REVIEW: York Settlement Community Players in Underdog: The Other Other Brontë, Theatre@41, Monkgate, York ****

Lara Stafford’s Charlotte Brontë, the narrator spinning her yarn in Sarah Gordon’s Underdog: The Other Other Brontë. Picture: John Saunders

YORKSHIRE’S most famous yet still mysterious sisters, the literary Brontës of Haworth, turn out to be as much about scrapping as scribbling in Sarah Gordon’s irreverent, coruscatingly honest yet unreliable witness of a play, here making its York debut after its 2024 premiere in a National Theatre-Northern Stage co-production.

We’ve had teenage Kate Bush’s chart-topping Wuthering Heights,  Lip Service’s comedic spoof Withering Looks and even an uncredited Sinead O’Connor walking the moors as Emily Bronte in a hooded cloak to book-end Peter Kosminsky’s 1992 film adaptation of Wuthering Heights, the one starring Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche.

Above all, we have had and still have the Brontë books, books that broke their Victorian shackles to speak for themselves, beyond us knowing that the daughters of the Irish-born parson of Haworth, out on the wily, windy West Riding moors, all died all too young, along with their wastrel artist-poet brother Branwell, the first to exit stage left in a white nightgown.

Jess Murray’s Emily, right, and Millie Rhodes’s Anne: The ‘other’ Brontë and the ‘other other’ Brontë in Settlement Players’ Underdog: The Other Other Brontë. Picture: John Saunders

Just as Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss mash up history with punk modern sensibilities  in enabling Henry VIII’s wives to give their side of the story in a competitive concert to be head girl in Six The Musical, so Gordon gives licence to Charlotte, Emily and Anne to do likewise in Underdog’s sisterly rivalries and jealousies and battles with the male-dominated Victorian publishing world of London, 17 hours away by horse and carriage.

As in Six, this introduces competition – flawed sisters doing it to themselves, rather than for themselves – but not on equal terms because Lara Stafford’s Charlotte is designated the role of narrator. Consequently, she tends to dominate, when ostensibly the title suggests the focus should be on the “other other Brontë”, Millie Rhodes’s sweet-natured Anne, “the one who died,” as Anne puts it.

That said, Gordon counters the narrator’s status by showing the ambitious, ruthless, envious Charlotte in anything but the best light, full of withering slights and maternally over-protective of Anne in particular, refusing permission for a posthumous re-print of The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall (and editing Emily’s poems for publication after her death to boot).

Underdog: The Other Other Brontë director Claire Morley. Picture: Tom Barker

Jess Murray’s Emily is an undiluted firebrand, with a temper and potty mouth, but somewhat underwritten by comparison with Anne and especially Charlotte.

Nick Patrick Jones’s Branwell can be heard shouting at his father in the background and in his infrequent appearances he feels like a ghost in this play, even before he is consigned to that status.

Alongside Jones, Jon Cook, Pamela Gourley and Maggie Smales are on multi-rolling duty, Smales taking the honours with her spoilt child, coconut-clip-clopping carriage driver and biographer Elizabeth Gaskell.

Maggie Smales’s spoilt brat Cunliffe and Jon Cook’s Mrs Ingham in Settlement Players’ Underdog: The Other Other Brontë. Picture: John Saunders

Claire Morley’s witty, wily and waspish production is played out with fiery pace and passion on Richard Hampton’s three-sided set of suspended wheat sheafs, page after page torn from books, three boxes bedecked in yet more words and the backdrop of a frame filled with flowers.

At its base is a sign reading “Liar” that Stafford’s Charlotte then places around the neck of Rhodes’s Anne, and yet not everything that Charlotte says can be taken as the truth. Literary licence, maybe; playwright’s impish, knowing humour, certainly.

The sisters are even more fun company than in Lip Service’s Withering Looks, full of surprises, sassy putdowns (not least of Jane Austen’s face being on a bank note) and sisterly interplay, played out to a soundtrack of Self Esteem, Charlie XCX and Billie Eilish snippets.  It could have been deeper, it could have been darker,  but that is the one story that has been told before.

Sisterly rivalries and jealousies in Sarah Gordon’s Underdog: The Other Other Brontë, as played out by Lara Stafford’s Charlotte, right, and Millie Rhodes’s Anne. Picture: John Saunders

On reflection, all the Brontë sisters can be seen as the underdog of the title, sisters with blisters, but fighting against cramped writing conditions, the Yorkshire chill that did for their health, and the inequality and cold shoulder of the book world’s stuffed shirts. The “other” here is as much the other side of their story as a desire to put Anne in the spotlight.

“Young women judge older women more harshly than anybody else…they are conditioned to,” says the spiky Charlotte, in one of her jibes delivered so deliciously by Stafford, whose outstanding performance is befitting of a professional stage.

York Settlement Community Players present Underdog: The Other Other Brontë, Theatre@41, Monkgate, York, until Saturday, 7.30pm plus 2.30pm Saturday matinee. Box office: tickets.41monkgate.co.uk.

