In this modern retelling of Moliere’s play, Alceste, the misanthrope, is interpreted by Alice (Sandra Oh), a successful novelist who is disillusioned with the hypocrisy and superficiality of society. She shares with her friend and confidante John (Paul Chahidi) how the insincerity of ritualised politeness is ‘ugly, abusive’.
‘The Misanthrope’ - Review of the National Theatre’s modern adaptation
Figure 1: Sandra Oh, credit to London Theatre
In this modern retelling of Moliere’s play, Alceste, the misanthrope, is interpreted by Alice (Sandra Oh), a successful novelist who is disillusioned with the hypocrisy and superficiality of society. She shares with her friend and confidante John (Paul Chahidi) how the insincerity of ritualised politeness is ‘ugly, abusive’.
Martin Crimp’s decision to reimagine the main character as a woman offers this timeless story a distinctly modern tension. Alice’s exhaustion with incessant social pleasantries speaks to a wider, recognisable struggle for women. Her character highlights how upholding the cultural mandate of being agreeable and pleasant does not escape women with powerful jobs. This prompts the concept of the misanthrope to shift, the audience wonders if Alice is simply tired of people, or enraged at the demands of being a woman in society.
John tries to talk Alice into being less rigid in her ideas of falseness, as she falls right into the ‘difficult woman’ trope. Her directness and honesty, qualities that might be celebrated in a man, risk becoming liabilities in her career. This is referenced in a later scene about the insidiousness of online cancel culture, especially the immediacy with which women can be attacked by it.
Esme (Imogen Elliott) enters with the hopes of sharing her writing with Alice to obtain encouraging feedback and female solidarity. Unfortunately for her, Alice refuses to sugarcoat what she deems to be untalented, clichéd nonsense from a naïve nepobaby.
Robert Jones’ baroque set design establishes the opulent world Alice inhabits. She is surrounded with the very privileges and social structures she claims to despise. This contradiction becomes most apparent in her relationship with Stefan, a vain and arrogant actor who represents a blind spot in her class consciousness. As John observes, ‘doesn’t he represent everything you hate?’ Stefan exposes the gap between Alice’s ideals and her desire: her disgust with society does not prevent her from being drawn to a human embodiment of excess.
However, the set design sometimes felt more convincing than the script. In its effort to cover so much ground in its exploration of the failures of humanity, the writing feels overworked. The delivery is emphatic and clear, but lacks naturalism. Exchanges feel more like vehicles for the play’s ideas than conversations between believable characters. This made the performances feel somewhat contrived, particularly given that the modern setting and recognisable social tensions otherwise lend themselves well to a more understated realism.
The play ends with Alice renouncing a life in society and retreating into isolation, seemingly the only conceivable way of maintaining her moral position. She drops out of her image-driven social circle and abandons her life with Stefan. The lavish set disappears with her, replaced by a barren, dark space.
At its heart, The Misanthrope offers a critique of human hypocrisy and the double standards that shape social and professional life. Its exploration of social media, the greed of the elite and the pressures placed upon women gives the play a distinctly contemporary relevance. Although the emphatic, less naturalistic style of delivery sometimes poses as a barrier to fully convincing characters and conversations, it also reinforces the play’s focus on performance and social artifice.