Anne and Emily Brontë bear the brunt of foul-mouthed, opportunistic big sister Charlotte (Upstart Crow and Killing Eve’s Gemma Whelan) in Sarah Gordon’s hyper, camp but ultimately confusing production about the literary siblings bustling for recognition in a patriarchy. Underdog is clever and very funny – indeed it knows it is – but often gets carried away, tangling itself up in mixed messages and jokes pushed almost to breaking point that it’s difficult to identify the overarching argument contained in retelling this forgotten story through a slightly modernised lens.
First wandering into the stalls to take selfies with audience members before taking to the Dorfman stage, Whelan as Charlotte seeks to rationalise the story that follows. She hopes we don’t judge her too harshly, makes the case that women had to fight to be heard (of course), and that the story isn’t about her – except it very much is. It’s about her seeking to make a name for herself, despite all three Brontës wanting to get out of their current living situation and earn some money. In early scenes, Anne – played by Rhiannon Clements – even goes so far as to become a governess, before being horrified at a young child named Cunliffe (played by Kwaku Mills of Dark Sublime and Perspective) taking pleasure in torturing birds and making unbearable, chaotic screams, which – together with a horse-drawn carriage taking an age to clip-clop across the stage at the start of Act 2 – wears thin in terms of its comedy when it’s milked for several minutes too many.
Such scenes stand in contrast to the rest of the production, which is blitzed through by Northern Stage artistic director Natalie Ibu. Characters spin in and out of action on a revolve, and simple visual effects and flair such as leaves blowing in the wind are created by the male ensemble bringing on two giant black pipes from the corners of the stage. It’s all amusing stuff, but it means certain plot points don’t really get much breathing space to settle. When there’s an administrative mix-up around Charlotte and Anne’s works, I struggled to ascertain exactly what the problem was, even when several scenes are dedicated to the former manipulating the situation as much as possible to work in her favour.
Writing wise, Emily (Adele James) comes across as completely neglected by Gordon for most of the play. I was just about to write in my notebook about her noticeable absence from the second act before James took to the stage to deliver some excellent dialogue slamming the heartlessness on display from Charlotte. Clements perfectly captures a painful injustice in Anne looking up to her big sister only for Charlotte to shun her in return, while James’ Emily is a brilliantly barbed equal to Whelan’s sardonic Charlotte. I just wish we’d seen more of Emily here.
The trio’s differing personalities brings me to a pleasing subtext to Grace Smart’s costume design (her hats topped with smoking cigars is great fun, and she also designs the set, complete with some gorgeous shrubbery which hangs above the sisters throughout), in that the brash Charlotte dons a red dress, the caring Emily is in blue, and the sensitive Anne wears purple, as if suggesting the latter is a combination of her two siblings. Yet, Anne doesn’t display more than her softer side throughout, cosying up to Charlotte when she’s trying to read and write, and treading carefully when it comes to her protestations (such as not being particularly keen on attending a gentleman’s club, unlike Charlotte who is utterly mesmerised by the male ensemble busting out moves to Calvin Harris and Dua Lipa’s “One Kiss”). Even when there is, as is to be expected, an epiphany from Anne about how exactly her story will be told in the decades to come, it culminates in a way which still minimises her character, positing that she has to become the forgotten sister so that Charlotte’s legacy can live on.
Hardly a progressive or empowering message to send, though it would have been a powerful and devastating conclusion to this just over two-hour long production if it was making a more pronounced and well-rounded point about feminism and masculinity. However, as with most social commentary and observations in the piece, it carries an initial punch and nothing more. Charlotte laments the idea that the success of one woman has to come at the expense of another, but it isn’t particularly weighty when we’ve watched her manipulate and disparage her sisters to get ahead all the way up until this point. Indeed, Smart’s aforementioned costume design – having her red dress mirror the red uniform of the scornful men watching from the edges of the stage – comes with an implication that she has been captured by the very system which she intends to dismantle, or is at least playing to its tune.
We know Charlotte’s an unreliable narrator, and while she’s fair from saintly or ‘good’ when she’s placing herself on a pedestal, Whelan triumphs at warming us to her by way of her being so candid (bouncing between frivolity and patronisation), but all this juxtaposition makes it hard to a more robust idea to surface. Is she more concerned with changing our perception of her, or the patriarchal attitudes of her time? What makes her think she can weather the storm of judgement from readers whereas Anne can’t?
It would have been interesting to have had a much deeper exploration of the pressure of new representation setting a ‘one-size fits all’ perception of an underrepresented community (thus the trio are faced with the dilemma of how they can ensure the unlikely event of having each of their works published and properly credited as women when one will inevitably have to be the ‘first’ to have their work distributed), but there is little discussion around this beside an unexplained argument from Charlotte that Jane Eyre presents a better vision of womanhood than Anne’s writing. All these different ideas and yet it seems to end on the unusual stoicism of a famous female author accepting future judgment from readers to come is outside of her control, to no longer be ‘boxed in’ – a quietly liberating notion, perhaps, but it does also feel rather defeatist at the end of a play about three literary sisters trying to write their way out of a problem.
★★★
Underdog: The Other Other Brontë is now playing in the Dorfman Theatre until 25 May. It will then transfer to the Northern Stage from 7 to 22 June.
The show will be captioned on 11 April, 1 May, 14 June and 15 June; with British Sign Language (BSL) interpretation provided on 27 April, 24 May, 21 June and 22 June.
Audio described performances are scheduled for 10 May, 15 June and 20 June.
Sensory adapted performances will take place on 4 and 10 May, with relaxed performances scheduled for 20 and 22 June.
Production Images: Isha Shah.
Disclaimer: I was invited to watch ‘Underdog: The Other Other Brontë’ 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 