There can be few villages the size of Eynsham able to boast an amateur theatre company of the quality of its Bartholomew Players. Year after year they offer up one production after another of impressive calibre, and Rutherford and Son is no exception.
The play tells the story of a self-made man, an industrialist, whose successful glassmaking business has fallen on hard times; and of the effect his complete lifelong dedication to his business has had on him, his three children, their psychology, their relationships, their futures. One of the children pictures the firm as Moloch, the biblical god to whom children were sacrificed. Written eleven decades ago (set in 1912), it still felt remarkably topical in some ways, describing the challenges of rising raw material costs, striking workers, and unreliable energy supplies! More timeless than these, however, is the depiction of the familial tensions, conflicts, strain, stresses, and emotional rebelliousness which will eventually erupt after long subjugation to loveless authoritarian tyranny of the Gradgrind variety – “not a scrap of love in the whole house”.
John Casey is alarmingly good at playing the kind of irascible patriarch you would prefer not to have to deal with in real life. His portrayal of the eponymous Rutherford was superb, in the vein of Keith Michell’s depiction of the senescent monarch in the BBC’s The Six Wives of Henry VIII – in fact, his facial expression often resembles the famous Hans Holbein portrait – with a similar knack of fluctuating erratically between luxuriating in self-righteousness and bouts of explosive impatiently aggressive ire. His Rutherford, however, is a more disturbing character: a ruthless, determined and manipulative bully.
From the outset, the predominant mood of the play was one of subdued simmering anger bubbling away beneath a surface of grumpy, bad-tempered discontent. This might not sound promising but the writing of these characters is so sharply observed it had its humorous moments. Elaine Leggett’s Aunt Ann reminded me of an amusingly humourless Marilla Cuthbert. Libby Foreman, Joe O’Connor and Ed Miller all presented convincingly the three very different children; but I particularly liked the development of Libby’s portrayal of the 36 year old spinster desperate not to be left on the shelf - as the prospect of escape from this (in today’s language) “toxic” family took hold on her imagination, so she gradually melted from a harsh distant terseness to softer, warmer, closer communication and more poetic language of “flowers that would not grow on the moors”. Conversely, Kate Astley, as the mother of Rutherford’s grandchild, moved in the opposite direction as she became more tightly enmeshed in the family: “I love my child: that makes me hard”.
Githa Sowerby is a superb writer. Although very occasionally there is some dated language (“Damn your impudence! Young whippersnapper!”), by and large the dialogue could be freshly contemporaneous, it is usually so pithy, insightful and to the point. It is intriguing to me that, although Rutherford and Sons was a huge success in its day, it subsequently pretty much disappeared from the national consciousness, but has recently been rediscovered and acclaimed as one of the best 100 plays of the century.
It is a rare delight these days to see a really good, traditional, well-written play which sets up an interesting and dramatic situation and explores in great detail, and with understanding and intelligence, the complex themes and issues and dilemmas that it creates, through the interactions of credible characters, either pitched against one another or drawn into unexpected alliances. Rutherford and Son was a particular joy to watch as – unlike most plays of its era which have stood the test of time - it was completely new to me so I could enjoy the suspense of the unpredictable developments and the surprise of the ending.
One could not write a review of this production without praising the production design, the elaborate and authentic costumes and the fastidiously constructed set, sturdily built and recreating in every detail of furniture, décor and appurtenance the world of nouveau riche 1912. The curtain rising on such a scene gives the audience immediate faith that a window is opening on a credible world in a credible time past.
I was afraid, in these days of soaring energy bills, it might be draughty sitting in a village hall, and took my warmest coat and scarves – but fear not! Even with the scanty audience of a dress rehearsal, the hall was cosy; and I am sure it will be warm as toast when packed with the large audience this production deserves.
(Note: Eynsham Village Hall is easy to find, two roads off the A40, with the luxury of ample free evening parking just opposite.)