They say comparison is the thief of joy. So while, to my shame, I have not seen Jez Butterworth’s previous, critically acclaimed smash-hit Jerusalem – the Mark Rylance-helmed production which other critics have already been quick to reference in their write-ups of The Hills of California – it certainly felt refreshing to review this play on its own merits, with little expectation or prejudice. The only problem is that there isn’t much that’s joyous when it comes to these three hours of bumbling boredom. It’s erratically directed by Sam Mendes (of Skyfall, The Lehman Trilogy and The Motive and the Cue), and it’s unevenly written – and at times, underwritten – by Butterworth.
The story follows the Webb sisters, once a group of four singing child stars, gathered at the family hotel in Blackpool because their mother is on her deathbed upstairs. One of them, though – Joan (Laura Donnelly), the most rebellious and evidently the closest to their stern mother/manager (also played by Donnelly) – is yet to arrive from California. A finite number of details which Butterworth sees fit to spend a good hour elaborating upon in the first act, and in his directing style, it gives an impression that Mendes knows it.
Dialogue is hastily delivered as if there’s an urgency or importance to the meaningless anecdotes shared in flashbacks and the ‘present day’ – there isn’t. At the same time as trying to establish exactly which of the three sisters gripes is integral to the plot, I was having to spend time making sure I captured the last line spoken, uttered without a single pause. It wasn’t even the case that I was alone in experiencing this, or that this was unique to me as a Deaf theatre critic; the seat in the row in front of me was taken in the interval by a man who remarked he was struggling to hear several rows back.
What’s most damning of a playwright held in such high esteem as Butterworth, is that the first act could have been cut completely, and we would have been left with a tighter two act play. At this point we know exactly why Joan is singled out amongst the four, giving more weight and justification to the tension within this fractured family. We have more character development, too, even if the trio are each confined to one reductionist personality trait. Jill (Helena Wilson) is the awkward virgin who doesn’t have anyone else in her life, Gloria (Leanne Best) is short-tempered and in a permanent state of stress, and Ruby (Ophelia Lovibond) – unfathomably the most under-developed of them all – has trouble breathing on two occasions. I wish I had more to say about her, as much as Lovibond delivers a commendable performance. All of this is at the expense of focussing the majority of the time on a character who is only shown in flashbacks (Lara McDonnell sings beautiful harmonies with Sophia Ally, Nancy Allsop and Nicola Turner as the younger versions of the sisters).
In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realise the third act’s climax comes at the exposure of flaws in the writing and direction before. Jill vents her frustration at being belittled for her timidity and Gloria’s temper culminates in a furious rant at Joan, sparked by a subtler moment involving Rob Howell’s stunning, towering staircase set design in Act Two I had noted, but didn’t consider to be too significant (I’d argue you have to be at a certain angle – read, the stalls – to get a good view of it). Such is the mismanagement of audience’s attention in the direction that this can be passed off as a dramatic reveal or closure of a major plot point, when it is merely a fluke that comes with a belated story structure. Case in point, it seems as though the ‘pause’ (rather than an interval) after Act Two could have been better placed when a jukebox plays amid Joan’s dramatic entrance into the hotel – a natural cliffhanger.
Oh, the irony of Mendes rushing through the first act, and then leaving the audience waiting in a pause which could have been woven into the production itself!
There is a relief in having a slower pace from the second act, and the chance for the fractured family to properly ricochet off each other from that point on, yet much like Joan eventually turning up in the saddest moment in the sisterhood’s life, to say such tenderness and emotion in the play is long overdue would be far beyond an understatement.
★★
The Hills of California is now playing at the Harold Pinter Theatre until 15 June. Captioned, audio described and signed performances are scheduled for 23 April, 11 May and 16 May respectively.
Production Images: Mark Douet.
Disclaimer: I was invited to watch ‘The Hills of California’ for free in exchange for a review of the performance as a member of the press. I did not receive payment for this article and all opinions stated above are honest and my own.
Liam O'Dell 