Athol Fugard’s Dimetos starring Jonathan Pryce at the Donmar was meant to be a cracker; this is the kind of meaty play, respected stage name and in-form venue that should produce great things. But Fugard’s symbolic script and Pryce’s pompous delivery have clashed to horrible effect here; Douglas Hodge’s production is constantly at odds with itself and, with scant support from an uneven supporting cast, holds little conviction or appeal.

Instead of bubbling quietly beneath Fugard’s script, the play’s images and ideas have been brought crashing to the surface. It is painful to watch in parts and even harder to listen to. Fugard can get carried away at the best of times, but Hodge’s inconsistent directing and some poorly pitched acting have blown Fugard’s metaphors out of all proportion, his symbolism so overworked it begins to sound ridiculous. 

The play centres around Pryce’s exiled engineer Dimetos – a man who once used his hands to help people, but retreated to a primitive village, after realising he just didn’t care anymore. Free from the city’s influence, Dimetos has been restored and reinvigorated by his ominously attractive young niece (Holliday Grainger). He is even putting his hands to good use again: the play opens with Dimetos rescuing a frightened horse from a deep well, with the help of some nifty engineering and half-naked writhing from niece Lydia.

It is easy to guess what happens next as Dimetos’ skilled hands stray from his work and towards his niece. But what could’ve been a mesmerising tragedy feels laboured and unconvincing here. Much of this is down to a downright odd dynamic on stage. All the actors feel worlds apart: Pryce has walked straight off a heavy weight RSC number, Grainger’s light delivery is ideal for TV not theatre, I’m not sure where Alex Lanipekun’s Danilo has turned up from and Anne Reid is excellent as faithful servant Sophia, but only when she remembers her lines.

The overall effect is one of quiet mayhem and missed moments. The delivery is all over the place and the actors gesticulate to the point that they mime the script, rather than just act it. None of the relationships click into place. Pryce is only good when he is alone on stage; with enough space and time he finds his own pace and pitch and delivers some smart and provocative speeches. He works less well when sharing his stage with others – Pryce shows little awareness of his supporting cast, acting them off-stage and skewing the scenes in his favour.

There are a few bizarre, special moments here which stand out from the overall production. Laced in between some thumping denouements are some much quieter, more interesting sections; Fugard has written a series of beautiful, spooky scenes between the devoted, jealous servant Sophia and the young, beautiful Lydia. Over and over the two women count to ten together, numbering the beautiful things they’ve seen that day, in the hope it will lead them to heaven. They are such wonderful scenes to watch and listen to – comforting and terrifying at the same time – and it’s one of the few times the show calms down and the actors really connect with their script.

Other than this it is a pretty painful and drawn out production – one that tries to say an awful lot about man’s hands and their shifting function in a modern world, but left me biting mine in frustration. 

Till 9 May 2009