Punched in the stomach, but equipped with a new pair of contact lenses. It is a long time since I left a theatre feeling as I did after seeing Machinal. Richard Jones has directed a skewering production of Sophie Treadwell’s 1928 play, which is generally hailed as a masterpiece of theatrical expressionism. The opening might have been timed to accompany the vibrating canvases of Gabriele Münter and Marianne Werefkin at Tate Modern’s new Expressionists exhibition, but Jones’s staging is singularly complete: every sinew alarmed, from the snap of a black rubber glove to the glimpse of a flower trapped in a glass bowl; everything galvanised by a first-rate performance from Rosie Sheehy.
American journalist Treadwell wrote Machinal after attending the trial of Ruth Snyder, found guilty of killing her husband. A young reporter, taping a camera to his ankle, provided front-page pictures of Snyder’s execution in the electric chair (headline: “DEAD!”). Treadwell refused to report on the trial, instead responding with a play that showed a woman being crushed by ordinary, hostile circumstances: an uncomprehending mother, a robotic city and office, a predatory boss, an empty marriage. She wrote with clarity and imagination, making it evident that while her unnamed heroine is not innocent, the world is responsible.
