Now that Jamie Lloyd Company has taken Harold Pinter’s Betrayal to Broadway, I am reminded that I never delivered on my promise to review the two performances I saw in April. This stateside debut provides an excellent opportunity for Americans to see and appreciate Pinter. With that in mind, I offer my humble endorsement.
Be it cinema, TV screen, or stage, I’m in the habit of reading source material before I watch it. I’m embarrassed to admit that my recent London trip inspired my introduction to Harold Pinter. How can I call myself thespian without knowledge of his work? Determined to understand the production before hitting the West End, I read the play on my flight.
At only 53 pages, it flew by. After finishing, I didn’t quite understand the buzz surrounding this legacy. Frequent pauses and dry dialogue did not translate well for me. The melancholy ending weighed on me more than expected, and not in the way I like. I appreciate a sad story more than most, but this heaviness crushed. As I saw it, there was one victim, two villains, and no room for interpretation.
Even more embarrassing, I could not envision an entertaining stage production. Despite the star-studded cast, I arrived with low expectations. No doubt, the actors would do fine in the American sense. Much to my delight, they delivered a fine British performance.
The live rendition ripples with potent subtext so clear I should be smacked with my copy of the play. The elongated pauses I found so difficult to read, drew out important moments as uncomfortable, humorous, or both. Unspoken lashes whip from the stage. Understood slights and jabs. It’s painful to watch, yet a pain you enjoy. Body language, facial expression, and precise delivery punctuated every line. Between heavy dramatic moments, are light, whimsical breaks. The cast controls every measure, each note orchestrated on beat.
The curtain rose to a barebones set comprised of two chairs, two bottles, and three people. It’s a triangle of relationships, but not in the usual sense. More than simply connected, these people are entwined, a mutual entanglement reflected in the director’s brilliant decision to keep all three actors visible for the duration of the play. Regardless of whether the character is physically involved or not, he or she remains as the proverbial elephant on the stage. On page, the play reads as a series of duets. Jamie Lloyd’s Brechtian choice showcases how each unacknowledged presence haunts the active players. Save for one pivotal scene, there is no part of this story that does not involve all three.
There are no heroes or villains. Each character possesses his/her own truth. As the play unfolds, or rewinds, rather as it’s told in reverse order, those separate truths battle, bend, and blend into one story, exploring the psyche of three people who both love and hurt each other. Every character feels lonely or isolated, yet they are never alone. The transference of energy between the three ebbs and flows with a life of its own. Even when coupled, the three remain connected.
I knew what to expect from Charlie Cox. I was unenthusiastic to hear of his Matt Murdoch casting. After seeing him in Stardust, I could not picture sweet Tristan Thorn as gritty Daredevil. And I didn’t have to. Tristan Thorn was nowhere near Hell’s Kitchen. Charlie Cox disappeared in his Marvel role, proving him the best choice for the character. He delivered so well, I’m almost tempted to revise my list of Top Ten MCU Castings Choices.
His portrayal of Jerry in Betrayal solidified my opinion of his talented range. He frustrates, amuses, and infuriates all while the audience roots for his comprehension. Ever the lovesick schmuck, he keeps the question of “Why” present until the surprising, but satisfying answer.
Like Harold Pinter, I’d never heard of Zawe Ashton. (At least she’s in good company.) Able to possess both frailty and power, she binds the three together. Her lovely smiles vary between forced and bitter, polite charm, or genuine joy. She is the biggest betrayer, yet her pain reigns most potent, and it’s through Emma that all suffer their injuries.
Somehow, she remains lightest among them. Her sweetness transcends her sharp deliveries. As the least oblivious among them, you’d expect the burden to incapacitate her. Her feminine strength carries her through each moment of weakness. Well, all but one. It’s the kind of performance that has you checking her backlog of work to see what you’ve missed. Turns out, she’s an author too. Can’t wait to immerse in her book and her previous projects.
It’s unsettling to sit close to Tom Hiddleston while he’s on stage. Not because he’s attractive, or even due to his skilled performance. (Admittedly, he’s dazzling on both counts.) It’s something I didn’t notice from the tenth row, the first time I watched the play. It was unavoidable days later, when I watched six rows closer.
You see, he watches you. His eyes glide over the audience while he delivers his lines, his face maintaining a dignified mask of quiet intensity shielding the storm within. He never misses a beat. This role is so ingrained in him that it requires no thought, no concentration, no acting. He simply is Robert. And, he captivates during his portrayal.
I say portrayal, but that implies a performance on his part. There is none. Before ascending the stage, he shapeshifts from renowned actor to betrayed husband and friend. This is most evident when he learns of Emma’s affair. During both shows, I ached for him. Robert’s fear belies his guarded reserve while he questions her about Jerry. Tense shoulders, furrowed brow, tight lips. Her confirmation slices through him, yet he remains still. He offers only a flinch, too slight and nuanced to be rehearsed. His heated pangs swell within your chest, then tighten around your broken heart. The pain in his eyes grips you even before the tears begin to flow—his and yours.
An inflated production would have drained this show of its power. The minimalist stage strips the performance to raw emotion. No tricks. No distractions. Just pure, organic behaviors culminating in a trifecta of tears, turmoil, and tenderness.
And so, true thespian or not, I did not grasp the potential in Pinter’s pages on my own. Yet even guided by Jamie Lloyd’s insightful direction, I recognize that theatre is the actor’s medium. No two shows are ever the same. There lies a delicate balance in the relationships between writer, actor, and director. Seeing the metamorphosis from page to stage opened my mind, expanded my vision. I’m still learning. This is a perfect opportunity for you to do so too.
Through December 8th, 2019, you can see Jamie Lloyd Company’s revival of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre on Broadway.
If you’d like to discuss the show or my review, please drop me a note in the comments section.
