Review: THE MAIDS at Donmar Warehouse

Jean Genet’s perennial warhorse has been treated to an energised dusting-off at the Donmar Warehouse, courtesy of a new and revitalised updating by Kip Williams who also take the helm.

For a seasoned reviewer, there is nothing better than discovering a brilliant new show and being able to encourage everyone to beg, borrow or steal a ticket. The West End used to be filled with show hoardings boasting such quotes from the theatre critics of the day. Unfortunately the opposite can be true and I’m certain that there isn’t a reviewer alive whose heart doesn’t sink or eyes roll at the mention of yet another re-hash of some particular play or other. My personal bugbear has long been Genet’s 1947 play THE MAIDS which, on the first occasion I endured it, I found utterly self-indulgent, bloated and mesmerisingly tedious.

Even after learning that the play had been based on real events, I found little to commend the tale of two sisters who are engaged as housemaids by a monstrously self-absorbed Madame. In the story, we first begin to comprehend the reality of the pair’s circumstances and situation while their employer is absent from the apartment. What initially looks like a bit of clandestine dressing-up, reveals itself as a release valve in which they take turns to indulge in abusive role play, dressing in Madame’s clothing and acting out humiliating and degrading exchanges within the setting of their tormentor’s opulent bedroom. Mirroring the background events from the 1933 Papin murders trial, the sisters also embark on a campaign of retribution by reporting Madame’s embezzling boyfriend to the police and hatching a plan to poison her when once she has returned from visiting him in jail.

The Maids production image. Photo by Marc Brenner

The big question racing through my mind as I journeyed into the West End on a drab and overcast Wednesday evening, was how on Earth could anyone consider mounting another production of this horrible-dated, ugly and rambling yarn? Remarkably, a key concern was instantly dismissed as I took my seat in the auditorium. The thrust stage was enveloped in a gauze, through which was visible, the anticipated luxurious bedroom, adorned with multitudinous flowers and mirrors. Significantly however, as an adjunct to the sedate visuals, the atmosphere was entirely dominated by booming club rhythms which continued to fill the space up to the first line of dialogue.

Claire (Lydia Wilson) and Solange (Phia Saban) gradually lure us into their game, revealing its necessity and the mental fragility which is borne of near constant abuse and contempt delivered by their initially unseen employer. Later, when joined by Madame (Yerin Ha), we are treated to a masterclass in erratic petulance, spite, entitlement and ego. She is the very personification of a spoiled brat whose sense of self-worth and social significance is buoyed and reinforced by the number of followers and fans who fawn on her every posting of an image or media clip. The introduction of multi-visual technology is the big game changer here, and the creative team (Set - Rosanna Vize, Costume Marg Horwell, Lighting - Jon Clark, Sound - Dan Balfour and Video design - Zakk Hein) have pulled off a minor coup in providing an ever engaging backdrop to the ceaseless chatter which ordinarily becomes exhausting and interminable.

Does everyone do an absolutely sterling job conveying the awfulness of their personalities and predicament? The answer to that question is a resounding and unqualified yes. Does that fact alone make this a play to suddenly enjoy and delight in? Not a chance, but hats-off for pulling out all the stops and putting a spotlight on the fatuous cruelty of modern social media and it vacuous uber-users, which is magnificently realised.

The Maids plays at Donmar Warehouse until 29 November.