by Helene Hanff
Homerton College Small Studio
November 4-8
Dir. Marion Durand; Homerton Amateur Theatrical Society

Four Stars

First, a confession. I never really understood the enduring popularity of Helene Hanff’s 84 Charing Cross Road: a book based on letters never seemed to be a page turner, so to speak. And when the opening exchanges between Hanff and London bookseller Frank Doel appeared burdened by the clunky process of dating each letter –as well as by a raucous martial arts session on the floor below – I felt a certain sense of vindication.

For the most part though, Marion Durand’s production completely proved me wrong, and karate-chopped any prejudices I once had. The intimate setting of Homerton College’s Small Studio is the perfect location for a play as simple as this, and the decision to use dual stages proved truly inspired. The audience, sitting in the middle of Hanff and Doel, became part of the correspondence, caught up in the happiness and frustration of collecting rare literature, as well as the hardships of the post-War era.

The acting could have easily resorted to Anglo-American stereotypes, and although they occasionally surface, they are for the most part left in the Hugh Grant movies where they belong. Nic Pollard’s American drawl is very convincing, but it was Oliver Soden as Doel who really stood out: his rich, unamplified voice filled the room with the wondrous titles of Hanff’s dreams; Catullus, Hazlitt, and Quilter Couch rolled off his tongue like butter.

And as a dialogue-driven play, this was absolutely crucial. There is little happening on stage, and it was quite possible to unwind and let the unfolding relationship wash over one’s head. When the excellent Soden did stride towards the front of his stage, in an act of defiance at the distance between the two, it was moving. When he shuffled off for the last time, it was even more so.

Technically, the play is executed with black-belt competency: lighting and sound is kept to a minimum, and although the pre-recorded letters are somewhat confusing, on the whole they add to the experience. But it is Pollard and Soden who really drive this play, and anything else seems like a distraction.

On the whole then, this production is certainly worth the cycle ride that will probably stop it becoming more successful than it deserves; for those who do venture out into the cold, it is certainly a very pleasant and relaxing way to spend an evening. Which is more than can be said, perhaps, for the Tae-Kwon-Do going on beneath.

Alasdair Pal