Review: The Misanthrope

By Anna Pile

It seems that with The Misanthrope, Martin Crimp has uncovered an artistic well that never dries. Centring on someone who despises the contemporary society of their time – something that appears ever-changing at first glance – it is clear why Crimp has chosen to reimagine this same set of characters three times during the past forty years. In his endeavour, he presents a challenging idea: has society ever truly changed at its core?

Reimagining Molière’s seventeenth-century comedy in the current polarising state of the world, The Misanthrope of this decade is a poignant medley of drama, wit, and a bizarre, unforgettable ending, despite a few previous scenes feeling rather stale.

a poignant medley of drama, wit, and a bizarre, unforgettable ending

It subtly builds this question of a fixed human condition for the audience from the moment they enter the theatre, starting with a set that is not simply beautiful but a clever dichotomy of modern art fixed within a baroque design – large, lavish bookshelves detailed with gold immediately catch the eye, but so do the modern sculptures and bold primary colours lining their shelves. 

The audience has little time to admire, however, as the lights slowly dim to black before suddenly brightening to reveal Alice, abruptly stood, fixed in place. Instead of the original Alceste, the titular character has been transformed into a celebrated author, irritable and cocky yet self-assured in her stance against the rest of the human race. However, it is Sandra Oh’s performance that makes this character Oh so well-realised, radiating an affecting, natural emotional cadence that reveals a stunning vulnerability, making the ending – I shall use vague terminology so as not to spoil it – all the more impactful. 

But I digress. Back at the start, Alice is soon joined by her friend John, played wonderfully by Paul Chahidi, as the two discuss their differing outlooks on the problems plaguing society. Unknowingly, they lay the groundwork for the future unravelling of Alice’s plight against society’s rules and, in turn, her own close relationships, including with John. 

The direction of Indhu Rubasingham shines through consistent and subtle foreshadowing, as well as in a careful use of comedy to disguise the play’s true intentions and poke fun at the art of theatre itself – most memorably when Alice breaks the fourth wall to point at audience members while accusing John of misogyny. Moments like this were a delight, if underused given how memorable they were. For instance, Alice rarely breaks the fourth wall again. 

Helped by both Oh and Tom Mison’s performances, their chemistry propels the narrative and emotional turmoil to its climax

There is also clear directorial thought in the placement of Alice and her actor boyfriend Stephan, and in the contrast between their scenes alone versus around others, where Alice gradually begins to fade. Helped by both Oh and Tom Mison’s performances, their chemistry propels the narrative and emotional turmoil to its climax, with Mison especially convincing in his deceit, unveiling each layer of an actor who is himself acting.  

The writing also stalls thematically with an overuse of repetition, as each character’s complaint is stated plainly, harped on, and discarded before being examined, rushing on to the next. For example, the scene where Alan, gesturing at his laptop, declares it the only real thing left, or “the system” itself, before casually admitting to illegally streaming pornography and hacking into the account of a girl trying to bring Alice down. Freddie MacBruce’s sharp delivery makes clear Alan is a man enraptured by that system, but before the play can confront technology’s role in building an unaccountable elite, Alice storms in with a marriage proposal for John, and the moment is lost. 

From the manosphere to the younger generation’s dependence on technology – all are cut too plain and dry, making many scenes feel like one another, just centred around a different grievance. And to a point, that helps convey Crimp’s intention: the ending’s appearance from left-field allows the audience to finally come face-to-face with the possibility that society has ceased to change in its foundation, and these final few moments are directed and performed impeccably. From the unsettling choreography to the chandeliers hanging at all different heights around the stage, it’s a scene that needs to not only be admired, but studied. 

many scenes feel like one another, just centered around a different grievance

The eerie lighting and sound design, the beautifully decorated sets and costumes, and Oh in her newfound element alongside a talented cast, give The Misanthrope plenty to admire. It also forces the audience to face a tough question – one it may not delve deeply into, but one that resonates long after the curtain falls, and for good reason. If this is a play that can be rewritten decade after decade and still find something new to critique, perhaps it’s one we must pay close attention to. 

The Misanthrope comes to cinemas from 22 September with National Theatre Live. Find your tickets at ntlive.com.

Image credit: Marc Brenner