The Girl Next Door

Lockdown has made Rob Hathaway (Bill Champion) morose. An ageing actor, he’s stuck living with his older sister, Alex (Alexandra Mathie). Much of his time is spent reflecting on past acting glories. It takes the appearance of Lily (Naomi Petersen), a young woman in old-fashioned clothing Rob sees hanging out the washing next door, to pique his interest.

It quickly becomes apparent that she is not from the year 2020 but 1942. This quirk of time, two houses separated by a leafy hedge and 78 years, allows author Alan Ayckbourn to delve into the similarities and differences in societal attitudes and lifestyles.

At its heart, Ayckbourn’s play, his 85th, is an exploration of relationships. Champion does an excellent job of communicating the relentless misery of isolation and confinement, at one point exclaiming: “We need human contact!”

Ayckbourn also directs the production, which has two separate casts to keep it running if anyone tests positive for Covid.

The Girl Next Door is at its strongest when it explores the gender stereotypes and double standards of both times. Lily’s husband, Alf (Linford Johnson) is both a perpetrator and victim of a rigid, narrowly defined masculinity. A soldier on 48-hour leave, he casually reveals his infidelity and objectifies Alex but also only feels able to cry in front of Rob, apologising as he does so. The idea of it being okay for a man to show his emotions in this way is as alien to him as the freezer and dishwasher are to Lily. A well-executed reveal at the end highlights Rob’s own inconsistent attitudes to women.

In fact, Ayckbourn’s social observations feel more interesting than the dual time periods. This is, in part, because the production is hindered by uneven pacing and a number of plot contrivances that, even allowing for the fantastical nature of the story, require too great a suspension of disbelief.

Kevin Jenkins’ set design is a study in contrast and subtly highlights the different priorities of the two families. While Rob’s garden is concreted over, Lily’s is used to grow food. This attention to detail helps the two houses feel worlds apart.

The production sharply comes alive when the brilliant Mathie is bustling about the stage, her wit and energy adding a much-needed zip to proceedings. However, her character feels somewhat peripheral, as time is given over to Rob and Lily’s relationship, which dominates the first act.

Champion and Petersen are engaging and have a good rapport. He plays the ageing man-child well and Petersen marries an apparent naivete about the ways of the world with a mature understanding of social interactions. But their energy is not always enough to overcome scenes bogged down with exposition.

It nonetheless remains an interesting play, which manages to ask thought-provoking questions and reaffirm that human connection is essential, no matter the era.