Each year the
signs of Christmas seem to be visible earlier and earlier. With forty-two days
until the day actually arrives, Belvoir’s A Christmas Carol
is one of the more human and beautiful evocations of this time of year, and its
magic creeps up on you unawares, like the sleep that steals upon you as a child
sitting up in bed determined to see Father Christmas. Directed by Resident
Director Anne-Louise Sarks, a self-confessed
Christmas tragic, this Christmas Carol – drawn from the Dickens novel – is
imbued with that Belvoirian brand of stage magic which previously infused Peter
Pan and The Book of
Everything.
On a steeply raked
set which climbs into the back corner, Scrooge’s world is very much a downward
slide into misery and bah humbug. But as Scrooge is visited in turn by the
three Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Yet-To-Come, he is deeply
affected by his unwarranted coldness and apathy to humanity and consequently
changes his ways. Michael
Hankin’s set is a honeycomb of trapdoors and moving platforms, age-old
devices which have lost none of their breathtaking ingenuity and simplicity,
and are used to tremendous effect here. Used in conjunction with simple items
of set – chairs, desks, tables, benches – brought on as required, and the
ever-inventive Mel
Page’s costumes – a seamless (albeit anachronistic) melange of styles from
cod-Victorian right through to the present day – there is never a moment short
of humble theatrical verve which seems drawn from a childlike sense of wonder,
creativity and memory.
While other
retellings of Dickens’ story have focused on the potential for songs or time-travel, this Carol focuses
on the warmth of humanity, and Sarks’ cast are all wonderful. It is hard not to
be moved by the generosity and kindness in the acting, the good-natured playing
which seems to sit at the core of each of the characters, of Sarks’ production.
Robert Menzies’ Scrooge is suitably miserable, uttering ‘bah humbug’ to
perfection, but underneath his potentially-pathological dislike of people is a
little boy who has lost what mattered to him and has grown immeasurably cold as
a result; you really do feel his pain when the Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come
shows him the Cratchit family’s misery and their strength in the face of it all.
Though his inevitable transformation, his thawing out if you will, is slightly
unbelievable, it is balanced out by the generosity in the ensemble around him.
Peter Carroll makes a suitably spooky Marley’s ghost, but also a delightfully
youthful grandfather Cratchit. Ivan Donato’s Ghost of Christmas Past is a
grease-paint-faced old vaudeville clown, and there’s a bleakness to his visions
which Scrooge does well to mark, but there is also a determined resilience to
his other characters which is humbling. Eden Falk’s gangly Fred, clad in a red
Christmas sweater, is as forgiving as he is determined to see the best in
people, while Kate Box’s Ghost of Christmas Present, covered in gold tinsel, is
a vision to behold, mischievous and compassionate to boot, but also with a hard
edge which Scrooge cannot help but provoke.
It is the Cratchit
family, however, who form such a beautiful evocation of the Dickensian original
and Sarks’ own vision of Christmas. They could be long-lost cousins to the
Lambs of Cloudstreet,
such is their earthiness, humbleness and simplicity; their meagre existence
more than made up for with a spiritual and selfless bigness. Gathered around
their small wooden table laden with Christmas dinner, you cannot help but want
to join them. Each actor here seems to become themselves – no acting is
required during these moments. Ursula Yovich’s Mrs Cratchit is welcoming and
warm, fussing and proud of her family by turn, but it is never a selfish pride.
Steve Rodgers’ Bob Cratchit is perhaps the antithesis of his character in Eight
Gigabytes, genuinely warm and compassionate, earnest and sincere, a
childish glee in each of his roles here (especially as the Christmas tree). But
it is Miranda Tapsell as Tiny Tim who comes close to stealing the show with her
smile, energy and chorus of ‘God bless us, every one.’ And that’s the thing I
think Dickens was getting at – no one is better or worse off than anyone else;
the Cratchits’ delight in simple things and their being together is the epitome
of what Sarks means when she
says “it’s the small and the everyday actions that are the sum of who we
are.”
It wouldn’t be
Christmas without snow, Christmas sweaters, or carols, and Sarks delivers on
every front. Stefan Gregory’s vocal arrangements and simple score and highly
effective, and Benjamin Cisterne’s lighting is rich, warm and austere as
required, cleverly highlighting pockets
of memories upon the stage, an astronaut floating through the ether, strings of
lights suspended above our heads. It’s a production which draws you into its
world with its heart and generosity, its genuine delight in the magic of
theatre and the Christmas period and I reckon even the hardest, most cynical
hearts would be moved. Sarks directs with gentleness, an imagination bound only
by those of her collaborators, and here I think they have all struck upon a
veritable stockpile of cheer, goodwill and spirit. It is a production forged in
small miracles and moments of simple delight.
It’s a miracle,
too, that Sarks and her team managed to create snow in early November, and it
is not just limited to the stage either. As characters enter and exit from
every entrance possible in Belvoir’s Upstairs theatre (much like they did in As You Like It),
they are sure to spread the snow around and, in some cases, over as many people
in the audience as possible. It is little touches like these, and the moments
with the apples and the Cratchits, that make you feel a part of something
special, and I dare say it is. As Christmas is now more of an economic
absurdity, seemingly blown out of all proportion and meaning, it is
heart-warming and mesmerising to see something like this cut to the core of the
Christmas period, and remind us of what the season means, what is has meant,
what it can mean, what it should mean. And, thanks to Charles Dickens’
one-hundred-and-seventy year old novella, we are reminded of the humanity and
warmth in generosity, in goodness and simple acts of kindness, and if we can
each feel the heart in this Christmas
Carol then perhaps we too can strive to be better people, and not just
during this Christmas season.
Theatre playlist: 70. Scrooge, from The Muppets Christmas Carol,
Miles Goodwin
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