Review: Dear Liar (Jermyn Street Theatre)

Review by Matthew Plampton

⭐️⭐️⭐

Paris, 1940, with German tanks rolling ever closer, a suitcase crammed with correspondence makes its way to London safely. These were no ordinary letters, but forty years of written exchanges between two giants of the theatrical world: the sadly often-forgotten actress Mrs Patrick Campbell and the revered playwright George Bernard Shaw. Theirs was an exchange that would leave its fingerprints on theatrical history, most notably on Pygmalion, as the original Eliza and playwright, respectively. Jerome Kilty's Dear Liar at the Jermyn Street Theatre invites audiences to eavesdrop on this remarkable paper love affair. But would this revival succeed in capturing the sparks between two such larger-than-life personalities, or would the letters remain firmly on the page?

Subtitled "A Comedy of Letters", Dear Liar is a two-hander that distils these letters into a theatrical work following Shaw and Campbell, from their first encounter, through global conflicts, career highs, and devastating personal losses. Their paths first crossed when she was already the undisputed queen of the London stage, whilst Shaw was still clawing his way towards theatrical renown. Yet it was Shaw who would write Eliza Doolittle specifically with her voice in his ear, and it would also be she who would first speak those famous lines in 1914-remarkably, at the age of forty-nine. That Shaw entrusted his young flower girl to an actress approaching fifty speaks volumes about both her formidable gifts and the curious power she wielded over him.

This Jermyn Street Theatre revival is directed by the venue's Artistic Director, Stella Powell-Jones, and stars Rachel Pickup as Mrs Patrick Campbell opposite Alan Turkington as George Bernard Shaw. Much of this play rests on the performances of the two leads, given they remain on stage throughout, and it falls solely on them to bring these letters to life. Pickup and Turkington should be commended for two wonderful performances; the chemistry between them is palpable as it oscillates from lust to anger, and to care. Even when discussing the contractual terms for Pygmalion, they maintain their flirtatious whimsy, with Pickup declaring “I will be your pretty slut” with both an air of resentment and playfulness.

Pickup could have easily made Mrs Campbell into a caricature of a theatrical diva; instead, she skilfully presents her as a masterful performer trapped between her ego, fear of being alone, and a woman in an era that treated even the greatest of actresses as disposable. She brings sharp wit to Campbell's letters, drawing much dismay from Shaw’s description of her as a “veteran”. In the later parts of her life, as she struggles to make it in Hollywood, Pickup presents her as a fading star imprisoned in her illusions of grandeur; she brings a Norma Desmond quality to these moments, presenting the image of success wrapped in her white fur and purposeful pose, yet her voice hints at the despair and loneliness of her decline into obscurity.

Turkington brings a petulant youthfulness to Shaw, who appears intoxicated by Mrs Campbell, to the point where he is driven between lustful flirtation and outright tantrums over his inability to always have his way. Ego drives the performance, but it is shown in an array of colours, as he brings new life to the letters by making considered choices as to when Shaw is angry, controlling, or touchingly vulnerable, such as when he depicts his mother’s funeral.

Powell-Jones’ direction attempts to bring a conversational quality to the letters by showing the protagonists interacting as the letters are read, which creates a more theatrical experience by allowing us to see the other’s reaction in real time. This approach is not consistently applied; at times, the letters turn into monologues to create poignancy. However, this approach falters at points, as key moments of anguish or rage are left without a reaction from the other, missing the chance to further emphasise the relational nature of this work. Tom Paris’s set design, with its use of sheer curtains, sharply illustrates the looming presence each has on the other's life. Even when separated, the other can be seen ever present in their consciousness; thus, even if they wanted to escape, the relationship between Shaw and Campbell intoxicates them wherever they go.

However powerful the performances are, they remain trapped by Kilty’s play, which by its own design, limits us largely to the letters of our protagonists. You never quite escape the pages they were written on, as the play never takes on a life of its own, nor are you ever quite sure what the message or intent of the piece is, other than a biographical retelling of their relationship. If more artistic colour had been added beyond the letters, perhaps it could have brought further impact beyond a bittersweet retelling of two theatrical giants’ relationship. By its design, it feels charming and voyeuristic, but beyond a recitation of the letters, there is not much else to draw on to really feel moved by this intriguing and tragic story. Nevertheless, in an era of instant messaging and gratification with disposable one-line texts, you cannot help but be reminded of the beauty of letters, as Shaw and Campbell forged such a potent relationship over decades through this increasingly unused art form.

Dear Liar plays at Jermyn Street Theatre until 7th March. Tickets from https://www.jermynstreettheatre.co.uk/show/dear-liar/

Photos by David Monteith-Hodge