THE DRAWING ROOM COMEDY

Abigail's Party and Representations of the New Middle Class in the 1970s

Over thirty years on from its debut, Mike Leigh’s Abigail’s Party (1978) remains a landmark piece of television drama. Ranked 11th in the British Film Institute’s all time top television programs, like all Leigh’s work, the script was born out of improvisation. Though the piece is synonymous with the role of Beverley (played by Alison Steadman), we never actually meet Abigail, whose party next door lends the play its title. Rather, it is the informal gathering of neighbours to which Abigail’s mother Sue has been invited that is the focus of all the drama.

Unlike landmark productions of the 1960s - notably Ken Loach’s Cathy Come Home (1966) - Abigail’s Party is essentially a comedy of manners. And, in this sense, it has more in common with the drawing room comedies of Oscar Wilde and Noel Coward than the gritty social realism of John Osborne or Arnold Wesker. Indeed, Leigh’s play reflects the rise of the new middle class in the 1970s. While contemporary depictions of the era have the tendency to dwell upon unemployment, social unrest and political instability, the 1970s were also a time of great social mobility.

In part the rise of the middle class in the 1970s can be attributed to the social engineering of the post-war Grammar School system, which saw many children from working class homes enter professions. It can also be viewed as a product of the rise of consumer credit: Barclaycard was the first credit card outside of the US when it launched in the UK in 1966. Though credit is not made explicit reference to in the script, it is implied by the ‘new-ness’ of the furnishing and Beverley’s insistence that Lawrence is ‘very good with the money’ at the beginning of Act II.  Indeed, the emphasis on consumer lifestyle is invoked at numerous points in the script including references to foreign travel, frozen food, cosmetics and the purchase of a car.

The extract I have chosen for the textual analysis is towards the end of Act 1 and just at the point when the cracks in the veneer of congenial suburban living first start to show. It directly precedes the departure of Sue to be sick in the toilet, after which the atmosphere is more that of a hostage crisis than a cocktail party. The scene is also notable for the sexual chemistry that starts to develop between the characters of Beverley and Tony.

Camerawork

The scene begins with a close up on Beverley. Though this typically would be used to give insight perhaps into the inner thoughts of a character, here it is used to reinforce status. This immediately cuts to a medium shot of Lawrence scuttling back and forth whom Beverly is instructing. Though he is standing, his subordinate position is connoted by the control his wife has of his actions. As the camera pans to track his movement, the character Sue moves into the frame: her stony face connoting discomfort at the domestic rift between the evening’s hosts.

This camera movement is typical of the scene in which characters are tracked as they move about the confines of the suburban sitting room. For the audience this creates the illusion that they are in the room too. This is reinforced by the gentle zooming in and out on different characters as they speak and the way in which the focus shifts.

Typical conventions that are used throughout the scene to reinforce aspects of status and class include the use of specific camera-angles. Both Beverley and Tony, for example, are persistently shot from low-angles, which reinforce their alfa position in the group. This, however, runs counter to the class hierarchy: though Sue represents the old-guard middle class, she is usually shot in ways that make her seem superfluous to the scene. This can be interpreted in two ways. On the one hand, it reinforces the idea that the aspirational values of the new middle-class have ousted the more traditional attitudes that Sue represents. On the other hand, it also implies that for all their posture and swagger, class interlopers like Beverley and Lawrence, will never be considered equal to their more understated forebears.

One of the most interesting aspects of the camerawork is the way in which the use of medium long shots emphasizes the mise-en-scene. From a contemporary perspective this is perhaps part of the pleasure: the leather sofa, glass topped dining suite and elaborate g-plan side board (complete with built in drinks cabinet) seem to epitomise all that seems kitsch about 1970s interior design. And, indeed, revivals of the stage play always revisit this period set. However, at the time of its original broadcast, Lawrence and Beverley home would have epitomised good taste and style amongst the aspirational lower middle class: a fore-runner of today’s obsession with IKEA.

