There is a marvellously blunt quality to this neglected 1911 tragicomedy by former Manchester Guardian deputy editor Allan Monkhouse. It’s there in the plot, which gets to the point with pleasing alacrity: we’ve scarcely been introduced to middle-class Manchester family the Timbrells before they are thrown into crisis over gadabout son Leonard’s impregnation of comely maidservant Mary. And it’s there in the terse regional dialogue: here nobody is articulate enough to comprehend their own feelings, save for Leonard, whose preternatural eloquence only serves to confirm how flabbergastingly self-absorbed he is; and his mother, whose gifts have been stifled by a social order that doesn’t respect her gender.
Yet the comparatively few words of ‘Mary Broome’ carry tremendous weight, affording a scathing critique of bourgeois complacency. In particular its fourth act, in which foppish Leonard, bluff ex-cabbie John, and emotionally stunted patriarch Edward are confronted with their own obsolescence, is devastating stuff (and must have been positively incendiary in the days of the suffragette movement).
Orange Tree founder Auriol Smith’s production is efficient rather than astounding, but her spare, unshowy style suits Monkhouse’s language, ensuring that its brooding heart isn’t obscured by a healthy quotient of zinging one liners.
And it’s performed by a more than solid ensemble, with standout turns from Katie McGuinness’s luminously uncomplicated Mary and Jack Farthing’s Leonard, a spoiled little boy almost redeemed by his self-awareness and sheer chutzpah.