Why Alistair McGowan needs to slow down
ALiSTAiR McGOWAN could do with some walking stick practice. in his latest role, he plays a coma victim who wakes to find he has forgotten the past 11 years. He is meant initially to be so frail that he needs two sticks to walk.
Problem: McGowan, an actor of staccato speech and busy limb movements, is no good at conveying physical frailty.
Amateur artist Michael rises from his sickbed as spry as an old-fashioned Le Mans driver about to run to his speedster. Take it slower, sir!
Peter Quilter’s play is not without its merits. The idea is clever and there is a moving moment as Michael’s memory starts to return when he slowly recalls the lost decade he shared with his boyfriend, Paul (Daniel Weyman).
Michael’s harsh mother (Maggie Ollerenshaw) does not approve of Paul, and wants to reclaim her son. Will the kinder Paul prevail?
i have plenty of time for McGowan and the Park Theatre, but i’m afraid i was never convinced by this show. The dialogue and acting feels stilted and the casting may be wrong. McGowan camps up his voice and ( when Michael regains his faculties, with miraculous speed) places a hand on his hip to show us he is gay. Director Matt Aston needs his star to rein in the semaphore.
The production is uncertain how to play the mother: foulmouthed biddy or middleclass divorcee? At present, her occasional use of F-words jars.
Michael’s return to health is sparked by him going back to his art. Perhaps Quilter could have explored this more, along with the emotional force of his recovering memory and a lovely idea that he only remembers the good things in life. in its current state, this play may not necessarily be among them. A VERSION of this review appeared in earlier editions.
TRYGVE WAkENSHAW is a New Zealander who’s been taking part in the London Mime Festival. His mime, not quite mute, gives us a variety of animals (hen, cow, cat, horse, some sort of bird) and vignettes, which often end with the animal asserting its right to life and dignity.
Parts of the 75 minutes are Ok. There is a riff about animals entering a bar and demanding drinks. A sketch about two bullets at a duel meeting each other mid-air and, in a very British way, trying to get round each other, is agreeably quirky.
Where Wakenshaw lost my sympathy was with his mockery of Christ on the Cross and some onlooker (i think male) performing a sexual act. Oh, come off it. That’s just crass.