A new adaptation of classic play The False Servant has been delighting audiences at Orange Tree theatre in Richmond since it premiered last month.
This version by Martin Crimp was acclaimed at its 2004 National Theatre première. It has been given a new lease of life by a talented cast that includes Uzair Bhatti as Frontin, in the story of a woman disguised as the son of an aristocrat, embarking on a plan to expose a caddish suitor.
Eastern Eye caught up with the talented actor to discuss his new play and close connection to performance.
Uzair Bhatti
What first connected you to acting?
I remember first going to the theatre with my parents as a young boy. I went to the National Theatre and the Globe and was just completely enthralled by the actors on stage. To see how they created this new world, as a nine-year-old, I was just fascinated by it. Ever since then, I always wanted to be able to do that – to emulate people, to use your skill and craft to create a whole world. And to let the audience get lost for a couple of hours.
How do you feel being on stage in front of a live audience?
I absolutely love it. The stage is so different as a medium to film and TV, where someone cries cut and then you stand around waiting. On stage you feed off the energy of the audience. The more you give, the more they give to you. All the energy they feed into the performance creates something new every single night.
How do you feel stepping into an acclaimed play like The False Servant?
It’s great. I think Martin Crimp’s translation is wonderful, and very timely as well. We have started to defy gender norms and break down barriers around identity. People are comfortable with how they identify themselves, versus who they were told they are. The play really shows that you can be whoever you want. Your gender doesn’t define you.
For those, who don’t know it, tell us about the play and your character?
It’s essentially about power play. One of the characters disguises herself as a man to
expose the nasty characteristics of one of her suitors.
What is your favourite moment in the play?
My favourite moment in the play is when Trivelin speaks to the supposedly evil Lelio about how he was pruning the garden and saw something happen between the chevalier and the countess. It’s absolutely hysterical.
How aware are you of other productions of it?
I am aware it was done previously at the National in this translation. But every production has its own style. And the actors bring their own take on it as well, so I am sure it will be nothing alike.
Why do you think this play The False Servant is so popular?
Because people can see versions of themselves in the characters. I think people also wonder what it’s like to disguise themselves and be someone else. And on top of it, there is a power play. It’s got all those human elements that we see in daily life, consolidated into one 90-minute performance. People can see elements of their own lives in it. And that’s very appealing.
As an actor how does comedy compare to other genres?
Comedy is about timing. You’ve got to really understand the language, to know where the beats are, and how to hit the right moment. And it’s also completely dependent on the audience, on how receptive they are. If you know what you’re doing, then the audience can be more receptive and open. That’s the perfect cocktail for a great comedy performance.
What inspires you as an actor?
Honestly, watching other actors inspires me. Whether it’s on TV, film, or the rehearsal room. In this process, I have been absolutely fascinated by other actors. They are brilliant and I have learned so much from just watching how they interpret lines and follow their instinct. It has been an amazing experience to be in this rehearsal room, just to feed off their energy and almost steal it! I love it! I get to watch the other actors and steal their great moments and put that in my piggy bank to use in further performances, or in future acting roles.
Why should we come watch the play The False Servant?
It’s just a great, fun night out. It’s so funny, and the performances are so good. I am really proud of the other actors in the cast. Everyone has made such a wonderful, wholesome, full show. Its light-hearted at moments, its dark at times. Honestly, it’s absolutely hysterical. You will have such a fun night.
The False Servant is being staged at Orange Tree Theatre, 1 Clarence Street, Richmond, TW9 2SA until July 23.
See: www.orangetreetheatre.co.uk
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A seated Jain enlightened teacherAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Ganesha from JavaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
A Chinese silk painting depicting the BuddhaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
ArdhanarishvaraAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Head of a grimacing yakshaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
NagaAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
The Bimaran casketAshmolean Museum, University of Oxford
Hunia Chawla
A still from rehearsal
Them performing liveNajmuddin Saifuddin Qawwal Group
The cast of Marriage Material in key moments from the play, including Avita Jay, Kiran Landa, Omar Malik, Irfan Shamji and Anoushka Deshmukh
Sathnam Sanghera’s 'Marriage Material' adapted into bold new play on conformity
The play Marriage Material at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre is Gurpreet Kaur Bhatti’s adaptation of Sathnam Sanghera’s novel of the same name, which first came out in 2013.
She is lucky to have Iqbal Khan direct Marriage Material. The play, a co-production with the Birmingham Rep, is set in the late 1960s. Mr and Mrs Bains (played by Jaz Singh Deol and Avita Jay) run a corner shop in Wolverhampton. Their younger daughter, Surinder (Anoushka Deshmukh), is 16, her sister Kamaljit (Kiran Landa) is just a bit older.
They have a neighbour, Patwant Dhanda (Irfan Shamji), who, as we shall soon see, is not a very pleasant man. In fact, he comes across just as racist as Enoch Powell, who represented Wolverhampton South West for the Tories from 1950 to 1974.
It will be recalled this was a time when Sikhs working on the buses were told they couldn’t wear a turban. That was a hard-fought battle that had to be won.
The Bains, meanwhile, simply want to get their girls married off.
Nothing new here, I thought.
