Plays that have innumerable interpretations, often without any logic to them and no conclusions are often some of the most fascinating to watch.  

And this is certainly the case with the first production of the year at Bats Theatre, Raggedy-Anne and Mr Piths by Ella Hope-Higginson.

The Raggedy-Anne in this production, played by Isabella Austin, is not the rag doll from the stories of Johnny Gruelle that everyone remembers from their childhood, but a delicate porcelain-like doll, beautifully dressed, high up on a shelf visited by the equally enchantingly dressed Mr Piths, played by Barney Olson. [More]

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At first blush Raggedy Anne and Mr Piths is a whimsical imaging of how a couple of discarded toys may while away their time – not in a Toy Story way with quests and adventures but more in the Beckettian zone of existential bewilderment with an added dash of ‘will they or won’t they?’ romance. 

By making her Anne devoid of feelings, playwright Ella Hope-Higginson reduces the potential for classical clowning and renders the genre more intellectually conceptual. Anne does muse on her lack of feelings and she is hoping for something good to come but, like most things she mentions, it’s a passing idea and not the focus of her being (as in Beckett’s Waiting for Godot).  

The genuine Raggedy Anne (created in 1915) is a plain rag doll with red woollen hair, round black eyes, a triangle nose, rudimentary thumbs on fingerless hands, shapeless legs and feet, and she wears a loose frock and smock. But here – in this production co-directed by Hope-Higginson with Paddy Carroll – her frock is tulle, her pink top is tight, her hair is long and blonde with a white head band (costume designed by Ella Hope-Higginson). With a slender posture more perky than floppy, this is more Barbie or Sindy than Raggedy Anne.

As played by Isabella Austin, then, this Raggedy Anne presents initially as privileged, precious, self-aware, self-involved and in control – except when she’s not. When she glimpses the ‘real world’ beyond her confines, there is interest but fear draws her back. The depth and subtlety of Austin’s performance allows us to read her thoughts and empathise with her – and arguably we feel her emotions for her while noting her tragic inability to do so.

Barney Olson is the itinerant Mr Piths, who literally drops in, all flowing overcoat and Steam Punk flying goggles (costume designed by Paddy Carroll). While he tends to go along with whatever she wants to play, he is aware of the existential abyss and can be angrily judgmental of her seemingly superficial concerns. The ‘intrepid explorer’ motif is counterpointed with an intriguing innocence and lack of guile.

In childlike fashion the titular characters invent games to make their non-lives interesting, presumably drawn from being played with by children who once loved Anne and placed her in the presence of random human behaviour – while Piths may have observed the world from a different perspective.

What helps to hold our attention, despite the characters’ lack of compelling wants, needs and objectives, is our natural urge to work out exactly who, what and where they are, and why they behave as they do. Apart from the basic ‘discarded on a high dusty shelf’ premise, however, definitive answers are elusive, denying us the ‘aha!’ moments many of us hope for in exchange for investing our time and attention. I certainly think I’ve cracked who/what Mr Piths is but my quest for confirming proof comes to nothing.

Beyond the literal ‘truths’ there’s the question of what Raggedy-Anne and Mr Piths is ‘really’ about: what is it a metaphor for? As with many plays by young playwrights, it clings nostalgically to the relatively carefree innocence of childhood while teetering on the threshold of adulthood; it captures essential elements of the universal quest for finding oneself and ‘the one’. It could also be interpreted as questioning the myth that ‘living in the moment’ is a path to enlightenment and fulfilment.

The programme gives each member of the creative team an opportunity to respond to the work and their comments offer good clues.

Olsen describes it as “an abstracted ode to the transitory nature of romantic love” that charts “a nuanced and constantly evolving relationship.” Spatial designer Adie Higginson, who sets the action on a high rostrum against the proverbial ‘blank canvas’, wonders if it is about “the development of self … And love, I suppose. The development of the self within relationships.”

Samuel Phillips, whose lighting design enhances the visual dynamics considerably, is excited by the having “permission to play [on] a vast, whimsical, blank canvas” where “Anne’s shelf can be a home, a tennis court, a delivery room, a night out.” Composer/ sound designer Ana Scotney sees “the whole world” as her playground and her list of experiences transcends those explored in the play, which may be why her soundscape sometimes doesn’t compute for me.

Choreographer Ella Gilbert wonders what sort of animal it equates to and plumps for “A mountain goat. Always quick, always tricksy. Bounding, scrambling, slipping. Ability to stop suddenly and observe, with the widest of eyes.” Paddy Carroll quotes Alan Bennett’s appreciation of “when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else … as if a hand has come out and taken yours.”

It’s clear there is a spirit within Raggedy-Anne and Mr Piths that has stimulated the creativity of a highly talented team and they have had a good time bringing it to life. From an audience perspective, however, there could be more to be explored.

Rather than toy with the idea that Mr Piths is maybe a moth, why not embrace it and really play with the possibilities of how ‘love’ might grow and manifest between a long-forgotten doll and an insect with a short life span? Then there is the child who was given Raggedy Anne, and their family: who were they and where are they now? This is touched on briefly and tantalisingly then discarded. And what about the absurdist potential of games based on how one was played with by a child and on observing human behaviour – is there more to discover on that level?

Of course such enriching of the basic premise would have to be developed in ways that enhance the ‘young adult quest for self and love’ metaphor. Or maybe some in the target audience will find it sufficient to tune into the fleeting insights and feel a private connection with their own recent or remembered experiences.

As it is there is much to appreciate in the writing, performances and production.

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