★★★★

“a delightfully silly hour with real heart, and the most representative chicken-owning experience I have ever seen on stage”

The more time passes since the pandemic, the rarer you see the topic is raised on stage. Four years on, I was a bit hesitant to be reminded of lockdown induced madness in Making Friends, though to give Spencer Jones’ credit, this seems to have developed into a more permanent state thanks to a move to Devon.

The show is a stand up hour of musical comedy that reflects on Jones’ attempts to find connection, at first with his kids, then animals, then the other blokes in the village. It is structured around a number of tracks he produces live through clever looping and vocal effects. These lean heavily into surrealism, featuring an entertaining cast of potential friends (mostly puppets and false teeth) Jones has created in his garage. They stay on the right side of sectionable to be funny throughout.

Spencer plays the part of home-bound harried dad well, dressed in a red velvet dressing gown, socks and a rainbow sweatband. To dial up the ridiculousness, there’s a foam tube that becomes a shoulder pad, and a black plastic bag from an off licence has a brief but memorable role.

You’ll recognise Spencer Jones from recurring character roles on programmes like Upstart Crow, Ted Lasso, and The Mind of Herbert Clunkerdunk. He is great at adopting a slight change to expression, posture and accent to create a caricature of someone ordinary but instantly recognisable. I particularly enjoyed Jones’ portrayal of a number of west country locals and their dentistry. I can vouch for their accuracy: one of them could well be my Grandad Norman.

“There are a surplus of other ideas that feel played to their full potential in this versatile and high-energy hour.”

A number of props and puppetry devices are strewn messily over the small Soho Downstairs stage like we are walking into Jones’ garage. He bounces around between the mixing deck, cardboard portraits, a guitar, and papier mache masks and heads. On the whole these are enjoyably chaotic, but occasionally some of the interloper characters are too brief and deflate a couple of jokes; there’s a neon crocodile that went entirely over my head. An aside about soup also fell a little flat after audience interactions went left field and a section about Siri also felt underdeveloped. However, what I at first assumed to be an udder turned out to be something much funnier. In many ways I’m impressed with the commitment to what must have been hours with paper and glue for a single pay off.

The through line centres around the acquisition of a number of chickens, who very literally introduce Jones to the concept of pecking order. As a non-Londoner I have sad memories of childhood hens turning against me with painful consequences, and Spencer recreates this betrayal accurately.

There are a surplus of other ideas that feel played to their full potential in this versatile and high-energy hour. The guitar, like Chekhov’s gun, foreshadows a sad indie man finale that delivers on the underwhelming beta maleness at the heart of this show. It also really gets the spirit of my favourite housemate (my dad) during the pandemic.

At the end of the show, Jones announces another house move which feels like it is medically prescribed. It’s a timely reminder that Rightmove does not have all the answers, and that is frankly a public service. Ultimately, Making Friends is a delightfully silly hour with real heart, and the most representative chicken-owning experience I have ever seen on stage.

ARTIFICIALLY YOURS at Riverside Studios

★★★

“We want to dig deeper into the shadows, but the writing is reluctant to explore far enough to flesh out the ideas that are bubbling underneath”

As I came out of the premiere of Aaron Thakar’s debut play, “Artificially Yours” I played a game with my smart phone. I don’t use Siri, which probably puts me in the minority of the population, but I decided to ask it some questions. Whilst it was able to give me factual details (my next appointment or my partner’s phone number for example), when it was asked something more abstract that required an emotional reaction, it merely answered with the words ‘that’s an interesting question’.

Thakar takes this notion a step further with his one-act play and, in turn, asks some interesting questions. It centres around an advanced AI device, called Agapé, that is not just a personal assistant but also one that can act as a relationship therapist to its bickering owners. Under Hannah McLeod’s slick direction, the narrative follows the effects this has on three different – though connected – couples as they navigate the usual hurdles that interrupt the smooth run of their affairs. Billed as a ‘dark comedy’ it yields some rich comic moments but never really explores the darkness. Agapé is given a bit of an underwritten supporting role here, and the piece often feels like just another sitcom. A perceptive one, nevertheless, which grapples with issues beyond AI’s limited capabilities of which the young writer has a mature grasp.

Agapé’s most accomplished skill is that of distinguishing a lie from a truth, and as such is more judgemental than its human counterpart therapist. But still the three couples decide to choose what they only want to hear. First up we have Pippa and Martin (Leslie Ash and Paul Giddings). Recently divorced, Martin is trying to get Pippa to agree to him introducing their daughter to his new girlfriend. Meanwhile Lilah and Ash (Destiny Mayers and writer Thakar himself) sport matching pyjamas but a clashing reliance on their artificial counsellor. Further clashes ensue when they go on a double dinner date with Ellie and Noah (Ella Jarvis and Jake Mavis). The connections between the six individuals are gradually revealed through disagreements, quarrels and occasional reconciliations: but no real resolve.

The cast spar well together, and while Thakar’s writing is thoughtful, we do often forget that Agapé is in the room as the characters’ idiosyncrasies take centre stage. Destiny Mayers is convincing as the frustrated Lilah who silently laments her partner’s reliance on artificial communication. As jobbing actor Ash, Thakar has the strongest arc which culminates in the play’s only distinct self-reformation. Leslie Ash’s Pippa makes the most of her underwritten mother-of-two. Ash excels, however, in depicting her internal tug-of-war between affection and disdain for her ex – equally convincingly illustrated by Paul Giddings’ Martin, wrapped up in his over-padded mid-life crisis. Ella Jarvis’ unhinged, overwrought Ellie and Jake Mavis’ maddening, fitness-fanatic Noah dish out the lion’s share of the laughs. Bordering on farce, the cast collectively manage to avoid artificiality.

Yet the serious questions, and the darkness that is teasingly dangled in front of us never really materialises. We want to dig deeper into the shadows, but the writing is reluctant to explore far enough to flesh out the ideas that are bubbling underneath. Yet we must remember (and just in case we don’t, we were reminded at curtain call) that this is Thakar’s debut as a writer and an actor. Depending on which way you look at this it can either be an excuse or a celebration. I lean towards the latter. In its own way it is quite an achievement. “Artificially Yours” might not yet be his hallmark, but Thakar has made his mark and, in time, is someone to watch out for.

SPENCER JONES: MAKING FRIENDS at the Soho Theatre

★★★★

“a delightfully silly hour with real heart, and the most representative chicken-owning experience I have ever seen on stage”

“There are a surplus of other ideas that feel played to their full potential in this versatile and high-energy hour.”

SPENCER JONES: MAKING FRIENDS at the Soho Theatre

Reviewed on 11th April 2024

by Rosie Thomas

Previously reviewed at this venue:

SPENCER JONES

SPENCER JONES

ARTIFICIALLY YOURS at Riverside Studios

★★★

“We want to dig deeper into the shadows, but the writing is reluctant to explore far enough to flesh out the ideas that are bubbling underneath”