Simone de Beauvoir’s novella Les Inseparables was written in 1954 but remained unpublished until 2020. Its fictionalised portrayal of de Beauvoir’s childhood friendship with Elisabeth Lacoin – a foundational relationship that informed plenty of her writing, and perhaps as much of her philosophy – was too much for the writer’s partner, Jean-Paul Sartre, who “held his nose” at it.
But the yearning intensity of Sylvie (Ayesha Ostler) for her new BFF Andrée (Lara Manela) is a painfully lovely thing in this adaptation by Grace Joy Howarth. “Life without her would be death,” Sylvie proclaims, and instantly fantasises about falling down dead beside her. Andrée reads Horace, plays violin and can do the splits. What little French girl wouldn’t be smitten?
It takes until the second half – when the women enter young adulthood – for the story to come into focus. The twin pressures of faith and society exert an unbearable toll on the charismatic but dutiful Andrée: Caroline Trowbridge plays her exacting mother, while Alexandre Costet-Barmada is wonderfully infuriating as Pascal, the earnestly religious student she falls for.
It’s probably the fault of the uneven narrative that despite it all I left with more feeling for Sylvie, de Beauvoir’s alter ego. Her father’s reversal of fortunes, which requires her to work, sets her free from convention. And it’s Ostler’s compassionate performance – mixing an evolving feminism with her impassioned defence of her friend – that captivates through the impressionistic parade of balls, cafes, picnics and university halls (neatly designed by Hazel Poole Zane).
De Beauvoir herself agreed with Sartre’s criticisms of her book: “The story seemed to have no inner necessity and failed to hold the reader’s interest,” she wrote. In play version, it simply takes too long for a sequence of Left Bank conversations to find their dramatic purpose, while some elements remain frustratingly opaque: Sylvie’s atheism, and the idea that she is a “corrupting influence”, in particular.
But director Anastasia Bunce keeps the scenes moving, and breathing and delivers a production that’s testament to a special friendship. “One day,” says Sylvie of Andrée, “I swore people would write novels about her.” De Beauvoir has certainly kept Elisabeth’s spirit alive.
At Finborough theatre, London, until 10 May
