Caledonian whimsy

Be Near Me
Donmar

Complicit
Old Vic

Here’s the odd thing about the Donmar, the country’s pre-eminent theatrical power-house. Its productions are nearly always stunning and rarely (very rarely) atrocious. They don’t do so-so. But here we have it, an OK sort of show done with tremendous affection and commitment but with numerous elementary flaws. Be Near Me, adapted by Ian McDiarmid from the novel by Andrew O’Hagan, passes the first test of art. It has integrity and sincerity. Everyone involved in the production clearly gave it their best shot. So what’s wrong? Well, the storyline advances with all the pace and vigour of a snail having a heart attack.

The main character, a pompous Catholic priest posted to a remote Scottish parish, seems calculated to inspire our absolute contempt. A classic Oxford saddo, the posturing cleric quotes Tennyson in a needling descant, recites French aphorisms and uses his appreciation of Chopin and fine wine to demonstrate his intellectual superiority over his bovine, not to mention ovine, flock. Here he is tasting a Chablis with his house-keeper. ‘Poor washer-woman that you are, the Scottish education system has left barely a mark on you.’

After an hour, something happens. The priest becomes pals with a hard-drinking 15-year-old lout from his special needs class. What? Friends? A thick-as-two-planks, alcoholic, teenage Celtic fan and a snobbish, Balliol-educated, Proust-quoting, English wine bore? Yeah, always mates those types. The boy isn’t even gay. Their absurd misalliance ends when the priest offers the youngster a half-hearted, and instantly forgiven, kiss. Next thing we know the lout has grassed and filed a complaint for sexual assault. How come? Paternal influence, we’re told. But we’ve also been briefed extensively on the detestation which the young man harbours for his father, a dim-witted unemployed, burger-gobbling layabout.