, feels definitive. My only real problem was the northern industrial accents, which were excruciating, but I guess those are unavoidable.

The cast was superior, with special kudos to an expert Roger Allam as the imperious father (in a blunt and confident portrayal that Bitter Wheat could have used), Barbara Marten as the crotchety aunt, Joe Armstrong as the innocent worker and Justine Mitchell as the desperate daughter. A tremendous show, standing alongside Ibsen’s Rosmersholm as this trip’s most surprising discovery.