Pack Of Lies #theatre #review

When I was a child – in the 1960s – the world was a fairly easy to understand place. Food appeared without effort, Mum was tough, Dad fun, Brother horrid, Gran and Nana kind and chocolaty and our dog huge and slobbery.

My brother and I spent a lot of time in the garden or with Mum when she went out. Sometimes that involved visits to neighbours, always other housewives and often their children. If I look back now, a number of those women were unlike Mum. With Mum you could relax in her presence, so long as you complied with some fairly clear cut, black and white rules involving noise, mess and manners. With these women you could never be quite sure what you might get – one time they would be easy going, ‘have another biscuit’, whereas another they would be all grim faces, fiddling with their own version of a security blanket – tea towel, antimacassar, apron, doily – and anxious to know where your hands were.

In those situations you learnt early on that the best you could do was fly beneath their radar because on those days it was easy to trigger some atomic explosion. Our next door neighbour, Olive Haylor was rather like that, very concerned with the whereabouts of fingers.

Last Friday, I was reminded of such women, a product of their time when their lives were determined by their husband’s positions or the success of their children; they were vicarious people.

We went to see

Pack of Lies

at the Chocolate Menier Factory Theatre near London bridge. Written in 1983 but set in 1960 it is a tale of suspicion, spying and suppression. Based on a true story it seems, one suburban family is caught up in a police operation to spy on their neighbours who might also be spies. Cold War suspicions run like fissures through the expectations of the middle class, aspirational and unbelievably repressed British family, the Jacksons.

This is the blurb

The Jacksons are a nice middle aged English couple. Their best friends are the Krogers, their Canadian neighbours. All is blissful in their world until a detective from Scotland Yard asks to use their house as an observation station to foil a Soviet spy ring operating in the area. They are really put to the test when the detective asks them to help set a trap. Should they betray their friends… Or their country?

This play is based on a true story. 

Finty Williams, as Mrs Jackson fiddles her way through the production, her nerves on constant display. Like so many women I now recognise from before, there is a driven need, a hard-wired instinct to conform. Yet here two basic pillars of life are in conflict, both involving ‘doing the right thing’. On the one hand the police require help and being law abiding the Jacksons must do their bit; but it also means that their friends, people who they trust and who they believe trust them have to be lied to and betrayed – and in so doing also lie or at least dissemble to their teenage daughter, who they are determined to bring up understanding the importance of always ‘doing the right thing’.

You can see so clearly in every nuance, every twitch, in how the weight of the deceits cause the Jacksons to bend and shrink as the play proceeds what this is doing to Mr and Mrs Jackson. The tension is unbearable and Mrs Jackson never really recovers from it.

Would it be right to say I enjoyed such a play? It is a slow burner, it is mannered and dated yet very current, it irritates when each character explains something about his or her motivation by a soliloquy through the fourth wall and yet it is a tour de force.

Finty Williams and Chris Larkin, as Mr Jackson are perfect. I know, or at least, knew these people as a child, through children’s eyes, not then understanding how important class and place and status and not being embarrassed were to their self esteem. I went round to their houses to play after school. I sat up straight, ate my sandwiches and waited until released into the garden. You could feel the pressure, the lack of oxygen caused by all the sucked in breaths. Sitting on the school-bench-like seating – also irritating as the arse that should have been confined to section C12 spread onto C13 that I’d paid for – I was captivated.

Good plays end, for me, in stillness. I do not want to stand up but rather remain where I am, processing what I have just seen. Pack of Lies did that. Yes, I think, despite the somewhat uncomfortable trip down memory lane, I can say I enjoyed this.

Perhaps I should add that when first performed, Judy Dench played Mrs Jackson and her husband Michael Williams Mr Jackson. Finty is their daughter and she was bloody good too. If you do get a chance to see it, I would recommend you do.

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
This entry was posted in review, theatre and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to Pack Of Lies #theatre #review

  1. trifflepudling says:

    That does sound really good, thanks! I agree that it’s a good sign when you want to sit still at the end and process it all.
    Your comments about mothers made me think of mine, who wasn’t a housewife. She didn’t worry too much about ‘fingers’ and used to laugh a lot instead of ticking us off when we were small. I can feel very strongly today her warm, soft cuddle with various Helena Rubinstein and Elizabeth Arden scents enveloping me.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ritu says:

    Sounds like a great piece of theatre!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Oh to live in a world where going to theater so easily turns into a chance to watch Ms Dench work her magic. I think I might be willing to pay good money to watch her read the phone book for an hour. such is her gift & level of talent. Great review Geoff!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Think we saw something like this on Youtube a little while ago. Not wishing to spoil the plot if it is the same story, the wife became ill.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I love her name – Flinty Williams! Wouldn’t have guessed Judy and Michael would have given their child such a great name. Sounds like a chilling piece of theatre – but good theatre should always either leave us laughing or thinking or feeling slightly uncomfortable shouldn’t it? Great review!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. A fine review following a touching introduction

    Liked by 1 person

Comments are closed.