To Kill a Mockingbird
My irrational hatred of child actors was forgotten for one enjoyable evening.
Last night the theatre royal played host to ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’, the stage play of the film of the novel of the original manga series. I think that’s right but in an age of adaptations, remakes, sequels and the dreaded ‘upcycling’ one can never really be sure.
Harper Lee’s novel, so beloved of schoolchildren (cough), deals with the realities of institutional racism in the southern USA of the early twentieth century. The power of the story comes through the narrative voice as we witness the myriad injustices through the eyes of Scout, the young narrator, struggling to assimilate the adult prejudices with her own naïve worldview. My concern over a theatre adaptation was that this childlike lens through which a reader views the story would be lost and the subtlety of the message eroded. Fortunately, my fears were assuaged at the opening as with blocks of chalk the cast run and play around the stage, literally drawing out the boundaries of the Finch children’s world, from their home, to the mysterious Radley place and the town dump. The narrative is carried by a strong ensemble cast reading directly from copies of the book (Cheats! Learn your bloody lines!). In doing this, a sickly sweet voiceover is thankfully avoided but the contemplative and confessional tone maintained.
It is over the chalk sketch that the play is performed, and we see the adult world invading the childlike space, borrowing the significance of certain locations for staging throughout. The clash of these two worlds climaxes at the end of the first act as the kindness of a child temporarily reminds the adults of their lost humanity. The concepts dealt with by the play often seem too ‘adult’ for the children to understand, but Atticus Finch puts it best when he simply says ‘It’s about right and wrong.’ At times it seems the children know this better than the adults. Despite that vomit inducing description the play never strays into the realms of mawkish sentimentality, a feat impressively performed by the uniformly excellent cast. Special mention needs to be made of Atticus and the Finch children. My irrational hatred of child actors was forgotten for one enjoyable evening, adorable little bastards.
Quote of the night from chap in seat N11 ‘It’s alright but they didn’t actually kill any birds. I brought my splatter suit and everything.’ I can’t fault him; he’s factually correct.
