Review: MIDDLE, National Theatre

David Eldridge's new play, the second in his trilogy of works scrutinising modern relationships, is not just about middle age, a couple realising that their marriage is on the rocks, but a probing of middle-class identity. Yet for all its strengths, the production is marred by its ambiguous attitude towards social mobility that leaves a strange aftertaste.

The premise is simple. Over an hour and a half, Gary and Maggie realise that their marriage has deteriorated. They unpack their emotional baggage in their John Lewis style kitchen decorated with personalised mugs and Jamie Oliver cookbooks. Daniel Ryan's subtlety and nuance as Gary is gorgeously naturalistic, fully fusing with the world around him. Claire Rushbrook as Maggie took time to find her feet, at first teetering towards melodrama rather than a naturalism. But she soon settled into the role, creating the sense of decaying love between husband and wife at the core of the narrative.

Their performances are anchored by astoundingly crafted direction. Director Polly Findlay and movement director Anna Morrissey understand and manipulate the space between the actors to map the emotional landscape. The two are like conductors of an orchestra revealing the warmth, indignation, and melancholy from the score, in this case Eldridge's at times meandering script.

Sometimes Gary and Maggie flee towards the safety of a sofa or shelter behind the kitchen counter from the barrage of emotional bullets fired their way. Sometimes they bask in each other's warmth, tangled in a loving embrace. Directing a two-hander play set in a single room over an hour and a half is no easy task. Findlay and Morrissey must be applauded for keeping the production fluid.

It is not just the trials and tribulations of middle-age that Eldridge wants to explore, but also middle-class identity. Part of the tension within their marriage derives from Gary's status as newly established middle-class. A self-made and self-proclaimed 'city boy' from working-class origins, whose material ambitions are quenched by holidays and John Lewis furniture. His cultural sensibility clashes with his wife's comfortably middle-class perspective on life and marriage.

Maggie's repressed dreams, as a university educated, middle-class woman, are more existential. She has reached the daunting realise that her desire of working in the television industry will remain as a fleeting ethereal thing; unattainable, tantalising, always lingering behind the monotony of her daily life. Eldridge is ambiguous when it comes to Maggie. She is tortured by her love for another man, yet she is also spoiled. She knows that the worst thing that happened to her was not receiving the birthday present she wanted for her 18th birthday.

There are moments where it is not clear if Eldridge wants to deconstruct class snobbery or unintentionally reinforce it. Several moments risk condescending to Gary as an Essex geezer-type, as monied but uneducated, hardworking but crass, slightly overweight and balding, someone to be freely mocked because of who he is. Whilst his wife sneaks off to exhibitions at Tate Modern, he prefers watching West Ham.

The final moments see him fix a windowpane that he smashed earlier, after learning of his wife's love for another man. His comically naïve solution is to use a cardboard cereal box to cover the smashed glass. Does he really believe that this is a viable solution or is it a symbol of his attempt to fix the marriage? Regardless, the audience erupted in laughter sadistically, as they had done before, at his awkwardness, immaturity, and lack of emotional intelligence. It felt cruel, even if it was unintentional.

Middle runs at The National Theatre until 18 June.

Photography by Johan Persson.

To post a comment, you must register and login.