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Best known for writing 'The Forsyte Saga', John Galsworthy’s plays are more obscure: this is the first professional production of 'Windows' in 85 years. Set in the aftermath of the First World War, it’s a lightly comic Shavian-style drama of debate, where ideals clash with reality.
Geoffrey Marsh is a good liberal writer. He enjoys discussing the problems of a society shaken of grand narratives and moral certainties with his son Johnny, who furiously clings to the notion of chivalry, and with Mr Bly, his philosophical window cleaner, who reckons humans ought to follow their instincts.
Mr Bly offers Marsh the chance to live by his principles: would this well-to-do family employ Mr Bly’s daughter as their parlour maid? She’s just out of prison, banged up for smothering her illegitimate baby. Marsh wants to help; his more coldly pragmatic wife, Mary, is hostile to the idea.
The Cockney wench is called Faith, which Galsworthy makes heavy weather of; in fact, it’s all laid on pretty thick here, with windows also made to do much metaphorical load-bearing in a play about seeing people for who they really are. Faith is pretty, coquettish and restless, and before she’s laid her first table is making eyes at Johnny. He’s desperate to save her; his family are desperate to save him. Do-goodism wears off fast.
The plot is predictable, but each character is given their own nuanced say on the situation. A tender scene where Johnny and Faith discuss being at war and in prison is obviously intended to inspire empathy, and Charlotte Brimble as Faith gives a moving account of a young mother’s desperation. Ultimately, 'Windows' points a finger at the patronising hypocrisy of 'polite' society.
Geoffrey Beevers’s revival doesn’t always get beyond the stereotypes of pipe-chewing, ‘tache-twiddling toffs and brassy but good-‘earted Cockneys. Although there are fine, watchable performances – David Shelley is especially enjoyable as Geoffrey – they never feel exactly fresh. The play has its own well-made momentum, but it remains a pleasing period piece rather than a vital rediscovery.