If feminists or gay men are to be found at all in the classic stage plays and musicals of the mid-20th century, it’s usually in the margins: an oblique reference here, a cruel stereotype there. Revisionist stagings – see the Old Vic’s gender-swapped Present Laughter, or Daniel Fish’s razor-sharp take on Oklahoma! – are one way of righting the balance. The Land of Might-Have-Been, devised by composer Iain Farrington and writer Michael Williams, takes a different route, weaving the songs of Ivor Novello – king of British musical theatre in the 1930s and 40s – into a narrative he might well have recognised, but never have depicted on stage.
A companion-piece of sorts to the Buxton Festival’s 2019 classical pastiche Georgiana, about the scandalous Duchess of Devonshire, The Land of Might-Have-Been celebrates another of Buxton’s most notable daughters: the writer, feminist and pacifist Vera Brittain, whose World War 1 memoir Testament of Youth acts as both storyline and framing device. In a Prologue and Epilogue, we meet an older Vera in 1944, battling accusations of treason as she rails against the Allied bombing of German civilians; in between, we’re taken back to 1914, as bookish Vera and her flamboyant brother Edward see their parallel budding romances – both with young male friends – trampled upon by the war. True to life, only Vera will survive past 1915, but Novello’s inimitable way with a tune ensures there’s plenty of gaiety along the way.
The tunes in question are drawn from a variety of Novello’s shows – Glamorous Night, The Dancing Years and Perchance to Dream chief among them – as well as standalone hits like “Her Mother Came Too”, “Keep The Home Fires Burning” and, perhaps most beloved of all, “We’ll Gather Lilacs”. Some have had their lyrics tweaked or rewritten by Williams, others are left as-is, and Farrington has written two new pieces as well: the jazzy clap-along “Buxton Ragtime Band” – which could almost pass for Novello – and “Letters”, a chilling soldiers’ chorus which definitely couldn’t. Farrington’s slimmed-down arrangements deliberately dial back Novello’s sometimes syrupy orchestrations without obscuring the songs’ essential charm, and the Northern Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Iwan Davies, also nimbly treads the line between restraint and romance.
Musically, then, there’s little to fault, but Williams’ book is less consistently successful. While later scenes pack a definite punch, there’s too much heavy-handed exposition early on as war draws near, and characters have a habit of explaining their personalities rather than embodying them. Vera’s ill-fated romance with the young poet Roland Leighton is of course drawn from her own memoir, but is so central to the plot here that it risks pulling focus from the other parts of her life – her feminism, her activism, her writing – that make her so interesting. Indeed, although fictionalised, it is Edward’s forbidden relationship with Bobbie (a composite character whose name is presumably a nod to Novello’s own long-term partner) which makes the more poignant impression; one of the show’s most striking decisions is to have the two men, not Vera and Roland, sing the title duet – a bittersweet wish for a future world in which their love need no longer be kept secret.
Audrey Brisson is an engaging Vera, albeit inclined to play her assertiveness as petulance, but her soprano, while warm and generous in its middle register, turns edgy in the higher reaches to which Novello’s quasi-operetta vocal lines often push her – a tendency perhaps not helped by a two-show day and uneven amplification. George Arvidson fares rather better as Edward, singing with bright, pliable tone and nailing the physicality of his character’s shift from camp bravado in public to the fumbling shyness of a young man in turmoil. Both siblings are well-matched by their respective lovers: Alexander Knox’s elegantly sung, pensive Roland – a persuasive intellectual foil for the fierier Vera – and Kit Esuruoso’s enigmatic Bobbie, less demonstrative than Edward, but ultimately no less passionate. Standouts among the supporting cast include Julie Teal’s two brief but memorable appearances as the older Vera, and pearly-voiced cameos from soprano Julia Mariko in several small roles – including as Vera’s teenaged daughter, the future Baroness Shirley Williams.
Kimberley Sykes’ production, with designs by Nicky Shaw, works wonders with a fairly sparse collection of furniture and scenic flats, following the show from the ballroom to the trenches via Charing Cross Station and a Goyt Valley picnic; if changes in tone aren’t quite as smoothly managed as scenic ones, that’s down to the piece itself, which arguably attempts to traverse a wider psychological spectrum than it can manage. The score, however, is irresistible, and Vera Brittain's story one well worth telling; so while prevailing wisdom continues, rightly or wrongly, to declare Novello's own shows unrevivable, this showcase for them both is surely to be welcomed.
