Jessica Swale’s boisterous production of Nell Leyshon’s new play Bedlam uses the Globe to maximum effect visually, audibly and technically. From the start, raucous music (Mad Tom of Bedlam), brawling actors tussling among the audience and harlots rudely touting their wares and swigging from bottles of gin rock the theatre. Characters emerge from every corner all evening and, towards the end, confetti pours down from the upper galleries.
      Nell Leyshon is the first woman to be asked to write a play for Shakespeare’s Globe since its opening in 1599, and Bedlam is just about worth the wait. The play centres on May, a young girl driven mad by the loss of her lover, Billy, who has been sent away to sea. She is committed to St. Mary's of Bethlehem Asylum, the notorious “Bedlam,” where she is subjected to “treatment” which nowadays would qualify as torture: leeches; bleeding; immersion in cold water and confinement in a draughty, windowless cell.
      Despite the well-written script and convincing performances, however, the play fails to convey the horror of the real 18th century Bedlam in London. Throughout the play we feel the caring and humane author protecting the protagonists and the audience from anything too nasty. The play felt “safe” – which can be dangerous for a piece about madness. It is also unhealthy for theatre itself, which needs to take risks. For instance, head shaving is mentioned several times but never carried out. While several male inmates leer at May and talk about ravishing her, Laurence’s eventual attempt at rape is farcical rather than terrifying. Billy runs in, dressed as a woman, to rescue her just in time.
      The whole would have been magnificent, if the author had pushed the boundaries more and the darker moments of the play really had been dark. This may come down to the fact that the author’s visits to the modern Bedlam have somehow imbued the 18th century version with a more humane approach to dealing with mental illness. Another potential cause of this problem is that the venue does not naturally lend itself to a darker, more disturbing production. Perhaps Bedlam should be reproduced by masters of theatrical experience like Punchdrunk, whose brave productions in deserted factory spaces have immense power to unnerve and entertain.
      As ever with the Globe, the staging is creative and enjoyable. Characters sail through the standing audience in a two man gondola, and the bedlamites water the stage causing flowers to pop up from nowhere to the tune of An English Country Garden. The fan dance in the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens (my favourite scene of the play) provided a visual delight.
      The play is packed with a wonderful rag-bag of humorous drinking songs, both Georgian and later, all complemented with ingenious choreography. The best were the song about a gin bottle (which goes astray in a marital bed) and the cheeky Oyster Nan, about a girl who “shuts and opens like an Oyster.” Nonetheless, staggered and uncertain applause indicated that Oyster Nan needs more definition at the end.
      Towards the end of the play, Tom O’ Bedlam delivers a moving speech about losing his fortune in the South Sea Bubble and his wife and family abandoning him soon after. He starts to remember the soft skin of his children’s arms before breaking off with, “But wait, I say too much.” This is a powerful moment and a good ending. However, there are loose ends to be tied, and Bedlam loops and swoops multiple bows neatly and in quick succession worthy of the Bard himself. May is married to her beloved Billy who returns from, “far beyond the seas.” The effete, rapist poet, Laurence is condemned to the asylum by his victim and his jilted lover. The alcoholic and syphilitic Dr. Carew is given a taste of his own medicine (as expected) and is locked up in the asylum, albeit under the gentle care of Dr. Maynard. Dr. Maynard pairs up with the upright, now single, Mrs Carew who confesses that all she has shared with her husband since the birth of their son is, “a nod across the breakfast table.” The rest of the inmates are paired off one way or another. This includes the darling Phyllis, played by Ella Smith (for me, the star of the show), who captures the gin-guzzling spirit and tragic humour of the play beautifully.
Edward Glass