WHAT on earth has the West End come to? Dame Kristin Scott Thomas (pictured) – or her spin doctors – attempted the clumsiest techniques of political news management recently.
When politicians have some-thing to hide, they bar the press. Last week, Dame Kristin’s people tried the same trick on London’s Shaftesbury Avenue, where “KST” is playing the queen.
Her Majesty should, I suppose, be honoured to have such a fragrant gazelle, such a precious princess, interpret her. Peter Morgan’s wonderfully written The Audience depicts the weekly meetings between the monarch and her prime ministers, from Churchill to Cameron.
La Scott Thomas succeeds the mighty Dame Helen Mirren in the role. And there, perhaps, lies the problem. To paraphrase Senator Lloyd Bentsen, “I saw Dame Helen on stage, I admired Dame Helen on stage; Dame Kristin, on stage you are no Mirren.”
Adopting airs she perhaps thought regal, Dame Kristin – once primarily a film actress – tried to bar the UK’s Daily Mail from last week’s press night. A long-standing invitation was withdrawn just hours beforehand. “No seats left,” came the brusque verdict.
Other media types were welcomed with gushy kisses. But the Mail, the paper that dared to say what it thought about this lady’s stage abilities, was banned.
Booties somewhere had been stamped. Had the didactic dame taken umbrage at an article in which this critic suggested she was lucky to be nominated for the Best Actress prize in the Olivier Awards for her performance in Electra? I suggested it was bad luck on several other actresses (I did not say they were younger) who deserved to have been recognised.
In the event, Dame Kristin did not win the prize. One cannot be sure that my Mail article was responsible, but I can disclose that one of London’s most revered theatre figures whispered “thank goodness the Mail spoke the truth – everyone else is too wet to say so”. Undeterred by the attempted ban – this sort of thing has been tried before by prime ministers, party leaders and Speakers of the Commons – I managed to buy one of the cheaper tickets in the gods at the Apollo theatre. You would not want to pay for one of the expensive stalls seats, let me assure you.
How was the play? Pretty good. Nicholas Woodeson’s Harold Wilson and Gordon Kennedy’s Gordon Brown nearly steal the show (as do a couple of royal dogs).
Sylvestra Le Touzel’s Mrs Thatcher has a row with HM over a press leak. Michael Gould’s John Major risks the queen’s fury when he suggests that royal cutbacks be made, not least axing the royal yacht Britannia.
All these are decent reasons to see a show that has matured like a vintage port and even been given a couple of topical tweaks (we see the queen’s latest audience with Cameron and she calls Ed Miliband “Cain, or is it Abel?”). And how is Her Majesty, Queen Kristin? She stumbled on a few lines and hashed a cue. Her vocal tone can be leaden yet her mannerisms, paradoxically, are overdone. Would the queen really hold her chin when she is thinking?
This is a queen who can sound sneery and does not command the stage. She telegraphs jokes too much.
In a rare imparted confidence, she leans over and bites her lip. No! Just wrong. I am not saying she is bad, but my two neigh-bours did not return for the second half.
This is such a great play, it is hard to imagine any queen bombing entirely – just as the part of Maria in The Sound of Music is bomb-proof. The Audience would do perfectly well without Dame Kristin. I bet her understudy is more than adequate.
Daily Mail