The Talented Mr. Ripley – Edinburgh Festival Theatre
Can anybody commit a forgery against himself?
It may seem ironic to complain about the reinvention of a character so chameleonic, but while Mark Leipacher’s staging of The Talented Mr. Ripley takes Patricia Highsmith’s iconic origin story in a stylishly stylised direction, it is ultimately with mixed results.
Inherently morally dubious, Highsmith’s Ripley is a character you find yourself rooting for, not because of the getting-away-with-it, but because of the manner in which he does. Ed McVey, as Tom Ripley, puts in a strikingly physical and committed performance, yet the interpretation leans so heavily into neurotic, restless energy from the first moment that it leaves nowhere to go. Instead of charting the birth of a beguiling, duplicitous antihero, this version more closely resembles Woody Allen or Rick Moranis – the anxious, panicky delivery dialled up to eleven at all times. This is less a reflection on McVey’s talent than on the direction and frenetically monologue-heavy script which seems keen to expose the title character as a man never more than a hair’s breadth away from a nervous breakdown.
Visually, the production is minimalist and modern, with moments of creatively engaging staging throughout. These are offset however, by as many sequences which feel overcomplicated and distracting. Indeed, the play is most effective when the actors are simply allowed to inhabit a scene without interruption, and its only in the more straightforward exchanges of dialouge that the characters have any real shape. Elsewhere, the stripped back set works well for the more abstract moments, but struggles to successfully convey the languid, bohemiam beaches of Mongibello.
Bruce Herbelin-Earle as Dickie Greenleaf is perfectly cast, capturing just the right balance of nonchalant charisma and handsomely vacuous arrogance – his scenes are easily the most successful of the piece. The rest of the supporting ensemble, though underused, deliver solid work when given the chance. Maisie Smith is great as Marge Sherwood, but the role is reduced to an even slighter presence than in the novel – her gaslit, rightful hysteria replaced with little more than forlorn acceptance.
This adaptation seeks to expose the inner voice of Ripley, and in that sense it follows that everyone else is little more than a bit part. Tom is mostly talking to himself, and occasionally directly to us. The pacing never quite works though, somehow simultaneously both rushing through each plot point and dragging itself along – never gripping the viewer like it should, lost in its own manic unravelling.
This is not a bad show, nor a disastrous adaptation, and viewers less familiar with the subject matter may find more to enjoy. Highsmith’s story remains compelling at its core but, as a fan of the novel, I left feeling unsatisfied. The production demonstrates admirable ambition and contains some arresting moments, but it struggles to capture the the Hitchcockian suspense or the charm, and creeping menace, that makes Ripley such a uniquely enduring figure.
All words by Susan Sloan.