Review: RAGDOLL, Jermyn Street Theatre
Alex Brenner
Based on the true story of Patty Hearst, granddaughter of William Randolf Hearst, and her high-profile criminal trial, Ragdoll is a traditional yet tight drama exploring fame and infamy. It is told in two timelines: “Holly” and her defense lawyer Robert meet decades after he failed to help her avoid conviction for robbery, and now it is him that needs her help to avoid a life-ruining scandal.
The power balance of a younger Holly helplessly relying on her suave, self-assured lawyer to plead her case is intriguingly shifted in the present day, as now Robert (as far as his ego will allow) begs her to help him dispel accusations he is now facing himself. What follows is a tense and well-structured 75 minutes of traditional stage drama that, despite its limitations, delivers on its emotional punchline.
The Jermyn Street Theatre is often referred to as the West End’s studio space, and it feels like that with this piece. Katherine Moar’s elevated, whip-quick script feels boxed in, literally and figuratively, by the simple setting. The action plays out in a house packed up for moving, the centrepiece of the play being the huge leather couch, which is apparently too valuable for the female lead to even sit on.
In general, the prop work is subtle yet powerful: director Josh Seymour imbues meaning into every object the cast pick up and handle. There’s the glaringly colour-coded paper hats from a Christmas cracker, a prison phone line that garrots a young convict Holly, whiskey glasses poured full by young Robert then handed empty to his older counterpart, and of course, the couch: a pristine emblem that dominates the stage, a Chekhov’s gun of squeaky-clean vulgarity. The play is dynamic in this way, with no movement or transition feeling wasted.
The dialogue, though the format feels somewhat dated, is appropriate for the setting: quick back-and-forths that eventually merge the timelines. Although the set is simple, the cast put meaning onto the surfaces on which they perch, the ashtrays they hide, and the space they inhabit with their younger selves. Nathaniel Parker as Robert brings an established charm that curdles wonderfully in the final act, and Abigail Cruttenden and Katie Matsell are eerie echoes of the same Holly, either side of prison. Ben Lamb has the Mad Men-esque hot shot down as we see a man grow terrified of his own prominence. It’s easy to get swept up in the exchange of power and prestige in the decades-long relationship between the characters.
The play would perhaps benefit from a grander stage, or a more ambitious set-up, with high emotional moments slipping into melodrama that doesn’t do the script total justice. It will be interesting to see where the project progresses from here, as it is an amusing and emotionally complex hour-and-a-bit, with ample room for growth.
Skin-tight, tense and timely.
**** Four Stars
Reviewed by Oli Burgen
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