Review: ABIGAIL'S PARTY, Park Theatre

Back in 1977, there were only three television channels, so it was easier to get the kind of cut-through that leads to water cooler conversations (no water coolers though). That said, the Play For Today slot usually only achieved such leverage with exposures of social scandals (eg Cathy Come Home), but Abigail's Party was the main topic of conversation in playgrounds, staff rooms and offices the morning after its airing. That was an indicator that Mike Leigh's comedy of manners had not just skewered the Zeitgeist, but also tapped into deeper anxieties, exposing them to cathartic laughter. This 2021 revival bears out that conjecture - and adds another nuance.

Beverly holds what she would call a soirée (if she knew the word) to welcome Tony and Angela to their suburban Essex neighbourhood. She also invites Susan, mother of the titular Abigail, whose teenage party is going on, noises off, as events unfold. When Beverly's husband Laurence turns up late from work, he's stressed and jumpy, Beverly brims with passive aggression (not that we knew what that was in the 70s), Tony is largely silent, Angela an irritating chatterbox and Susan anxious about what's going on next door, about what she has let herself in for in both houses. Things do not go well.

Kellie Shirley takes on the unenviable job of recreating a role that Alison Steadman so owned that it takes a while to separate past from present. Lording it over a fantastic set by Beth Colley, she wears the dress of course (though without La Steadman's somehow intimidating cleavage), and produces the same relentless stream of microaggressions and interspersed with gauche, but effective, flirting. At first, Shirley seems too polished in her looks, too gym-toned, too beautiful to be Beverly, but, and this is reflects well on her acting, the accidental monster soon emerges and smothers such thoughts.

Emma Noakes has plenty to do as Angela, the recipient of Beverly's advice whether she wants it or not. Noakes successfully treads a narrow path between the 'dumb blonde' stereotype and the immature and unsophisticated woman, tending towards the former for the comic and the latter for the dramatic, particularly in the closing scene when the character must transform from passive to active and we have to believe it.

Ryan Early, Matt Di Angelo and Barbara D'Alterio have tougher jobs rounding out their Laurence, Tony and Susan for 2021's audiences. Early can do little with Laurence beyond being stressed and director, Vivienne Garnett, does not go looking for sympathy for him - with awareness of mental illness infinitely greater now than when the play was devised, I suspect Laurence is due a reinterpretation. Di Angelo is very good on disdain and lust and when Tony takes his chance to dance with Beverly, but the role is underwritten, as is Susan, who looks surplus to requirements now.

Perhaps there's a frisson around the house too when we're invited to laugh at Beverly's populist taste in art and music, her chilling of the Beaujolais (very Non-U back then) and her ill-disguised social climbing facilitated through acquisition of goods. Are we (in Islington, lest we forget) laughing at those who did not have the benefit of university education, do not enjoy opportunities to pop across to Paris for brunch and an afternoon at The Louvre and have been bombarded all their lives with marketing that builds status on being able to afford leather sofas rather than 'leather-look'? But that's patronising Beverly - so perhaps there isn't an easy bolthole from which to laugh and wince.

Maybe the cut-through in 1977 was rooted in our seeing a reflection of our own selves in that appalling Demis Roussos soundtracked evening - there's just a hint that the comedy now comes from our seeing the reflections of others. And that's a rather different source from which the laughter can spring.

Abigail's Party is at the Park Theatre until 4 December

Photo Christian Davies

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