A review of 'Six Degrees of Separation' with Steven Pacey and Stephen Greif at the Old Vic, February 2010
by Judith Constable

What is 6 Degrees of Separation about? It’s about a man who convinces people he’s the son of Sydney Poitier – or so one of the cast (Steven Pacey, no less) told me in November, when I asked just that question. And it’s about identity, and the power of the imagination, and reality and truth. And a lot more!

The play opens with two art dealers, who appear in their dressing gowns, very distressed about an incident in the night, when they could have been robbed or murdered, or both; checking that their valuables are still there. And then instantly, the audience is distracted from the incident, to focus on the artificial nature of their conversation and lifestyle – whilst at the same time we see that their relationship is quite genuine. They talk too loudly, laugh too often – and then we find out why – they are seeking to impress a wealthy South African with whom they want to conclude a highly lucrative art deal.

Enter now, a young man, who claims not only to be the son of Sydney Poitier, but also a friend of the couple’s children – and he knows details about their lives and home – so what else could he be? He’s been mugged and stabbed, but all he wants is help from the kind parents of his friends (about whom he’s heard so much) and then he’ll be on his way. Where will he sleep? ‘Oh, on a bench somewhere, don’t trouble yourselves with me, I’ll be fine. Just so long as I meet my father Sydney Poitier in the morning....’ Do they throw him onto the streets again? Of course not. But the young man – Paul – is found to have powers of conversation that transport his listeners, so you could hear a pin drop as he describes the impact of “Catcher in the Rye” and the power of the imagination. And inspired, they all retire to bed – the art deal having been clinched in the context of this extraordinary young man and his inspiring conversation.

But in the middle of the night, things go wrong. I won’t tell you how. (But for those of you who see it – I was sitting in the second row!) The adults are shocked – betrayed. And after this dramatic moment, Steven Pacey bursts in with his affected wife, saying, “You’ll never believe it, we’ve just met the son of Sydney Poitier, and he’d been mugged....” Steven’s timing is wonderful, Larkin, his character is another exaggerated caricacture – a rather unimaginative and boring husband who dresses neatly if stolidly – in a yellow jumper (I ask you) and jacket. With a well made up wife who never really seems to have any personality.

And at this point, both couples meet a doctor – played by Stephen Greif (and by this point, I really don’t know which way to look), who’s just met – you’ve guessed it – a young man who was mugged and was the son of Sydney Poitier. All three households go to the police when they discover the imposition – and of course discover that although this young man has talked his way into their homes, slept in their beds, eaten their food, all under false pretences, he has done no wrong in the eyes of the law. On the contrary, they all invited him.

So, that’s how the play’s set up. The college-aged offspring of each household are introduced and as a group, shown to be critical of their parents (a judgment which is reciprocated) and separated from them. And by another paradox, capable of assuming a responsibility which their parents don’t see. The play reaches its climax when things go badly wrong for Paul – tragedy of his own making – and he turns to the art dealer’s wife and asks for help. And I imagine that, to a man, the audience are willing her to say no and daring her to say yes.

It’s a play of paradoxes and contradictions. Why do the art dealers seem to be more drawn to a dubious conman than to their own children? Is the professed con man so very different from the art dealers who are also living a con and whose lives could be said to be more shallow than his? And underlying the whole, the themes that people are separated and yet connected in unexpected ways.

One thing I loved was watching the actors so closely – especially those that weren’t speaking, and especially Steven Pacey and Stephen Greif. Stephen at one point was drumming his fingers in impatience against his glass of whisky – he seemed surprised he had been doing it when I mentioned it to him later. Steven’s expressions of exasperation, or polite interest... they were acting completely, just not saying any words.

For me, the play probed the power of the imagination. “Imagination is the passport we create to get to the real world...” said Paul. And later, “our imagination teaches us our limits and then how to go beyond those limits...” This from a con man whose imagination had led him down very morally dubious routes, and who had in turn so fired the imagination of one of those whom he’d touched, that he’d undoubtedly enriched her. And the degree to which the characters were impacted by him seemed to depend entirely on how imaginative they were as individuals. And whether that impact was a good thing or a bad thing had less to do with imagination than the priorities of the individuals. Is imagination a good thing, or a bad thing? The play doesn’t tell us, but it does pose the question.


Still under the influence of the play, Diane and I went to the stage door where we spoke with Steven Pacey for a few minutes. I’m sure many will be delighted to hear that he’s working on recording another audio. He was dashing (in more ways than one) and couldn’t stop. Stephen Greif on the other hand (who was wearing a wonderful hat) was able to stay for a drink. I have two lasting impressions, one is his wonderful deep voice. The other is of how kind and what easy company he was. It was ever so strange watching him as Travis afterwards, and I had to keep reminding myself that this man really is the villain! I suspect, though, that Travis will never be quite the same again for me.

Footnote: I now possess the only script of Sand with Travis’s name on the cast list!

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