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Stars explained: * A production of no real merit
with failings in all areas. ** A production showing evidence of not
enough time or effort, or even talent, and which never breathes any real
life into the piece – or a show lumbered with a terrible script. *** A
good enjoyable show which might have some small flaws but has largely
achieved what it set out to do.**** An excellent show which shows a
great deal of work and stage craft with no noticeable or major
flaws.***** A four star show which has found that extra bit of magic
which lifts theatre to another plane. |
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Liz Webster as Charmaine, Rob Bissett as Vic and David Weller as Rex Smelling a Rat
Grange Playhouse
**** YOU are left with a strange feeling of
unease by the opening to this Mike Leigh black comedy. I mean, who is this bloke who walks into an empty
bedroom, obviously returning from a trip of some sort, and proceeds to
unpack without a word – except for some tuneless mumbling of a song? And then, why, when he is apparently getting ready
to go to bed, after chucking a collection of stuffed toys around the
room, does he dart into one of his six wardrobes to hide when he hears
voices coming from the hall? And while you are pondering that, who are the
couple who appear in the bedroom who don’t seem to be there trying to
nick anything, rather just there to be nosy? At least they help us out with that, he being
Vic, and she his wife Charmaine. It transpires Vic is a verminator, not
so much Arnold Schwarzenegger, more Rentokil – or in this case the
Vermination Pest Control Company and he is on his way home with tarty
wife Charmaine. Now inasmuch, a favourite expression, as Vic is
there, he is there as a favour. Rex Weasel, and yes the name does suit,
is the owner of the the aforementioned extermination company and had
asked one of his employees to check his apartment while he was away with
his wife in the Canaries over Christmas. But, inasmuch as the employee was doing a bit of
moonlighting
elsewhere, he had asked Vic, to do him a favour and check for him, hence
Vic and Charmaine are taking the opportunity to have a nose around the
boss’s gaff – and slag him off at the same time, which is not the best
career move inasmuchas it looks like the boss is holed up in wardrobe 6.
Rob Bissett and Liz Webster are great fun as the
couple intellect forgot, complete with a beautifully jarring estuary
English accent. Webster’s ohhs and ahhs and extended vowels are a
delight as she flounces about with just the right balance between sexy
and common in a shiny bell skirt dress and glossy tights. Bissett’s Vic is one of nature’s philosophers, a
man with a view on anything and everything, all backed up with a less
than certain grasp of the lengthier entries in the English lexicon and a
knowledge base similar to most people’s grasp of mediaeval Polynesian
midwifery . . . although Vic would probably have something to say about
that if it ever surfaced amid the jumble of thoughts colliding between
his ears. He prattles on endlessly, in a wonderful
performance. It is not an easy part, talking constant unrelated nonsense
at breakneck pace takes both memory and stamina and he does a fine job. But hark, we hear voices again, and in a panic
Vic and his wife hide in wardrobes 1 and 2 as a new couple enter, Rex’s
son Rock, played by Sam Evans, who one assumes is a big Paul Simon fan
as he communicates largely by the sound of silence, aided by various
shades of sulleness, arrives with his girlfriend Melanie-Jane, a quite
excellent performance from Rachel Holmes, who fills the silence with a
stream of mundane trivia. Rock occasionally tries to seduce Melanie-Jane
with all the subtly and enthusiasm of a bored pebble in between his
normal modes of largely silence, listening to music on his headphones
and throwing in the odd useless non sequitur, such as telling her “there
are three million prostitutes in Thailand.” On this scant evidence we assume he has brought
his girl back to his parent’s bedroom in the hopes of some horizontal
exercise, while she, in turn, has a theory that talking and sex are
mutually exclusive – thus she keeps talking. That is until she discovers
Vic and Charmaine hiding in the
wardrobes and then, left alone, is confronted by Rex leaping out of
wardrobe 6 waving a gun. All too much for her and she screams and
vanishes into the en suite while the audience retire to the bar. The shorter second act sees David Weller as a
sort of slightly sinister, bully of a man as Rex. A man who seems more
concerned with getting the now silent Melanie-Jane out of his “bog”
because he wants a pee than all the goings on around him. We discover he is more upset at his son having
keys to his penthouse than he is about Vic having a set, and that his
son has not spoken to him for years, but we never find out why. We find he has returned home early but there is
no explanation of why nor where his wife is, and we discover Vic has a
criminal record and Charmaine might also have one, but we are not sure
on that one, or what it might be for. And at the end we are left as we started with everyone gone
and an empty bedroom. As a production, director David Stone, who also
designed the attractive set, has instilled a good pace and it is a well
acted piece with some lovely timing and some wonderful scenes, such as
when Vic pontificates to an exasperated Rex as Charmaine whines on to
Melanie-Jane through the en suite door, attempting to persuade her to
come out. Two conversations in a cacophony of trivial wittering. The problem is that not
a lot actually happens. Mike Leigh is a bit of a Marmite writer, with
Abigail’s Party, originally for TV,
perhaps his best known stage work. He has a reputation for turning mind
numbingly boring normal conversation into comedy gold, and at times it
is very funny – such as when Charmaine is trying to understand Vic’s
convoluted views on life. But much of the time the conversation is what it
is, mindless and ordinary, it’s like eavesdropping on none too bright
passengers on a train, unknown people who don’t really have anything
interesting to say. Leigh leaves us eavesdropping as an audience. We
never know enough about the characters to engage with or care about
them. Perhaps that is the point. We are observers rather than
participants, left with questions posed but answers have we none. What happened between father and son, whether
Rock’s mother is alive, dead, waiting dutifully for Rex’s return, or
shacked up with a Spanish waiter - we will never know. And there are the
holes in logic, such as why Rex would remain hidden when he realised the
intruders were first his employee and his wife, then his son and
girlfriend? I must admit I am not a Mike Leigh fan, others
rate him highly though and declare him a darkly funny writer. If you
count yourself among the latter then you will surely enjoy this
production. If among the former then you can still appreciate some fine
acting in a polished production. To 24-09-16 Roger Clarke 15-09-16 |
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