Dominic DiNezza reviews the divisive Martin Crimp play, In The Republic of Happiness, and finds it a sprawling, frustrating but sharp assessment of man's endless pursuit for contentment.
The subtitle is ‘an entertainment in three parts’. That’s a clue to understanding Martin Crimp’s latest Royal Court offering, In the Republic of Happiness– it’s more of an end-of-year review, examining by varied means the human quest for contentment and whether we deserve to reach the end.
The first part (‘Deconstruction of the Family’) is an almost painfully familiar Christmas family meal, over which three generations pick over their differences in a scene familiar, yet tight and sharp under Crimp’s dialogue and Dominic Cooke’s direction. The curveball comes in the form of Uncle Bob (Paul Ready), who materialises in the front room seemingly on a whim to perform a psychological demolition of each one of them, as if JB Priestley’s Inspector Goole has gatecrashed Abigail’s Party.
His uncertain, almost bumbling character assassinations are excruciating, and combined with the impotent pomposity of Peter Wight (the deluded Granddad), the beta-male bafflement of Stuart McQuarrie (Dad) and the snarky fragility of Seline Hizli and Ellie Kendrick (warring daughters Debbie and Hazel). It makes for sublime comedy, counterpointed by the spite of Anna Calder-Marshall’s Granny and the repressed rage of Emma Fielding’s Mum.
The entry of Madeleine (Michelle Terry), on whose behalf Bob’s faulting diatribe has been delivered, is equally arbitrary, yet throws a poignant light on the hitherto unseen impetus behind the action. We see not so much the 'absent' hatred of an idea, but the altogether more stilted human that can only express itself through bites and touch – the fury that cannot speak its name.
And then she launches into a bluesy number and suddenly we’re in the '70s discussion show-cum-support group of ‘The Five Essential Freedoms of the Individual’. Each actor now deconstructs and reasserts a litany of banal essential freedoms. This could be hell, and in fairness it does go on longer than necessary for the point to be adequately made, but the effect is profound – the constant over-emphasis, the leaving of no room for doubt only serves to underline the crippling, crystalline brittleness of self-help talk in all its forms. A series of ‘inspirational’ songs, arranged by Roald van Oosten like a 30s cabaret curated by Ladytron, underline the air of forced communal tranquillity.
Crimp’s titular finale is a sparse two-hander between Bob and Madeleine, now installed in the foreign country they were about to leave for and prepping for an inspirational speech to the citizens of their new-found 'happy place.' After the scattergun bile of 'Deconstruction of the Family', it seems fitting to focus on the sweetly tragic efforts of refugees from misery to impose their ideals of happiness with, if anything, even less success than previously. The opening is laboured though, and the idea is slightly reminiscent of a deconstructed Flaming Lips single.
In the Republic of Happiness sprawls, tickles and frustrates in almost equal measure, but improves when you embrace the bravura ridiculousness it identifies in humankind’s most careful and constant pursuit.
In the Republic of Happiness at Royal Court Theatre runs until 19th January 2013
Image by Johan Persson
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