Editing

The editing and post-production in Abigail’s Party is fairly minimal by today’s standards and of course this reflects the drama’s origins as a stage play as well as the production values of the BBC’s Play for Today series. The use of straight-cuts, for example,connotes the fact that the play takes place in real time. Though each of the characters has a back-story, to which the script alludes, Leigh’s production does not utilise flashbacks.

One of the most interesting aspects of the editing in Abigail’s Party is the way in which the moving image is cut to the speed of the dialogue. This reinforces the primacy of the script in this kind of drama. As with Wilde and Coward, Leigh’s play is all about the nuance and wit of the dialogue. It is not, for example, a very physical play and indeed, to the uninitiated, it would seem that very little happens during the whole of the 100 minutes, until the death of Lawrence at the very end. 

Throughout the production, sound is generally synchronous to image, with the exception of the occasionally jump cut that allows us to view the facial expression of characters implicated in the dialogue. This has the effect of reinforcing the point of view perspective and the audiences’ sense of identification with Beverley’s trapped guests, particularly Sue. The positioning of the audience on a level with the most middle-class character is an interesting device. On the one hand, we sympathize with Sue and much od the humour is based on recognising the pretentiousness of the other characters. On the other hand, Abigail’s Party is also aimed at and enjoyed by just the kind of aspirational middle class audience it mocks: and indeed much of the humour is based upon the recognition of our own bad behaviour in that of Beverly and her guests.

Sound

As is perhaps to be expected for a piece of TV drama that started life on the stage, the use of sound in Abigail’s Party is central to the construction of meaning. In particular, though the script has its origins in improvisation, there is an arch, mannered quality to the delivery that challenges realism. In particular, the strained musicality with which Beverly refers to Lawrence as ‘darling’ betrays the insincerity of the sentiment. Though much of the humour in Abigail’s Party is derived from the acute social observation, this scene does feature an uncharacteristic one-liner from Sue. In response to Angela’s incessant questioning about her estranged husbands beard (and the circumstance that lead to its removal) Sue declares ‘he just sort of grew out of it’. This ambiguous response, which implies that facial hair connotes both a lack of maturity and sophistication closes the subject for Angela, whose husband sports his own rather ostentatious beard.

Accent is another central motif of class belonging in Abigail’s Party. The thinly disguised estuarine tones of Beverley, Angela and Tony, for example, betray their working class origins. Counterpoised with this is the more received pronunciation of Sue, which singles her out as the only genuinely middle-class member of the group. Somewhere in between is Lawrence, whose accent shifts according to who he is speaking to: it is notable, for example, when addressing Sue that his speech is much slower and more deliberate. By contrast, when addressing Tony, he is less guarded.

Interestingly, in this section of the play, it is in fact the soundtrack that is central to the conflict between Lawrence and Beverley. At the beginning of the scene tension mounts as the only ambient sound is that of glasses chinking and the incidental sound of the characters moving around the set. In attempt to lift the mood Lawrence decides he wants the group to listen James Galway, an artist whom he describes as ‘a very up and coming young flautist’. However, Beverly vetos this on the grounds that  she does not want to listen to what she terms ‘classical music’. Instead, Beverly’s preference is for the popular Greek star ‘Demis Roussos. On the surface this choice infers the limitations of her own social aspirations, in her preference for the sentimental and middlebrow. However, Lawrence’s taste for ‘light classical’ condemns him also, as both pretentious and untutored in what constitutes real classical music – as Sue’s unfamiliarity with Galway reinforces.

For some people the trivial and repetitious nature of the dialogue in Abigail’s Party is a source of displeasure. And, of course, this was very much Mike Leigh’s intention: the play is, in effect, an exploration of what happens when the same stock phrases and worn out idioms are repeated beyond the point of comfort. Typical of this is Tony and Beverley’s conversation about holidaying in Majorca: ‘

Beverley: It’s a fantastic drink, Bacardi, isn’t it?

