Obioma Ugoala (Theo) and Tanya Franks (Deborah) in a Role to Die For. Photo by Steve GregsonIn the show’s programme, director Derek Bond (no relation, obviously!) is at pains to assure us that whilst everything about this plotline leads us naturally to assume that Deborah is based on Barbara Broccoli (daughter of 007 supremo Albert R “Cubby” Broccoli), the similarities are but mere coincidence and should therefore not be a bone of contention for the Broccoli dynasty’s lawyers. That said, Monty Norman’s James Bond composition is clearly played during the piece and the set is adorned with black-tie wearing, gun-toting images of Sean Connery, Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore, Daniel Craig and Timothy Dalton as Fleming’s misogynist, flag waving, rebellious anti-hero who represents everything Empire.
The plot essentially revolves around the hunt for a successor to perpetuate the lucrative Bond behemoth. The front runner has been caught messaging with underage girl fans, the inference being that he has been guilty of grooming minors. In the rush to minimise fall-out and find an alternative Bond before tomorrow’s public announcement, a host of previously discounted candidates is screened by producer partner Malcolm (Philip Bretherton) who favours a handsome, dapper, foppishly-haired, all English chap Richard whose face we see projected. As an alternative, Deborah’s gay son Quinn (Harry Goodson-Bevan) who may, or may not, be persuaded to assume the franchise’s unofficial role of heir apparent, proffers and prefers, a tall, beefy, but most significantly, non-white actor Theo (Obiama Ugoala) who, following some pussy-footing debate, receives the anointing nod. When he asks that his male fiancé Luke is accommodated at the contract signing ceremony, all hell breaks loose. The production office’s panic and previously unspoken bigotry causes brand-saving mitigation measures to swing into action.
More perhaps about generational relations and expectations than casting for an espionage franchise, the piece leans heavily on the Bond associations, but manages (just) to hold on to the writer’s vision of exploring what it means to be born into a huge and historically successful family/brand/business (think the monarchy with a dose of Cadburys, a pinch of Rolls Royce and the Beckhams thrown in for good measure).
On press night there was some confusion as to whether designer Cory Shipp’s tightly contained set panels worked as intended, and there were black-out wobbles at key changes, possibly due to the lack of backstage space at the Marylebone. These will undoubtedly get ironed-out during the run.
Perhaps of greater concern, was the apparent disconnect in delivery style. Make no mistake, this is not simply a comedy. In key areas, the script hysteria requires farce delivery skills. In this regard, Philip Bretherton’s Malcom had the chops to know when stillness matters and freneticism is required. Lots of shouty expletives may be fun to deliver (and initially, shockingly amusing for the audience), but the comic lustre quickly fades. A dry, deadpan, even world-weary approach can work wonders in place of over-animation in scenes involving manipulation and subterfuge.
A ROLE TO DIE FOR at Marylebone Theatre plays until 30th August.
