It is 150 years since this TW Robertson comedy was first seen in London. While it is eminently worth reviving for its portrait of the chasm separating the social classes in Victorian England, the only pity is that it sentimentally suggests that rancid snobbery can be softened by the belief that kind hearts are more than coronets.
In his day, Robertson was famous for introducing cup-and-saucer naturalism into a stilted English theatre. Far more interesting is his fascination with social friction as he shows a young aristocrat, George, secretly marrying Esther, the daughter of a drunken reprobate. The comedy, however, lies in the collision of their respective families.
George’s mother is a terrifying old dragon, forever quoting Froissart’s Chronicles, while Esther’s dad is an unredeemed boozehound, drawn with Dickensian vigour: in the play’s best scene, we see him stealing a gold trinket from his sleeping grandson to finance his drinking.
Charlotte Peters’ production, which begins each scene with an explosive magnesium flash, astutely combines realism with theatricality and contains three strong performances. Paul Bradley makes Esther’s dad a shrewd social parasite, whom Shaw must have had in mind in creating Alfred Doolittle in Pygmalion. Susan Penhaligon, deploying an accent that suggests Margaret Thatcher playing Lady Bracknell, turns George’s mother into a model of disdainful hauteur. Rebecca Collingwood as Esther’s sister displays a pert vivacity that compensates for the colourlessness of the lovers.
Writing in 1923, the critic William Archer said Robertson’s play “would certainly be included in the repertory of a National Theatre”. As so often, however, it is the fringe that keeps our theatrical past alive.
• At Finborough theatre, London, until 18 April. Box office: 0844-847 1652.
