★★★★★

“Storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured”

To preface: if you can go see this, you must; you absolutely must.

The Happiest Man on Earth is earth-shatteringly moving. It is Aristotelian in the very best sense, despite not having any of the structures outlined in the Poetics. This is storytelling which cannot but leave you changed.

Directed by Ron Lagomarsino, The Happiest Man on Earth is the adaptation of Eddie Jaku’s best-selling memoir, of the same name, which was published when Jaku was 100 years old. Originally produced in Pittsfield, Massachusetts, this is the story of a German-born Jewish man who, against an unending avalanche of impossibility, survived the Holocaust. Yet, it is selfless; it is a tale of indefatigable kindness, compassion, and friendship. It is history, axiology, deontology, and all the other philosophical ‘ologies’ in one. But it is also storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured.

To conceptualise this story as a piece of theatre is perhaps to devalue it: not because theatre is not important enough, but because The Happiest Man on Earth transcends theatrical definition.

Kenneth Tigar carries this 90-minute story single-handedly, and never, not for one second, does he lose anyone’s attention. It is rare to see an actor in his more mature years – I will not say eld*rly – on stage, not to mention in a one-man performance. More remarkably, Tigar plays Eddie Jaku from 1933 (when Jaku was 13 years old) up until his old age, and at every point he has you locked in. Before the story-proper begins, Tigar greets the audience and explains the reason for telling his story: he has agreed to tell it at his grandsons’ synagogue and is scared; he doesn’t yet know if it is a story one ought to share.

Lagomarsino’s direction is also brilliant, complimenting Tigar consistently. Stage design (James Noone) and sound design (Brendan Aanes) were simple and sparse, but expertly curated, seamlessly adding to the fabric of the piece.

I am loathe to say more, or to detail any of the story itself. We are always at risk of forgetting, and worse, of neglecting history, especially its atrocities. If we are going to learn, this is the way to do it. The history of the Holocaust, in all its evil – and indeed the Banality of that Evil (thanks, Hannah Arendt) – belongs to our collective memory. We do not live in a historical vacuum. Our relationship to existence and to each other should be informed by the past and our relationship to it.

To postface: The woman next to me watched this with the repeated refrain of ‘oy vey’ as she silently distributed tissues to all those in her immediate vicinity. She may not be there again, so do stock up on said tissues in advance.

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.

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH at Southwark Playhouse Borough

★★★★★

“Storytelling at its very, very finest. And that is a rarity that ought to be treasured”

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH at Southwark Playhouse Borough

Reviewed on 25th November 2024

by Violet Howson

Photography by Daniel Rader

Previously reviewed at this venue:

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH

THE HAPPIEST MAN ON EARTH

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”