A riveting journey through life’s big questions via two of the twentieth century’s greatest minds.
It’s the first of September, 1939. Sigmund Freud, the world renowned psychoanalyst, is visited by soon-to-be legendary author C.S. Lewis the day World War 2 is declared. The impending war, and Freud’s failing health, catalyses deep conversations about the largest topics life has to offer.
Freud’s Last Session promises debates on love, sex, and religion, and it certainly delivers – with more besides. Mark St. Germain’s writing, complemented by Peter Darney’s direction, weaves smartly through each new subject so that you only realise you’re somewhere new once you’re already there. Tackling a premise like this carries the risk of losing the audience in the density of the material, but this play pulls it off and skips nimbly through its 80-minute runtime with the satisfying flow of natural conversation.
Which isn’t to say the arguments lack weight. The topics are skewered from several angles, and both sides have ample opportunity to convey their thoughts with passion as they enter battle after battle – often ending with a gotcha line that almost always earned a laugh or a hmmm from an engaged audience. The way St. Germain manages to find original, contextually appropriate ways to make each necessary turn is impressive and entertaining. As was the perhaps-predictable but certainly-fun business with the dreaded psychiatrist’s couch…
On to the two actors. I’m going to ask my French teacher to forgive my linguistics for the sake of the pun: it was a tour deux force. Both men handled the academic material expertly without sacrificing emotional depth, doing well to remind us that the personal is political. After all, this is the theatre, not a lecture hall.
Séan Browne’s C.S. Lewis was the quintessential English gent, and owned the space vocally whilst retaining a kind, welcoming quality befitting of the newfound believer. His moments of passion, and his sudden PTSD attacks, were committed and vulnerable. The role of the eponymous Freud was taken by real-life psychiatrist-cum-actor Dr. Julian Bird, who put in so immaculate a turn that I was shocked to learn both that he went to drama school at the age of 63, some 17 years ago, and that he isn’t actually Austrian. Every move, from anger to disdain to eruptive laughter, was believable and captivating, and his performance towards the end of the play will surely stay with me for a long time. Oh, and his ability to deliver a sarcastic punchline is unrivalled.
It was a dynamic balance of actors, arguments, and tone, and only occasionally did the play miss its mark. Blood on a napkin is an old trope and was ever-so-slightly overplayed; some arguments ended a little conveniently for my taste, just before a revelation; and some real-life topics were left woefully under-examined, such as Freud’s daughter Anna’s likely lesbianism or Lewis’s relationship with his best-friend’s mother. These quibbles, it must be noted, are probably the necessary outcomes of doing this kind of show in this kind of venue, so take them with the necessary salt.
It feels slightly too easy to say it’s nice to see two people have a civilised conversation nowadays, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll say it reminded me the damage pride can do to open-mindedness, that there are always things I have yet to consider, and that pain and pleasure are both great teachers. Though what do I know? I’m only 24.
So if you enjoy excellent writing, expert acting, and a nice pub, head to the King’s Head this summer. It’s no wonder this play has returned after a sell-out run earlier this year, nor is it a surprise to hear of an upcoming feature film version with Sir Anthony Hopkins confirmed in the titular role. He has a worthy predecessor in Julian Bird, and I’m looking forward to seeing the next permutation of this work. That’s if my brain … or soul? … can take it.