"Iconic" must be the most used and abused word in the reviewer’s lexicon - a single in the Top Ten and a slot down the bill at a wannabee Glastonbury festival is enough to secure that sobriquet these days. But Jane Eyre, the novel and the character, is certainly worthy of the descriptor, a lodestar for teenage girls (and, perhaps more quietly, teenage boys) seeking to find their identity and their space in a confusing and hostile world.
What sets Charlotte Brontë’s work apart from the countless coming-of-age stories that followed in its wake, is its date of publication (1847, earlier than both David Copperfield and Great Expectations) and the deep psychological insight it provides into a girl’s transformation into a woman. Readers had seen some of that with Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice and in Jane Austen’s Emma, but they had much more going for them than this impoverished, damaged, plain Jane. But our girl has a resilience and resourcefulness that leaps across time and fortifies the spirit.
That’s the very stuff of musical theatre of course, Jane continually delivering "I Want" songs, so it’s a surprise to learn that this is the first London production of Paul Gordon and John Caird’s show, its roots put down in Bill Clinton’s USA. It then went through various iterations, scaling up for Broadway and down for Cleveland, before fetching up on Southwark Playhouse’s Elephant stage, a house that works perfectly in sustaining its romance and its tension with a reduced cast.
Charlie Burn’s Jane is anything but plain, and Ashley Gilmour (both pictured above) goes full unkempt hair, black eyes and heroically unbuttoned shirt as Rochester, the troubled but sexy Lord of the Manor. That’s all a tad unfortunate coming so soon after Margot and Jacob’s Wuthering Heights (social hierarchy albeit gender reversed), but at least Burn looks within a decade of the right age for the role.
She is very good indeed, and she needs to be because Emily-Rose Samuel is fantastic as the tween Jane being bullied at school, and proves equally impressive doubling as Adèle, the ward for whom Jane is employed as a governess. It’s not often that you see a child-actor deliver both crucial emotional development and later find laugh after laugh in a wholly new role. Emily-Rose is a name to look out for.
Burn and Gilmour also need to be excellent, as the score is somewhat anodyne, lacking a really big 11 o’clock number with most songs sounding like Stephen Sondheim had set them aside for another day.
Now there’s plenty of tunes that might not make Sondheim’s cut but will work perfectly well in a musical and we do feel Ben Kubiak’s unseen seven piece orchestra driving the pace of the narrative, especially in a second half that moves more swiftly than the first. “Painting Her Portrait” is a standout. as Jane sits at her desk to paint herself ugly and Rochester’s intended, Blanche (Eve Shanu-Wilson) pretty. She’d need the skills of Picasso to pull off that trick convincingly, but never mind, she’s really only trying to fool herself to ameliorate her (presumed) inevitable rejection.
The ensemble cast double and triple parts, and sometimes sing as a chorus, articulating Jane’s thoughts as she is pulled this way and that by love, by duty, by her own insecurity. Hannah Lindsey impresses as Rochester’s mad wife, locked away on the upper floor, catching the pathos as well as the madness in a character that takes Miss Havisham up to 11.
The somewhat bare stage, supplemented by a few black and white projections, catches a gothic atmosphere, but our imagination has to do a lot of work on creating the cold rooms, the mysterious staircases and the noises off. So too the fire that is so intrinsic to the plot - a red glow and a smoke machine leaves us somewhat shortchanged.
But the heart of the show is the romance between Jane and Rochester and that depends on the burning hot chemistry between the leads. And there is more than enough of that to light up the two hours plus runtime. You’re never in any doubt that they’ll be together, so it’s all very warming watching it happen.
Ultimately, I suspect one’s judgement of the evening will depend on whether one has read the novel and is invested in its iconic status. I confess that I haven’t, but its story is strong (the book so often the weak point of a musical). It took me no time at all to be pulling for Jane and her emotional-intelligence stunted paramour, helped, perhaps, by the absence of any casting gimmicks and the old-school fidelity to the source material.
Treat it as an opera (it’s largely sung through) and grant to it the allowances we do for that oft-overwrought genre and the show works very well indeed, flaws and all.
