The Twits review, Royal Court

I know Roald Dahl's The Twits very well. My elder daughter fell asleep every night for three years listening to the same tape - a dry, slightly dangerous reading of the story by its author, emphasising The Twits peculiar horribleness. Mr Twit is defined by his foul and filthy beard and Mrs Twit by bogies and worms and a glass eye which she pops into her husband's drinks. Their home is a hoarders' tip which also houses a family of monkeys (known as muggle-wumps) that The Twits force to stand on their heads. How thrilling it was to discover the book has been turned into a play.

Expectations soared on learning the dramatisation was by the eccentric and inventive Irish playwright, Enda Walsh. We entered an auditorium resonating with the excited chatter of small children. There was a human chain of ushers and parents passing booster seats down the rows. As the lights rose on a cage of discontented talking monkeys, excitement mounted. There was much excited giggling. And then The Twits came on. They looked great, but something was missing. It might have been plot. The new narrative lacks Dahl's dark undercurrent. What we are given is The Twits stealing a fairground. Yes, that's right, a fairground. That is why a dog trainer, a wurlitzer operator, and a tattooed lady are demanding it back.

The script is neither witty nor joyous. Pitched somewhere between children and adults it crash-lands in language limbo, a netherworld where dialogue lacking dramatic integrity is instantly forgotten.  This may underpin the observation of my companion, now long past bedtime stories, that the cast was 'charismaless'.  Despite John Tiffany's lively direction, there was little connection with the audience. The vileness of The Twits should be a constant source of cringing joy, but the kids fell silent after the opening minutes, rallying only when Mrs Twit marched along the front row. The second half was better with more laughs and lift, including a romance between a monkey and a man. Is that allowed?

In Conclusion: The star of the night is Chloe Lamford's stunning set. It moves in all directions, rich with detail to sate small eyes. There is a great caravan interior, Rudolph's reindeer head for Christmas dinner, and a revolving back wall which enables all manner of theatrics as the production peaks. Visually The Twits is a triumph. As drama it disappoints.

References

The Twits, Royal Court, Tickets

Royal Court Theatre, Sloane Square, London SW1W 8AS          Run ends 31 May