A sprawling tree like a cradle, a serene haven for suburban Adam and Eve: Catherine and William Blake. When a visitor intrudes, Paradise is Lost in more than one way. The tree leaves are dead and the crowd outside of this South London Eden is roaring. Revolutions, counter revolutions – killing in the name of freedom and human rights and wars to make peace or to free the oppressed. We’re in the Long Eighteenth century and in France, Britain, America – everywhere, really, unquenchable forces are uprooting the old order.
Jack Shepherd’s 1989 play is a fictionalised account of an encounter between Blake, a poet who converses with angels, his wife and Thomas Paine, the political commentator who stirred up the war for independence in America; the conservative meets the republican. Paine is not invited, trails a flock of angry anti-revolution protesters behind him and he also brings some meaty issues to discuss along with him. What good does art do in times of conflict? Is it the moral obligation of the artist to intervene or should he merely observe? Is change of corrupted power always a change for the best? Is it important to carefully ask questions or do you find answers to problems through action?
Tom Mothersdale’s Blake is a bemused and innocent sort of fellow, displaying the odd bout of childlike wonderment and eagerness when playing with his new toy in form of a late 18th century intercontinental revolutionist. Christopher Hunter delivers a forceful foil, playing Paine at first sermonising and later more enraged and provocative. Once warmed up, the belief systems of their characters clash rather beautifully. Paine believes that injustices like child labour and illiteracy need to be fixed in whatever way necessary even if it means overthrowing ruling class. Blake argues that violence must inevitably breed more violence. He argues that there needs to be some sort of revelation before sending people into their deaths for a hazy utopia that has never been created in thought.
Blake and Paine struggle to find a common language to negotiate their seemingly irreconcilable ideas about social change. Their anchor in reality is Blake’s wife, played by Melody Grove who keeps the difficult balance between admiration and bewilderment for these men full of abstract ideas. An unequal woman among men discussing equality. While the men drink and talk themselves into a rage, she is the one who interacts with the people on the streets. She sends the menacing protesters circling the Blake property on their way and protects the Paine from the lynch mob. The naturalistic staging and open performances create a sense of listening in to a dinner table discussion which fails to maintain the same level of engagement throughout.
The immediacy of the revolution around doesn’t quite make it into the garden (Ruth Sutcliffe’s divine design). Even the regular reminder that this is a local story taking place not far from Blake’s residence doesn’t change that. Maybe some of the audio effects are too incongruent to create a sense of danger. Maybe there is not enough externalisation of thought. Either way, Michael Kingsbury’s interpretation of In Lambeth leaves Eden intact. It is not crying bloody murder or even shouting out loud that we desperately need art to examine processes of social change. It remains a tame play of ideas which is a right shame given the explosive power of these ideas today.
Originally written for Exeunt.
“.displaying the odd bout of childlike wonderment and eagerness when playing with his new toy in form of a late 18th century intercontinental revolutionist..” – tehee 🙂
Sounds a bit tame all in all, indeed. Shame.
Would have loved to see the set design!
PS: The woman does all the work, while the men drink and talk – psh!