Anna Christie, an early Eugene O’Neill play, has brought Jude Law to the tiny Donmar Warehouse. Set in New York among migrant longshoremen, the script takes ages to get to the point. Mat Burke, a randy Oirish loon, wants to marry Anna, a winsome worldly blonde, but faces opposition from her narky, knife-wielding dad, Chris.
But never mind the drama, listen to the accents. Jarring phonetics dominate the stage. David Hayman’s Chris spits out gnarled Scandinavian curses. ‘I svair to Gott, Anna, I don’t font hear it.’ Ruth Wilson’s Anna has a hard-to-place American accent which harbours many a stowaway syllable. And Law, playing de Oirishman, speaks a dialect that’s packed with extra fruity flavours. ‘Me ole bucko’ is his habitual salutation. On meeting Anna he attempts to seduce her thus. ‘’Tis one kiss oim needn to take de toiredness from me boans.’ In reply she asks if he has ever pursued the agrarian career of his countrymen. ‘Pah!’ he snorts. ‘Diggin de spods in de mod from dawn till dork!’
Law’s athleticism is magnificent. And he has no trouble finding the character’s homicidal aggression. Every twitch, every shudder, every jerk of every sinew is saturated with anger. He rips off his shirt, flexes his muscles and roars around the stage bellowing like a psychopath. It’s a nice treat for London’s ladyfolk, and gayfolk, who can savour the sculpted musculature of his undulating torso. And it’s easy to see why he accepted the part. ‘’Twas de rage and de woildness ripping troo me soul, so ’twas.’ But there’s less here for Ruth Wilson in the beige role of Anna (who nurses a tragic secret which the programme notes helpfully reveal).
Rob Ashford’s good-looking production compensates for the dramatic shortcomings with a lavish design.
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