The Homecoming
Harold Pinter
I was not going to write a review of this performance because I have never seen a Pinter play before and therefore, did not consider myself a worthy critic. However, given the absolute tedium of the play; the scandal of un-entertainment packaged as drama, I feel compelled to have a rant. And why not?
The Homecoming is about a dysfunctional family; not an original premise but Pinter was the Avant-garde of British drama in the 50s and 60s and so, whereas Ratigan before him wrote about the dysfunctional upper-class family, Pinter writes about the dysfunctional working-class family. I expect, at the time, it was said that Pinter wrote of ‘real’ people. It was a sort of political reaction against our class-ridden society, I expect, and perhaps the likes of Pinter and his followers did think that the working-class was like the family that he portrays in The Homecoming. Perhaps, it was this political correctness that stopped people being able to properly criticise Pinter. Or perhaps, I just saw a shoddy performance.
The Homecoming tells the story of a family of men. Max presides as the anti-patriarch over a family of three sons and a bachelor brother, Sam. The family is grotesque without being fascinating. Max is a foul-mouthed misogynist who, it is intimated, has abused his children and neglected his late wife. Played by Nicholas Woodeson he was a perfect cross between Alf Garnet and Bob Hoskins. The family dynamic is tested to breaking point by the return of eldest and prodigal son, Teddy. Teddy has escaped the kitchen sink drama of his childhood and has been absent for six years acquiring a wife and three sons and building up his career as Professor of Philosophy at an American university.
And this is what happens, in a nutshell: Teddy and his wife, Ruth arrive and we see, from a brief, effective scene, that husband and wife have difficulties with communication (to coin a modern phrase) and have grown apart (to coin another). Whilst staying with the family Ruth seduces both of the younger sons and decides to stay with the family whilst Teddy goes back to America. Teddy’s brother Lenny, we now discover, is a pimp. He and youngest brother Joey, along with Max decide to pimp out Ruth so that she can make them some money. Uncle Sam drops down dead. I kid you not. It is melodrama that makes no sense whatsoever. It is implausible every step of the way. If Pinter wanted to demonstrate how poorly people communicate he would have done better to include some light and dark. Every character in this play seems to be on the edge of psychotic. In the interval my husband asked me if I thought anything would happen in the second half. I said that no, nothing would happen because of course, that’s not the point. This is a tale of character. But how to relate to these preposterous monsters? That is the play’s great failing. At the interval I would not have cared if I never saw the second half of The Homecoming; it is all very well to write clever drama that is different to what went before but it is a travesty to deny an audience entertainment.
With the talk of enforced prostitution, violence towards women and rape, some of the Americans in the audience laughed. I see their confusion. Was it a comedy? The RSC is keen always to bring out the humour in their dramas. But the feminist in me was decidedly bored by this play; it has not stood the test of time because its depiction of women is so dated. The only female character, Ruth is a neurotic, sexually predatory femme-fatale. Every man’s fantasy fuck then. No need for any more women. Aislin McGuckin played her beautifully because she never allowed herself to be intimidated by these men despite the fact that they are going to punish her severely for the simple crime of being female. She brought a genuine erotic charge to the drama. Poor Aislin had to cop off with goosy Jonathan Slinger yet again but at least that probably eased the tedium of the play for her. For us, however, the nasty taste of misogyny was hard to stomach. I wonder, again, if people were so in awe of Pinter in his hay day that they were unable to criticise, particularly from a feminist point of view. So, why the humour then? Pinter’s play is the equivalent of the rape joke; women rarely find it funny.
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