Miracle – Leicester Square Theatre, London

Writer: Reza de Wet

Translator: Stephen Stead and the author

Music: Joe Evans

Director: Linnie Reedman

Reviewer: Michael Gray

The Public Reviews Rating:

Deep in the basement – beneath Notre Dame de France, appropriately – a dusty crypt has been created. Feathers and leafmould litter the floor. “A pigsty”, exclaims Salome as she enters the darkened space.

There’s a melancholy accordeon playing in a corner. On the stairs, a fortune-teller is a clue that the circus is in town, a razzmatazz rival to the production of Everyman that Dante Du Pre has brought to this remote country town.

Reza de Wet’s play was originally written in Afrikaans, and set in her native South Africa. Linnie Reedman’s spare but powerful production, for the enterprising Ruby in the Dust theatre company, has removed some of the African references, though one is still reminded that this is how Afrikaans theatre began, on the dusty road with fit-up tours.

The fictional company, “servants of a sacred art”, is run by Dante and his wife Salome, with stage-struck youngsters whom his charisma has drawn in along the way. Innocence and experience.

And that contrast was evident in the acting company, too. Rowan Schlosberg was a dark, brooding Abel, the Hamlet and the Everyman, though nothing hinted that he would be even adequate in those roles. His Lenie, destined to end like Ophelia in a willow brook, was Kate Colebrook, in a tender, moving performance, especially when she obsessively imagines leaving town by the morning train. Actor musician Christopher Dingli was a significant presence as the idealist Antoine. The two veteran thesps – Sir and Her Ladyship if you like – were in the safe hands of Tim Woodward and Susannah York. They both had superb monologues in Act Two, and their stormy relationship was one of the strengths of the piece. York’s lament for her lost frocks, her faith in her faded photograph, were wonderful moments.

De Wet writes another great female role for Anna, the enigmatic Lady Bountiful who comesout of the darkness, seeking to supplant Lenie in the company and in Abel’s affections. Lynne Miller caught the mood exactly, and her calm but sinister presence cast a chill over the crypt.

The play, heavy with significance and symbolism, does not always translate well, and the performances sometimes lacked polish. But this revival, which began before Christmas in a less intimate crypt, was an absorbing exploration of the mystery of the drama and the heartless world of the theatre.