Jane Eyre (2015)

Another National Theatre Live showing. I’ll admit – I watched this largely because it was there and it was free. Even though I’m a fan of Jane Eyre, in addition to reading the book I’ve seen four film and/or miniseries adaptions of the novel as well as a live performance of the musical (that score! Bestill my heart!) Once I realized this was a play and not the musical, a little part of me went, “Do I need to see another verson of Jane Eyre?”, and if this had been a cinema showing where I had to pay upwards of $20 to see it and probably drive a minimum of 50 miles on a Tuesday evening or something, I doubt I would’ve made the effort. But I’m so glad National Theatre Live chose to put this out as part of their free series, because it was incredible.

An orphan abandoned by her cruel relations, Jane Eyre is raised and taught at the brutal Lowood school, then becomes a governess at the august house of Thornfield. As Jane teaches her young pupil, she can’t ignore a mysterious presence in the house, or the way that she’s drawn to the brusque Mr. Rochester, who challenges her intellectually.

To reverse a phrase from Michael Scott, I love so much about the things this production chooses to be. The set is at once minimal and expansive – there’s a single set for the entire show, a representative stand-in for numerous locales we never see, but it’s also multileveled, with ramps and stairs and ladders for the cast to roam about on. Judicious lighting and ambient sound works wonders on the sparse set, creating everything from the terrifying Red Room to a stormy night on the moors. It’s not a musical, but interludes and critical scenes are underlined by soloists with haunting voices.

The cast is likewise small. Madeleine Worrall leads the proceedings as Jane, but everyone else pulls double, triple, or quintuple duty on multiple roles – even Felix Hayes, who plays Rochester, makes himself useful in the early childhood scenes by filling in on a few small parts. And in addition to playing nearly everyone not named Jane or Rochester, the small ensemble also helps to create atmosphere, facilitates costume changes at key moments, and serves to voice some of Jane’s inner, often contradictory thoughts. For instances, they’re the ones who bully her into painting portraits of herself and Blanche. Also, I appreciate that several roles are cast across gender (most notably St. John Rivers, along with some of the girls at Lowood,) but it’s not at all commented on or treated as a joke.

For such an oft-adapted story, this is exactly the sort of production I needed, one that’s daring and inventive that recreates familiar scenes in unexpected ways. It reminds me of some of the best productions I’ve seen from tiny regional theatres, where they don’t have the money or resources to go big and so they instead pour all their energy into doing the show like you’ve never seen it before.

But for all that, it’s still every inch the story we know. It does it differently, but all the emotions are still there. Much of this comes down to Worrall and Hayes, who are splendid as Jane and Rochester, both separately and together. In the story’s most intimate, iconic moments, the theatrical ingenuity falls away and we’re left with two people falling in love, just as they have for nearly 200 years.

One final note about Bertha. This is, naturally, a problematic characterization that traces back to the original novel. From the perspectives of disability, race, and gender, Bertha’s place in the story is an uncomfortable one. That said, while this production doesn’t erase that discomfort, it does find a creative way to somewhat alter her presence within the production as a whole. It’s been more than a month now since I saw the Jane Eyre recording (OMG, what even is time anymore?) and I’m still thinking about this particular device, but to me, it serves as a small way of giving Bertha a measure of her voice back.

Warnings

Violence, oblique sexual references, thematic elements, and insensitive depictions of mental illness inherited from its source material.