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Fringe 2011 Reviews (31)
One Night Stan
By Miles Gallant
Fitzalan Productions in association with Fringe Management
Assembly George Square
***
Miles Gallant has written an affectionate biographical play, not only
about Stan Laurel but also Oliver Hardy, Charlie Chaplin and the era
when Vaudeville transferred into movie theatres.
Everyone now remembers Laurel as the pathetic fall guy who starred
opposite the much more imposing Hardy. In fact, as we learn, there was
far more to this Lancastrian than talent as a comic.
He came from a stage family, although Dad deserted the boards for management
long before Stan Jefferson (his real name) made his first appearances
as a boy prodigy.
The comic spent ten years becoming an overnight success and much of
his life envying Charlie Chaplin but admiring the late Dan Leno.
Laurel's first entry into the movies was as a director, a role that
continued throughout a career where he appeared on film as a dunderhead
but clearly was anything but.
Only when he met Oliver Hardy did Laurel's career really take off and,
even then, it was not unremittingly successful, as they sold out to
the big studios, which then somehow lost the magic.
As a result, when we meet him, the older, wiser man is back treading
the English boards with his pal, so that the story is related from a
dowdy Plymouth dressing room.
This show works because it has been well researched by a man who clearly
cares deeply about his subject. It also helps that he looks right.
Philip Fisher
Kafka and Son
Adapted by Mark Cassidy and Alon Nashman from Franz Kafka's Letter to
His Father
Richard Jordan Productions / Theaturtle / Threshold
Assembly George Square
***
This is certainly an ambitious solo piece. Canadian actor/co-playwright
Alon Nashman sets out to explore the life of Franz Kafka through the
writer's relationship with his tyrannical father.
Nashman, who is a talented and very physical actor, makes life unpleasant
for himself as he has created a setting that is based on a variety of
claustrophobic cages, which carry their own symbolic significance.
According to this portrayal, old man Kafka had few redeeming features.
He was constantly sarcastic, scoffing at his son and failing to appreciate
writings that will outlive the pair of them by centuries.
This had a devastating effect on a sensitive young man, although one
might argue that it was only thanks to his father's unkind contribution
that Franz was able to write as he did.
This is a confident and impressive performance of a difficult and at
times challenging text, which illuminates the life of a great man from
a most unusual perspective.
Philip Fisher
Translunar Paradise
Written and Directed by George Mann
Theatre Ad Infinitum
Pleasance Dome
*****
From the calmly quiet opening, of an old man tapping his finger in
time to a clock's beat, to the thoughtful final moments, Translunar
Paradise is a mesmerising display of humanity. The players, George
Mann and Deborah Pugh, who create the personas of the nameless, wordless
man and woman in the story, are revelatory in their ability to instantly
transform themselves from wearied elders to the strength of youth in
the merest of heartbeats. The production is accompanied throughout by
the gently lilting voice and accordion skills of Kim Heron, otherwise
expressing a lifetime of beauty and sadness without ever saying a word.
The story is simple yet evocative as we are led through the old man's
memories of his beloved wife; their romance, married life and ultimately
her death and his resulting despondancy. There is little more than a
gentle wheeze from Heron's accordion and the cast are pulled from their
aged masks and into the depth of the heartfelt story. The narrative
does teeter on the edge of overplaying itself once or twice, but the
raw purity of the feelings being evoked through the physical theatre
on display is enough to quash any such worries. The touching and gentle
manner in which we see a wholly believable love that spans decades and
transgresses the spiritual as well as physical planes, is a thing of
perfection. See this, and see it again.
Graeme Strachan
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