Vaudeville Theatre 4 July – 2 September. Reviewed by Claire Roderick
F Murray Abraham swaps his more sinister TV roles for this light and fluffy play about writing a play. Benjamin Rubin wrote one great play in his mid-20s, but has never been able to replicate his success, instead churning out screenplays as he dines out on his fading reputation. Strapped for cash, he agrees to take part in a mentorship programme, helping a young writer, hailed as the voice of his generation, with his second play. Unfortunately, Martin Wegner has an ego just as big as Rubin’s, and Rubin’s response to his play is not what he’d expected. Christopher Hampton’s translation of Daniel Kehlmann’s play has some lovely lyrical lines, and some laugh out loud moments, but it boils down to pretentious people talking pretentiously about life, art and theatre, with no character understanding anyone else, or their motivations. So, what hope does the audience have of making sense of it all? I just sat back and enjoyed the performances – the cast dynamics are excellent, with Daniel Weyman managing to make the petulant man-child Wegner almost likeable, and Jonathan Cullen showing Rudicek’s hero worship disintegrate into exasperation and downright hatred with minimal lines, both performing some fine physical comedy. Naomi Frederick as Gina Wegner is almost blank until the big confrontation, when she suddenly explodes into a fiery and feisty performance. F Murray Abraham just seems to be having a ball. Rubin is written ambiguously – is his dislike of Wegner fuelled by jealousy, lust for his wife, or simply a generational disdain? Abraham keeps the audience guessing in an impish and energetic performance – this is the definition of stage presence, you can’t tear your eyes away from the man, whether he’s clowning around after tasting cheap whisky, or trying out his best intellectually seductive lines on Gina.
The set is gorgeous, with blossom drifting slowly from the tree centre stage onto some truly awful sculptural garden furniture. The lighting is evocative of lazy days in the country, and the chirruping frogs, tweeting birds and buzzing insects in surround sound become hypnotic. (Although at first there were lots of annoyed glances around the auditorium from people trying to pinpoint the culprit and tut at them.)
The Mentor isn’t a great play, but it is a diverting and entertaining opportunity to see a truly great actor having a blast. F Murray Abraham’s wicked grin will make your day.