Harvey

It’s tricky revisiting something you loved. The 1950 film adaptation of ‘Harvey’ – starring film legend Jimmy Stewart – is a hardy perennial. But watching Lindsay Posner’s handsomely mounted revival of Mary Chase’s original 1944 play often requires as much suspension of disbelief in the whole script as it does in the idea of a giant invisible rabbit. The one in ‘Donnie Darko’ would undoubtedly sneer.

The story is a whimsical bit of fluff, as affable, middle-aged Elwood P Dowd (James Dreyfus) causes alarm in his snooty, close-knit American town by claiming friendship with the titular rabbit or ‘pooka’ (a spirit from Celtic myth). In particular, Elwood’s sister Veta (Maureen Lipman) fears it will wreck any chance her daughter Myrtle Mae (Ingrid Oliver) has of getting a man.

It’s in the scenes set in the sanatorium where Veta tries to get Elwood committed that the play’s age really shows. They go on forever and the cast is set adrift by creaky, sniggering writing that makes largely unfunny jokes about sex and this newfangled thing called ‘psychiatry’. In general, the humour doesn’t land as well as the ‘Harvey’ film fan in you is willing it to.

And yet, as the possibility is raised that Harvey might actually be real, there’s still something beguilingly charming here. A pacier, punchier second half helps. At times, Dreyfus is a bit too worldly-wise as Elwood, but has good stage presence, and Lipman is on reliably good comic form as the fretful, fussy Veta, increasingly bewildered as events overtake her.

Of course, Elwood’s real crime is to ignore the ‘proper’ social order by chatting to everyone. In the end, ‘Harvey’ is basically a plea for everyone to be nicer to each other. Maybe I’m just a big softie, but – in spite of the play’s flaws – that’s still a nice message to get behind.