1930s New York. Phillip and Sylvia Gellburg's relationship ("not Goldberg, it's Gellburg - there's a difference") seems healthy at first glance. They love each other, but suppressed anxieties are manifesting themselves physically. In Sylvia's case, she loses the use of her legs after reading about the growing anti-Semitic violence in Germany. She senses more acutely than any of her Jewish or Gentile friends the gathering horror, but doesn't know what to do about it. Her psychosomatic paralysis is even more complex than a reaction to the newspapers, however; what the psychologists call "unresolved issues" are debilitating her as well, so we are left to decide for ourselves what is to blame.
 | | David Fielder in Broken Glass |
This is the underlying theme Arthur Miller's intelligent 1994 exploration of being Jewish in times when racial and religious hatred were still under the table. As with much of Miller's work, it was inspired by contemporary inhumanity (civil war in Yugoslavia) but is much more complex than a parable. Miller's dialogue is famously acute and the play is constructed with imperceptible intricacy. One wonders then why such obvious howlers as the "shock" ending and some difficult, sudden changes in tack were left in. Phillip was played with great skill and credibility by David Fielder. It's a very engaging performance, ranging from a sour pout to desperate tears of dysfunctional love. The only times the character didn't work were when the script called for him to have sudden switches, like crying or the borderline comical cardiac arrest which makes for the disappointing finale. A bouquet too for Jenny Quayle's Sylvia - a complex, anxious and loving portrayal, and all done from the top half. It is no mean feat to show a woman wracked by an angry fear she cannot name, plagued by a malfunctioning but loving marriage but maintaining a motherly concern for the world. However, I am coming increasingly to the view that American accents should never be attempted by British actors. Even in talented, professional hands (as with the two above), we are too well acquainted with genuine New York voices to suspend our disbelief. And this says nothing for the disgraceful lapses suffered by some members of the cast. Generally, the support did not shine so well as the leads. Principal among these culprits is Patrick Poletti's priapic, jodhpur-sporting Dr Harry Hyman. The character is written in a way that allows him to be played two-dimenstionally, but at times his performance was so stiff you could fold him in four to use as protection for flat-pack furniture. His wife Margaret (Nina Lucking) suffered the same problem of being a two-dimensional bit of comic relief in the script, but wilfully succumbed to the shortfalling. These problems should be pointed out because the Watermill production of Broken Glass is a frustrating case; the script is 80% masterful, 20% shameful. And so it is with the acting, which leads to the deduction that the direction is at fault here - this is never more clearly seen than the Doctor's over-used tactic of presenting the audience with his back when speaking to Sylvia. Only in very small doses does this work. Special mention must be made of Gary McCann's design, however. Glass, steel and a translucent white background combine with simple beauty to gently suggest the period, but the back wall projections took the strawberry cheesecake: an opening shot of what is probably the Brooklyn Bridge crept into view at the start like a spider's web before easily evoking a familiar 'Noo Yoik'. The mirrored glass floor worked very nicely, too. This production is well worth seeing. If you were still in any doubt as to Miller's mastery of stage writing, it is very quickly dispelled, and the central performances do the work justice, permitting the characters' thought-provoking complexity to tease your intelligence. There is the sense that the cast came off after the curtain call and cursed at having had a real "off night", however, so do try to overlook any horror you may sense waiting in the wings... | 
