In a pink (or cherry) coloured set, lit by several chandeliers (design by Hannah Sibai, lighting by Matt Haskins), Zoe Cooper’s reimagining of Jane Austen’s novel puts the story of Catherine Morland under a queer lens.
Just three actors play all the parts – Cath, Iz (Isabella), and Hen (Henry); the Moreland and Tilney parents, the Allens, Isabella’s brother John. They swap roles, bend genders, and often switch characters within a scene.
Rebecca Banatvala is Cath, avid reader of penny novels set in romantic settings. She is lively, imaginative, and silly. Just as her emotions run wild, those chandeliers rise and fall as the story progresses.
As Iz (and most of the older male characters), AK Golding embodies and lampoons the worst of the ruling class. They capture Isabella’s isolation and frustration with ease.
Sam Newton’s Henry, obsessed with muslin and somewhat dull, is well-drawn, while his parade of mothers, aunts, and sisters is excessive and hilarious.
Cooper’s writing both gives tribute to Austen’s book and adds her own feminist and bawdy take (the puns are perfection). The love story teased out here may not be the one you expect.
Narrative passages both in and out of characters are true to Austen’s descriptive style, while one character uses the chance to subvert and misdirect the plot.
Under Tessa Walker’s direction, the pace is fast and suggests locations from the Moreland home (“with numerous brothers”) to the dance floor at Bath (“I’m dancing near many people”).
Scenes of action reminded me of the National Theatre’s Jane Eyre, bouncing around on crates to simulate carriage rides. Newton’s odious posh boy John literally wraps Cath in the reins as he speeds through the streets.
A spooky sound design (Holly Khan) echos Cath’s fanciful nature (from reading all those Gothic romances) when she finally reaches the Abbey. She conjures up mystery from the smallest of shadows and the creepy tones of the Tilney sister, Eleanor.
The love story in Cooper’s version, though, is between the ladies, and creates a subtext which notes that women have to be subservient to men, “breeding machines” and, if they have Sapphic tendencies, marry for expediency and propriety.
This novel, the shortest in Austen’s canon, retains its sharpness – no wonder it has been adapted the most for the stage, and also spawned two entertaining web series.
This Northanger Abbey proves that Austen, an author who died in 1817, can still be utilised for modern televance while remaining accessible. Think Austentatious or Pride and Prejudice … sort of.
Northanger Abbey continues at Orange Tree Theatre until 24 Feb. Tickets here.
****
Image credit: Pamela Raith