The Tide Has Turned at the National
The huge cast of London Tide came slowly crawling out of the Thames and began singing. They looked rough. The singing was rougher, but this was Dickensian London where everyone was singing for their supper or waiting for a Henry Mayhew visit, writes Michael Holland.
As the waves lapped against the wharf a small boat appeared seeking floating corpses that the Hexams could turn into money. Few questions were asked by the authorities when Gaffer Hexam and his children Charlie and Lizzie deposited the dead. No one queried why every cadaver seemingly died penniless – Light-fingered Gaffer saw those pennies as his perk for such macabre work.
Adapted by Ben Power from Dickens’ Our Mutual Friend, London Tide gives a real feel for the dark side of Victorian London but very little else.
The huge, dark, almost empty black box stage overshadowed a sombre cast costumed in 10 shades of grey who struggled to shed light on the convoluted plot without the aid of a narrator.
Yes, all the Dickens stuff was there: the boy sent away to better himself, the evil tutor whose name should have given his ulterior motive away, fortunes left by mysterious benefactors, mistaken identities, lies and falsehoods, and all while the poor struggled to survive in a society that didn’t care. Factor in a one-note dirge by PJ Harvey that continually reappeared with different lyrics and you really wished the end was nigh.
And that’s why, by the interval, I felt like I was immersed in a funeral march heading for a wake where only the family members who didn’t like the deceased were asked to sing songs and give tributes.
There was a noble attempt to focus on the women in a patriarchal society having all life’s decisions made for them by men, but I had began not to care.
London Tide needed a dash of colour to keep my weary eyes open but it never came. I hoped that when Bradley Headstone had nose bleeds we might see a drop of Kensington Gore. No such luck. Even the semi-happy ending raised no spirits here.
The only glitter in all the Limehouse grime was Ellie-May Sheridan as Jenny Wren – a bright spark who added sparkle whenever she was on stage. Ellie-May was fortunate enough to have the one line that got a laugh.
This play should have worked. With Dickens and the team assembled to do the job, I really expected great things. Perhaps if the songs were sung by those with decent voices rather than with mere passion it might have helped, but London Tide has, alas, gone a long way in turning me off Dickens’ adaptations and going off a city I have lived in and loved all my life.
Lyttelton Theatre, National Theatre, South Bank, London SE1 9PX until 22nd June. Times: Mon – Sat 7pm; Wed & Sat Matinees 1pm. Admission: £20 – £99.
Booking: www.nationaltheatre.org.uk
Assisted performances Captioned Performances: Thursday 23 May 2024 – 7pm, Friday 17 June 2024 – 2.15pm, Friday 26 April 2024 – 7.30pm
