All My Sons: RJC’s Two Cents
Far be it from me to presume that I am actually worthy of putting to (a version of) print my thoughts on this star-studded production of a classic American play. Since I can hardly bring to the foreground anything we don’t already know about “All My Sons” and since I’m not a theatre critic I won’t attempt to be balanced. I shan’t pretend you’re reading this so as to make up your mind as to whether you’re going to go or not. If you are reading this you, much like me, are probably only really interested in one thing… Colin Morgan.
So here you have it folks, my review of Colin Morgan in All My Sons, sandwiched in-between the awe-struck appraisal of everything else that was also going on.
Spoiler Alert: Be warned. There be spoilers throughout. If you’ve not read or seen this play yet and wish to remain ignorant… do not read on. Lucky you. You don’t have to read this. Everyone else, too bad. (PS. It might get a big sweary towards the end.)
All My Sons was the first big hit for the American playwright Arthur Miller and marked the beginning of a stunning career where the man would amount to nothing short of genius. In All My Sons Miller’s trademark fascination with the individual vs society and the consequences of consciousness takes the foreground to devastating effect. What introduces itself as a bright, breezy and even cheerful story spirals out of control into something profoundly damaging. I could, as could anyone who has seen or read it, talk for hours upon hours about each character and the part they have to play in their own and others’ fate. The text is staggering for the seamless path it treads towards its inevitable conclusion that you could never bring yourself to actually see coming. Miller was a champion of the working class MALE and all his troubles but if there is one thing I would cite this particular production for achieving to a unique extent is the shining of a great big light on the women.
I personally have never been particularly fond of “Kate” and “Ann” as examples of female characters in Miller’s work. I tend to find Ann disappointingly lacking and overly silenced and suppressed by the men in her world. I am particularly un-forgiving of Kate whom I have always blamed for everything that happens in All My Sons. Her stubborn and ultimately self-serving desire to hang on to the illusion that her first-born son is still alive is the force behind every single line and action that propels the story to its tragic conclusion. Lord knows if she wished to cherish the illusion that she and her husband were guilt free she should have just wished Chris & Ann well and be done with it. A tactic that ought to have come naturally to Kate since Jim points out she does have a natural gift for lying. I suppose that does not mean Kate is not a great female character, even if I do think she ruined everything for not only herself, but every single person she ever cared about. If anything it just goes to show how powerful a woman she was to have driven this family and this story in the direction it goes. I just cannot help but feel that she failed to uphold any value at all in her second sons’ existence and that’s rather a typical demonstration of “Mother blaming”.
For that reason can I just take a minute to direct your attention to Sally Field who at the very last minute pulls the carpet from underneath the harsh judgement above. As a devastated son cries at her feet the expression and the look in her eye changes absolutely everything. A momentary sense of terror as her second sons’ life hangs in the balance of her next words and Sally nails it (as you would expect). “Live”. It’s just a few words but it’s the beginning of what Chris needs to hear from the only person left in his world who could possibly matter. Now there’s the Mother she really is and she puts aside anything else she could have been feeling to serve the interests of her son’s illusions this time. I have to admit I missed this moment in the text but on stage it was and has been overwhelming every single night. Sally Field’s Kate Keller, for my money, is something altogether different to “fragile”. I’d sooner say she is raw. Like a real human being capable of these huge emotions that have cost her more than is reasonable to cope with. Hardly surprising though is it? Sally Field is amazing and upped the quality of what was already at the top.
Since we are here (I realise I promised an all Colin Morgan review and I’ve not yet mentioned him. I suck at this.) let us gush a little at Jenna Coleman’s Ann. Being one hundred per cent honest, when I saw All My Sons on its very first night (way back on the 13th of April 2019), I was enchanted and left somewhat heartbroken by Jenna’s performance. She has been shining oh so very bright from the very beginning and she’s still delivering a luminous Ann to this day. There is just something about what Jenna is doing on stage that lurks in your mind and urges you to consider what’s going on under the surface. She won my heart BIG time in the third act, “I’m so lonely Kate, I can’t leave here alone again”, she’s so perfectly in tune with the struggles of an interior vs the exterior. Perhaps not surprisingly I’ve got this great big essay going through my head about how Ann is the only forgivable character in this whole play. So though she is indeed confined by the gender politics of her time and merits further exploration than her story permits… I proclaim her the ultimate winner of this production because Jenna directs your attention to that marvellously.
