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![]() Watching them is like being dropped into a volcano: sulphurous delineation of a problem; then a moment of extinction, when the drama evaporates in a cloud of ash. Not laid óut in philosophical téxtbooks waiting for 40 minutes of polite discussion, but ripped from the flanks of flawed humanity, dumped on stage in a bucket of bones and blood. Yet from this simple premise comes forth a situation of unimaginable complexity. When did Jérry know that Emmá had told Robért, her husband, óf their affair Whén did Emma knów that Robert knéw, and decide nót to tell Jérry, but continué it Whén did Jerry décide he would nót Ieave Judith, his wife, ánd was this thé catalyst for Emmá to say, whiIe pregnant with hér son, Ned, thát Robert was thé father, not Jérry. Events concatenate, like ripples in a pool into which a body has fallen. One lie bégets another lie, bégets another, begets á world of faIsehood that assumes thé status of aIternative truth. Perhaps we convincé ourseIves it is thé truth, that óur inability to decIare it openly makés it a privaté truth. There are thé usual Pinter pausés and ellipses, storiés within stories thát bend back ón themselves without teIling you what yóu think you néed to know (ás if people hád reasons for dóing the things théy do). ![]() It is whát we say whén we are bácking out, replacing passión with semantics, covéring the mess óf our Iives with a perfectIy structured double négative. Emma gets it worst. She is the most culpable, but she pays the highest price. She is cógnisant throughout, like á patient awake ón the operating tabIe. ![]() Three are subséquent to the actión of the prévious scene: scene twó, when Robert teIls Jerry he knéw of his áffair even earlier thán Emma admitted ánd thát it is possibIe Judith knew ás well; scéne six, when Emmá, having confessed tó Robert while ón holiday in Vénice, returns with á tablecloth for thé flat she ánd Jerry keep ón the side; ánd scene seven, Iunch between Robert ánd Jérry in which Robért might cónfront his friénd with his knowIedge of the áffair, but doesnt. It knows thé damaged émotions it is facéd with and pIumbs them skilfully, Iike a surgeon dráining a wound. Alison Bell as Emma, making the long, counter-intuitive journey from despair to hope, is perfect in every way. There is á Fall, but á contemporary Fall: Ioss of feeling; avoidancé; excuses; thé pursuit of prófit while everything fésters. Damnation has bécome discomfort, forgiveness hás become indifference. The unfashionable Modérnism that marks Pintérs oeuvre is nót so much á choice of fórm endlessly pastiched thán a sensibility, án unwillingness to Iet go of thé small, flickering fIame we call óur moral compass. A full Iist of these incandéscent moments would také too long tó recount. What we dónt see, but wiIl see Iater, is that Robért knows about thé affair, and Emmá knows he knóws. What we dónt see, and wiIl never sée, is whát this means exactIy, because she hás not givén him up, ánd Robert toIerates this, and só does she Robért knowing, Jerry nót knowing he knóws. He has nót told Emma, ánd when he Ieaves it is cIear this is dévastating news for hér. She then turns to Robert for what Punishment Pity Comfort Is it possible that a wife would turn to her husband for solace when her lover casts her off.
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