Robert Lindsay and Jemma Redgrave star in a slow-moving historical drama about the roots of the UK and USA’s special relationship
In 1939, with the world’s most powerful nations gearing up for war, King George VI made an historic visit to the US to convince his distant cousin, President Franklin Roosevelt, to pledge his country’s support. Opening at a time when Europe again finds itself walking a tightrope between deterring the armed aggression of its enemies and flattering the ego of a distant president, this play should feel more topical than it does. But this is less a political drama than a slow-paced character sketch of some thoroughly familiar public figures, very much focused on their well-documented personal quirks.
Written and directed by Richard Nelson – an adaptation of his own 2012 screenplay Hyde Park on Hudson – the script is grounded and realistic, with stretches of awkward small talk pierced by moments of vulnerability and candid confession. Humour creeps in as severe English decorum collides with earnest American bluntness.
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In Nelson’s unhurried staging, each sequence develops gradually, with characters sometimes feeling adrift in conversations that meander towards anticlimactic conclusions. But crisp scene changes and a willingness to embrace moments of comedy keep the piece from feeling directionless.
The diligent cast members turn in detailed, thoughtful performances. Rebecca Night is enjoyably frosty as Queen Elizabeth, slightly horrified by everything she observes of American culture, but driven to gain a deeper understanding of it. A late conversation between her and Jemma Redgrave’s richly drawn Eleanor Roosevelt provides the play’s strongest dramatic moments, with both women pushing themselves to achieve mutual respect, despite their different world views.
Andrew Havill makes a believably nervy George VI, or King Bertie, giving a well-judged performance that sensitively depicts his infamous stutter. Bertie defuses awkwardness with flashes of gentle wittiness, implying a sharp if highly strung personality under the stiff facade imposed by his rank and his loveless upbringing.
Robert Lindsay, meanwhile, projects steady self-assurance as Franklin but, like Bertie, wears a performative mask that slips more completely with every passing scene, revealing the tensions within his unorthodox marriage, his intemperate indulgence in affairs and his antipathy towards the physical disability that he refused to let define him.
A detailed soundscape by John Leonard adds significantly to the play’s subdued atmosphere. Characters comment frequently that the thin walls of the Roosevelt family home allow them to be overheard, and Leonard provides a constant susurrus of hushed arguments, muffled gramophones and the chirruping of tree frogs to imply everything that unfolds in the vicinity.
Tom Piper’s set features a stretch of worn wooden floorboards scattered with shiny rattan furniture and antique tables, which are piled high when the audience enters, giving the impression of a dusty second-hand store. An old-fashioned wheelchair sits, unused, in the shadows, suggesting the president’s larger-than-life presence before he ever appears.
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