Written and Directed by Aggie Perry Robinson

Assistant Direction by Eve Hartley

Review by Marina Funcasta

For a work that is so concerned with names and the power of naming, it is ironic that Eleanor was initially described to me in passing as “a play about Karl Marx’s daughter”. Immediately the thought of a communist-inspired, student-written play performed at La Belle Angele prompted a certain trepidation only accredited to the Edinburgh Fringe. And yet, I couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Eleanor is, at its heart, about the self and how it is revealed, constructed, or destroyed by the relationships surrounding us. Otherwise referred to as ‘Tussy’, Arlene Mckay’s Eleanor appears from the very first scene with utmost ebullience; transporting us back in time to Eleanor’s infancy, Aggie Perry Robinson’s script finds its feet in the library of Marx’s home. 

Emerging as a histrionic ringleader, Eleanor is followed everywhere she goes by an entourage of minions, with Leoni Fraser and Ais Mcsharry endearing in their puerile naivety. Thankfully for them, Tussy’s dictatorial machinations are limited to scenes from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream; charged with casting, directing and performing, Eleanor’s love of the theatrical is crystal clear to all around her – especially Freddy, performed by Rider Hartley with a demeanour of unassuageable despondency, who acquiesces to her every request. Much like Freddy, the audience is disarmed by Tussy’s unapologetic charm; she is sure of herself, sure of her talent and sure of what she wants.

It would seem, however, that for a narrative that has feminist principles etched into its skeleton, the first scene accomplishes what every work concerning the genre strives for in its final scenes: Alice in Wonderland, or Anne of Green Gables spring to mind – portraying female characters who are on the journey towards realising their voice is, as a matter of fact, important. This is because, unlike Anne or Alice, Eleanor is a tragedy that surpasses the ignorant bliss of childhood.

Unlike Carroll, moreover, Robinson prizes female friendships and intellectual curiosity as two sides of the same token. Although staging issues, combined with La Belle’s unhelpfully flat seating arrangements, meant that much of the acting upstage went unnoticed, the more intimate moments between Mckay’s Eleanor and Greig’s Dollie, performed centrally, are spotlighted. It is a shame that Greig’s delivery struggled in its volume, causing some lines to be lost. This noted, her brilliant characterisation remained in place; her quietness proved conducive to Dollie’s modest disposition, especially when performed side by side with Mckay, whose vocal projection neared, at times, to the musical. Bonding over their impulsive, and relentless, creativity, the duo seems to exhibit a compatibility which, as the play goes to show, comes about once in a blue moon.

The joys and innocence of childhood nevertheless prove fleeting. Jumping forward through time, Eleanor’s strident spirit seems to fall subject to society’s ills; the next scene takes place as the girls are at the cusp of adulthood, we see Dollie and Tussy attempt to settle down, to ‘find themselves’, as it were. Greig’s bashful Dollie blossoms; an established poet, albeit within the trappings of a patriarchal system, Dollie has not only proven somewhat successful in her profession but also found a seemingly good match in Ernest Radford, played by Kris Gudjonsson. Gudjonsson and Greig are sentimental whereas Mckay and her lover, Edward Aveling, are passionate. Played with an almost indulgent feverishness by Columbus Mason, his duologues with Mckay are the most electric of the play, reminiscent of the passionate scenes written into Austen novels, or indeed, Austen adaptations – Wright’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’ in particular comes to mind.

Aggie Perry Robinson has written something rare – Eleanor’s script demonstrates a vitality which, despite the plot’s simplicity and length, never grows tiresome. Rather, the script catapults the audience into an attentive suspension of disbelief; from the onset, it is as if we are being driven through Eleanor’s mind, effervescent in its emotional modulations, bloated in its allusive power. It is the brandishing of intellectuality, combined with a sense of authentic feeling, that brings the text to life, surpassing in some cases, the actors themselves. Indeed, tending to rush, Mason seems to lose grip over his anger at times.

Even so, Theatre Paradok’s production doesn’t fail to impress. It is as resonant as it is witty, exposing the downward, inexorable spiral of domestic abuse, and how even the most apparently headstrong among are not bulletproof. Characterised not by her father Marx, who never even makes an appearance, or by ‘Mr Aveling’, but rather by the way Eleanor, and her circle, allow these labels to impinge on her life. In the world on stage, to name is to own, and to be named is to allow to be owned – a conclusion made all the more uncanny by the footnoting of Edinburgh Women’s Aid, a charity which works with victims of domestic abuse.

A love letter to words, Eleanor is remembered by a teary-eyed Dollie for her passionate theatricality – witty, poignant and ambitious, Eleanor brandishes good quality acting with an even better-calibre script.