If incest between siblings remains one of the great taboos (and the success of Games of Thrones may suggest otherwise) then, in this production, Longhurst runs with the view that Ford sought to make no moral judgments: Annabella and Giovanni are the tragic figures, consumed by the judgments of people concerned with self-interest and personal wealth than what is right or true.
It’s a much more masculine turn than Harris gave; yet, simultaneously, it is a performance charged with grim sexual power, with alarming, overbearing femininity and with a tangible sense of real loss and sacrifice. Hedwig’s pain is expertly unravelled, layer by layer.
The night belongs to Nathan Lane who is hilariously vicious as James Wicker, an actor who turned down the lead role in the play written by his best friend because he thought it was a dud. He drops comic gems and malicious slurs with relish; a human laughter grenade launcher.
There may be plenty of blood, guts and severed body parts but there is little reason to faint as audience members regularly did at the original Grand-Guignol. It is a darkly entertaining show, with the campness and broad comedy reminding us that the horror is just for fun.
The dancing has a style, a language of its own and, certainly as choreographed by Bergasse, is more articulate than pages of dialogue. The steps are tricky, pulsing with purpose and bursting with energy and style. Very balletic, but with that jazzy Broadway edge which is just thrilling to watch especially where, as here, the cast is perfectly drilled, perfectly in sync and perfectly dazzling.
There are forced laughs, natural laughs, gentle laughs, belly laughs and many, many smiles over the course of the production. By the final Act, however, you realise that Ellis had a clear purpose from the very start; a magic trick he pulls off with finesse.
The prospect of discovering what the blood was about, where Angus’ wife was, what Roy’s secret was and how the four get along was not sufficiently compelling to require attendance for the second Act. The titular Island may be an unknown quantity but it is not a place where laughter abides.
Sansom imbues this play with a reckless, frenetic energy, a listlessness that reflects the monarch’s temperament and a sexy, splendid pulse that tantalises and intrigues. The story telling is very clear, very theatrical, but the sense of real history is strong.
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