Inter Alia (Wyndham’s Theatre, London)
Rosamund Pike gave a mini tornado of a turn at the premiere of Suzie Miller’s legal drama Inter Alia when it ran at the National Theatre last year.
No surprise, then, that the play about a High Court judge whose life is in freefall has now sailed into the West End.
And its reputation isn’t hurt by being the follow-up to Miller’s other legal drama, Prima Facie, which featured an equally stunning turn by Jodie Comer.
Unlike Comer’s young, free and single barrister, who cynically defends alleged rapists, Pike is a high-end feminist, Justice Jessica Parks.
A helicopter mum, specialising in supervising rape trials (common ground here), she leads a demanding but immaculate existence, with her clever, loving, almost-as-successful lawyer husband Michael (Jamie Glover), and bashful teenage son Harry (Cormac McAlinden), who’s still just about willing to tolerate her smothering.
As a judge, Jessica prides herself on fighting a patriarchal system institutionally biased against victims of sexual assault. But as a working super-mum, she’s forced to handle Harry’s clothing crisis in the middle of a trial.
Rosamund Pike is pictured bowing at the curtain call during a performance of Inter Alia at Wyndham’s Theatre on April 7
Pike (centre) plays Justice Jessica Parks, whose bashful teenage son Harry, played my Cormac McAlinden (left), is just about willing to tolerate her smothering
Pike’s one hour and 40 minute whirlwind of a performance, changing in and out of judge’s wig and robes and slipping into silk blouses and a scarlet cocktail dress, ensures we don’t get too much time for lateral thinking, writes Patrick Marmion
At home, she does the laundry, irons shirts, shops, cooks and washes dishes, rolling her eyes at her oblivious menfolk.
She’s so tuned-in to Harry’s vulnerabilities on social media that she hacks his laptop, and even discusses the dangers of porn with him – in a caring, cautionary manner.
Her particular talents are ‘soft skills’ and ’emotional lifting’, ensuring her son, and female defendants, feel confident and heard.
Yet what she witnesses in court – the subtle bullying by male barristers, toying with traumatised female plaintiffs, as well as the horrifying evidence in violent sexual assaults – renders her hyper-vigilant, terrified of what might happen to her boy, who’s just turned 18.
Alas, despite scrupulous ethical and professional hygiene, and a neatly compartmentalised life – and fitted kitchen with elegant G Plan table and chairs – Jessica finds her mission derailed.
So yes – spoiler alert – Miller’s story is about what happens when the shoe is on the other foot, and her beloved son is himself accused of rape. And yet, unlike Prima Facie, this isn’t about the horrors of the sexual assault itself. It’s about Jessica’s vicarious experience of it.
Of her son, we know very little beyond Jessica’s desperate and seemingly doomed attempts to protect him. By all the laws of childcare he should have turned out to be as faultless as her.
Of his accuser we learn even less, only that they played together as children. Instead, it’s all about Jessica’s anxieties as she finds herself grasping at all the excuses she deplores.
How or why Harry was capable of the crime is a mystery, beyond vague notions of peer pressure and the mysterious workings of ‘the patriarchy’. One comic coital scene sees Pike and Glover simulating boozy sex after a dinner party by his plucking an electric guitar slung around her midriff, and there is humour scattered almost throughout.
But as the stresses mount, Judge Jessica turns on her husband, raging at his failure to teach Harry how to be a man. Comic relief becomes a distant memory.
Pike’s one hour and 40 minute whirlwind of a performance, changing in and out of judge’s wig and robes and slipping into silk blouses and a scarlet cocktail dress, ensures we don’t get too much time for lateral thinking. It’s a gripping, socio-political railroad. Justin Martin’s production steams ahead, powered by Pike’s breathless performance, while hipster guitar solos by Glover’s Michael and drumming by McAlinden’s Harry echo the mood with jangling dissonance.
Many less affluent (and less perfect) mums will find Jessica’s parental fears thoroughly relatable. They are a powerful indictment of the moral malaise we all inhabit.
It’s a roller coaster of a show for which Pike may well win an Olivier Award this coming Sunday. But be warned: Tickets are as rare as gold dust and comparably priced, with stalls seats going for £173 to £253.
