Picture You Dead
All in all, a grand, old fashioned night out appreciated by a capacity audience, which is not something to be lightly dismissed in this day and age.
Theatre Royal
David Henty learned to paint in prison in the mid-nighties, having been found guilty of forging passports, the damning evidence being the rogue letter G in Magesty (sic). He proved to be a better painter than speller, and upon release carved out a lucrative living forging fine art. Eventually exposed, he reinvented himself as a legitimate copyist, and now produces reproductions, indistinguishable from the originals apart from his signature.
If that's a potted biography that rings a bell for fans of Peter James, it's because Henty's story forms the backstory to the fictional Dave Hegarty, the master forger around which the plot of Picture You Dead revolves. Great chunks of Henty's evolution from his criminal past have been injected into the narrative of this adaptation of James's novel, so it's perhaps no surprise that the result is most rounded, well-drawn character of the play. Both actor Peter Ash, giving the strongest performance of the night, and adapter Shaun McKenna seem to have had great fun breathing life into Henty's doppelganger.
I'd have happily watched a dramatization of Henty's story, but of course that's not what Peter James is about or what his fans expect of him. So instead, the blurred line between forgery and copy is used as a springboard for Roy Grace's latest case. In truth, Grace - and therefore George Rainsford who plays him - has little to do beyond share scraps of information with Gemma Stroyan's Bella Moy. Both put in acceptable but somewhat muted performances, but in fairness neither is given much to work with.
The Kiplings, the couple that buy an old master at a boot fair, prove far livelier, with Fiona Wade and Ben Culter revealing a chemistry that elevated what could have easily been perfunctory roles. Nicholas Maude offered up a scenery-chewing, scene-stealing master villain that teetered close to panto at time, but was nevertheless very entertaining. He was only a shade more plausible than Jodie Steele's leather clan, high-kicking moral vacuum, somewhat reminiscent of an evil Emma Peel – and who wouldn’t pay good money to see that. Mark Oxtoby presented an altogether more crowded portrait of thievery, while one of the most enjoyable roles was also the smallest, as - blink and you'd miss him - Adam Morris took briefly to the stage as Antiques Roadshow expert Oliver de Souza, swooning over what we are invited to believe is a genuine lost master.
Morris's scene was one of many light hearted moments in a play that didn't rake itself too seriously. Whether it was Chekhov's swivel chair, Piper's sliding doors or Harry Kipling inexplicably emergence from a cupboard, there was a knowing humour throughout that went a long way towards excusing a frankly preposterous plot. I lost track of the logical inconsistencies and plot holes that littered the narrative, and I remain unclear whether these were simply a result of clumsy adaptation. Perhaps boiling the plot down to the essentials revealed issues that are deftly camouflaged in the novel or perhaps it was a combination of the two.
In any event, while the play was, frankly, a bit silly, and in the end spiralled out of control, it was also pacey and fun, and therefore still very enjoyable. The set design was excellent, and was apparently dressed with Henty’s own paintings. Lighting and sound were unobtrusive, yet effective, and the cast seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves throughout. All in all, a grand, old fashioned night out appreciated by a capacity audience, which is not something to be lightly dismissed in this day and age. And whatever I thought of the plot, the last gag was a very good one.
