On London’s West End, Aidan Turner and Jenna Coleman star in a lightly dystopian comedy that succeeds as a portrait of a troubled couple, but falls short as political satire.
The delightfully titled “Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons” is a high-concept romantic comedy on themes of language and communication. Its protagonists, Oliver and Bernadette, are your typical slightly mismatched couple: He’s an idealistic musician, she’s a sensible lawyer; he thinks she’s too careerist, but she reckons he’s just insecure because she earns more than him. Their differences are brought into focus when the government brings in a new law that forbids all citizens from speaking more than 140 words per day.
How could any couple survive in such conditions? The so-called “Hush Law” threatens the basis of their closeness, forcing them to water down their conversation to a meager daily quota. But whereas Oliver is affronted and joins a protest movement to try to get the rule repealed, Bernadette, whose instincts are conservative, is initially complacent about its ramifications. Their relationship may or may not be unraveling.
This lively debut, by the young British playwright Sam Steiner, enjoyed modest success on the independent circuit a few years ago. It premiered at the Warwick Arts Center in 2015 before moving on to the Edinburgh Fringe festival the following year — and is now enjoying a rather more high-profile second wind at the Harold Pinter Theater in London’s West End, directed by Josie Rourke and running through March 18.
The production’s co-stars Aidan Turner and Jenna Coleman are relatively big names in British showbiz thanks to roles in the TV series “Poldark” and “Doctor Who.” As Oliver, Turner is sympathetic as the quintessential artsy dreamer — a little self-absorbed, but his heart’s in the right place; Coleman’s Bernadette is prim and sharp, very much the yin to his yang. Together they present a charming and relatable portrait of long-in-the-tooth coupledom, flitting between estrangement and tenderness.
Superficially, “Lemons” lends itself to political interpretation. Britain’s government recently proposed a new law that would give the police more powers to break up protests, which it is trying to steer it through Parliament. Against this backdrop, it is tempting to read the scenario portrayed here as a none-too-subtle metaphor for creeping authoritarianism. But the play’s central conceit is too flimsy for political satire. We are told almost nothing about why the Hush Law was introduced, except that the government tried to justify it with benevolent talk of “well-being” and “overstimulation.” The audience must suspend its skepticism — how on earth would it be enforced? — and just go with it. In truth, it’s not so much a dystopia as a thought exercise.
Steiner was fresh out of college when “Lemons” first did the rounds in 2015, and there are moments that give it away as early work. When Oliver declares that he finds life under the new restrictions “Orwellian,” it feels like the playwright is holding our hand. As for that 140-word limit, it seems to be a nod to Twitter, which had a 140-character limit before it was doubled to 280, in 2017. But it’s far from clear what connection Steiner is drawing between social media and government suppression of free speech. The concept is a bit muddled, to say the least.
The play’s strength is in its playful riffs on language, as Oliver and Bernadette adapt to the new regime of state-enforced quietude. They experiment with Morse code, and coin portmanteaus to save on their daily word quota. (‘Sort of’ becomes ‘sorf’; ‘I love you’ becomes ‘lovou’.) This alters the texture of the dialogue as the couple look to economize their word count. Soul-searching discussions that had been long and involved must be resumed in near-monosyllabic tones. This constraint forces a stripping-down of language at the very point when emotion is most heightened, and the words should be flowing most freely. On the question of whether she wants to have children, the hitherto voluble Bernadette is reduced to a halting staccato, sounding not unlike a telegram: ‘Yes. No. Painful, scary … Time off. Lose cases. Position. Salary maybe.” It’s an intriguing literary experiment that just about justifies the slightly contrived setup.
“Lemons” is an unusual twist on a fairly commonplace narrative: the age-old story of a couple whose intimacy has tipped into over familiarity, weighed down by the accumulation of petty resentments and a waning sex life, deciding whether to stick or twist. It is well executed, with smart dialogue — Steiner has a good ear for the rhythms of bickering couples — and disarmingly kooky humor. It would be churlish to dwell on the fact that its core ingredients are inescapably cliché, with characters representing little more than a series of stock traits in binary opposition: pragmatist/dreamer, right wing/left-wing, etc.
This is good, clean fun — neither terribly profound nor terribly clever, but entertaining nonetheless.
Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons
Through March 18, at he Harold Pinter Theater, in London; thelemonsplay.co.uk.
Source: Theater - nytimes.com
