A Christmas Carol, Old Vic: still a wonder, but John Simm is an underwhelming Scrooge
The return of the Old Vic’s A Christmas Carol – as niftily adapted by Jack Thorne, with threaded, thematically apposite carols its most stirring stroke of dramatic ingenuity – is almost as much a harbinger of the festive season as Slade’s pop perennial Merry Xmas Everybody.
Its recurrence seems self-perpetuating, and the fact that it requires, and attracts, actors of calibre and celebrity standing (beginning with Rhys Ifans and last year springing Christopher Eccleston on us) compounds its evergreen entertainment value; its theatrical verve such that, whether you’re a returnee or a newcomer, it has the allure of an essential ritual. Equally, it has been assisted by our turbulent age itself; four Tory PMs have come and gone since its first staging in 2017. Now, thanks to the impoverishing measures from the new Labour government, the economic malaise that lent it a topical piquancy looks set to run and run.
For this is a morality tale not just of damnable meanness – a miserliness that meets a supernatural reckoning – but of the dread of indebtedness that haunts us all. Dickens surely drew Scrooge from his soul, as inspired by the financial shockwaves he endured as a child. The genius of his 1843 novella is its deft combining of the personal and political, a world of damage contained in that grouchy phrase “Bah! Humbug!” His anti-hero has a quality of caricature but he has persisted because the longer we stare at him the more recognisable he seems.
If there’s a fault, though, with this latest (the eighth) iteration of Matthew Warchus’ production it’s that John Simm as Ebenezer inclines too much too soon towards straightforwardness of temperament: despite his hunching over his ledger, he hasn’t been bent into something frightful. Yes, he snarls. Yes, he sneers irascibly. But, despite greying hair and fraying gown, his agility – and wrinkle-free countenance – more conjures a peevish loner in a midlife crisis than an icy curmudgeon in mortal fear.
Simm has undeniable presence – and a winning air of jubilation as his Scrooge finally wakes with the impulse to redeem himself (the show again pulling out all the stops, with its fake snowfall and sheeted chutes of tumbling fruit and veg, zip-wire turkey and parachuted sprouts, to enlist merriment). But the character’s torment doesn’t entirely hit home.
Thorne, pruning Dickens’ prose (albeit channelling some of it through the chorus), emphasises psychology, especially Scrooge’s ruinous relationship with his father. But partly because this version has the money-lender stepping into the shoes of his younger self, rather than looking on, at one sorrowful remove, it was only in the second half, and in the ineffably touching final encounter with Tiny Tim especially, that I felt the evening’s customary stabbing potency. With its exquisite roster of carols, enchanting hand-bell chiming and terrific design – dominated by a superflux of lanterns – it’s still a wonder to behold, but, going forward, this well-oiled machine must avoid looking like it’s going through the motions.
Until Jan 4. Tickets: oldvictheatre.com