The Importance of Being Earnest is hugely welcome dollop of queer joy at the National Theatre
“I don’t think I would care to catch a sensible man. I shouldn’t know what to talk to him about”
Given the inward-looking intensity of his Macbeth, it might be a little surprise just how far director Max Webster has swung the other way with his National Theatre debut. The Importance of Being Earnest opens with Doctor Who himself Ncuti Gatwa’s Algernon toying with a grand piano in a delicious shocking pink ensemble and the rest of the company dragged up every which way. A tacit acknowledgement of the gay subculture that Oscar Wilde may well have enjoyed, the play’s subtext is thus brought to the fore in the production that follows.
As Victorian society dictates a certain sense of propriety, this subset of the upper classes are pushing the boundaries as far as they can. There’s no doubting what Gatwa’s Algernon and his flamboyant suits get up to whilst Bunbury-ing, Hugh Skinner’s Jack is no less queer in his outlook and whilst they nominally chase the hands of Cecily and Gwendelon, Eliza Scanlen and Ronkẹ Adékọluẹ́jọ́ leave us in no doubt that they’re just as happy enjoying each other’s company and the opportunities offered by a giant hooped skirt.
The playground of these characters thus reset, Webster has an absolute ball in embracing embellishments and excess in all aspects, festive indulgence of a slightly different hue. Musical references include Dr Dre, Miley Cyrus and James Blunt, East London queer venue Dalston Superstore gets namechecked, one of Lady Bracknell’s hat is bigger (and brighter) than the sun. It is a whole lot of riotous fun and as the cast romp around gaily over Rae Smith’s wryly observed set design of playfulness and pomp, it is clear they’re having a ball too.
The closeness of this Algernon and Jack may raise an eyebrow given the way the plot rolls out but its of authenticity of the intimacy of queer family. Gatwa’s innate self-confidence shines through and Skinner is both hilarious and moving in a beautifully judged performance. Scanlen and Adékọluẹ́jọ́ also impress in their effervescence. Richard Cant and Amanda Lawrence are no less good fun as a broad and bawdy Canon Chasuble and Miss Prism, just as horned up as the young’uns, and Julian Bleach near steals the show with his pair of vivid manservants.
Lest things get too frivolous, Sharon D Clarke’s Lady Bracknell rules the roost with extraordinary work. She’s so reliable a performer that you know she’s always going to be good but as this Caribbean matriarch, she’s phenomenal, stinging with her putdowns, intelligent with her line readings, unmissable with every gesture and haughty lift of her chin. Smith’s costumes for her are utterly gorgeous too.
With Webster having reintroduced the original four-act structure to the play, my only slight cavil is that the resulting production does feel a touch overstretched, particularly once a pageant-like coda is added. It’s the kind of over-indulgence of eating too much Christmas dinner though, so much of a good thing that even though you know we could have had a bit less, it was hugely enjoyable nonetheless. A hugely welcome dollop of queer joy whose impact and insight on one of our key stages should not be denied.
