“I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but still I rather liked that”, was Janie’s unusual verdict. The first phrase would usually precede a phrase such as “what a load of rubbish” or similar.
But in many ways I could see Daisy-do’s point.
Actually, about five minutes into this short (45 minutes in total) piece, I thought I was really going to hate it.
I didn’t have a clue what was going on, it was cold, it felt soulless and some ghastly member of the audience was coughing and spluttering so much I couldn’t concentrate on trying to penetrate the impenetrable. It certainly wasn’t about nuclear war.
But once I realised that Simon Stephens and Imogen Knight had no intention of giving us a clue as to what was going on, I relaxed and went with the flow. The flow was mostly astonishing dance and some poetic words.
I sensed that the central character was bereaved and/or seriously mentally ill. I sensed that the chorus were her inner tormentors/comforters.
In the end, I did, like Daisy, rather like the piece.
I wondered what our friend Michael Billington would make of it all. We ran into him as we entered the Royal Court and had a quick chat with him, realising that we hadn’t seen him for ages.
We also chatted, in the queue, with a nice man who clearly goes to theatre a great deal and whose late partner was a cricketer as well as theatre-lover – a point that came out as I checked the Middlesex v Essex cricket score for the umpteenth time.
Anyway, turns out our friend Michael Billington (as I suspected) didn’t like it at all – a rare two stars, “baffling and obscure”. Other critics agreed with the obscure tag but were kinder on the piece:
- Dominic Cavendish in the Telegraph thinks the piece is about fear of ageing;
- Natasha Tripney in The Stage thinks it is an intriguing experiment;
- Philip Fisher in British Theatre Guide found the piece impenetrable. Indeed.
We enjoyed a veritable smörgåsbord of nibbles when we got home, for a change.
