The book was better
I first read Daughter of Time (Josephine Tey, 1951) in my mid teens – it got me to rethink what the study of history might be, and to doubt the certainties of school texts.
I cannot say that it lead directly to me studying history at University, but it certainly didn’t hinder me. So a dramatization – and one with initial very positive reviews, was an obvious draw.
What I was not expecting was a love-story (well two, actually) sub-plot, clearly intended to offer drama to what was otherwise a cerebral mystery story, and intended to address the limitations of a story where the actual actions all took place around a hospital bed (something you don’t really notice so much when you are simply reading).
But this limitation is very evident on the stage, and ‘normalising’ through for instance nurse-led physiotherapy sessions adds realism but not interest, where the patient’s recovery is not a dramatic issue.
The play, set in 1950 when it was written, was by no means badly structured and included a number of engaging theatrical devices (and was very well staged) – it even included a joke about the impossibility of a woman director (in 1950) in a play directed by a woman (Jenny Eastop).
The cast was generally on point (although the lead, Rob Pomfret seemed to miss a couple of lines) and one part (the young American researcher, played by Harrison Sharpe) was portrayed as someone with multiple neuroses, (ADHD, Tourette’s and obsessive compulsive disorder to name but three) which appeared to be over-egging this particular pudding.
Overall, it was a pleasant evening which might have offered some interesting insights into a ‘famous’ historical character, for those who hadn’t read the book, but ‘pleasant’ isn’t great.