Although not strictly one of Priestley’s so called time plays, An Inspector Calls pretty much qualifies as the playwright plays with our sense of linear time in a magnificent twist in the tale. The play, a bit of a socialist call to arms, details the worst night in the life of the affluent, complacent Birling family around 1912. Yet the atmosphere recalls the 1940s, in cinematic style and with air raid sirens sounding, which is when the play was written. Stephen Daldry’s brilliantly designed production captivated a full Grand Opera House last night. The set is intriguing, involving a suspended grand house that opens out like a doll’s house and eventually collapses, indicating the rise and fall of this example of the upper classes.
What does for them is the mysterious arrival of Inspector Goole (nicely angry Tim Treloar) who announces a young woman, Eva Smith, has horribly committed suicide by swallowing disinfectant. She figures in the lives of each member of the family, her downfall caused by all of their actions. So although they’re celebrating the engagement of daughter Sheila to Gerald Croft, the mood rapidly darkens. Initially, they callously laugh off the incident. Arthur, the paterfamilias (excellent Jeffrey Harmer) , blusters to defend sacking the girl who wanted a better wage. His daughter tries to justify getting her fired from a dress shop for smiling at the wrong moment. Leona Allen plays this well. On and on goes the questioning, and Goole is counsel for the prosecution.
Gerald (convincing Tom Chapman) doesn’t manage to account for his actions but he tried to help the girl after a casual meeting, had an affair, and comes off best in a way. Eric, the Birlings' son, fathers a child by the girl, steals money from the family firm to support her, and has used her like the rest. His mother, frosty Mrs Birling (impressive Jackie Morrison) refused the girl money because of prejudice and an unwillingness to believe her story. The tragic irony of her treatment of the self styled other Mrs Birling, and baby to be, is palpable.
Beside the main protagonists lurk a silent chorus, including the parlour maid who recalls the deceased. There is some business with children playing with the stage curtains and some fourth wall stuff. What impresses is the acting, the realistic direction with the scene of justification and denial once the inspector goes queasy-making. Priestley’s politics wear well and there is a glimmer of hope in Eric and Sheila’s new understanding of society. And then, after feverish phone calls, the second and third denouement. Was there or wasn’t there a dead girl? And why, now the complicity of the Birlings is clear, the inspector’s status illusory, do we have another inspector calling?
Jane Hardy
