Mongrel Island, Ed Harris's new play at Soho Theatre, is the spawn of a golden goose and a turkey. It's random, it's intriguing, it's elegantly directed. A woman is ravished by a giant prawn. The cast is eccentric and fresh from bringing us the brilliant mayhem of Realism earlier this year. So why doesn't it soar?
Mongrels have to grow before you can gauge how the mix of components will be expressed. Harris mixes mechanisation and human spirit to create a dark and funny dysfunction. Data processor Marie is working late to appease her boss. The longer she works, the more surreal her surroundings become. What goes on behind closed doors and why does the peasant cleaning lady steal a hole punch every night? At the point where the narrative should start fine tuning, it does the opposite. It becomes diffuse. The focus moves from Marie to her colleagues - to Only Joe, a mid-life crisis on legs, and to Honey, the boss with a nervous tic that progresses to neck contortions of Exorcist proportions. And then there's Elvis...
The central failing is that the play becomes a series of dreamlike vignettes rather than a coherent whole. There are no obvious links between the characters beyond geography. This may be the essential truth of office life that Harris wants to show. If so, he is only partially successful. While the inner lives of his characters are compelling, their outer lives are too disjointed to create narrative focus.
Mongrels have to grow before you can gauge how the mix of components will be expressed. Harris mixes mechanisation and human spirit to create a dark and funny dysfunction. Data processor Marie is working late to appease her boss. The longer she works, the more surreal her surroundings become. What goes on behind closed doors and why does the peasant cleaning lady steal a hole punch every night? At the point where the narrative should start fine tuning, it does the opposite. It becomes diffuse. The focus moves from Marie to her colleagues - to Only Joe, a mid-life crisis on legs, and to Honey, the boss with a nervous tic that progresses to neck contortions of Exorcist proportions. And then there's Elvis...
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| Lassies turned pedigree chums |
In conclusion: Soho's new Artistic Director, Steve Marmion, is challenging both his team and his audience with fresh, quirky, writing. This one doesn't quite hit the markers but it will pique interest and provoke debate.
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