The Drunks

Sparsely set and offering sparse comfort, Lawrence Cook and Alex Little's 'The Drunks' is a pendulum that cuts both ways: in one moment the undecorated stage illustrates a ghostly set of disaffected souls going through the motions of their tragedy, and in the next it contains - and barely - the manic, tumultuous strains of a black comedy suffused with sudden, senseless violence. In short, it teeters like its namesake between sanguine, melancholic and futilely choleric.

The world of the play is at once miserably realistic and unsettlingly false: Jonny Glasgow as protagonist Ilya portrays a taciturn, shell-shocked veteran returning home against the framework of a society which is unrealistic, self-destructive and shockingly loud about it. Much of the play's message is - intentionally - brought across by Ilya's silence and lack of voice in the face of a violently florid society, but Glasgow sometimes exacerbates this by giving his (rare) lines an impassive, apathetic delivery without suggestion of inner thought or conflict - he redeems himself, though, with his facial acting. Glasgow's shadowed, nervous eyes track his more erratic castmates like those of a threatened animal, and his gently working lips proficiently suggest fragility and worry. Michael Wilkins and Tom Vickers portray villains-in-residence Boris Ivanovich and Victor Victorovich. Wilkins' strangely appropriated Yorkshire accent is what really puts the cap on his performance: it combines with his swaggering physicality and savagely, sarcastically mate-y delivery to bring him across as the most laddish, boorish bully possible. His drunkenness prior to the climax, too, brings a real layer of fragility to his character, and he does a fantastic job of showing Ivanovich as ultimately vulnerable and pathetic whilst retaining malice and stupidity enough to prevent his redemption. Vickers is the play's wildcard and its most dynamic stage presence: he gives a crazed delivery that vacillates between affably dangerous and out-and-out bonkers, and moves from stride to stoop in ways that create humour in even ratio with threat. Vickers gives the role something of the aura of a panto villain: depthless, perhaps, but unpredictable, funny, and capable of catalysing the other characters in scary and exciting ways.

The real and unexpected show-stealer, however, is Tom Stokes as retired schoolteacher Lev Babitsky: between measured vocal pacing unhurried by the nerves that might otherwise quicken a scene unnecessarily, gradual, believeable emotional shifts that move in contra to the volatility of the rest of the cast, and a truly fantastic vocal delivery that combines warmth, delusion, tragedy and humour to give the distilled essence of the play, Stokes develops what is initially a comical old man archetype into perhaps the most compelling character on show. Rosie Field as Kostya seems initially flat against the manic stylings of Wilkins, but allowed to play to her strengths in quieter scenes her cool detachment bubbles over to a semi-sincere warmth that is complex and interesting, especially in contrast with her role as backstabbing majordomo - like Georgia Bird as Natascha, she is working on short shrift within a predominantly masculine script, and both actresses have comparatively little stage time to warm up. Bird flies highest in the play's big reveal, attacking and commiserating with Ilya with shifting emotions fixed in a real complexity of character - if Stokes gives the play at its most quietly poignant, Bird gives it at its most voiciferously emotional, showing an empathisable concern for life that silently condemns the nihilism and apathy characterising the rest of the play.  

There are several extremely skilful performances that I simply don't have room to discuss here. This is an excellent comedy, and a better drama. I thoroughly recommend that you go and see it.

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