The premise is strong and compelling: The reason behind her missing first name is fascinating and perfectly symbolic of the messy nuances of identity and history. But thereβs a disconnect between the resolution of this first dilemma and the rest of the story, which is still rich in character and content but without a central element to keep it on track. The ending too feels messy, as though Lombe couldnβt quite decide how to finish, so she picked all the options.
“Holden epitomises the hope that is so necessary at the moment, without diminishing the tragedy”
βYouβve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negativeβ as the classic song goes; βDonβt mess with Mister In Betweenβ. Well, thereβs no messing with Mister In Between in Jack Holdenβs solo show, βCruiseβ. It embraces hope and optimism with a hug that would have the Covid police reaching for their truncheons. But thatβs the point. This show defies the constraints of this past year and celebrates the thrilling side effects of upheaval.
During the early months of lockdown, Holden used the opportunity to write down his reminiscences of his time as a switchboard operator at the LGBTQ+ listening service. Whether it was his initial intention, the result is a powerful, fast-paced, riveting, mesmerising monologue that is kicking the West End back into life. Hot on the heels of Russell T Daviesβ βItβs A Sinβ TV series, the timing is flawless, but it surpasses comparison. Holdenβs research mixes humour and reverence, fact and imagination to give us the exact flavour of the lost Soho of the 1980s.
Jack is a young, twenty-two-year-old volunteer in the present-day call centre. And not particularly good at his job. He has the knack of saying the wrong things, but then again, he receives a lot of crank calls. One day, left on his own in the office, he picks up the phone and meets Michael; a βgay veteranβ. Michael was Jackβs age in the eighties when he received the then death sentence of being diagnosed as HIV-positive. We are whisked back to that time as Holden adopts not just the character of Michael, but the many, many vibrant and vivid individuals that shared his journey. We meet drag queens, karaoke stars, life-saving and life-affirming barmaids; the delightfully camp Polari Gordon, Slutty Dave among a host of others. We care for each and every one of them, sharing their highs and lows as Holden creates them out of thin air. His performance is as fearless as his writing. Moments of loss are juxtaposed with flights of fantasy and humour; grief and tragedy rub shoulders with laughter and resolve.
But what makes this truly special is the combination of each and every component of the show coming together with breath-taking coordination. The orchestration of sound, light, movement, prose, verse, music and expression is symphonic in its virtuosity. Nik Corrallβs scaffolding set, Jai Morjariaβs stunning lighting and John Elliott and Max Pappenheimβs soundscape come together with a choreographerβs precision as Holden struts his hour upon the stage, stepping in and out of the various characters. It is far from a one man show β John Elliottβs score is a crucial presence throughout; pulsing with its hypnotic rhythms, electronic whispers and crashing waves that brings the eighties into sharp focus.
The closing lines are reminiscent of F Scott Fitzgeraldβs ββ¦ so we beat on, boats against the currentβ¦β The echoes go beyond mere pastiche as the sentiments resonate with a timeless vitality. Holden epitomises the hope that is so necessary at the moment, without diminishing the tragedy. We all recognise the complex issues of survivorβs guilt, but Holden, through the character of βgay veteranβ Michael, coaxes it into submission and shapes it into a beautiful celebration. We are still here. Theatre is still here. And plays like βCruiseβ will undoubtedly enforce that fact.
