The Height of the Storm

by Florian Zeller

seen at Wyndhams Theatre on 18 October 2018

Jonathan Kent directs Jonathan Pryce as André and Eileen Atkins as Madeleine, with Amanda Drew and Anna Madeley as their daughters Anne and Elise in Zeller's new play, in which he again addresses themes of love, loss, memory and grief. The translation is by Christopher Hampton , and the set is designed by Anthony Ward - each in their own way excellent.

In an ageing writer's country house (or at least, a house outside Paris), in which shelves overloaded with books to an impossible height dominate several visible walls, Anne is trying to gain her father's attention, but he seems lost in a reverie staring out through the kitchen windows to the garden beyond. We soon conclude that he is recently widowed and possibly succumbing to dementia - there is talk of resolving 'the situation' and realising that new arrangements must be made.

Later Madeleine appears and we watch scenes of long habituated domesticity and interdependence, interrupted by visits from 'the children' which are part of family life, but also at times resented, especially when one or other of the daughters hints at a need for change. Madeleine, clearly the home maker and mainstay, can see no reason for change, as she has promised her husband that she will outlive him.

Some reviewers and commentators have noticed that the play is confusing, that it is not clear what is going on. This may perhaps be a conclusion drawn because other plays by Zeller - especially The Father - have indeed required intense concentration to follow. In this case, I thought it was reasonably clear that we were watching an extremely perceptive study in devastating loss, in which André, obviously a man used to controlling his life, finds himself adrift, beset both by grief and by diminishing mental powers. The scenes with Madeleine were, I thought, either flashbacks or reminiscences - to me it hardly matters which - and the confusions over two visitors other than the daughters were quite plausible. Zeller has exploited some ambiguities in these situations, which means that concentration is once again rewarded; what a great pleasure to watch a play which comfortably invites its audience to pay close attention.

The play's success depends upon the leads, and both Jonathan Pryce and Eileen Atkins are at the top of their form. His solitude, his loneliness, his outbursts of petulance are all perfectly judged, while her quiet competence, forbearance and wry put-downs make a superb contrast and foil. Just to watch these two great actors is a privilege. One may have thought that the so-called 'drawing room play', meaning one set in a well-appointed room, was incorrigibly outdated. Here we are reminded that such a setting may well have a vital technical function - to help acoustically to project the actors' voices into the auditorium. By the end, Eileen Atkins seemed to be speaking barely above a whisper, but every word was audible, and, even more important, every emotional nuance was clear. That sort of subtlety would have been disastrously flattened the use of microphones, and this production and its excellent cast demonstrate how unnecessary they are when skilled actors practise their art.