'Grapes of Wrath' review – a classic, heart-rending American tale is brought to life by a superb ensemble

Read our review of The Grapes of Wrath, starring Cherry Jones and Harry Treadaway, now in performances at the National Theatre to 14 September.

This summer at the National Theatre, a family journey from dusty Oklahoma to dreamy California – but this is no recreational road trip. John Steinbeck’s 1939 novel The Grapes of Wrath was born out of a series of articles about penniless Midwestern migrants seeking farm work in the west and their disillusionment in finding out that it was all a con.

It’s tragic stuff but remains a compelling and heart-rending story brought to life in a brilliantly striking production by Carrie Cracknell that, perhaps surprisingly, uses a classic adaptation rather than commissioning a new version from a popular current playwright.

Frank Galati’s 1988 adaptation for Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theatre Company won the Tony for Best Play when it transferred to Broadway two years later and, while a tad cursory when it comes to character development, it certainly covers a lot of ground.

Following the tight-knit Joad family, eldest son Tom (Harry Treadaway) has recently been released from prison (it was self-defence) on parole to find that his family’s farm has been lost and they’ve been waiting for him so they can pack up and head to California. On such an arduous journey, family members start dropping off – and it’s anyone’s guess who will make it to the end.

Alex Eales’s set design features many ingenious aspects. The Act One set piece comprises the family’s truck with an open back like the covered wagons of 19th-century pioneers (the kind Grandpa and Grandma probably travelled in), as well as the river on the edge of the desert that provides a brief respite. The tent city of California is also excellently realised.

The elements are present throughout, from the opening image of a dust storm to the final disastrous thunderstorm (kudos to Guy Hoare’s lighting design). The characters are dressed with dignity in their calicoes and denim by Evie Gurney, and my companion noted that the quilts are true to the time period.

In the superb ensemble, there’s a scene-stealing appearance from Christopher Godwin’s Grandpa, who was clearly a hellraiser in his younger days and dreams of arriving in California and bathing in grapes. Greg Hicks imbues Pa with quietly mesmerising gravitas and Succession actor Cherry Jones provides the star casting as the stalwart Ma but doesn’t dominate.

Mirren Mack demonstrates a growing maturity as the indulged and pregnant only daughter Rose of Sharon (“Rosasharn”), and Natey Jones is a standout as the Christ-like former preacher Jim Casy who adopts the family.

Maimuna Memon provides the original bluegrass-style songs and leads the four-piece band with her impassioned voice. The songs don’t exactly provide relief from the catalogue of tragedies but serve as interludes in which to reflect on what’s happened.

I haven’t read the book or seen the 1940 John Ford film starring Henry Fonda and was somewhat amazed that the final tableau (no spoilers), which elicited audible gasps when it became clear what was going to happen, isn’t one of those things that I know about through cultural osmosis. It’s an American classic, but there’s nothing here to glorify the American Dream. A harrowing evening and a memorable one.

The Grapes of Wrath is at the National Theatre through 14 September.

Photo credit: The Grapes of Wrath (Photos by Richard Hubert Smith)