April De Angelis’s forte is writing about misunderstood (or perhaps misremembered) women, all one step ahead of the time in which they lived. Relatively recent examples include the fiery female leads in her fine stage adaptation of My Brilliant Friend and a playful reworking of the life story of the fictional sex worker Fanny Hill. The latest in a long line of blazing woman – whose most attractive qualities often end up tearing them down – is the “infamous” Emma Hamilton. Daughter of a blacksmith, she was a muse to many and, most memorably of all, long-term mistress of Lord Nelson.
The hook in Michael Oakley’s production is the casting of mother and daughter Caroline Quentin and Rose Quentin, who play Hamilton at different stages in her life. The first act unfolds in a gold-lined drawing room, where Hamilton (Rose Quentin) is living a luxurious life with her rich husband, a British ambassador. The couple have been stationed in Naples: Mount Vesuvius smoulders in the distance and a doomed love affair with Lord Nelson beckons. Hamilton’s mother (a straight-talking Caroline Quentin) has come along for the ride and matches her daughter’s every excitable squeal with a knowing and weary sigh.
The first half has something to it, thanks to a nuanced performance from Caroline Quentin as the weary Mrs Cadogan, radiating the sense of a hard life endured, heavy blows received. At one point, tired of her daughter’s wilful naivete, she darkly mutters: “Take a good look at me – because this is you one day.” But while Mrs Cadogan intrigues, Hamilton does not as Rose Quentin struggles to find much beneath the surface and her performance occasionally feels shrill.
In the second half, an ageing Hamilton – along with love-child Horatia – cowers in a barn in Calais, destitute and forgotten following Nelson’s death. Caroline Quentin strops and sighs and gulps down wine, but it all feels like an act, suddenly more sketch show than play. Most disappointing of all, the dynamic between mother and daughter in both halves feels stuck on auto-pilot. There is lots of squabbling, an occasional flash of affection, but little insight.
At Jermyn Street theatre, London, until 7 October
