Dr Marigold and Mr Chops might end with Simon Callow narrating a heart-warming tale by the fireside, but this is, after all, Dickens, and his Christmas cheer comes with a twist. Even A Christmas Carol, for all the cries of ‘good will to all men’, casts a gloomy shadow (in which the darker, destitute side of Victorian London is hidden) in its wake. These two one-man plays, rarely performed, are no less complex; no less fantastical, emotional, colourful and modern. They are unusual and rich works which, though Callow doesn’t quite command fully - his lines aren’t completely there yet and the shape of the stories feels a little blurred – still instils with enough charm and affection to create a tender and emotional show.

Both pieces are set around a Victorian freak show – a suitably grotesque location for Dickens, bustling with strange, ugly and forgotten characters, begging to be remembered and described. We start with ‘Mr Chops’, the story of a circus dwarf who wins the lottery, quits his (unconventional) day job, enters society and is eventually spat out the other side.

Simon Callow plays Magsman, Mr Chops’ old circus master and the narrator of this silly but sombre story about the ‘kindest man who never growed…’ He doesn’t seem completely comfortable in the role – not least because Magsman is meant to be a rough cockney, and Callow’s plummy accent keeps peeping through. He also has problems dropping his h’s and one can often hear him halting before an ‘h’ and consciously correcting himself. The lines are also a little shaky, which disrupts the rhythm of the piece and undermines Dicken’s elegant pacing.

The structure is slightly shabby as a result: languorous descriptive sections are bulldozed through and other, more forgettable moments are drawn out, slowing the piece down at inappropriate moments. This uneven delivery means some of the humour is dropped, too. So many of Dickens’ jokes are tucked away in slight but spot-on asides (‘I sat down and looked at him. He stood up and looked at me.’) but Callow’s narration lacks the absolute precision required and some asides risk sliding away altogether.

Fortunately, Callow’s performance coalesces as the commentary subsides and re-enactment takes over. As soon as more characters burst through the story, Callow stops narrating (which perhaps gives him too much time to think and a little too much distance from the drama) and starts to act. The tentativeness of the opening section is forgotten as Callow, no longer hovering outside the story, begins to lose himself in the techni-colour glory of Dickens’ characters. Whilst Callow struggles playing a cockney narrator, he has no problem invoking a cheeky, sad and even noble dwarf.

‘Dr Marigold’ is much better - largely because Callow is deep inside the action, playing the titular role as opposed to an observer. The role is also a much better fit vocally: Dr Marigold is a fairly well-spoken chap, so Callow’s elocution feels less self-conscious and his performance more instinctive. Without that disconnect between narrator and performer, Callow oozes confidence, as well as a revealing a surprisingly soft, emotional side. I expected him to be more declarative (to show off, really) but this is a gentle, modest and thoughtful performance.

Again, this is a distinctly un-Christmassy piece, bulging with a darkly detailed plot. It is, once more, located in the milieu of Victorian freak shows, where Callow’s Dr Marigold (a ‘Cheap Jack’ or Rag and Bone man) is enduring a marriage to a frustrated and belligerent wife. The unassuming Dr Marigold, decked out in a wig that looks like a mop, quietly informs us that his wife used to beat his daughter until, one day, his girl died in his arms. If this isn’t enough, his wife then drowned herself. All this and we’re only a few minutes in to this tale of Christmas cheer.

There’s more. Dr Marigold, weathered down by a life punctured by despair, stumbles across Sophie: a mute and deaf girl, adopted by the circus, but horribly abused and turned inside herself. He adopts her, teaches her how to communicate, watches her grow and eventually lets her go. The conclusion is soaring but not saccharine and suggests that good deeds, done by good people, can drip down the generations. It might sound cheesy here, but it doesn’t when meshed within Dickens cruel and dirty world.

It is striking how many elements from both these plays could’ve been plucked from recent news items. The death of Dr Marigold’s daughter recalls the now ubiquitous Baby P case and the parallels Dr Marigold draws between his job as a trader of junk and the job of a politician are no less useful today. Credit to Callow for unearthing two such wonderfully textured and fruitful plays which, though steeped in the hazy world of smoggy Victorian London, still resonate in the anonymous, looming, London streets of today.

Till 31 January 2010