Lara Stafford’s exasperated Charlotte holds her head in her hands as she listens to Maggie Smales’s over-zealous biographer, Elizabeth Gaskell, in the closing chapter of Underdog: The Other Other Brontë. Millie Rhodes’s Anne, back, left, and Jess Murray’s Emily look bemused. Picture: John Saunders

REVIEW: York Settlement Community Players in Ayckbourn’s Woman In Mind ****

Desperately seeking Susan, as she loses her mind: Victoria Delaney in the Settlement Players’ Woman In Mind. All pictures: John Saunders

Woman In Mind, York Settlement Community Players, York Theatre Royal Studio, until Saturday, 7.45pm and 2.45pm Saturday matinee. Box office: 01904 623568 or at yorktheatreroyal.co.uk

ANGIE Millard “seemed to have avoided Alan Ayckbourn” in her past directorial choices, but she had one play in mind for the Settlement Players’ return to York Theatre Royal after two years.

Ayckbourn’s sad, haunting, darker than dark-humoured psychological drama Woman In Mind had struck a chord in the pandemic climate of isolation and mental health issues.

Premiered in 1985 but still feeling present day in 2022, it remains Ayckbourn’s supreme study of a trapped woman, older than Nora in A Doll’s House but just as affecting as the desperate flight of Henrik Ibsen’s proto-feminist, Susan’s story being told from inside her woozy head.

The setting is 48 hours in her south London garden and beyond: the place where the world is refracted through the prism of Susan’s psyche.

Playing fantasy families: Victoria Delaney’s Susan raises a glass to husband Andy (Paul French), daughter Lucy (Amy Hall) and brother Tony (Neil Vincent)

Following in the footsteps of Julia McKenzie, Stockard Channing and Helen Mirren, in her first stage role since October 2019, Victoria Delaney opens the play on her back and never leaves the stage (interval aside).

Delaney’s suburban housewife is coming round from unconsciousness, after knocking herself out when stepping on a garden rake, as Chris Pomfrett’s cautious yet accident-prone family doctor, Bill Windsor, attends to her. In a brilliant Ayckbourn conceit, his words, like her vision, go from a gobbledygook blur to being clear.

With the bang on the head comes the comforting concern of her champagne-golden  family, as if torn from a Mills & Boon cover or a desirable clothes catalogue: first, handsome old devil husband Andy (Paul French); then tennis-playing brother Tony (Neil Vincent) and her auburn-haired darling of a daughter, Lucy (YSCP debutante Amy Hall).

Too, too perfect, surely, and yet played as straight down the line as Tony practising a backhand winner, they could – at first at least – be real. We see and hear them, just as Susan sees and hears them, but only she does so, just like only urbane novelist Charles Condomine and the audience see and hear his deceased first wife, Elvira, in Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit.

Living on a prayer: Paul Toy as vicar Gerald

The grim reality is very different: husband Gerald (clergyman’s son Paul Toy) is a self-obsessed priggish vicar, always in another room writing his interminably dull, interminably long parish history since 1387. They have reached the separate bed stage already.

Live-in sister-in-law Muriel (Helen Wilson) is obsessed with reconnecting with her late husband and is forever making foul-tasting beverages and even fouler meals, defeated by the lack of labelling on kitchen ingredients.

Wastrel son Rick (YSCP newcomer Frankie-Jo Anderson) is estranged and strange, having joined a cult in Hemel Hempstead, but suddenly he arrives with news.

Where once Susan loved being a wife and mother, now she is neglected by husband and son alike and unfulfilled in her humdrum, loveless domestic domain, Symbolically, the garden plants in Richard Hampton’s design are reduced to twigs, with the only flowers being on the backdrop tapestries, Susan’s bench and Muriel’s cardigan. What lies ahead beyond Susan’s disillusioned forties, her days as frustrating and stuck as a buffering laptop screen?

Muriel (Helen Wilson) serves up another gruesome beverage to vicar Gerald’s (Paul Toy) distaste

Ayckbourn, and in turn Millard and Delaney, capture a “woman on the verge”, and as the real and unreal worlds collide increasingly beyond her control, so too do the ever-blackening humour and pathos, her sanity crumbling and the words returning once more to gobbledygook.

Delaney’s performance is deeply unsettling, her Susan being full of vulnerability, waspish of tongue, her mind grasping desperately at the cliff’s edge, happiness out of reach.

Pomfrett, in particular, provides the comedy, perfectly in step with Ayckbourn’s rhythms; Toy makes the supercilious vicar utterly unbearable but splendidly sets himself up for laughter at his expense; Wilson judges just right how to be annoying yet not annoying as the never-wanted-where-she-is Muriel. Anderson’s disingenuous Rick would fall out with anyone.

French, Hall and Vincent are perfectly well cast as the fantasy family that gradually turns into a nightmare and Woman In Mind becomes a woman out of her mind.

Angie Millard was right: Ayckbourn’s play has indeed taken on even more resonance under the pandemic microscope, where already unhappy marriages have cracked under the strain and the desire to escape has been heightened in enforced isolation.

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