revives the play with a self-awareness which makes the show more accessible and modern
R C Sherriff’s Home at Seven was last performed in the West End in 1950. When a man comes home to find he has been missing for 24 hours, his missing memory lands him at the centre of accusations of murder and theft. With the recent war lingering in the memory of the play, it is a close but subtle examination of guilt, a portrait of a shell-shocked England.
The script itself may be a little dated. It’s rather bloated and oftentimes repetitive, a signifier of the era it was written for. For a murder mystery, it is rather unsurprising and a little predictable. However, it’s a testament to the talent of the actors and the production team that such an enjoyable night was created out of a script slightly dry in content. Where the script lacks, the actors entirely make up for. The twee, English attitude is often lent into, making for a respectfully campy performance. This was well received by the audience, with the room often full of laughter, an unexpected feature of the night. Humour, in this production, felt inter-generational, resting on a shared recognition of a kind of white English middle class.
Notably, Bridget Lambert went above and beyond to deliver a layered performance of Mrs Preston. Even though the script didn’t often hand it to her, with the written portrayal of Mrs Preston a little thin and dated, Lambert had us gripped from the start, entering the stage with a peculiar reserved anxiety that set the scene of the show without a word.
Maddie Crofts also made an excellent London stage debut as Peggy Dobson. Though her presence onstage is short-lived, it provided a welcome shift of tone in act 2, deepening the social dimension of the play.
Another excellent moment was a conversation played out between Major Watson (Karl Moffatt) and Dr Sparling (Andrew Williams) in which the Major’s assumption of Mr Preston’s guilt is scrutinised by the doctor. Here, the script holds up well, assisted even more so by Moffatt and Williams’ engagement with the material and with each other. Williams exuded a sense of genuine care for the matter, and Moffat’s characterisation of the Major in this scene alone showed the dichotomy of how accusation and guilt is experienced by a person.
Claire Evans’ direction is wonderful. The performance maintains a good flow despite its restricted space, and there are some very thoughtful touches, such as the audience being pointed towards as Mr Preston and the Inspector discuss the Prestons’ garden of Chrysanthemums. Props must also be given to the impressive set design, with touches including R C Sherriff’s own telephone, loaned by the R C Sherriff trust. This, along with the details on the wooden desk and the textiles used on the seating, made for a set that felt critically world-building and period appropriate.
Evans’ production of Home at Seven revives the play with a self-awareness which makes the show more accessible and modern, without patronising the audience. There’s a clear respect for R C Sherriff and his work, producing an inviting atmosphere into what is ultimately a very enjoyable piece of theatre.