THE FOUR SEASONS.

Mold

THE FOUR SEASONS
by Arnold Wesker

Clwyd Theatr Cymru, Emlyn Williams Theatre To 23 November 2002
Runs 2hr 5min

One interval
Review Timothy Ramsden 22 November

An unexpectedly revealed jewel: a theatrical lovesong beautifully revived.
I saw this rare-going-on-unique revival of Wesker's mid-sixties meditation on love within a couple of days of Anthony Neilson's up-to-the-minute, in-yer-face Stitching at Warwick Arts Centre. Both two-handers focus on a man-woman relationship, charting only the stages in feeling. Both plays are finely served by their casts, but it's pleasant to escape Neilson's cruel blind alley for the humanity of Wesker's view.

Expectations are high at Terry Hands' Clwyd base these days; anything less than the best seems tiresome mediocrity. Here, Hands shows just how scrupulously yet vigorously he can handle a script: with the loving care and mastery Owen Teale's Adam brings to the onstage manufacture of an apple strudel (this receives its own deserved round of applause).

The emotions are real, the characters archetypes: an A and B of humanity, Adam the first man, Beatrice the immortal beloved of the great Italian poet Dante. On Mark Bailey's suitably minimalist design - a tiled space with cube blocks serving for table, chairs or bed - the pair emerge in foggy winter, she immobile and heart frozen, he lighting a fire in loving care. There follows her re-emergence to life in spring: a magical moment as Rachel Sanders, Hermione like, thaws from statue to speaking, moving woman.

Moments elide as love's various shapes – need, affection, fury, anxiety among them – surge and evaporate. In summer, set against their very own and golden background, Beatrice's rage spins into anguish at Adam's sudden illness. There's an elegiac conclusion at autumn's end, when the damp leaves refuse to take fire. Wesker's near abstract, poetic drama must have been a shock for those accustomed to the realism of The Kitchen or Chips With Everything. Seen in retrospect, their romanticism looks forward to this beautiful piece.

Hands perfectly judges every nuance of mood and pace. Sanders makes Beatrice a person in her own right, not a mere male projection, while Teale is wonderful, the voice lyrically light or full-bodied with emotion, the face moving between yearning and dismay. The Emlyn Williams space is perfect: small enough for intimacy, wide enough to imply endless re-echoing of these human feelings.

Beatrice: Rachel Sanders
Adam: Owen Teale

Director/Lighting: Terry Hands
Designer: Mark Bailey
Sound: Kevin Heyes
Composer: Colin Towns

2002-11-24 14:37:18