| Going Dark |
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Bristol Old Vic Studio (15-19 Nov)
THEATRE Just what, exactly, is our place in the cosmos? How did we get here? What can we see? How do we see? And do we trust what we see? These are just some of the insuperable physiological/philosophical questions that Sound&Fury tackle admirably in their latest sensory exploration, ‘Going Dark’. Never less than enthralling, and often unfolding in near or complete darkness (even the exit signs are covered and mobile phones left at the door), the story centres on a single parent, Max, an engaging planetarium presenter and devoted father to his six-year-old son, Leo, who appears intermittently in voice form only. Having spent his life pondering what’s ‘out there’, Max has developed an instinctive ability to question and wonder; a Socratic spirit he encourages in his equally curious son. But as the scenes (all told within touching distance of the audience in BOV’s blacked out studio) switch from macro to micro, from workplace to optician’s to increasingly distressed conversations with his own parents, Max’s world is threatened by irrevocable change, his perception of son and stars altered forever. How will he cope? As the sole ‘live’ actor throughout, John Mackay is an inspired choice as Max: flitting in close-up between the consummate orator, pedagogical parent and a dad beset by disaster, all told in an ear-worm of a voice: smooth-edged and Scottish, and cosy as a campfire. The endangered father/son relationship is perhaps the strongest strand to emerge from the multi-themed musings during which occasionally, the astrology lessons – dazzling as they are – feel a little like a researcher excitedly spilling their findings over Hattie Naylor’s far-reaching, otherwise convincing script. But that’s an (Ursa) minor point in this vast theatrical galaxy where the sensory deprivation and stage management sleight-of-hand (at one point, Max conjures a fiery ball of hydrogen from a balled-up piece of tracing paper) heightens rather than hinders, complementing a story that’s unafraid of venturing into the darkest corners of comprehension, and reaching for a light switch. (Joe Spurgeon)
Copyright Joe Spurgeon 2011 |















