My Name is Lucy Barton & The Cane
(Left:) Laura Linney in My Name is Lucy Barton at the Bridge Theatre|(Right:) Nicola Walker in The Cane at the Royal Court Theatre
Some Evocative Estrangements
March 3, 2019
My Name is Lucy Barton, Bridge theatre, London
★★★★
A mile away from Shakespeare’s Globe, sitting at the base of the Tower Bridge, audiences are finding themselves transported across the pond, to Amgash, Illinois. Three-time Academy Award nominated actress, Laura Linney makes a triumphant return to the stage in a valiant endeavor- tackling the one-woman Rona Munro adaptation of Elizabeth Strout’s novel My Name is Lucy Barton. Linney captivates audiences with her portrayal of fictional American author, Lucy Barton. One might be skeptical of this monologue reimagining of a bestselling novel, but Munro’s script captures the novel-esque illustrative language and inquisitive stories, while discovering unique characterization through the exposition.
New York author, Lucy Barton, reflects on her time in the hospital after having complications due to a simple appendix procedure. Although the play is prompted by this medical issue, it’s centering on the mental and emotional healing of Barton, rather than her physical health. During her stay in the hospital, while doctors were struggling to determine what was thwarting Lucy’s recovery, she receives a visit from her estranged mother. Lucy recounts her mother’s five day stay while also digging back into her past to uncover the darkness of her childhood and suppressed trauma that she had kept buried deep inside her. Much of the discovery comes from what is not said between the two, as they reminisce, gossip, and remotely comfort each other.
At the heart of this story, Lucy is a broken woman who has tried to run from her past, only to discover it has not merely remained with her but has built her into the woman standing in front of you. Laura Linney carries this one-woman show with an ease and grace- weaving between her time in the hospital, to the time she was locked in her father’s truck with a brown snake to keep her company without missing a beat. She expertly takes on her mother’s mid-western accent and aged stature as she recounts her mother’s gossip and exacting words, slumping in the hospital chair, and uncomfortably fidgeting with her sweater sleeves. She also has an incredible grasp on the emotional switches. Linney recalls how both her parents detested crying, while holding back the tears which seem to be constantly bubbling just beneath the surface, waiting for that fateful push when she might be able to breakdown, releasing all of the pent-up loneliness which has been plaguing her for so long.
Bob Crowley’s modest design, a hospital bed with an ordinary side table and a dull grey arm chair, gives enough indication to set the tone of Lucy’s isolation and meek approach to her history, without encumbering the audience with too much detail. Richard Eyre’s production gives the audience the trust that they are capable enough to navigate Lucy’s story alongside her, not trailing after her. The graphics, designed by Luke Halls, on the recessing three panels transition smoothly from night to day, along with its changing landscapes to augment the illustrative language Lucy employs in recounting her past. At times, however, the narrative aspect of the play tends to get carried away in itself by shifting more to the form of a live audiobook, rather than a theatrical performance.
For ninety minutes, the audience is in Linney’s capable hands, encapsulated by her every word, as she guides us through her memories. Although Barton is conveying her unique image of a challenging childhood in Amgash, Ill., journeying through her broken relationship with her parents, her story is universal. Linney’s relatable demeanor and spontaneous bursts of suppressed emotions transports the audience to times in their own lives where they may remember a parent’s cruel outburst, or the loneliness felt when they thought no one could ever understand their aspirations. Linney doesn’t miss a beat from the minute the lights come up, setting the stage for the arduous emotional journey she’s about to embark on, to the last accepting moment when she proclaims, “My Name is Lucy Barton.”
The Cane, Royal Court Theatre, London ★★★★
Estranged daughters and fractured family dynamics continue to evoke feelings of isolation and retribution, as we hop back to England, to the Royal Court Theatre. Mark Ravenhill’s evocative new play focuses on the deep-rooted controversial issue of corporal punishment in education and how we can’t gloss over issues of the past. The Cane digs up the cruel practice of caning, and the impact it has had on following generations, even 20 years after its abolition.
