“Burton’s brisk direction of the piece highlights Lewis’ striking performance”
In the course of history there has been much written about the role of music and its importance in our lives. Perhaps it is the greatest creation of mankind. The greatest form of expression. Among its countless attributes, most people discover – at some point or other – music to be a way to escape from the pain of life. Jasper Rees, the protagonist of the one-man, semi-autobiographical “I Found My Horn” would certainly, if reluctantly, agree. We meet Jasper as he climbs into the attic of his former home to sort out and pack up the last few pieces of a broken life. The attic (a superbly and evocatively created design by Alex Marker) is a cave of intimate nostalgia and memories. Divorce has driven him here, with a mid-life crisis for a back seat driver.
That all sounds pretty grim, but it is merely a starting point and, in the hands of Jonathan Guy Lewis as the luckless Jasper, the feelgood factor is off the scale during the ensuing eighty minutes of joyous, warm-hearted-theatre. Written by Lewis, with Jasper Rees, it is based on the latter’s book published in 2008. The pair teamed up with director Harry Burton to create the show which opened in London in 2009. Lewis’s character has grown older since then: the text has been slightly altered to accommodate the advancing years, but the sentiment, the meaning and the comedy are as powerful as ever.
Rather than finding the French horn in his attic, it is as though the horn has summoned Jasper. It speaks to him, begging to be freed from its dusty case and given back its purpose. They can help each other out here. It has been thirty-nine years since Jasper last picked it up and now, as he tentatively holds it in his hands, he regales us with the memories it triggers: and the renewed ambition it stirs up. He attends the British Horn Society’s annual concert and decides to play Mozart’s Horn Concerto No3 at the event the following year. He attends a ‘Horn Camp’ in America which simultaneously crushes and ignites his ambition. Meanwhile we are treated to flashbacks to his school days and humiliating moments in the orchestra. Lewis switches hilariously and seamlessly between all the characters that crowd his past and present, adopting mannerisms and accents that are spot-on. He has an astoundingly natural ability to make them heightened yet recognisable and real. Even the French horn itself is given an endearing personality. And, as Jasper, we instantly relate to the man, and to his dreams and regrets.
It is no spoiler to reveal that Jasper achieves his objective and is given a solo slot at the concert. It is his journey there that captivates us. Burton’s brisk direction of the piece highlights Lewis’ striking performance. We effortlessly perceive the complex layers inherent in the writing that in lesser hands might have been muddied. The horn itself is undoubtedly a metaphor – a kind of “Sparky’s Magic Piano” for grown-ups. Ultimately it is a very moving story, not just of making music, but of facing your demons. But it is best not to over analyse. Just revel in the humour and forget the symbolism. It is a joyous and heart-warming performance.
“despite flashes of real humanity, clever staging and spirited performances, we risk feeling underwhelmed by a narrative that feels easy to predict”
The Dog Walker brings us two characters at sea in the lonely but oppressive expanse of New York. We meet our pair during a heatwave, but by the end, the storm has broken – in more ways than one.
Victoria Yeates is Keri; bitter, drunk, raging. Herbert Doakes (Andrew Dennis) is the unsuspecting dog walker who comes to collect her Pekingese, Wolfgang. Wolfgang is, it transpires, an ex-Pekingese. So begins a torrid ride, as we see these lost souls navigate around and towards one another.
Writer Paul Minx is focusing on the brokenness of so many people and so much of city life, and the flows of the power dynamics between – and grief of – Keri and Herbert are cleverly handled, ebbing tidally through the production. Minx tells us that the character of Keri is based on someone he recalls from his time living in New York in the 90s, a woman who ‘lived in a sleeping bag under the stairs leading up to my local Chinese laundry… Every morning she’d get up, fold her sleeping bag, and begin her day’s screaming’. This perhaps explains some of the complexity of Keri’s character, and the challenges too; we see her behaving erratically but the play misses a chance to really scrutinise mental illness, grief and loneliness in lieu of a female character who lacks shades of grey until the closing scenes.
Keri shouts – a lot. She cusses and rages at Doakes, who, at first at least, accepts her treatment with an implacability born of his devout faith. Both characters, who are hard to like at the start albeit for very different reasons, melt into softness and vulnerability; without a doubt, the final act is the most affecting. This is helped by a twist or two, where it becomes clear that neither party has been telling the whole truth. The verve of these revelations animates the production and would benefit from being paced a little earlier, to avoid what can feel like a hollow shouting match in the first half.
The performances are strong, with a real sense of these actors claiming the characters in this new writing as their own. Dennis’ Jamaican accent is excellent when he hits his stride, evening out through the performance after risking being distractingly wobbly at first. And, as ever at the Jermyn, despite the compact space the set design (Isabella Van Braeckel) is evocative and the sound and lighting (Fergus O’Hare and Tom Turner) are exceptional. The effect of hearing people calling up to Keri from the street level ‘below’ is especially clever, as are the flickering lights when we shift into the almost supernatural closing scene.
The ending, though, feels a little too pat, with a fragile promise of redemption that comes unconvincingly hot on the heels of a trauma in the closing moments. Ultimately, The Dog Walker’s odd couple narrative is not a new one; there are plenty of precedents of city oddballs finding each other in theatre, tv and film. As such it’s hard for this world premiere to carve out much that’s new, and, despite flashes of real humanity, clever staging and spirited performances, we risk feeling underwhelmed by a narrative that feels easy to predict.
