Orlando: A Review
Reviewed by Mali Delargy
For those who are unfamiliar with Orlando: A Biography (1928) by Virginia Woolf, it is a novel that transcends time and gender. It follows the protagonist (Orlando) from his boyhood in Tudor England through to the 20th century, where he is now a woman. I came to the Mermaid’s production in The Barron in The Byre having taken the Virginia Woolf module last semester. The novel was fresh in my mind — but I didn’t know whether to anticipate a faithful or creative rendition. I knew Orlando would lend itself well to the stage by indulging a costume department with its textures, but also because physicality and melodrama is paramount to the book. Whatever I was about to discover, I was glad that a beautiful text was receiving its due air-time.
The play, directed by Isobel Prothero, opened with a double bed taking centre stage, topped with a large duvet. I spotted a black mop of hair poking out from underneath. This turned out to be Orlando, played by the prolific Eilidh Read, wonderfully cast with her shaggy hairdo, the effect of which was only increased once she donned her breeches and cape. While I compliment the casting and costuming (Berit Pigott) of Orlando, I will also compliment the choice of linens and dresses worn by the rest of the cast, the textures of which leaned into its historical effect.
The production followed Neil Bartlett’s script, which was not necessarily to their advantage. If turning Woolf’s narration into a character, complete with long skirts, frilly shirts and notebooks, was not close enough to the edge of cliché, then turning her biographical voice into a choir of ‘Virginias’ pushed it off a cliff. While Orlando entertains a strain of melodrama that would welcome theatrical exaggeration, the choir reduced a complex literary voice into something bluntly, and boringly, oversentimental.
While this bothered me, Roslyn Bates as Mrs. G offered the comic relief necessary to counteract the choir. Between her hilarious interjections to reestablish narrative time and the brilliantly delivered one-liners of Archduchess Harriet/Archduke Harry (Lev Dormidontov) — “You flatter!”, “I WOO!” — there was lots for the eye and ear to take in. It would be remiss of me not to mention the diverting voice acting of Ona Wright as Elizabeth I, imprinting the ominous words “Beware the years, Orlando!” on her audience.
As for Sasha, performed by Nina Brook-Ilyod, she was intoxicating. Brook-Ilyod’s incredible versatility (switching between accents and languages faultlessly) suited the role incredibly well. Brook-Ilyod re-appeared as Orlando’s second lover, Marmaduke, and continued to be as convincing as ever.
I particularly enjoyed the ice-skating scene, where Read’s long, gliding strides seemed to lend itself to the imagination. With Orlando’s shapely legs having such importance throughout the novel, it was interesting to see this interpreted in the boat scene. Here, Orlando’s confidence and compulsive intrigue was injected, potentially recovering that which had not been developed previously. The scene was as scandalous as it was fun.
Once we reached the Victorian era and neared the end of the play, the sentimentality and involvement of the choir only increased. I had three main qualms; the romanticisation of Woolf’s suicide was distasteful, the framing of Orlando as Woolf’s “daughter” was simply bizarre, considering they are based on Woolf’s lover, Vita Sackville-West, and the choir’s obsession with definition (asking “who do you love”, “what’s my favourite”) was unexplainable. These problems supply the foundation of Bartlett’s adaptation and thus pervaded the Mermaid’s production.
It is easier to criticise a play successful enough to stand on its own two feet. While Bartlett’s script did not lend itself to my taste, I must commend the cast and crew for bringing such a wonderful tale to life. Having achieved two sold-out performances, it is safe to say that, despite its limitations, the production was a success, and certainly left the audience thoroughly entertained.
Graphic by Elahe Sherrell
