Guy van Egmond
When it comes to polished period theatre, Stagecraft takes the cake in Pōneke. ‘Stagecraft Theatre presents’ has become shorthand for well-produced and relevant classic productions, as evidenced by a packed opening-night for their current show, The Heiress. A well-chosen and -directed script, The Heiress proves to be another feather in the company’s cap.
In 1840’s Manhattan, in a tasteful townhouse on Washington Square, lives Catherine Sloper (Aimée Sullivan). Young and enthusiastic, she struggles with the vapid demands of polite society. Crucially, she enjoys a sizeable allowance from her father (Phil Peleton)—a renowned physician—and the inheritance left by her mother, who died in childbirth. When she’s courted by the charming but unemployed Morris Townsend (James Kiesel), it sparks a twisting story of conflicting desires. Catherine is delighted by the affection and spurred on by her romantically-idealistic aunt (Elizabeth Marshall), but her jaded father suspects doggedly that Morris cannot love Catherine for anything other than her attractive inheritance.
The script, written in 1947 by Ruth and Augustus Goetz, was very good, with sympathetic and layered characters that (under the direction of Meredith Dooley) slowly, inexorably, drew you in. You really felt for Catherine, wishing that the world would slow down and stop looking past her. There were moments where Morris and Catherine were plainly honest with each other, or where he came up for her against her father, and I found myself wondering if we’re not all being overly-suspicious of him. Even the jaded Dr. Austin Sloper, Catherine’s father, had an endearing dry wit and devotion to his late wife, though it was painful to see his grief manifest itself as disappointment in Catherine and lead to his betrayal of her as a father. I—frankly—came into this show tired and daunted by the two-and-a-half-hour runtime. But by the second act I was engrossed and looked forward to seeing how all these overlapping motivations would play out.
That said, it did take a while for the ball to start rolling. Worth it, for the dramatic crescendo, but I could spend plenty of time in the first hour looking down to write notes and judge accents. The play was set in the US and the American accent was certainly a sticking point for the cast. Some, like Elizabeth Marshall’s Lavinia Penniman (Catherine’s loving but lovely-excitable aunt) seemed natural, while others took a while to find the right state. Choosing an American play was a risk and when actors slipped back into their English or New Zealand accent it stood out. The general delivery, early in the play, left a bit to be desired as well. For a long time, the dialogue felt wooden and scripted, very ‘your line, my line, your line…’. It reflected the period of the play to a degree—all staunch and proper— but it lacked good pacing. Exclamations of shock were undermined by long pauses (“He’s a count.” … … “gasp A count?!”) and moments of emotion, such as the remembrance of one’s beloved late wife, felt empty. There were great moments of comedy: sharp lines that sometimes took a second to decipher, but got audience-wide laughs. They were well-delivered; I think even the cast looked forward to these moments in the script.
As the show got richer and the stakes higher, the cast was able to really shine. Phil Peleton was a great Dr. Sloper; his misguided love for Catherine and his projection of her mother onto her made for delicious moments where emotion could come through his staunch facade. I loved his pride when he convinced himself that Catherine had shunned Morris, and the way he blustered stoically through the shock of discovering himself to be mortally ill (I also adored his mutton-chop sideburns and am choosing to believe that Peleton grew those out himself). Marshall as Aunt Penniman was a lovely dose of energy and ‘gaiety,’ I wondered sometimes if she might not steal Morris away and end the play on a wild twist. Kiesel’s performance as the guy who went to Europe and won’t stop talking about it was good: charismatic and a bit smarmy. But the star, of course, was Aimée Sullivan, the heiress herself.
A crucial part of Catherine’s character was her dramatic shift in maturity; she’s forced to toughen herself in an instant by the betrayal of those she thought loved her. Sullivan nailed this, keeping Catherine uncomfortably naïve in the first act and then brutally steely in the play’s final moment. The journey between these two points was brilliant, a will-she-won’t-she that truly kept me guessing and got gasps and ‘ooh’s from the audience. If nothing else, evidence of Sullivan’s talent was demonstrated when—in response to an egregious breach of theatre etiquette—she paused, in the middle of a breakdown, tears rolling down her face, waited until the phone stopped ringing, and then continued as if we hadn’t all just listened to most of ‘Bella Ciao.’
Tying this show together was a great overall design. Costuming, by Dooley and Rhys Tunley, was lovely, and the set, by Tanya Piejus, was beautiful and dynamic. It was cleverly laid-out to be truly three-dimensional; the actors could roam the stage and keep it lively. Despite the play taking place in the sitting room, a whole world was created for us beyond the wings. This was both a testament to the detail of the set as well as to the effective sound design by Simon Boyes. I could picture Catherine’s room upstairs, the kitchen and the square outside where carriages passed.
With The Heiress, Stagecraft delivered once again. Its runtime is intimidating, but the story draws you in and the time disappears. Dooley picked a great script, one that she knows well, and brought together a talented cast and crew to produce a solid, high-calibre play. The Heiress is playing at the Gryphon Theatre, with nightly shows until the 28th of June.