Austrian writer Stefan Zweig’s original story, which has autobiographical echos, was set in the 1920s and takes the form of a long letter written to a famous author by a woman he doesn’t remember that is briefly followed by a paragraph of the author’s reflections. Christopher Hampton has dramatised this to present their meetings in which the woman, now named Marianne, eventually reveals her identity and the author, now called Stefan, is more closely identified with Zweig, taking the main action forward into the 1930s when, as a Viennese Jew, he is increasingly at risk.
Stefan is at a nightclub one evening and catches the eye of a woman at another table who then, to his surprise, deserts the man she is with and leaves with him. They have met before, but he doesn’t remember.
As a thirteen-year-old girl, Marianne and her widowed mother lived in the flat next door on the same landing. Fascinated by his charm, his good looks and his fame, she became obsessed with him, an obsession which continued, and this isn’t the first time they have met since.
Though established as being generous and kindly, Stefan seems uninterested in the details of other people’s lives and treats his encounters with women as a transaction, stuffing banknotes into Marianne’s handbag as she gets ready to leave. His home, with its grey walls and sparse furniture, suggests life is lived elsewhere in a public world; when he is working on a novel, he goes to a foreign land. His manservant, Nigel Hastings’s discreet Johann, deals with all practicalities. Rosanna Vize’s stark setting makes you notice the vase of white roses that mysteriously arrive every year on his birthday, roses that finally seem to take on meaning and which are echoed in the surroundings of the main set.
James Corrigan, taking on the role at short notice after the press night at the beginning of the month had to be abandoned due to an actor's indisposition, presents a Stefan who is attentive and self-contained at the same time, a man whose feelings seem confined to the moment. This is not so much his story as Marianne’s, and Natalie Simpson gives a performance which her very control makes it moving long before her feelings boil over. Though much of the time she is delivering narration, she makes it sound like genuine conversation, and her sad story becomes believable.
Jennie Gattward as Marianne’s younger self drifts through scenes or sits close by as a reminder of her original innocence. An ecstatic choreographed sequence didn’t work for me, but Chelsea Walker’s production makes very effective use of bold shadows and subtly employs music to dramatic effect.
This single-act adaptation is continually intriguing and is beautifully acted. It is too much of a construct to be totally convincing, but the production and the Nazi threat add drama and theatrical effect.