What makes the tale different is that the plot twists and turns down the generations. Mr Dhanda, who has the makings of a paedophile, makes a pitch for one of the girls when Mr Bains dies early in the play. “A life with no man in the house is no life,” he informs the newly widowed Mrs Bains.
Mr Dhanda has a wife but she has returned to India so he considers himself to be a free man.
Surinder’s English teacher from school, Miss Flanagan (Celeste Dodwell), who is also head of the fifth form, tells Mrs Bains about her daughter: “I don’t want to embarrass you, but she is bright. Ridiculously bright.”
She adds: “Mrs Bains, I think it would be a pity if Surinder didn’t stay on at school.” The initial response from Mrs Bains is not encouraging: “Too much education makes people’s brains get mixed up, they don’t sleep at night…”
But she is finally persuaded that Surinder should be allowed to stay on for a while longer before being married off.
Mr Bains was very old school. When Surinder confides she would one day like to be “a somebody”, he is amused that “my daughter wants to be a somebody”.
“Like you,” she tells her father.
Mr Bains consoles his daughter: “We will find a somebody for you to marry.”
At the point of a possible marriage, however, Surinder is sweet-talked by chocolate salesman Jim Wilson (Tommy Belshaw) into running away with him. They share a love of literature, and he calls her “Sue Bains”. But the relationship does not end well.
Once she has left, Surinder is written off as “dead” by her family. The story that is circulated is that she was only 16 when she was killed in a car crash. That’s better than to let on that she ran off with a white man.
By the time she is reconciled with her sister towards the end of the play, a great deal has changed. Kamaljit married Tanvir Banga (Omar Malik), a young man who helped out in the Bains’ corner shop. When the two sisters meet again, Tanvir has also died. But he and Kamaljit had a son, Arjan Banga (Jaz Singh Deol doubles up for this role after the death of Mr Bains). He has come home after his father’s death to help his mother who is still running the family corner shop.
Meanwhile, Mr Dhanda’s business has prospered. He now has a son, Ranjit Dhanda (the role is taken by Omar Malik after Tanvir’s death), and he is nearly as unpleasant as his father.
Arjan has an English fiancée, Claire (Celeste Dodwell). In London, Arjan worked as a creative director. But after deciding to stay in Wolverhampton to help his mother, he decides he cannot marry Claire because she is white. In other words, Asians are not free of racism, either. Happily, at the end, the couple are reconciled.
As for Surinder, she parted company with Jim Wilson after realising he was all talk, depended on her for money and had failed to earn a penny from his literary pretensions. She had prospered, though, as a hotel owner and had been transformed in time into a well-groomed businesswoman. After being tracked down by Arjan, she decides to return to her roots in Wolverhampton and help Kamaljit run the family corner shop. Perhaps 50 years had passed during the passage of the play.
Being subjected to racism turned some Asians into racists themselves. The word goreh (white person) is repeatedly spat out with venom. Maybe it is worth remembering the play’s audience isn’t exclusively Asian – white folk are watching as well. And maybe some of the toilet humour ridiculing white people, which always makes me cringe, could be cut out.
In Sanghera’s novel, there is a quote from Enoch Powell’s speech in November 1968: “The West Indian or Asian does not, by being born in England, become an Englishman. In law he becomes a United Kingdom citizen by birth; in fact, he is a west Indian or an Asian still... he will by the very nature of things have lost one country without gaining another, lost one nationality without acquiring a new one. Time is running out against us and them. With the lapse of a generation or so we shall at last have succeeded – to the benefit of nobody – in reproducing ‘in England’s green and pleasant land’ the haunting tragedy of the US.”
In Marriage Material, where the acting is marvellous (apart from Mr Dhanda’s Indian mannerisms and accent being overdone) we do travel across a couple of generations.
There is a scene when Tanvir rejects Mr Dhanda’s vision of creating a little Punjab in Wolverhampton.
Mr Dhanda wants to take over the Bains’ corner shop and is putting pressure on Tanvir to sign the papers. He says: “In this country, money is the path to freedom.”
“Sign, please,” he instructs Tanvir. “We must make sure our children learn to behave nicely, according to our rules.”
He insists: “We maintain our identity so we can be ourselves.”
Tanvir disagrees: “We can be us here. With the goreh.”
Dhanda warns him: “Then we will be inviting chaos.”
Tanvir’s comment is telling: “You sound like Enoch.”
Kamaljit, who is expecting a baby with her husband Tanvir, says: “I would like my child to grow up knowing the history of the Gurus and to read the Granth Sahib. And to love their culture.”
Tanvir tells his wife: “I would like my child to go to the finest schools, to cheer for England in the World Cup and eat Yorkshire pudding on a Sunday.”
Kamaljit sets out a dream that has perhaps come to pass with many third and fourth generation British Asians: “Maybe our child can do both.” Much, much later, in a throwback to the past, we learn of Surinder’s O-level results: “Biology A, Chemistry A, English Language A, English Literature A, French A, History B, Latin A, Mathematics A, Physics A…”
Kamaljit tells her younger sister: “Never mind about the B.”
And that is quintessentially Asian. Their acting is outstanding.
Marriage Material is at the Lyric Hammersmith Theatre until June 21, and at the Birmingham Rep from June 25-July 5