On the Rocks

Published Wednesday 2 July 2008 at 11:55 by Jeremy Austin

The time spent by D H Lawrence and his wife communally living with their friends Katherine Mansfield and John Middleton Murry in a remote part of Cornwall could only ever have been retold as a comedy.

Lawrence, a violent vicious bully, his long-suffering wife Frieda and the completely dysfunctional relationship between the others has been mined of both its comedy and tragedy by Amy Rosenthal - who is welcomed back into the theatre after a prolonged bout of writers’ block.

Rosenthal returns as a fully-rounded writer, some eight years since Jerusalem Syndrome wowed Soho Theatre. Her understanding of the dynamics of relationships is matched here only by her understanding of how a drama works. The rhythm of the story-telling is exquisite, laughs lifting the darkest moments, the pace slowed for a poignant piece of reflection.

The dialogue too seems carefully hand-picked and the originality of several of the scenes - particularly the playing of a parlour game - is enough to remind even the most jaded of theatre audiences (and Hampstead’s has had reason to feel jaded over the years) why they keep coming back.

Clare Lizzimore’s direction is grease to the wheels, adding touches and nuances here and there that emphasise the humour or tragedy of the moment. She also draws some pitch-perfect performances from her actors.

Ed Stoppard’s Lawrence is powered by a manic energy that drives his creativity, yet also emerges as uncontrollable, violent rages against Frieda. He fully encompasses Lawrence’s feelings of isolation - it’s no wonder he sought sanctuary in retreats.

In writing Frieda’s character, Rosenthal has created a laconic muse and also Shakespeare’s fool, her skillfully, witty remarks both enraging and defining her husband. Tracy-Ann Oberman does not let what is a deliberate stereotype fall into that category.

As Mansfield and Murry, Charlotte Emmerson and Nick Caldecott play the straight men - the hardest role of all. Caldecott evokes up the fragility of Murry, a timid, very English man, while Emmerson quietly allows Mansfield to be the central character, controlling, commenting and eventually paying the price for empathising with the madness around her.