The curtain rises and we see Anna, played by Nicola Walker, standing with her mother, Maureen (Maggie Steed) staring at the freshly patched window, of which a brick has recently been thrown through. Anna, the estranged daughter of beloved teacher, Edward (Alun Armstrong), returns to her parents’ home to find it surrounded by a mob of angry students. On the verge of her father’s retirement from head deputy, after 45 years, the discovery of his involvement in the school’s past disciplinary practice of caning ill-behaved boys has sparked outrage amongst the current student body. As they are amassing outside the house, the tension builds on the inside as the action unfolds. Maureen fluctuates between a harsh critic of Anna’s modern views and the complicit prey to Edward’s authoritarian bullying. Anna, whose academy is attempting make a bid to take over her father’s school, comes to gain further insight of the state of the problems from the previous institution and its ability to transition into a modern mode of learning. Along with gaining knowledge of her father’s past actions, tension from past incidents are underlying the sharp remarks and actions of all parties involved.
Director, Vicky Featherstone, takes an implicative approach, in collaboration with Chloe Lamford’s design. The production intertwines the story through the broken, simple set pieces, showcasing the older generation’s lack of responsiveness, and their unwillingness to repair past reparations. The harsh lighting, screaming children outside, and quick exacting dialogue of the characters also play into the anxiety fluxing throughout the production, bringing forth the ideas that something is surely amiss and will not be easily repaired. When Edward climbs into the attic, pacing back and forth above the heads of the two women, their conversation transitions from a competition to win attention from the patriarch of the house to a civil, equal exchange. Anna appeals to her mother’s sentimental, gentle personality by telling her how much her grandchildren would love to see her and questioning why she doesn’t have a space of her own. As the play progresses, and Anna continues to provoke her father, the attic’s descension seems to illustrate Edward’s world. What seemingly has been so comfortable and familiar is now pushing down on him, so he is so confined he has no other option but to collapse.
These complex characters are expertly excavated by Armstrong, Walker, and Steed to demonstrate that there is no such thing as an archetypical hero, villain, or victim. Your expectations of each character will be quickly thwarted, as you will be surprised by the emotional complexity presented by each of the actors. Walker’s cool and calm nature conceals her manipulative objective, revealing her plot slowly and deliberately, until she is raising her bloody palm, succeeding in her provocation, gaining the wrath of the cane. Armstrong is introduced as a seemingly reasonable, ordinary older man. However, having already learnt of the violence Anna had inflicted on the household in early adolescence, the audience expects to see this father as a cruel, heartless monster to have provoked a seemingly reasonable woman to such action. It isn’t until he learns of the school children going into the attic that we first see any cruelness, as he loses his temper. Steed, responding to the daggers being flung at her, crumples into a blubbering child, juxtaposing her earlier attack on Anna’s life and behavior. It is evident who holds the power, but we witness the power being transferred and taken throughout the play. At times, however, their interactions and movements seem to veer too far from what is believable. The audience is sometimes pulled out of a scene, trying and figure out why Maureen is standing in the corner rather than focusing on Anna’s developing plot in manipulating her father by helping him work through his report.
In the end, we see, as much as we would like to escape the traumas of the past, it is evident that history will continuously be influencing our present and future lives. This play utilizes the personal relationships to reflect external events. As much of the violence from Anna’s childhood has influenced her strained relationship with her parents, the pain and emotional impact of the caning has now influenced the approach to education. The abstract presentation of the play, however, makes it difficult for the audience to perceive the exact message Ravenhill and Featherstone are trying to get across. It seems that while there is no room for old fashioned thoughts outlooks in this new era, the events of the past are pushing through, being scrutinized by a modern-day audience. This is a stunning production that will leave contemplating the underlying meaning of the cane, and challenge you to piece together the various metaphors.
