One of my favourite directors, Emma Rice, brings Hanif Kureishi’s novel to the stage with every effort to achieve her usual flair. The rambling story, about the early life of Karim – his family, fortunes, and sexual exploits – has its moments, but regrettably, big failings.
Rice co-adapts the book with its author and the result is long. There’s detail, to a fault, but also rushing; the unevenness makes the show a slog. While the characters are vivid, maybe there are just too many of them? Making each role three-dimensional is an achievement but the overall result is confusing.
It’s nice that this hard-working cast each get their moments in the spotlight. Karim’s father (Ankur Bahl) impresses with his yoga, Katy Owen has two roles (Karin’s mother, then lover) and does well contrasting them, Rina Fatania has three and is on fine form in each. Lucy Thackeray and Natasha Jayetileke are strong as women in search of fulfillment. Individual scenes are often good but as a whole the show seems to lack purpose.
All the action, and anecdote, relate to Karim of course. And herein lies a problem. Kureishi’s anti-hero isn’t a strong enough creation. His self-absorption is a turn-off, his struggle strangely unconvincing and, put simply, he isn’t very nice. It’s the role of a lifetime for Dee Ahluwalia who has to carry the whole show; his commitment and stamina is impressive but Karim is hard to care about.
There are inventive touches throughout; Rice can delight like few other directors. It helps that Karim is an actor and scenes in rehearsal rooms are great fun (and provide a super role for Ewan Wardrop as a director). The “mess” of theatre is evoked, creating bursts of energy and fun. Choreographed scenes from Etta Murfitt help and Rachana Jadhav’s set embodies the fluidity of the action. It’s a puzzle as to why it doesn’t work.
“Class, race, fucking and farce”
Taking a look at the play-within-the-play that Karim stars in might help. The onstage director devises a show with “class, race, fucking and farce” which describes The Buddha of Suburbia itself perfectly.
Class and race are tackled, but too briefly and with little imagination. Maybe the source material, published in 1990, has dated. Or our ideas about the 1970s have solidified. But the shorthand of events and sociology is laboured and sloppy. Ahluwalia struggles to deliver summaries that provide context, he’s even given a microphone to help, and is reduced to waving his hands around. More importantly we hear nothing new. There’s no challenge, just a mush of vague ideas. Even the clips used in Simon Baker’s video design are the usual retro stuff. There is little peril or drama; a traumatic attack is shockingly dismissed. And ideas about representation, surely pertinent, are dealt with lightly. It’s fine if you want the tone of the piece to be celebratory… but too many issues are raised and then left hanging.
There’s also little drama around Karim’s sex life, which is surprising. It makes the “fucking and farce” sections light and funny. Using fruit as a stand in for genitals is a genius move (it’s sure to be how the production is remembered) giving the whole show a big banana energy. It shows Rice’s playful wit and is brilliantly theatrical. Likewise, the party poppers used when characters climax is a super touch. The sex comedy (so appropriate for the 1970s) is a relief to the pedestrian talk of politics and class. But two out of four isn’t great.
Until 16 November 2024
Photo by Steve Tanner © RSC