So if Jenna Coleman is the ultimate winner of the production she pretty much deserves to spend all night being told by Colin Morgan that he loves her. Not once, not twice but three times. Aesthetically they both make a very pleasing couple and kudos to the casting director for going “yeah, they’d be a shame to break up”. Okay, okay, yes, Colin Morgan time now.
Back in the day when I first saw Colin in “Gloria” I was awe-struck by the energy. In “Translations” it was the precision. In “All My Sons” it is the everything. The man must throw absolutely everything he has at every single performance and I cannot fathom how he copes with it. That’s why I’m a writer and he’s the actor I suppose. This is a performance that is more than worthy of all the praise it is getting. So thrilled was I to read all those gushing reviews crediting Colin as the greatest stage actor of his generation. Although I was all like “throw that stage bit out, best actor full stop mate”! I kind of felt Translations didn’t give Colin a complete journey and Gloria didn’t allow for the twists and turns to evolve in real-time. All My Sons on the other had demands a clear-cut journey from optimistic denial to shattering disappointment and likely eternal guilt. All the while carrying the full weight of the trauma of World War II. There was SO much here for Colin to work with and as you should expect he goes above and beyond with it.
(Any excuse to include a picture of Marlon Brando): I was quick to call it. The performance you get from Colin is reminiscent of what Marlon Brando was famous and loved for. They don’t carry the same physicality but what does that matter when they both cause you genuine palpitations. Their sheer openness coupled with the intensity with which they explore every single moment that they’re living is something special and if you permit me the extravagance, it’s immortal. You won’t be forgetting what it felt like to observe Chris’ journey any time soon I can promise you that. It’s the kind of intensity that you actually get genuinely nervous about, worried he’s going to hurt himself or someone else. Your pulse picks right up and then when he picks up the chair you have to do everything you can not to stand up and scream “NO CHRIS! DON’T DO IT! YOU DON’T WANNA DO THAT!” That’s what’s always been crazy good about Colin. We all know he’s ultra professional but when he’s on stage you feel so caught up in the intensity that you kid yourself he might not have it under control. You’re wrong of course. Regardless of the changing energies and unique intricacies of every different performance the man always stays true to Millers’ creation.
Plus: We shouldn’t underestimate how difficult it must be to remain open to the moment and yet never let the accent drop. Not once have I heard the real Colin. No wonder he loves accents, he’s so good at it. What we can note though is he won’t be winning any DIY awards if he keeps sawing through that tree like that. Elbows in. Angle yourself away from the blade mate. Otherwise that dream of your family is gone. Ouch. (Remembering that time when he just throws the saw down and it bounces up and lands on his foot). Thankfully he was permitted shoes for this half of the play.
I wasn’t wrong when I came up with my press night summary of Colin Morgan in All My Sons: “Colin has been Brando, Elvis but now he brings an energy reminiscent of an emo-rock band capable of saving lives.” It occurred to me that this is a performance that brings a momentum similar to that of any My Chemical Romance song (or indeed Twenty One Pilots). It’s not unlike Gerrard Way donning The Black Parade get-up and serenading an audience of thousands into believing that they are part of this immortal parade. It’s not unlike Tyler Joseph holding up a flaming touch in front of a burning car and preparing you for a revolution of thought and soul. Like any good rock star there is not a single moment of the performance he’s not using to the fullest extent. From the physical awkwardness he displays with his father to the lack of eye contact when George demands it says more than he literally can. The shared glances between him and Ann, the physical comfort he displays with his Mother and the fluctuating capacity to be comfortable with intimacy with Ann all tell his story too. Let us take a minute to just accept that though we never doubted him for a second, it was incredibly brave of him to take this on. Not because he should have had any doubt that he could do it but just because it’s such a demanding role. It requires a relentless and flawless energy night after night. Without it, the story would fall flat.
All My Sons may ultimately be about many sons but there’s only one we’re profoundly concentrated on and it’s Chris. He stood up to that pressure and look at him go… I think Frank would have to surmise that this is Colin’s favourable play (see what I did there?)
There are other people in the play if you can take your eyes off the Chris story or his short-finish shirt that I’m still confused about. I don’t recall ever seeing a shirt like that. Is that short because they can’t trust Colin to tuck it in properly or is that a legit late 40s style? Enlighten me please. Either that or maybe you spend the first half of the play worried for Colin’s feet. Seriously, boy stop kicking the chair, it hurts me just watching! Then again you might also be somewhat mesmerised by that set, from the trees to the illusion of an atmospheric sky, or maybe you’re attention is stolen by that house. Just the image of those walls paints a whole picture of the world we’re being invited into. It stands as a prominent prize and embodiment of safety, security and of course; the American dream. The product of a life lived and a graveyard. Its potential to be both a haven and a nightmare is beautifully exposed by the light tricks and its creeping quality at the beginning and the end.
