SEX, lies and theatre; they make a great combination, sometimes tragic, often farcical. Without the twin pillars of lust and deception, the whole structure of comedy – certainly of English comedy – would barely exist; and no-one understands that trut
h better that the great master of modern British absurdity and quiet desperation, Alan Bennett.
His early comedy Habeas Corpus was first seen in London in 1973; and on the face of it, it's so much a play of its time that it should be difficult to revive successfully. Set in "Brighton's Hove" in the late 1960s, it describes a day of mayhem in the house of Arthur Wicksteed, a 53-year-old GP who fights off the shades of advancing age by furtively abusing his position in relation to comely young female patients, while the rest of his family – from his outwardly formidable wife Muriel to his flat-chested sister Connie – are also nerving themselves, in the new "permissive society", to seek fun and fulfilment wherever they can get it.
On one hand, the play therefore satirises a Britain that really no longer exists; a place where ex-colonial types returned from duty in the dwindling Empire to find a Britain where – to their shock – young girls wore thigh-high miniskirts, and everyone was supposed to be having more sex than ever before. And on the other hand, it adopts a non-naturalistic narrative style – just emerging on to main stages in the 1970s – that could now look seriously dated. The whole story is delivered to us by an all-seeing, all-knowing Mrs Mop figure, Mrs Swabb, who spins out the yarn like one of the three fates; and the play uses plenty of old vaudeville tricks – including the odd song and dance – to push the story along.
It's therefore a huge tribute to director Ben Twist and this year's Pitlochry company that they manage to deliver this brilliant period-piece of a play in a style that both honours its original setting, and yet makes the human dilemmas of all the characters seem as fresh as if the show had been written yesterday. This is partly because of the production's sheer, joyful showbiz energy; on Ken Harrison's brilliant end-of-the-pier set, with the stage framed in lights, the cast belt out the story with plenty of characterisation, but not a hint of dreary naturalism.
And it's also because Twist's brilliantly cast company produce a real treasure-house of fine performances, from Dougal Lee's hugely sympathetic Dr Wicksteed to Richard Addison's truly unforgettable Mrs Swabb. Ben Twist argues in a programme note that this is really, for all its lightness of touch, a play about death, and what we do to fend off thoughts of mortality; and as the lights fade on Arthur Wicksteed's last desperate tap-dance to the music of time, we begin to see exactly what he means.
At Oran Mor, meanwhile, cult Scottish theatre star Tam Dean Burn launches the Play, Pie and Pint summer season of bite-sized classics with a version of William Congreve's The Way Of The World so brief, so intense, and so visually gorgeous, that it fairly makes the head spin. Like Habeas Corpus, Congreve's 300-year-old city comedy deals with lies about sex; but in this case, his hugely witty hero and heroine, Mirabell and Millamant – played in vibrantly sexy style here by Johnny Austin and Carmen Pieraccini – are only lying about the extent to which they adore each other, and how inevitable it is that they will eventually marry.
Dean Burn's own 45-minute version of the play is not an unmixed success; it starts well, with a witty prologue updated to contemporary Glasgow, then sags dangerously into some unnecessary comic scenes featuring Dean Burn as Highland yokel Sir Wilfull Witwoud. But Kenny Miller's knock'em-dead design in the old Citizens' tradition – all luscious green-black satin, towering feathers, cool shades and transparent empire chairs – turns this bold but patchy miniature Congreve into a catwalk spectacle to die for, backed by Mark Prendergast's funky electro-rock score; and rarely since the glory days in the Gorbals, 25 years ago, has the city seen such a fine mix of raw hit-and-miss acting and brilliant design, treating this great, raunchy classic to the warmest and most brutal of Glasgow kisses.
In Davey Anderson's new young people's show Liar playing this week at the Citizens' Theatre in a co-production by TAG and mixed-ability company Sounds Of Progress, the lies told are not about sex, but about something just as profound. Lizzie is a bright 11-year-old on the edge of adolescence, strangely fascinated by an old traveller woman whose caravan has appeared beside the local canal; Lizzie's Mum Sheila is a frightened, uptight woman with a family history to hide, and a closer link to the old woman than she wants anyone to know.
In a short hour that seems to contain lifetimes of emotion and experience, we see Lizzie – with her whole circle of family and friends – make the painful transition from childhood innocence to a more mature and truthful relationship with her parents and the world. And Guy Hollands' immaculate production – with musical direction by Gordon Dougall, and superb performances from a six-strong cast led by Ashley Smith and Pauline Knowles – makes such powerful use of the sound of singing voices to evoke the traveller culture Sheila has rejected that when Lizzie at last finds her voice, and begins to sing out this lost part of her heritage, there's a real shiver of theatrical greatness in the air, a moment of truth – not just about Lizzie, but about all of us – that brings us close to tears.
• Habeas Corpus is in repertoire at Pitlochry Festival Theatre until 15 October. The Way Of The World at Oran Mor, Glasgow, and Liar at the Citizens' Theatre, Glasgow, both run until tomorrow, 7 June.
