Rodney Ackland’s sprawling portrait of dreamers, oddballs and drunk bohemians was controversial when it premiered — with the title The Pink Room — in 1952. At a time when Britain was in the grip of strident patriotism, it seemed troublingly decadent and bleak. Rarely revived, it’s a bloated play with too many underdeveloped storylines. But director Joe Hill-Gibbins has assembled a classy cast, and his interpretation has moments of startling savagery and topical zest.
It’s the summer of 1945, and chaos reigns at La Vie en Rose, a Soho club close to the headquarters of the Labour Party. A General Election is imminent, and a Labour landslide is on the cards. Familiar social boundaries are being dissolved, yet the mood is sour, as if some of wartime’s unusual sexual freedoms are about to be revoked.
Presiding over the club is Christine, lonely and fragile beneath a veneer of brassy self-assurance. Kate Fleetwood captures her volatility, and there’s an equally alert and interesting performance from Charles Edwards as Hugh, a writer stewing in disappointment — perpetually trying to cadge a cigarette, a whisky or £200, while evading his amusingly out-of-touch mother (Joanna David).
They’re surrounded by people who are either grotesque or awkwardly isolated. The most memorable performances come from Sinéad Matthews as fiery hedonist Elizabeth and Jonathan Slinger, who’s horribly captivating as film producer Maurice, forever honking contemptuously at the woes of others.
The production is suitably louche, with a fine sense of the characters’ hollow camaraderie. It’s expertly choreographed, too. But over the course of more than three hours it feels like a succession of well-observed conversations, which don’t coalesce into something more nourishing.
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