So we’ve got the added interactions of the neighbours to discuss. Dr “I live in the usual darkness” Bayliss and his sassy wife Sue. The somewhat tactless Frank and his chirpy wife Lydia. They each serve a purpose and fit in rather gloriously when called upon. I’m not actually a fan of Jim Bayliss, he is the often quoted “star of honesty” guy but to me he’s just another MAN who co-creates a family and can’t be bothered to deal with the consequences of that. Forgive me if I’m in no hurry to lament his “usual darkness”. Fuck you mate. Try being your wife for five minutes and then talk to me about the usual darkness. (Getting angry there. Daddy issues. Moving on). Bessie Carter is my favourite who delivers “do you want to see my babies” so damn perfectly every night that it actually spawns a whole other essay in my head; the tragedy that is Lydia and George.
Daniel Johnstone shows up in the second act to really throw a spanner in the works and get things going. He’s got a major chip on his shoulder and we can hardly blame him. Daniel is certainly a match for Colin in this backyard battle for dominance but at the same time he’s a little lost and so easily swayed by the romantic illusion of the easy past. Kate and Joe almost have him all turned around before a slip of the truth tears that illusion down for good. Unfortunately he’s in my bad books too, although I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, being a young man of the 1940s. He commands that his sister is “one item” they’re not going to get and proclaims “you’re not the kind of girl who can live like that”. This is a line that has me gritting my teeth and almost hoping Jenna will turn around and say “Oi George! Fuck off! I’ll marry whoever I like and I ain’t no item.” Obvious feminist arguments aside, he’s relentlessly pounding at the door of the truth in a last minute dash to salvage some dignity on behalf of his father. Another character blindly pursuing what he wants without actually thinking about the cost of it. He’s somewhat judgemental of Chris’ sense of denial but if anyone should know how traumatic it is to find your Father’s not perfect it’s him. George… you really could have gone about this differently mate but oh well, that’s theatre for you.
Saved for (let us hope) last is Bill Pullman’s Joe Keller. Bill HAS been an absolute pleasure to watch every night. He brings an aptly charming facade to a deeply flawed man whom, though we struggle to wholly condemn, we can’t quite fathom forgiveness. You can see Bill as he tries with all his might to keep his family on an even keel in the first act, to keep tempers low, to maintain a false sense of harmony and disguise discomfort. You can see even more his outward longing for complete acceptance from his son and the toll it takes on him every time he gets shot down. They look nothing alike but the spark of a dying yet somehow forever binding connection is present between Colin and Bill. This makes the conclusion all the more painful. It makes “I never saw you as a man, I saw you as my father” ring so much truer than the words can read. I do find myself getting a bit teary eyed on “What am I? A stranger! What happened to my family, I thought I had a family here!” Then in the same scene he laments the loss of Larry, “that was a boy we lost”, as if wishing it were the other way around. A brutal and of course fatal flaw but if anyone can persuade you to see it human, it’s Bill Pullman.
So you might say I’m not regretting the hundreds I spent on my frequent attendance because I’ve got value for my money to the extreme. It has been said that Herrin has put together a production suitably uncomplicated. One that allows for the quality of the original text to speak the only volumes it ever needs to deliver. I would certainly agree. I recall having a panic attack on the first night when I saw a flat screen TV on stage with news reports on.
Old Vic Usher: “Manager on Radio. There appears to be some girl rocking back and forth praying to the Lilian Baylis Circle that this isn’t going to be set in the present. She’s quite adamant she won’t be happy if it is.”
Oh boy. Panic over. Crisis averted. I don’t have to scream my motto to everyone; “the past is always fucking relevant, stop hiding it”. That wasn’t my motto but I’m seriously thinking of adopting it. Anyway where was I? Oh yes, Herrin has done a superstar job of aligning a magnitude of talents to a text that could so easily fail under the weight of expectation or the idea that you’ve seen it all before. Every night it warrants a standing ovation and it’s well-deserved. This production is a finely tuned and luscious example of the power of the arts to awaken compassion and empathy in a world that can seem increasingly brutal and without hope. If you think I’ve gone a bit dark too quickly let me remind you that Donald Trump is the President of the United States and any minute now Boris Johnson is going to be the Prime Minister of Great Britain. If that’s not an argument to seek comfort from a fictional world what is?
Next up: Twenty One Pilots vs All My Sons (The Ultimate Playlist)
