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There have been countless stage, film and television version of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, ever since it was first published in 1843 and became an instant best-seller. My favourite version remains the Alistair Sim film Scrooge directed by Brian Desmond Hurst in 1951.
Ian Judge's production and John Mortimer's adaptation give the short story the same treatment that Trevor Nunn, John Caird and David Edgar gave Nicholas Nickleby. They use not only the dialoguer but the third person narrative as well. The latter is divided up among the whole company, dressed in Bible black, the actors emerging from the cold, bleak darkness (Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it.)
The most striking image is straight out of the book: the terrible spectres of Ignorance and want, symbolised by a little boy and a little girl, two wretched, abject children, ragged, hollow-eyed and starving. The key speech, which follows, is aimed directly at the audience: "Beware this boy for on his grow I see Doom written. Deny it all you complacent people, Slander those who warn you. Use it to strengthen your cruel laws and make them worse and then wait in patience for the end. " The words, interestingly, are not by Dickens but Mortimer's pastiches.
The novel is both tract and ghost story, and in out own age, not noticeable for the charity and generosity of the government, Dickens' social and moral seriousness (however heavy-handed) is still pertinent. I was surprised that there were no more visions of London's poor and homeless. That horrific scene when the hags divide up the dead Scrooge's curtains and linen would have benefited from being seen within the context of the reeking slums, whose crime, filth and misery are so vividly described in the book. The ghosts get bigger and bigger. The Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come is and enormous, shrouded Grim Reaper, towering above everybody. It makes a dramatic entrance; but it would have been far better had it risen from the bowels of the earth and stayed in one place, rather than have it trundle noisily about the stage. The mechanised, pointing, boney finger fails to cause any dread, either.
Scrooge, that squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, scrimping, clutching, covetous, old sinner, is played by a totally unrecognisable Clive Francis; he looks as if he had stepped out of an illustration by Phiz rather than Leech. His stooped-back, crook-nosed Ebeneezer is played for comedy, too much so at the beginning. The flying sequence is farcical music hall. The scene, however, when he participates (unseen) in the Christmas festivities at his nephew's house and gives a ghostly prompt during the party games, is a delight.
Judge has great fun with the Fezziwigs, successfully negotiates the Cratchits (sentimental without being mawkish) and, very properly, makes much use of carols. There is also a charming Victorian air, must charmingly sung. As befits the pantomime season, there are transformation scenes and John Gunter's transformation from London to the countryside of Scrooge's youth and innocence is particularly haunting.
Many thanks to Emma for providing this review.
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