Ivo van Hove directs the two-time Olivier-winning actress in this heartwrenching monodrama, and Wilson’s captivating performance soars in a relevant isolation monologue.
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Not even Ruth Wilson’s limpid talent can breathe life into this dated, 70-minute solo show, in which a woman goes to pieces discussing the end of an affair with her unheard lover over the phone.
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Ruth Wilson, as a spurned lover dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a Tweety Pie top, variously underplays and over-eggs her character’s suffering...And for all its theatricality, the play remains stolidly sedate; a 65-minute monologue that creeps to its end.
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Ruth Wilson is on stage for all of 70 minutes, chatting ever more frantically down a phone line. Fine actress though she is, she can’t salvage a piece that — written nearly a century ago — remains an exercise in stagecraft rather than a compelling dark night of the soul.
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Van Hove’s production is, as you would expect, perfect in tone and texture...Yes, this overwhelmingly moving performance is a great 70 minutes of theatre — believe the hype.
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What, you can’t help but wonder about half way through what is an extremely slow 70 minutes, made Ruth Wilson agree to star in this oddly unpleasant revival of a 1930 Jean Cocteau monodrama?
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Ivo van Hove's adaptation of Jean Cocteau's 1930 play is a piece that gives about as much as you're ready to put into it. Is it all a fantasy?...Does it matter either way?
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This glamorously staged misery monologue starring the wonderful Ruth Wilson got a full-throated standing ovation on opening night, but it left me totally cold.
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