★★★★★

“Storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured”

To preface: if you can go see this, you must; you absolutely must.

The Happiest Man on Earth is earth-shatteringly moving. It is Aristotelian in the very best sense, despite not having any of the structures outlined in the Poetics. This is storytelling which cannot but leave you changed.

Directed by Ron Lagomarsino, The Happiest Man on Earth is the adaptation of Eddie Jaku’s best-selling memoir, of the same name, which was published when Jaku was 100 years old. Originally produced in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, this is the story of a German-born Jewish man who, against an unending avalanche of impossibility, survived the Holocaust. Yet, it is selfless; it is a tale of indefatigable kindness, compassion, and friendship. It is history, axiology, deontology, and all the other philosophical ‘ologies’ in one. But it is also storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured.

To conceptualise this story as a piece of theatre is perhaps to devalue it: not because theatre is not important enough, but because The Happiest Man on Earth transcends theatrical definition.

Kenneth Tigar carries this 90-minute story single-handedly, and never, not for one second, does he lose anyone’s attention. It is rare to see an actor in his more mature years – I will not say eld*rly – on stage, not to mention in a one-man performance. More remarkably, Tigar plays Eddie Jaku from 1933 (when Jaku was 13 years old) up until his old age, and at every point he has you locked in. Before the story-proper begins, Tigar greets the audience and explains the reason for telling his story: he has agreed to tell it at his grandsons’ synagogue and is scared; he doesn’t yet know if it is a story one ought to share.

Lagomarsino’s direction is also brilliant, complimenting Tigar consistently. Stage design (James Noone) and sound design (Brendan Aanes) were simple and sparse, but expertly curated, seamlessly adding to the fabric of the piece.

I am loathe to say more, or to detail any of the story itself. We are always at risk of forgetting, and worse, of neglecting history, especially its atrocities. If we are going to learn, this is the way to do it. The history of the Holocaust, in all its evil – and indeed the Banality of that Evil (thanks, Hannah Arendt) – belongs to our collective memory. We do not live in a historical vacuum. Our relationship to existence and to each other should be informed by the past and our relationship to it.

To postface: The woman next to me watched this with the repeated refrain of ‘oy vey’ as she silently distributed tissues to all those in her immediate vicinity. She may not be there again, so do stock up on said tissues in advance.

THE UNSEEN at the Riverside Studios

★★★★

“Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right”

Orwell, Kafka and Beckett walk into a bar. Sounds like the premise for a joke, and indeed there is a perverse layer of humour that runs through Craig Wright’s “The Unseen”, but on the whole it is made up of pretty serious stuff. There are definite shades of the three writers’ influence, who could well have been swapping notes as they downed their drinks. The bar man is a young, interrupting Tarantino who fancies himself as a bit of a dramaturg while pulling pints. Frivolity and comparison aside, though, Wright’s heavy, harrowing, thought-provoking style comes with its own ambition, agenda and raw uniqueness.

We are plunged straight into the action. Even during the pre-show we are involuntary voyeurs, gazing upon Valdez (Waj Ali) and Wallace (Richard Harrington) in their solitary prison cells. Wallace is asleep while Valdez nervously looks around him, twitching at the sight of invisible ghosts. We see the whites of his eyes as they roll upwards in fear, dejection and confusion. Simon Kenny’s brutally realistic set encases both protagonists in their own worlds. Their own cells, and thoughts. Without making eye contact they communicate, passing the time playing memory games to keep madness at bay. They are grieving for their lost freedom, exacerbated by the fact that neither one (nor us) knows why they have been incarcerated.

Fear and paranoia continually wrestle with hope and optimism. The former invariably gaining the upper hand. A distinctly wordy play, both actors maintain an extraordinary command of the dialogue. Harrington’s Wallace is the more restrained and resigned elder captive. A slave to routine after eleven years, he is just about managing to keep control of his own mind. Waj Ali, as the younger Valdez, is a relative newcomer. Just three years into his stretch he is on rockier ground, conjuring up a hallucinatory woman in the next cell who has promised to help him escape. But both know their only escape from this world is death. Both actors exercise an extraordinary attention to detail that accentuates their personality traits; long buried under institutionalisation.

Into this world bursts Smash, the prison guard whose impossibly complex and damaged character is breathlessly brought to life by Ross Tomlinson. As much a prisoner as the two captives, he lashes out with murderous intent in a vain attempt to kill the oppressive empathy he feels. Both torturer and tortured, we can’t help but wonder how Tomlinson unwinds after each performance. It is a savage hour and a half, and undoubtedly polemic. Director Iya Patarkatsishvili describes it as “more than just a story; it is a call to action”. And for that reason, it deserves to be seen far beyond the smaller space of Riverside Studios. The macabre gallery we walk through on our way into the auditorium bears witness to the reality that is more disturbing than the fiction. The play’s anonymous setting is betrayed by the caged headshots of Russians who have taken a stand against Putin’s regime and found themselves imprisoned as a result.

Against this backdrop, Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right. Short enough to hit us with a whiplash force, the grotesque humour pricks up our ears to the message that sinks in as insidiously as Orwell’s infamous ‘newspeak’. Not for the faint hearted, its own heart is ferociously strong. Mike Walker’s palpitating sound design sends literal alarm bells. This is happening every day. The finely nuanced and authentic performances are integral to our understanding of ‘The Unseen’ characters. They need to be seen, just as their factual counterparts do. “The Unseen”, in short, is a must see.

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★★★

“Storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured”

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH at Southwark Playhouse Borough

Reviewed on 25th November 2024

by Violet Howson

Photography by Daniel Rader

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH

THE UNSEEN at the Riverside Studios

★★★★

“Wright’s writing and Patarkatsishvili’s staging pitch the message just right”