Tony: Yeah

Beverley: Yeah

Tony: I first started drinking it when I went to Majorca

Beverley: You’ve been to Majorca?

Tony: Yeah

Beverley: Ah, great. Where d’you go?

Tony: Palma

Beverley: Not Palma Nova

Tony: That’s right yeah?

Beverley: Oh fantastic, isn’t it beautiful there?

Tony: Yeah

Beverley: They drink it very long there don’t they, with lots of ice and Coke and all that, yeah. It’s my dream, actually, just lying on the beach sipping Bacardi-and-Coke.

On the surface this exchange is banal and does little to move the drama forward. However, it is loaded with narratives of class belonging, in the disclosure of information concerning both foreign tourism and premium brand alcoholic drinks. Moreover, in establishing this common vocabulary of consumer aspiration Beverley and Tony are sewing the seeds of their subsequent romantic flirtations.

Mise en Scene

The problem with viewing a television drama some thirty years after it was first broadcast is that inevitably the mise-en-scene looks somewhat dated. As a consequence some of the nuance in the complex visual grammar is lost, with the danger that we view the set and costumes as just ‘retro’ and ‘kitsch’. However, what that ignores is the complex and subtle way decisions made about clothing and furniture reveals subtle clues as to the individual characters sense of class belonging.

In the first instance, dealing with the house, it is worth observing that Lawrence, an estate agent, is fully conversant with the way in which the choice of home betrays wider systems of belief. This is something he tries to draw Sue upon, when he asks for her thoughts on the sort of people who have moved into the newer houses in the area:

Susan: Well… there are the new houses on the other side of Ravensway

Lawrence: Ah, yes, the houses! But what about the people?

Susan: What about them?

Lawrence: The class of people, now don’t you think that’s changed?

At no point in the play is it disclosed how old Beverley and Lawrence’s house is, but judging by the open-plan layout we can assume that it is substantially newer than Sue’s 1936 built property. This preference for the very new is reinforced by the décor and furniture: all of which is fixed in the 1970s. This is very significant to the identity of the new middle class: there is, for example, no antique furniture or family heirlooms augmenting a more modern style as would be found in a more traditional middle class home.

This preference for the more showy and ostentatious is reinforced by the clothing codes. Beverley, for example, is over-dressed for an evening in her own home, wearing a low cut full-length evening dress in garish orange. Likewise, Ang sports a rather hideous parody of this, in pastel blue. For Beverly this reinforces her status as an emancipated woman: she is carnal and predatory. In the case of Ang, the dress serves to highlight her ungainly manner and lack of feminine charm.  Likewise, the men are formally attired: Lawrence in a suit and waistcoat, more suited for business and Tony in a more relaxed lounge suit. Though this is perhaps a reflection of the more formal clothing conventions of the period, it is also very indicative of the social aspirations of the new middle class. Tellingly, Sue is the only character who has not dressed up for the occasion. Once again this reinforces the idea that she is socialising with her inferiors, as she clearly does not view the occasion as worthy of an extra special effort

Conclusion

Revisiting a classic television drama like Abigail’s Party it is apparent how far television production has come in terms of the technical construction of a moving image text. By modern standards of camerawork, editing and post-production the Play for Today values seems somewhat rudimentary and low-fi. Likewise, in view of the more gritty social realism that preceded it, there is temptation to discount Abigail’s Party as a period piece: to be viewed ironically like the Rocky Horror Show or Grease. However, that would be to deny the subtle and complex way in which Leigh’s production explores issues of social class at a key moment of transition in the 1970s. Moreover, for a TV audience that is familiar with the routine use of CGI and high definition cinematography, the primitive quality of the Play for Today format serves only to reinforce the strength of the original script. Indeed, it is hard to imagine contemporary television producers being allowed to create a 100-minute production set only in one room. However, what Abigail’s Party is crying out for is a sensitive and subtle remake (perhaps by Leigh himself) that updates the original script for a contemporary audience and moves the play away from the camp comedy zone into which so much popular culture 1970s seems already to have been deposited.