Review of ‘Mary Page Marlowe’: “Susan Sarandon’s brief performance hardly shines in unenlightened play”

The Old Vic hosts the UK premiere of Tracy Letts’s coming-of-age play — in a new production directed by Matthew Warchus and starring Susan Sarandon and Andrea Riseborough. Guillermo Nazara shares his views on the show to let us know if its exploration of parental neglect and childhood trauma adopts the right form.

“If you’re gonna be mean, at least be accurate.” I’m not saying that line has given me carte blanche for the writing of this review. Then again, here we are. And, long story short, if you’ve been holding your breath in excitement for the London premiere of Tracy Letts’s coming-of-age play, you may be entitled to claim an oxygen refund. It may not be terrible (and, in all fairness, there are a few redeeming features to take solace in), but there’s nothing special, revolutionary, gripping, or even entertaining in the life of self-appointed mess, Mrs. Mary Page Marlowe.

Following the moderate success of its Off-Broadway run (leading to a one-week extension), the piece’s travel across the pond is defined by a journey of metamorphosis. And so, The Old Vic’s Artistic Director, Matthew Warchus, has taken the slippery reins of Letts’s uninspired script. The result is a visually powerful staging that might be the only good element of the production — at least, from a creative side.

There’s not much to say about the plot. Every tale has been told before, but this one could have made a better effort in disguising it. On the whole, it doesn’t stand too far from a rehash of tired plotlines, exploring a subject that, though relevant, is hardly original. Employing a non-linear structure (a pinch of spice in an overall bland concoction), the recount takes us throughout the trials and tribulations of an alcoholic, three-time married woman and her unfulfilled quest to find the peace she desperately craves.

She can’t be blamed for all her faults — or at least, that’s how the author’s not-so-subtle intentions come across. From the beginning, we are offered a taste of her sour upbringing. Her mother rarely looked after her as a baby. As a child, her existence was marked by an open scar of trauma, abuse, and parental neglect. It sounds more poignant than it actually is, however. Its premise may not be the most groundbreaking. In fact, I can’t think of another idea that’s been replicated more in the last decades, to the point that a Saturday Night Live skit may be in the making. But its potential for an emotionally pungent narrative is still latent. For some reason, though, Letts’s has opted not to profit from it.

The storyline is extremely weak. A middle-aged Mary opens the show, informing her children that she and her husband are filing for divorce, and they must come live with her in Kentucky — much to their dismay and the audience’s understanding. It’s not a hooking start, but it has a pulse. With the right treatment, it could still give rise to something deep and stirring. That’s not the case here, though. Nothing ever moves beyond the bounds of exposition. The protagonist’s arc is sketchy and poorly resolved. All in all, we are presented with a scrapbook of aleatory sequences that explain the character’s motivations and underpin her personality. Yet, there’s not enough conflict or evolution to follow. And inevitably, a feeling of disconnection begins to cement.

The dialogue flows adequately, despite some occasional clichés. Yet, the pacing is flawed by the scenes’ vacuous essence. There’s not much to grasp in quite a few of them. And if some were cut entirely, the recount wouldn’t suffer at all.

Their stagnant rhythm and intermittent sense of inconclusiveness doesn’t help either. Ultimately, there’s no engagement quality, and the recount comes off as a melange of humdrum events devoid of any uniqueness — and consequently, enticement. It is the job of a good dramatist to turn the mundane into something exceptional; to convert the prosaic nature of everyday life into the resonant poetry of theatrical storytelling; and to find the heart in the apparent soulessness of the world. Sadly, Letts’s writing does nothing of the sort.

Warchus’s approach to the material still flaunts some strengths. Performed in the round, a bare, carpeted stage serves as the whole set (credited to Rob Howell). Plain chairs and tables delineate the different atmospheres by changing places from scene to scene. And Hugh Vanstone’s uncomplicated yet suggestive lighting enhances the design’s intimate tone. There’s an air of proximity and, above all, a sense of self-confession. Yet, the script’s sloppiness prevents any further accomplishments from materialising.

The acting is generally compelling. The whole troupe performs their roles with chemistry and flair, regardless of the piece’s limited opportunities for subtext. Andrea Riseborough gives an exquisitely raw portrayal of 40-year-old Mary, evenly paired with Eden Epstein’s harrowing interpretation as her absent mother, Roberta.

You won’t get to see much of Susan Sarandon other than the roughly 15 minutes she stands in the spotlight. Unfortunately, the wait isn’t worth it. Her appearances might be rare, but there’s hardly anything special about them. She’s not completely flat, but her brief experience in the theatre is palpable, unable to bring sufficient presence to the character and making questionable pauses in her delivery, coming off as an attempt to give herself more time to remember her next line rather than an actual dramatic choice.

Every story has been told. And some of them don’t need to be told again. Mary Page Marlowe isn’t a solid concept, but the potential still lingered around. Wistfully, its underdeveloped arcs and scarce innovativeness leave this plot at an embryonic state — and it makes us wonder if they even had a chance in the first place. Of course, if there’s any teaching in this play, that’s how most of us might deserve a second or even a third one. But that’s just fiction. And  that’s what the absolution for its writing is staying as right now.

All pictures credit to Manuel Harlan.

Mary Page Marlowe plays at London’s Old Vic until 1 November. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara