Mrs. Warren’s Profession ends with daughter Vivie seated – or is it reborn? – behind a desk. Her blooming manner of efficiency is striking, as if in performance for her new self. She seems self-satisfied and seems washed clean. After all, she has terminated connection with her mother, Mrs. Warren, a former prostitute and now an owner of brothels. But in Eda Holmes terrific production of Shaw’s play, four men surround Vivie and move in closer as if for the killing of female willpower and self-reliance. Will she become a sacrifice to these embodiments of patriarchal society with its economic and male suppression of women? Indeed, at very least, their presence does seem ominous.
In Mrs. Warren’s profession, the tale runs like this: Mrs. Warren, born into hopeless poverty forgoes the inevitable life of deprivation and in time, with support of “capitalist bully” Sir George Crofts, her business partner, now owns five brothels across Europe. Such impressive success allows her to give daughter Vivie the finest education, although the latter, isolated in academia, is very innocent, very unaware of what a cruel place the world is. She has opinions but no wisdom. Her many judgements have not been earned by living an unsheltered life. She has hit the books but the realities of life have never hit her.
In Jean Renoir’s great film, La Regle du Jeu, Octave played by Renoir himself declares, “Ce qui est terrible sur cette terre, c’est que tout le monde a ses raisons. » This famous line certainly resonates throughout Eda Holmes’ evocative, sensitive and implicitly challenging production. We understand Vivie’s shock at her mother’s revelation that she operates a prostitution business, that she works within a male-serving morality which, like today, uses women sexually but then hypocritically degrades them for it. We understand that Vivie is losing her cocoon and all the fantasies left unexplored within it. But ……. Mother too has had her reasons which daughter will probably never understand.
Who then is Vivie, the one who responds “So do I” when Praed declares, “I like hard chairs?” We find she is testy about men‘s assumptions and unquestioning about herself, yet self-assured. She has a strong handshake, yet remains inflexible “She is better than any of us” declares Praed, played subtly worldly and shielded at one time by Gray Powell. “She has such character” says the almost hyper Wade Bogert O’Brien’s Frank, “such sense”. But then, what do men who have benefited from the patriarchal system, as a matter of course, know about women who, albeit their present confidence, very soon won’t? These men can be perceptive and realistic, but only as far as naiveté allows. Inherent in their way of life remains an exploitation of women.
Vivie does feel that people have choices. She values purpose and character and believes that people can change their circumstances. She is abrupt and unbending and her sarcasm is polite but sarcastic none the less. Others have come to see her as a “steamroller” in her intention to be self-sufficient. She does indeed feel “shame” on hearing the truth about her mother and, set on protecting herself, doesn’t want to be sentimental ever again. Thus her parting of her ways with her mom. “There is no beauty and romance in life for me” she declares. Vivie is a complex character and Jennifer Dzialoszynski ably reveals her many sides and tendencies. Vivie is charming and hateful, wounded and determined, full of purpose and naïve. Dzialoszynski delivers her with intense focus that is unsettling.
Nicole Underhay’s Mrs. Warren is ripeness itself. She is a woman of broad gestures and she is physically effusive, as if her body and the air around it share one sensuality. She seems physically close no matter where she stands, always on the verge of writhing and surprisingly sometimes tomboyish. She is passionate and has no desire to inhibit her ample self. We sense well-honed survival skills in her, and also that she has taken ownership of her self-respect from a society of her childhood where women faced lead poisoning, alcoholic husbands, very low wages, and dead end slavery jobs. She now can say “the life suits me” and we believe her. Without question, this lady knows her stuff as she delivers a luscious devouring kiss on .Frank’s mouth.
In her confrontation with her daughter, Mrs. Warren is presented in an audience-draining performance of high pitched emotional intensity. The verbal battle between the two is genuinely disturbing. Vivie shows no mercy for herself or anyone else according to her mother and she certainly will not look after mom in her old age. Their verbal battle is especially heartbreaking because neither has resolved much emotionally, before, during, or after the encounter. Both women need to be active and working, and neither is adept at negotiating human relationships. Vivie says goodbye for good, Mrs. Warren slams the door, and both go to lives where, wounded, they can feel worthy.
The performance of Shaw’s play takes place in the New Lyric Gentlemen’s Club- men’s world equals men’s club- and although we hear reference to hashtags of “oldest profession” and watch selfies being taken, there are 78 rpm recordings available. The world hasn’t changed in all these years. And we do know that this is a male society that wouldn’t allow Shaw’s controversial play to be performed in a public theatre, saddled as it was with 27 year government ban. Mrs. Warren, after all, is an unrepentant prostitute who succeeds in a man’s world.
In the four male actors we have depiction of distinct variety among men. In Tom Marriott’s flexible Sir George, we have a capitalist, perhaps more pragmatic than cruelly exploitive, at least as we see him. Shawn Wright’s Reverend is crabby-looking, flustered, bullied by his son, and more a fellow going through a personal hell of some kind than preaching about it. Gray Powell’s Praed is generally likeable and level headed, like one standing almost safely back from emotional chaos. Wade Bogert O’Brien’s Frank is boyish, charming, and irresponsible, obsessively disrespectful to his father, and full of inner energy akin to popcorn popping.
These four men could easily be simplified types, but here they are very believable as individuals with personal histories. Each is a nuanced performance, full of unresolved qualities, and to condemn any of them we must condemn ourselves. “Tout le monde a ses raisons” after all. But the troubling thought remains that each fares well in the world, at least better than women, because he was born a man.