THE CONSTITUENT, OLD VIC, REVIEW: JAMES CORDEN IMPRESSES AS A SOBBING EMBLEM OF BROKEN BRITAIN
James Corden’s return to the London stage for the first time in 12 years could have been a showbizzy statement of intent. I had half-expected him to join the company of Guys and Dolls at the Bridge, warming the cockles as Nathan Detroit or Nicely-Nicely Johnson.
Instead, for his big comeback, he has opted for a small-scale affair – albeit topical to the hilt: Joe Penhall’s The Constituent deals with the tussle all MPs are currently facing between serving democracy (and their constituents) and preserving their security (and sanity).
In a bold (some might say credulity-testing) move, Corden, 45, plays Alec an ex-serviceman who experienced traumatic tours of duty in Afghanistan. First seen installing security equipment in the constituency office of a Leftish opposition MP called Monica (Anna Maxwell Martin), he’s initially an innocuous gobby geezer (Corden on terra cognita). It turns out the pair went to the same school and grew up on the same street. “I’m always here if you need me,” she kindly offers, when it emerges he’s having domestic battles; Alec is distressed by his current divorce and separation from his children.
That’s the basic compact of a good MP, isn’t it? But it becomes apparent that Monica may be intensifying his frustrations. Alec’s faith in his assumed ally to address his grievances (and even advance ideas about legislation to redress systemic bias, as he sees it, against men) is bound to meet a reality-check.
Penhall has form in smart, compact explorations of psychological and societal pressure, and damaged males - witness Blue /Orange, his hit play about mental health and racial discrimination. Some of the material here achieves a teasing ambivalence - is Alec more sinned against than sinning, driven to extremes by being punished for his protective instincts? In his jibes about the police (his missus has thrown him over for a copper) there are bitter laughs at the expense of the force’s trustworthiness and timely gags that sound like phone-in rants: “The entire country is running on good-will, and billionaires are making all the rules!”
Penhall’s script, tartly directed by Matthew Warchus so that the audience sits, democratically but overbearingly, on either side of the narrow stage – nicely handles the blend of comedy and darkening aggro. My key reservation is that given how militant ideologues now swirl around our MPs, rogue fathers seem a soft target. The evening inclines to slightness as well as concision and constituent plot-elements also don’t entirely stack up: despite her leniency and good intentions, Maxwell Martin’s figure of alert sensitivity would surely not tolerate warning-signs of unhinged behaviour for quite so long.
Hats off to the returnee, even so; Corden reintroduces himself as a dialled-down funnyman, all fixed intensity and hunched affability, then moves across 90 minutes to reveal a more bellicose side to the blustering persona, before showing us a sobbing emblem of broken Britain, alienated from the system.
This is a subtler description of unreliable, frayed masculinity than we saw in his calling-card One Man, Two Guvnors. It doesn’t have the same kick, but maybe that’s the point. Maxwell Martin delivers a sympathetic if sketchy evocation of a conviction politician and harassed mother torn between supporting strangers and safeguarding her family: clipped, legalistic, jittery, concerned.
Completing the cast, but the flimsiest character, is Zachary Hart’s parliamentary protection officer, dispensing advice of grisly blitheness (“A good stab-vest is your friend!”) Whatever the outcome of the election, Penhall’s depiction of MPs on the frontline looks set to remain valid – and, I’ll stick my head above the parapet, it’s good to have Corden back where he belongs, on the British stage.
Until Aug 10. Tickets: oldvictheatre.com
2024-06-25T21:58:42Z dg43tfdfdgfd