King’s Theatre, Edinburgh – until 2 November 2019
Reviewed by James Knight
5*****
For many people, the intricacies of the technical specifications required in cinema remain a mystery, which is why the opening of Prism, a snapshot of the life of one of Hollywood’s most prolific cinematographers, opens with a quick lesson in film ratios using a mechanised garage door.
It’s a simple technique, framing only the actors’ legs, and instantly introduces us to how important a viewpoint is in film – we see what the director wants us to see, and how the cinematographer wants us to view it.
Perception in an obvious, and vital theme in Prism. Robert Lindsay plays Jack Cardiff, the cinematographer famous for Black Narcissus, The Red Shoes and The African Queen. Cardiff is in the early throes of dementia, and his son, Mason (Oliver Hembrough) wants him to complete his autobiography – a difficult challenge considering Jack doesn’t know whether he’s in the pub or in the garage. Lucy (Victoria Blunt) has been hired to help care for him and maybe, just maybe help him finish his writing. Watching over this with justified apprehension is Jack’s wife, Nicola (Tara Fitzgerald), whom Jack now longer recognises, instead seeing his old flame Katie, that is, Katherine Hepburn.
Lindsay gives a truly stunning performance as Jack, effortlessly capturing the impish glee and gruff stubbornness of a man who has lived quite a life. Although Jack may not see the world as we do anymore, it is quite clear that his life still makes some sense to him. Blunt is also a charismatic presence, multi-roling as Lucy and then in the second act as Lauren Bacall and Marilyn Monroe.
The second act employs a wonderful framing device. As the curtains close on Act One, and the back wall of garage opens to reveal the Congo river, Act Two shows us Jack in his prime, chatting with Humphrey Bogart, Katherine Hepburn and Lauren ‘Betty’ Bacall. But then, in the second scene, we see a scene from the first half, of Jack photographing Lucy, from his point of view. Now Lucy is Marilyn, and Mason is Arthur Miller… it’s a moment that could so easily be cliched or insensitive, but the deftness of Terry Johnson’s writing, coupled with the calibre of talent onstage, makes for a beautiful moment of connection.
It’s the little touches like this that truly elevate the play: photos Jack has taken of Hollywood stars morph to illustrate how a Technicolor camera works, for example. Great care has been taken to depict a man with respect as dementia claims his mind, as it should, even as the programme states that artistic license and liberties have been taken.
Prism is a sensitive, moving piece on life and art and how the two complement each other, how each can heighten the other.
‘A real life does not boast a satisfying story arc. We are doomed to live the events of our lives in the wrong damn order; it’s like shooting a film, not watching one…The time of our lives is not the finished masterpiece; it’s just whatever we got in the can today.’