★★★

“The four-person cast was wonderful: consistently strong, committed, and just generally vibesy”

Homo Alone, a Christmas show performing at The Other Palace’s Studio, is, shockingly, an adaptation of the cult classic film Home Alone, but just very gay.

It seems surplus to requirement to summarise the main plot points of the show because you’d be frankly unhinged to have seen this without having already seen the film. And yet: Kevin McAllister (Elliott Evans) is 8 and yet rampantly wrestling with his sexuality – I say ‘rampantly wrestling’ not so much because he is at war with internalised homophobia, but more because he is a very highly sexed 8-year-old. Family dysfunction sees Kevin alone over Christmas, and all hell breaks loose. Look up the film if you need more plot summary.

Written by Jodie Prenger and Bobby Delaney, and directed by Alex Jackson, Homo Alone was an uproarious success with the audience. Their hysterical laughter was an almost constant underscoring. For me, much of the humour felt akin to being wacked in the face by a silicone dildo: not very subtle and largely penis related. Of course, humour is subjective, but constant gags (literally) about the human body and scatological – or scatological adjacent – comedy is really my very least favourite. And it abounded.

Despite this, when other brands of comedy were used, there was much success, especially when the piece leant on absurdism and self-effacing, meta-theatrical commentary. The four-person cast was wonderful: consistently strong, committed, and just generally vibesy – with great singing voices, to boot. Yet, a couple of choices were a misstep: predominantly, the eking out of Catherine O’Hara’s CV. In this adaptation, Kate (Allie Dart) clones Moira Rose (of Schitt’s Creek renown). This was amusing a couple of times, but in the absence of O’Hara, quickly loses its charm. Still, all four actors multi-roled with great finesse – I especially enjoyed Steph Asamoah’s chameleonic switches, from Buzz, to gay air steward Francois, to Celine Dion. And the bird lady from Home Alone 2: this was a real highlight.

Set design (Louie Whitemore) was slick and effective: the neighbouring houses bordering the top of the stage like little pop-up figures was a lovely touch. Many of these auxiliary elements were, in fact, very slick, and when they weren’t, compensation was made through slicker improvisation and poorly stifled giggles.

Such improvisation and poorly stifled giggles were, perhaps, the highlight of the show. Though humour was its focus, the funniest moments – at least for me – were when the cast were confronted with the sheer ridiculousness of the show (a frequent occurrence) and contorted themselves with suppressed laughter. Whilst this was very enjoyable, unplanned moments of silliness generally shouldn’t be the standout hilarity of a show founded upon its silly humour.

One thing I’ve been pondering over is whether the constraints of adaptation weakened the production. Whilst the content of Home Alone is great material for pastiche and adaptation, the plot points this show had to cover and manipulate made it drag somewhat. It was as if they were obligatory but a nuisance, quickly ticked off the theatrical to-do list so they could get back to the singing, dildo wielding, and Moira-impersonating. Good for a Christmas giggle or two, but not the finest seasonal show out there.

HOW TO SURVIVE YOUR MOTHER at the King’s Head Theatre

★★★

“there are some lovely moments, and some laudable dialogue between Maitland and his wife”

How to Survive Your Mother is the newest play from playwright and former journalist Jonathan Maitland, dramatising the work of his 2007 memoir of the same name. Working with director Oliver Dawe, this play explores Maitland’s relationship with his mother, throughout his childhood and early adulthood, as she hot desks her way through different men, and opens up Britain’s first ever gay hotel (this definitely didn’t get enough attention).

Whilst the piece is strewn with moments of humour and astute observation, it was let down by a distinct lack of theatrical action. And by this, I mean a narrative arc; a dramatic structure; a climactic rise and fall, punctuated by catharsis. A play needn’t be a tragedy to necessitate such structures. Perhaps Maitland is jarred by his journalistic instincts, veering into the realm of witty and engaging reporting, but at the expense of theatrical flow. Thus, in lacking direction, the play also lacked pace, making the 90 minutes – sans interval – drag somewhat.

The work lacked that je ne sais quoi that electrifies theatre into life. It felt more like a loose montage of memories of Maitland’s mother’s outrageous displays of narcissism and abuse, than a constructed account of his mother and their relationship. So perhaps, actually, I do sais quoi, and it is the pressing lack of a coherent narrative.

Whilst both play and staging did feel overly busy at times, the set design (Louie Whitemore) and use of props were accomplished and inventive. I especially enjoyed a birthday cake’s transformation into a steering wheel, and shortly after, an airbag.

Within the small cast, majority were multi-rolling, and excellently so, interspersing humour and subtlety into their every character. Personally and perhaps unfairly, I have a long-held vendetta against child actors, and the inclusion of a child (Brodie Edwards and Howard Webb, alternately) in this play did not help to dispel my prejudice.

Maitland has his own role on stage: he appears as himself in the present day action, addressing the audience, and sometimes his wife. At other times, he just circles the stage, or plops himself down in the audience for long stretches. Whilst his self-effacing commentary on both this choice and his lack of acting ability is amusing – and fascinating on a meta-theatrical level – it undermines the dramatic action, detracting focus from the scene itself.

The play, as one would assume, revolves around Maitland’s mother. And whilst he does point out that he has written ‘a play, not a diagnosis’, his mother dabbles in all sorts of textbook narcissism. The problem with narcissists, though, is that they often straddle charisma and malice simultaneously (PSA: I’m not a psychiatrist). The problem with the portrayal here is that, as effervescent as Emma Davies is, Maitland’s mother is consistently selfish, nasty, and completely objectionable. And with the absence of a narrative arc compelling us to her, it’s hard to develop a strong enough interest in both her and her relationship with her son.

It is the lack of coherence and narrative that lets this play down. Despite this, there are some lovely moments, and some laudable dialogue between Maitland and his wife, largely deliberating on the nature of The Female Middle Age Crisis to Trained Therapist pipeline.

Oedipus did a great job of sparking our collective obsession with mother-son relationships, and Maitland’s new play is an interesting addition. But Oedipus also excelled in its very story, without which there is little appeal. How to Survive your Mother, whilst entertaining, needs this appeal if it is to also be affecting.

HOMO ALONE

The Other Palace

★★★

“The four-person cast was wonderful: consistently strong, committed, and just generally vibesy”

HOMO ALONE at The Other Palace

Reviewed on 4th December 2024

by Violet Howson

Photography by Mark Senior

Previously reviewed at this venue:

HOMO ALONE

HOMO ALONE

HOW TO SURVIVE YOUR MOTHER at the King’s Head Theatre

★★★

“there are some lovely moments, and some laudable dialogue between Maitland and his wife”