Orlando (Garrick Theatre, London)
Verdict: Girls and boys come out to play
SINCE Emma Corrin catapulted to stardom, after peeking sheepishly through her bangs like a teenage Princess Diana in The Crown, then quickly switching pronouns from her to them, the 26-year-old androgynous beauty has been the pin-up star. for non-binary identity.
So who better to play the lead in Neil Bartlett’s hilarious but also moving adaptation of Orlando, Virginia Woolf’s gender-swapping, time-traveling fantasy?
It’s a playful romp through the centuries, with Orlando, first as a man, then as a woman, exploring sex, sexuality, sexism, and ecstasy: where to find it and with whom.
SINCE Emma Corrin catapulted to stardom, then quickly switched pronouns from her to them, the 26-year-old androgynous beauty has been the pin-up of non-binary identity.
Written in 1928 and inspired by Woolf’s passionate affair with aristocrat Vita Sackville-West when they were both part of the Bloomsbury bohemian crowd but also married, Orlando was an innovative bid for self-determination.
And it still is, cleverly engaging in today’s often raucous debate about gender fluidity, rigid classifications, and conventional expectations.
Bartlett’s approach is playful rather than pious, with jaunty lines from Shakespeare (an expert in the business of male actors playing female characters and cross-dressing as the role demands) and cheeky comments about whether the monarch prefers’ Arthur or Martha’.
Orlando bursts in, hair tousled and pantless, complete with (fake) wedding gear, tossing doublet and stockings over long, slender, smooth legs and asking, “Who am I?”
So who better to play the lead in Neil Bartlett’s hilarious but also moving adaptation of Orlando, Virginia Woolf’s gender-swapping, time-traveling fantasy?
It’s a playful romp through the centuries, with Orlando, first as a man, then as a woman, exploring sex, sexuality, sexism, and ecstasy.
A captivating, timeless pixie with a shock of white hair, Corrin inhabits the role to perfection, blending the flair and dazzle of a kingfisher with the casual sense of entitlement of an aristocrat.
No wonder a crocheted and crumbling Queen Elizabeth (Lucy Briers) can’t resist. Orlando, however, can.
But when Millicent Wong’s hilariously wild Russian princess dumps him, it’s his turn to get hurt.
Halfway through, Orlando wakes up as a Victorian woman, and Corrin takes off her top to prove it. She dons a corset, but maintains the same optimistic and seductive personality, to experience life as an ‘obedient, chaste and perfumed’ woman.
Orlando bursts in, hair tousled and pantless, complete with (fake) wedding apparel, tugging doublet and stockings over long, slender, smooth legs.
A captivating, timeless pixie with a shock of white hair, Corrin inhabits the role to perfection, blending the flair and dazzle of a kingfisher with the casual sense of entitlement.
Bartlett has deftly expanded the role of Orlando’s housekeeper, Mrs. Grimsditch, (hilariously earthy, mum Deborah Findlay) to that of a Cockney wardrobe mistress. Speaking to the audience (“Boys and girls and, er, everyone,” he says, covering all the possibilities) while helping his mercurial teacher (and later, mistress) put on dozens of different costumes, he guides us through the fast-paced adventures from Orlando.
Less successful is the chorus of nine bespectacled Donnish Virginias of all ages, in long skirts and cardies, who appear at intervals. While we are reminded of the reality behind the fantasy, Woolf’s voice remains a blur.
The design also disappoints; without evoking any of Woolf’s glorious descriptions of landscapes.
As a paean to beauty, Michael Grandage’s production (apart from Corrin) misses the mark. However, as a joyous ode to freedom, he nails it.
As a paean to beauty, Michael Grandage’s production (apart from Corrin) misses the mark. However, as a joyous ode to freedom, he nails it.