We trolled off
en masse to the marvellous Menier Chocolate Factory last night to see another of its famed revivals,
Torch Song Trilogy, and we were utterly overwhelmed by its excellence.
Having read many of the reviews today, I find a bit of a thread going through the (mainly straight) reviewers' comments - "dated", "period piece", "look at what the gays have now", all slightly dismissive in tone. Even thirty years on from the era in which the play is set, all is not so rosy in the "gay garden", actually, folks! The opening night of
Torch Song Trilogy coincided with
the vitriolic condemnation of homosexuality (in the context of gay marriage) by those bigots in the Church of England, bullying of gay kids is on the rise not falling, and rejection by parents and families is still a frightening and confusing experience for many gays. Soap-box over, and on with the show...
Harvey Fierstein 's
Torch Song Trilogy is a masterpiece, of that there really should be no doubt. Its premise - three chapters in the rollercoaster-ride that is the life of drag queen Arnold Beckoff - draws the audience into the position of not merely observer, but practically a participant. The stories themselves are fairly familiar - man meets man and falls in love, man loses man to another (this time to a woman), man finds new love, tragedy ensues and men meet again years later and try and disentangle their experiences. But this is bigger than just a soap opera. Arnold is perhaps one of the most sincere, believable and complex characters written in a drama of this kind - sympathetic yet selfish, put-upon yet acidly dismissive, above all defiant in the face of every melodrama the world can throw at him.
In the hands of the brilliant David Bedella, Arnold really shines. His sheer omnipresence in the role forces us, the witnesses to his unfolding story, to immerse ourselves in it all - for
three hours the man is constantly in our sights, never off stage, never sidelined, never silenced. Not by widowhood, not by desertion, not even by his mother! Mr Bedella really brings his humour, the glitter, the warmth, the rage and the tears to life. Not least in
my favourite monologue of all time (here are some extracts):
"I think my biggest problem is being young and beautiful. It's my biggest problem because I've never been young and beautiful. Oh, I've been beautiful. And God knows I've been young, but never the twain have met. Not so as anyone would notice anyway. Y'know a shrink acquaintance of mine believes this to be the root of my attraction to a class of men most subtly described as old and ugly. I think he's underestimating my wheedles. See, a ugly person who goes after a pretty person gets nothing but trouble, but a pretty person who goes after a ugly person gets at least cab fare. Now, I ain't sayin' I never fell for a pretty face, but when les jeux sont fais, gimme a toad with a pot o' gold and I'll give you three meals a day. Cuz honeys, ain't no such thing as a toad when the lights go down. It's either feast or famine. It's the daylight you gotta watch out for. Well face it, a thing of beauty is a joy 'til sunrise...
With a voice and a face like this, what do I got to worry about? I can always drive a cab. You know there are easier things in this life than being a drag queen. But I ain't got no choice. See, um... Try as I may, I just can't walk in flats!
You know there was one guy once. His name was Charlie. Aw, he was everything you could want in an affair and more: he was tall, handsome, rich, deaf. The deafness was the "more." He ain't never yelled at me, never complained if I snored. All his friends was nice and quiet. I even learned me some of that deaf sign language. Oh I…I remember some. [signs with hands] "Cockroach." Means "fuck." Oh this here's my favourite. Means "I love you." And I did too. But um…"not" "enough." You know, in my life I've slept with more men than are named and or numbered in the bible, old and new testaments put together. But not once has someone said "Arnold, I love you." That I could believe. And I ask myself: "Do you really care?" You know the only honest answer I can give myself is "yes." I care. I care a great deal. But, "not" "enough."
Part one,
International Stud (a real-life Greenwich Village bar of the 80s), introduces us to Arnold, his formidable wit and tenacity and his hang-ups about sex (graphically depicted in the infamous dark-room scene), and to the man who is to become his big "love interest" Ed (played with remarkable aplomb by, in my opinion, one of Britain's sexiest actors Joe McFadden). Possibly the most self-absorbed man one could have the misfortune to fall in love with, Ed genuinely wants "to have his cake and eat it". Clumsily discarding Arnold's formerly central role in his life in favour of the easy option of marrying a woman, he deserves every second of the rage that the fiery drag diva fires at him.
In the second segment
Fugue in a Nursery, blood has flowed under the bridge. Arnold is now enamoured of the ditzy blond model Alan - played in all his shallow, arrogant, attention-seeking glory by the utterly gorgeous Tom Rhys Harries - and the couple are invited by Ed and his idealistic wife Laurel (the impressive Laura Pyper) to spend a weekend in their rural "idyll" (in truth anything but). A game of emotional (and sexual) chess begins. Mostly played out (metaphorically) in eye-popping fashion on one outsized bed (we appreciated the many forward rolls, bends, squats and thrusts by Mr McFadden and Mr Rhys Harries in particular!), Laurel's apparent naiveté is soon rudely shaken by the reality of her own situation, as Alan and Ed fuck, and she and Arnold hissily exchange home truths like two pampered pedigree cats trapped in a cage. Of course, this unresolved merry-go-round is brought to a shattering conclusion when, back in New York, Alan is brutally murdered by homophobic thugs.
The whole theatre was in a stunned silence.
After the much-needed break [this is a long play - three hours in all], we find ourselves further down the line of complications in Arnold's life, in
Widows and Children First. Still mourning Alan, he is now proud "mother" to traumatised gay teenager David (convincingly played as odd yet street-wise by Perry Millward), and Ed has hoved back into view after his relationship with Laurel finally petered out. The cobwebs of this almost-but-not-quite cosy situation are about to blown categorically out of the window however, with the arrival of the fearsome Mrs Beckoff, Arnold's own mother (magnificently played by theatrical
grande dame Sara Kestelman). With some of the best interchanges in the whole epic, their showdown is simultaneously the excuse for blood-letting of the highest order, and the springboard for many of the deepest simmering realities of just who and what "makes" Arnold the man he is, to come - explosively - into the open.
""Whoops" is when you fall down an elevator shaft. "Whoops" is when you skinny-dip in a school of piranha. "Whoops" is when you accidentally douche with Drano! No, Ed. This was no "whoops." This was an AAAAAAAAAAAAAHA-HA-HA-HA!"
With the closing "torch song"
I Will Never Turn My Back On You (a song previously unknown to me, performed beautifully by the entire cast) we were finally allowed to come to terms with the emotional wringer we had been put through. And yes, we cried. Even a hard-bitten bitch like me cried. We also gave the performers the most resounding ovation.
This is a theatrical experience I simply must recommend to everyone. Director Douglas Hodge has masterminded a staggeringly good production; the whole cast (and the clever sets) were superb. The music (thankfully) was subtly delivered on a harp, and the songs (each performed by members of the cast as an aside to the main scenes) such as
My Funny Valentine and
You Made Me Love You were just perfect.
Do I sense another West End transfer? I hope so!
Torch Song Trilogy is on at Menier Chocolate Factory until 12th August 2012.
