DUCK at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe

★★★★

“a very personal story in the midst of an institutional one, with plenty of humour and compassion throughout”

Duck is vivid in a way few pieces or storytelling, let alone theatre, manage to be. It tells the story of Ismael “Smiles” Akhad, a stereotypically insecure and competitive fifteen year old boy whose whole life revolves around cricket. His ambitions are curtailed, however, by racism amongst the ranks of his private school cricket team, both implicit racism, through his manipulative “old boy” cricket coach, Mr Eagles, and explicit racism: the bullying and by-standing of his teammates.

Indeed, the fundamental strength of Maatin’s writing, though there are many strengths, is how nuanced, flawed, redeemable and sympathetic Ismael is. “Smiley” is a real talent, but he’s fallible; we never actually see him score anything but ducks (a big fat 0). He’s rambunctious, rebellious, resentful, but nevertheless not blind to the sacrifices of his father, who Qasim Mahmood, the sole actor in the play, performs with similarly wonderful joy and depth. Indeed, it’s the relationship between father and son which acts as the spine of the play; they fight, though both just want the other to be happy. They listen to each other. They want to understand each other, even when the teenage brain makes that understandably hard. The love traceable in this relationship despite the complications makes you root hard for their mutual success despite their faults.

In general, the writing is excellent. It’s never poetic but it never needs to be, because honesty and vivid realism is the order of the day and Maatin executes it with near perfection. Indeed, my performance was stopped halfway through for a tech issue, breaking immersion in the most explicit sense, and yet I never felt detached once it restarted, which is a testament to the breadth and colour of the world Maatin creates. It immerses you immediately and permeates; each character so vividly alive that a short incidental interval can’t possibly make them fade.

Furthermore, Mahmood’s acting is as strong as the writing. From the opening “Howzaaaaat?”, the energy never dies; even in the powerful, emotional moments, such as when his father elucidates the reality of xenophobia in England, where silences last longer than dialogue, the intensity of the character and the story never dissipates. The directorial pacing (ImyWyatt Corner) and writing can be thanked in part, but the control and energy Mahmood exhibits is just as significant. He never overdoes it, never loses your attention, and though sometimes the emotional development can feel chaotic and discordant, such are the tortures of a teenage brain.

Alongside this direct talent, the use of tech in the show is outstanding; direct, but executed to perfection. Throughout, two imaginary cricket commentators narrate the ups and downs of Ismael’s experience. Voiceovers can often be tacky and messy, but they’re incredibly sharp here, and we sense that Mahmood knows each one of them – their pace, cadence and rhythm – as well as he knows his live lines. The use of duck sound effects (Holly Khan) is tempered but perfectly timed, and the many simple lighting (Jonathan Chan) changes to convey warm summer days, movie nights and classroom monotony is, at risk of sounding like a broken record, executed perfectly.

The show deals with heavy, important themes throughout – micro aggressive and outward racism, institutional prejudice, and the 7/7 bombings – but never becomes didactic, rather treating each issue with the personal perspective they warrant. Its presentation of the “boys club” racism is visceral in its distaste, and the isolation Ismael suffers emits equally so. But regardless, Duck manages to tell a very personal story in the midst of an institutional one, with plenty of humour and compassion throughout. It’s a vivid delight, and I recommend it unreservedly