Katharine James
posted 7 November 2007

Junky whore transvestites, lesbians, nuns and single mums: welcome to the world of Pedro Almodovar. Almodovar is an institution in Spain. His 1999 film All About My Mother is considered one of his best works. It is not easy to think of a good reason for turning it into a play. But this is what the Old Vic, in its wisdom, has decided to do. It’s a shame to say this but: when you can buy a box set of Almodovar’s greatest films for under twenty quid on Amazon, it seems perverse to pay double and sit in a squeaky stalls seat watching a production that’s as limp as wilted spinach.

Just as David Lynch bottles the essence of seedy small town America, Almodovar catches the energy, rhythms and soul of Spain. Almodovar’s aesthetic is unashamedly kitsch. He works in a medium of pure melodrama. An air of fatalism pervades and emotions run close to the surface. This could be a recipe for disaster, were it not for Almodovar’s peculiar magic. The characters in All About My Mother move on the fringes of society. Manuela (played here by Lesley Manville) is a lone parent. The death of her son Esteban (Colin Morgan) prompts her to begin a search for his father, and in so doing, to confront a past she abandoned 17 years before. Her journey reunites her with an old friend, the transvestite Agardo (Mark Gatiss), and introduces new ones: Rosa (Joanne Froggatt), a nun working to rehabilitate prostitutes, and Huma Rojo (Diana Rigg), a famous Spanish actress. Though touched often by death, their stories are shot through with a seam of life which celebrates the joy of birth, of mothers - of women. As a film, it is a profoundly moving, complete, coherent work of art.

In transferring All About My Mother to the stage, the Old Vic has produced a poor shadow. A director with unique originality might stand a chance of re-imagining Almodovar’s world in the theatre. Tom Cairns does not manage to do this. For starters, his production is not very Spanish. Sure, it’s quite colourful, but that is not the same. Despite packing some serious punches in the theatre world, designer Hildegard Bechtler appears simply to have broken into the film set, pinched the big red lamp and some wallpaper from Manuela’s flat and hoped for the best.

Samuel Adamson’s adaptation is faithful, but this causes problems. In keeping the structure, which by and large he does, the pace is lost. The first half, deprived of the detail and fluidity made possible by editing and location shooting, is cut back more or less to the bones of the plot. To keep us entertained, Cairns cranks up the camp and reduces the story to farce.

The changes that have been made don’t add much. Agrado’s speech to a theatre audience at the end of the film is extended and chopped into the stage version early on. This is OK, but a little disruptive. Instead of using voice-overs, Esteban comes on stage to read his diary extracts, and on several occasions ‘appears’ to Manuela as a ghostly vision. This does not work and is justified only in that it gives hot young newcomer Colin Morgan (Vernon God Little) more to do.

The performances vary. Although Lesley Manville is very strong, in milking their roles for laughs, Diana Rigg and Mark Gatiss lose some of the subtlety of the script. There is a point in the film where someone asks Agrado for a blow job. She refuses. On stage, the context has been shifted and Agrado ends up almost caught in the act. This gets a laugh, but it is a cheap one, and unnecessary. Cairns has missed the point, unless he was aiming for Carry On Almodovar.

The cinema has multiple cameras, endless visual possibility in shots and angles, massive budgets and time at its disposal. A great film is generally viewed as definitive. Theatre, on the other hand, is ephemeral. The two media are fundamentally different and adapting a great film to the stage is a tall order. If you’re going to do it, you must have a good reason. A reason that must run deeper than an attempt to make a traditionally stuffy and elitist establishment look cooler and more down with the kids. Especially when the kids can’t afford a good seat. Of course, Kevin Spacey as the Old Vic’s artistic director could be making a claim that the stage can compete with the cinema on the latter’s own turf. If this is the case, better then, to get in, Katie Mitchell or Simon McBurney whose productions have incredible visual scope and boundless imagination, and have the job done properly.

Till 24 November 2007.