“The sheer silliness and the underlying message are perfectly balanced”
Having taught seagulls to sing the national anthem, counted all the stones on the beach and memorised the phonebook, Billy, a lovestruck seventeen-year-old is yet to impress his unrequited crush, Cecilia Sourbottom. When challenged to collect 7000 rubber ducks that have accidentally been plunged into the ocean, Billy sets sail on a worldwide voyage to win over his love.
Cue a swashbuckling adventure, jampacked with clowning, musical numbers and physical theatre. Taking inspiration from a real life event in 1992, FacePlant Theatre deliver a strong message about pollution, with a light-hearted and accessible approach for young audiences. The original writing, packed with cheeky puns and witty pop culture references, makes it impossible for the whole family not to enjoy.
The cast demonstrate excellent storytelling skills and detailed characterisation in all of their roles. Jack Dorning as Billy delivers an energetic and captivating performance, which creates anticipation for each encounter on his journey. The multi-role performances of Alice Bounce, Maxwell Tyler and Lydia Hourihan are larger than life and showcase excellent voice adaptation. Among the amusing characters, Scuzzy the brummie rocker polar bear and Alberto the opera-singing Albatross are highlights.
The sheer silliness and the underlying message are perfectly balanced. The actors know when to slow the pace to emphasise an important point and when to pick up the momentum with slick transitions, demonstrating their skill and control throughout. The moment Billy recovers his plastic bottle on the debris island is particularly clear and effective. The musical numbers add to the fun and feature some lovely harmonies. The audience may be encouraged to sing along more with greater invitation and interactions from the cast members.
Lily Faith Knight’s design is ingenious and marries well with the make-believe story. Knight is able to get maximum use and effect out of simple props and costumes which magically come to life, featuring amongst other things, glove puppet crabs, a tin bath turned boat and three cardboard pieces that form a whale. Despite the minimalist set design, the attention to detail and the empathetic delivery of the actors, convey the humour of the writing extremely well.
Although the ending feels slightly rushed, the tale comes full circle to charmingly conclude Billy’s epic adventure. This production is imaginative and slightly quackers, but well worth a watch.
“She keeps it on the right side of awkward, eliciting giggles as well as tears through poetic language and relaxed delivery”
‘There is no artifice; it’s just me’, quips Casey Jay Andrews as she welcomes us into her tiny, purpose-built shed. So begins the forty minute piece; less theatre, more installation, at the Pleasance this week.
The Archive of Educated Hearts is a fluid narrative, really more of a sister to spoken word and a cousin to acting, around themes of breast cancer, love and memory. British as we are, one would be forgiven for suppressing a gulp on entering the space. Intimacy is written large, with low lighting (an indication of the excellent lighting design, also by Andrews, to follow), family photos and antiquey objects scattered around. We’re an audience of just four on mismatched chairs around a vintage table. There’s nowhere to hide.
We’re quickly plunged into velvety darkness, before cosy lighting comes up on some photographs of four women on the table in front of us. Andrews doesn’t spare details of her own personal experience; her mum and all three of her aunts have a form of breast cancer, leaving her wider family at risk too. Again, this glut of emotion – love, joy, profound grief – would be liable to make your average Brit’s toes curl, but the experience is mediated through Andrew’s warmth and generosity. She keeps it on the right side of awkward, eliciting giggles as well as tears through poetic language and relaxed delivery.
Words alone don’t make this piece, though. Huge kudos must go to George Jennings, the composer, who was also apparently responsible for bringing on board the dulcet tones of Michael Cochrane of Archers’ fame for some voiceover interventions. We’re soundtracked throughout with lilting melodies, but cleverer still is the use of ambient sound – car horns in a frenzy of tooting below the voice of one breast cancer sufferer who made a trip to Vietnam, and beyond, to create memories with her daughter before – who knows what? The unfairness and mystery of cancer is fully explored here, with anger given space as well as love. Jennings’ score leaves room for both.
If any criticism can be levelled at this piece, tender and thoughtful as it is, it might be that it was at times hard to follow who, of the many women living with breast cancer whose voices are heard, was who. Perhaps it doesn’t matter, experiences shifting into one another kaleidoscopically. Similarly, a mealy-mouthed critic might wonder whether the rhythm of the piece, oscillating between Cochrane fruitily reading from a 1930s etiquette manual, recordings of participants and Andrews’s own discourse could start to feel a little repetitive; the pattern of leaning in whilst listening to personal accounts as Andrew lays out photographs of the speakers would, after much longer, start to feel formulaic.
But these would be rather ungenerous criticisms for a piece that wears its ongoing connections to the outside world so plainly on its sleeve. As we close, Andrews hands out cards from Coppafeel. These (‘keep me! I’m your handy reminder to check your boobs!’) include symptoms to look out for, demonstrating a streak of integrity that helps the piece resist any danger of being mawkish or memorialising.
Ultimately, the success of any theatre this intimate will rest in the hands of those guiding a tentative audience through it. With her generosity of experience and of welcome, Andrews ensures this is a success that will be meaningful for anyone who has loved – or lost.
