“Over the course of the play, no antagonist is revealed, and little conflict truly arises, resulting in a flat conclusion”
Performance itself lies at the heart of The Prince, Abigail Thorn’s playwriting debut at Southwark Playhouse’s Large Theatre. Characters find themselves stuck inside a multiverse of Shakespearean dramas (Though the action is mostly confined to Henry IV Part I) and at odds with the rigidity of their roles. Sam, played by Joni Ayton-Kent, who is cast as a number of nameless bit characters, is desperately searching for a way out. Mary Malone plays Jen, who finds herself in a similar situation and decides to tag along with Sam. Jen, however, finds tensions within the ways in which the primary characters perform their gender, and begins to poke holes in their constructed identities. In particular, Jen reads Thorn’s Hotspur as a trans woman and Corey Montague Sholay’s Prince Hal as a gay man. Over the course of the play, both characters waffle between conformity to their roles and self-actualization, a broader metaphor for the struggles endured and decisions faced when butting up against a rigid gender binary, especially the construct of masculinity. Though The Prince suffers from a lack of narrative coherence, the metaphor is powerful and at times quite personally affecting.
Thorn and Malone, both in principal roles, turn in strong performances. Malone plays Jen’s fish-out-of-water bewilderment with earnest charm and comedic timing. The funniest moments of the play come from the ways in which other characters play off of hers. Thorn, as Hotspur, carries the show. She peels back her character’s internal tension in careful layers and remains nimble and forceful in her handling of both her own verse and Shakespeare’s. The scenes in which she actively decides to continue in the role of the masculine hero at the expense of her own identity carry tremendous weight. It is unfortunate then, that the structural foundation of the play is unable to support these performances.
The Prince seems to eschew both coherent world-building and narrative signposting, both of which are essential when leading an audience through a multiverse. The moments when Jen is able to break the Shakespearean characters out of their performances are nearly indistinguishable for the moments when they remain stuck. In essence, these breaks happen at random, giving Jen little to learn about the mechanics of the world into which she has been dropped. Sam’s desire to escape should be easily aided by a magical map of sorts, represented by a somewhat unconvincing plastic tetrahedron, but the object only appears all-powerful in Jen’s hands, though no context is given to allow the audience to understand this discrepancy. These two characters are also denied specific or rich inner lives, even an inkling of who they might be outside of their current situation. The multiverse device primarily exists in absentia, as most of Sam and Jen’s haphazard narrative hopping occurs within Henry IV Part I. The play’s only detour into Hamlet arrives without much context and serves only as justification to shoehorn in the “To be, or not to be?” soliloquy, though Thorn delivers it well. Over the course of the play, no antagonist is revealed, and little conflict truly arises, resulting in a flat conclusion.
Martha Godfrey’s lighting design feels similarly uneven. The tubes of LED light that hang at odd angles above the playing space are visually compelling and seem to indicate different corners of the Shakespearean multiverse. But their function remains out of sync with the play throughout, illuminating, changing colours, falling and rising without impetus or textual justification. Rebecca Cartwright’s historical costumes, on the other hand, are a strong point of the play’s design—the ways in which they mutate alongside Jen’s poking and prodding is masterful.
Though it contains joyous and raucous moments, as well as symbolic significance, Thorn’s debut remains unnecessarily messy throughout, wanting for narrative drive and formal consistency.
“With Martha Godfrey’s lighting and Kristina Kapilin’s sound design, we are always in the moment of this thrilling production”
It’s practically thirty years now since Nick Hornby’s career defining book, “Fever Pitch”, was first published. I didn’t get around to reading it myself until later, already familiar with Hornby’s style from, among others, ‘High Fidelity’ which charted the failed relationships of a neurotic record collector. I could relate to that. Football, though, was a different beast entirely. My wilful ignorance of the ‘beautiful game’ was always a factor that pushed the book down my reading list. It was an unfounded prejudice. “Fever Pitch” is about football, but at the same time it isn’t. Yes, it’s a memoir about Hornby’s two decades as a football moron (his words!) but moreover it is an ode to obsession, depression, and the human condition; and whatever walk of life we are ambling along there is something we can all identify with. Although football is the main story, it is also just the backdrop to a life story.
Joel Samuels’ adaptation skilfully condenses the book into just under ninety minutes, without going into extra time. It is a lot to fit in, but Kennedy Bloomer directs from the touch lines with an economy of style that faithfully covers most of the ground, while certainly putting her team through the paces. Jack Trueman is the undoubted captain here, as narrator Nick. With a convivial charisma he also captures the geeky monomania, aware of but powerless against the effects his obsession has on his life. “I fell in love with football as I was later to fall in love with women: suddenly, inexplicably, uncritically, giving no thought to the pain or disruption it would bring with it”. Trueman has a lot of words to deal with, but he rarely drops the ball. If he does, he gives a cheeky wink to the audience and ploughs on. The multi rolling cast move around him, switching characters in the blink of an eye, substituting mothers for daughters for girlfriends for fathers for brothers for teammates for commentators for friends for fans for hooligans… You get the drift. Ashley Gerlach, Louise Hoare, and Gabrielle MacPherson are equally marvellous in their versatility, digging deep into their treasure chest of accents, characters and emotional kaleidoscope. There are some hilarious moments of gender-blind role playing, particularly Gerlach’s brilliant female impersonations.
The rapid-fire delivery is spot on for the stage, but what is perhaps inevitable is that sometimes the finer nuances of Hornby’s writing are forfeited. There are some unforgettable moments in the book, particularly when Hornby describes the tragedies of Heysel and Hillsborough, that lose their poignancy in this retelling. However, for these aspects to be fully explored and given the respect they warrant, it would probably require a whole other show of their own. Similarly, there is a lot of talk about ‘filling a hole’ to explain away the mind-set of the obsessive and depressive personality. But again, this is another show, and Samuels has made the right editorial choices. His eye is on the entertainment value, and he certainly scores on that level. This production captures too the self-deprecation inherent in Hornby’s original. When Trueman bemoans that being white, middle class and suburban is the worst category to fit into, we laugh but are aware of where our sympathies should lie. The attacks on sexism and racism are made more pertinent using comedy as its podium.
With Martha Godfrey’s lighting and Kristina Kapilin’s sound design, we are always in the moment of this thrilling production. It is often panoramic in the way it shows us how much times have changed over the past decades, but it also hones in on home truths in an intimate and quite loopy way. It is meditative one minute and raucous the next. You can reflect and cheer at the same time – which makes this production quite unique. Whether you love or hate football, there’s much to love in this production of “Fever Pitch”.
