PETER Hall's admirable repertory company has been struggling for audiences since its enforced move from the Old Vic to the Piccadilly Theatre.Perhaps there has been a shortage of star names; perhaps the choice of plays has lacked sufficiently broad appeal. There will be no justice, however, if this richly funny, deeply affecting production doesn't have crowds besieging the box office. With Judi Dench as its star it surely can't fail.
One day, perhaps, Dame Judi will give a bad, or even a mediocre, performance, but right now she is an actress enjoying a glorious prime and such a possibility seems inconceivable.
She is, once again, in tremendous form in the title role of Eduardo de Filippo's great comedy, a piece written just after the Second World War that positively glows with the Italian playwright's characteristic warmth and humanity.
Filumena is a retired Neapolitan prostitute who, for the past 25 years, has served as mistress and housekeeper to the wealthy Domenico Soriano, one of her former punters. Just before the curtain goes up, she has finally tricked him into marriage by pretending to be on her deathbed, and she has further surprises in store for her philandering lover.
Unbeknown to Domenico, Filumena is the mother of three grown-up sons and has been robbing him for years in order to support them. To add a piquant twist that drives Domenico almost insane, he is the father of one of them, only Filumena won't tell him which one.
Dench seizes all her chances in a lovely role which de Filippo himself described as "among my creations, the dearest".
In the early scenes, as Domenico rises in crescendos of impotent fury, she treats him with that basilisk stare, that incredulous, scornful disdain, that can make her the most comically terrifying of grandes dames.
Yet she is also an actress who rarely fails to catch your heart. As Filumena recounts her childhood in the Neapolitan slums and her determination not to abort her children, Dench, with that breathy catch in her voice, leaves you in no doubt that she is actually seeing the past she describes, and as a result the audience sees and feels it too.
Her steely determination that her sons will prosper is almost chilling in its intensity, while the moment when she bursts into tears of relief and exhaustion at the end seems to release a sympathetic dam of pent-up emotion right round the auditorium.
Of all the great English actresses, Dench is the one you most instinctively warm to.
Yet this beautiful performance is merely the centrepiece of a fine ensemble production that finds Hall directing at his mellow, confident best.
Over the past couple of seasons, Michael Pennington has established himself as one of our most versatile leading men and he's terrific here as Domenico, a suave, preening lady's man who is actually almost entirely under his mistress's thumb.
Pennington hilariously captures the way his character's aggrieved bluster turns into glassy-eyed desperation and craven whimpers, while his redemption at the end is almost as touching as Dench's tears.
There is also a delightful comedy triple act from Laurence Mitchell, John Gordon-Sinclair and Jason Watkins as Filumena's wildly contrasting sons, while Michael Byrne and Yvonne Bonnamy play two loyal family retainers with almost Chekhovian depth and detail.
Cynics might accuse de Filippo of sentimentality, but they would be wrong. The emotion here is real, not fake, and his hopeful view of the human heart has the conviction of lived experience. Hall and Co have done his generous vision proud.
This article appeared in the Daily Telegraph (UK) on October 9, 1998.