Phèdre

A gorgeous set is the first thing that struck me when the curtain rose on Phèdre at the Lyttelton. All golds and blues, I so wanted to step onto the cold stone, find my way to the sandy beach and dabble my toes in the sea that appeared to be just out of view.

Describing the plot in work the next day as a lustful queen attempting to seduce an unwilling stepson, a colleague commented ‘Ah, posh Eastenders then’. And yes, that was exactly what it was.

In places things got slightly over-wrought and a touch overburdened by a couple of long, declamatory speeches. I get a bit impatient with those ‘messenger’ type speeches where all the excitement happens just offstage, and rather than just tell us, the messenger has to act it all out, usually rather badly. This was no exception.

Helen Mirren and Dominic Cooper stood out though in giving performances which, if not exactly naturalistic, worked well within the confines of the play. Helen Mirren’s desperate lust reminded me of so many middle aged women, and Dominic Cooper’s gorgeous disdainfulness was Darcy-like in its straight-backed aloofness. Colin Firth’s Darcy did come to mind on a few occasions as Cooper made use of the tap at the side of the stage. At some points I wondered whether there was a wet t-shirt competition being held just out of sight around the corner on the beach. As a device for reminding us of the character’s need to a) wash himself clean, b) cool himself down, it was very effective. Of course, each time he doused himself there was a palpable rise in female temperature in the room, giving us a little taste of Phèdre's feelings, so maybe that was the real point.

Certainly, the play overall was a feast for the eyes and an intense, if slightly overheated, and just a teensy bit sudsy, enjoyable night out.