Bread & Roses Theatre until 26 January
Reviewed by Claire Roderick
3***
Francis Beckett’s whimsical and entertaining take on Clem Atlee’s struggles to establish the Welfare State begins with Churchill at his most rabid, warning of the threat of socialist tyranny at home before the 1945 general election. The contrast with Clem Atlee, sitting smoking his pipe calmly as those around him rage and pontificate is shown wonderfully in Roger Rose’s quiet hawk like performance.
Narrated by Clem’s wife Violet (Lynne O’Sullivan), flashbacks take us to Limehouse, where the seeds of Atlee’s socialism took root, as Labour MPs bombard Atlee with instructions and opinions about what is best for the country, including having a leadership election as the idea of Clem as PM is unthinkable. Atlee sits and makes non-committal noises before doing exactly the opposite of what they want. The only time he speaks with quiet passion and flowing language is when discussing cricket. The leadership skills, morality and intelligence of Atlee cut through the larger than life personalities and opinions of his fellow politicians. Beckett casts him as the level-headed ringmaster, allowing the clowns and performers to exhaust themselves before issuing short but inspired instructions. This means that the politicians are caricatures – the oily and entitled establishment old guard Hugh Dalton, uncultured rough diamond Ernest Bevin, resentful deputy “I’m loyal to a fault” Herbert Morrison and Welsh firebrand Nye Bevan.
Most of these caricatures work well in this light-hearted context, albeit with a couple of wobbly accents. Being from Wales, I cringed whenever Nye Bevan was on stage. Everyone thinks they can do a Welsh accent, but it’s hard to sustain for an entire sentence – and straight out of the Colm Meaney School of Welsh Accents, Bevan’s vowels and rhythms take us to every Celtic nation, Tyneside and on to the banks of the Ganges before returning to the green, green grass of home. But this wasn’t the big problem, I was utterly confused as to why Clive Greenwood chose to portray Bevan by attempting an impression of Harry Secombe playing a comedy angry drunk. The seagulls taking pot-shots at Bevan’s statue in Cardiff Queen Street would probably have appreciated this caricature.
The political machinations mostly occur offstage, with characters reporting to Clem to show progress. Even though this is skimmed over at relatively breakneck speed to get to the final scenes, the pace of the play is slow and steady, much like Atlee. Director Owain Rose keeps the action relatively tight, with the ensemble working well together and any slight hiccups will surely settle over the run.
A Modest Little Man is full of historical and political information, as well as love and admiration for the characters who changed our country. Such weighty issues could get bogged down in melodrama, but this is a warm and self-assured production that tells the story wittily, succinctly and without any bells and whistles. I think Clem would approve.