A sympathetic portrait of a difficult woman
If you’ve heard of Mary Todd Lincoln, it’s probably as the “insane” first lady whose own son committed her to an asylum. Whilst her husband, the sixteenth President of the United States, commands universal reverence as emancipator of the slaves, Mary is heavily criticised: for wasting money, for belligerence, and for having questionable loyalties. Historian and writer John Ransom Philips attempts to rescue Mary from this cruel caricature, in a cleverly constructed two-hander that ultimately suffers from not having much of a point to make.
Mrs. President begins with Mary Lincoln (Miriam Grace Edwards) sitting for a portrait with visionary photographer Matthew Brady (Sam Jenkins Shaw). She’s prickly and demanding, insisting on being addressed by her husband’s title while resisting Brady’s artistic vision. He echoes her narcissism, convinced of his own brilliance (“I shape the image of people who shape America, so I am shaping America”). Each new portrait transports Mary to key moments in her life, with Jenkins-Shaw playing a cavalcade of historical figures, like the Supreme Court Justice who ruled that Congress could not ban slavery.
This “art as transformer of reality” resonates with Brady’s own views about his role as an artist, and Mrs. President is unafraid to embrace the weirdness of this shifting narrative. In some particularly dreamlike moments, the camera and chair in Brady’s studio come to life and discuss his work, adding some much-needed levity. It’s an intriguingly theatrical approach for a history play, and undeniably effective in keeping the story moving along. Ultimately, though, this innovative structure rings a little hollow, as Mary’s life alone doesn’t feel worth focusing a show on. Dare I say it: this story would be far more engaging with a greater focus on her husband.
Miriam Grace Edwards’ powerful performance as Mary cannot save Mrs. President from this feeling of pointlessness. She is utterly convincing across a full palette of emotions, in particular a perfect portrait of shock at Abraham Lincoln’s assassination (Mary was sat beside him at the theatre when he was shot). The pinballing narrative certainly gives Grace Edwards – and the light and sound teams – a challenge, but all rise to the task ably.
As Brady and Lincoln to-and-fro over what type of portrait to take, they hint at an important question: who owns art, the artist or the subject? But this is never fully explored in the script. Similarly, there is something interesting to be said about grief in Mary’s story – she lost three sons and her husband over the course of her life – but these events aren’t given enough time to breathe on the stage. The scrutiny faced by the first lady remains as relentless today as it was for Mary – with countless column inches recently wasted on Melania Trump’s outfit during her husband’s inauguration – but the play never capitalises on these parallels.
Fundamentally, Mrs. President feels like a show of lost potential. An interesting narrative structure, great acting and strong behind-the-scenes work promise an engaging show. And it feels like the story of Honest Abe’s wife should have something to teach the world. But whilst it flirts with this importance – on the nature of art and artist, on identity, and on grief – it never really pulls the trigger. Ultimately, this is a well-told story that leaves you wondering why it needed to be told in the first place.
Mrs. President plays at the Charing Cross Theatre until March 16th, with Wednesday and Saturday matinees. Tickets can be purchased here.