“a clever play that makes us look closely at our attitudes to humanitarian aid abroad”
Imagine a United Kingdom which has become isolated from other countries. A land where violent civil unrest and ensuing poverty has created a humanitarian crisis for the population. This is the scenario that writer Glenda Cooper has taken as the backdrop to her new play “Aid Memoir”, produced by the Duckegg Theatre Company and currently running in the studio space at the Pleasance Theatre.
Set in a former funfair, now refugee camp, near Hull, Martine, played by Remi Fadare, a “UK Action” aid worker from wealthy Kenya, has befriended Chelle, a 17 year old refugee desperate to leave and make a new life. The role of Chelle is undertaken by four actresses, Lucy Blott (who I saw perform the part with both strength and emotional understanding), Ellie Kidd, Jordan Meriel and Katie Bartlett. They eagerly await the visit of a “show business” journalist and a celebrity performer “Lady J” from Kenya to help raise awareness of the need for humanitarian aid. The journalist who arrives is Taz, convincingly played by Sabrina Richmond who has “history” with Martine. Both discuss their reasons for wanting to aid the UK while Chelle plans a new future using the celebrity visitor as a means of escape.
The play runs one hour without an interval and examines the attitudes we have to humanitarian crisis and celebrity fund raisers visiting third world countries, who may be well intentioned but are perceived as patronising. It reflects on TV viewers in Kenya wanting to see doe eyed child victims as desirable aid recipients rather than the angry adults nearby.
The set is simple, a chair and a game of Trivial Pursuit against a black backdrop. Lighting is stark and simple and director Matthew Evans has focused on the clear and sometimes amusing dialogue with natural performances.
This is a clever play that makes us look closely at our attitudes to humanitarian aid abroad. It would however benefit from further development with a more consistent performance of Martine and developing the set further to encourage greater movement, particularly towards the end of the play.
“a tour-de-force of witty asides, reference-crammed sentences and zinging one-liners”
The list of STIs is long, and Cormac has been diagnosed with having all of them. “Bingo”, whispers his doctor, and his world starts to crumble.
Fresh, funny and fast-paced, Alan Flanagan’s script is a tour-de-force of witty asides, reference-crammed sentences and zinging one-liners. His diagnosis kick starts a life crisis that takes him from Grindr orgies to screaming down the phone at TfL. Yasmin, his “Muslim doctor”, becomes a friend and confidante. A trip home helps his family face their own muddied history too. The plot hangs on well-drawn characters and Cormac’s charms – luckily, there are plenty of both.
Flanagan, who also stars in this one-man show, is warm and whimsical. Bounding around stage on an office chair or lounging on seats next to the audience, his energy and charisma might just be the best thing about this show. This, coupled with his speedy delivery, sometimes means his words get lost, but the audience is nevertheless wholly on his side. Flanagan also handles the darker moments well, hinting at a family tragedy with moving candour.
Dan Hutton’s minimal direction gives this performance space to breathe, and the more audiences respond to Cormac’s journey, the more the show will develop and grow. The staging consists of an office chair and little else. Martin Young’s lighting too is sparse. Throbbing blue lights warn of impending catastrophe, and a wonderful moment of shared-light subtly welcomes the audience into the Cormac’s world.
The script is littered with cultural references and quick-fire jokes that mostly hit – but as anyone who’s watched Gilmore Girls will know, this style of comedy can quickly run dry. Sentences too often feel a little overstuffed, tangential, and, at times, hard to follow. Feeling like a well plotted stand-up routine, the text invites Flanagan to banter more with his audience – something he may feel more comfortable doing as the run continues.
Using a structure that weaves past and present, love and loss, Flanagan’s gripping monologue builds gracefully to a euphoric ending that can only delight. And, despite some reservations, delight it did.