February 11, 2009
Squirrels, now showing at the Burton Taylor, is a one-act, three-handed play by David Mamet. It's about writers at work, the philosophical knots intellectuals can tie themselves in, and the nature of talent; it's fast-paced and very funny.
Charlie Reston's Arthur is a writer who has seen better days. He is endlessly rewriting the same story about an encounter between a man and a squirrel in a park, which as far as he's concerned has deep significance – though exactly what it signifies, he is unable or unwilling to say. Reston gives a vivid portrayal of a man with a towering belief in his own talent, overcompensating for insecurity underneath. Edmund, his protégé, is played by Archie Davies, who conveys volumes with his posture and body language while holding his own in the rapid-fire dialogue. At first he is meek and achingly eager to please, even while Arthur bullies him, intimidates him, ignores his ideas and steals his lunch. It's a delight to watch him growing a spine as the play goes on.
Eleanor Rushton is the cleaning woman, wandering through every so often to break up the tense dynamic between them and to talk about her own stories. She's a writer in her own right, much more populist but arguably more entertaining. At first she revels in her ripping yarns – featuring cowboys, spaceships, fights, amusing coincidences, daring escapes, and more plot in five minutes than the Man and the Squirrel are likely to experience in their lifetimes – and delivers them with verve, seeming to get far more joy from storytelling than either of the others. But slowly the self-sabotaging introspection that paralyses the other two is infecting her too.
All three of the cast are excellent. The stage is spare – just a chair, a flip chart and a desk littered with stationery which Arthur hilariously presses into service as props to explain his latest take on the squirrel saga – but their personalities are more than big enough to fill the space. Worth seeing if you've ever tried to create a work of art – or just want to enjoy one.
Charlie Reston's Arthur is a writer who has seen better days. He is endlessly rewriting the same story about an encounter between a man and a squirrel in a park, which as far as he's concerned has deep significance – though exactly what it signifies, he is unable or unwilling to say. Reston gives a vivid portrayal of a man with a towering belief in his own talent, overcompensating for insecurity underneath. Edmund, his protégé, is played by Archie Davies, who conveys volumes with his posture and body language while holding his own in the rapid-fire dialogue. At first he is meek and achingly eager to please, even while Arthur bullies him, intimidates him, ignores his ideas and steals his lunch. It's a delight to watch him growing a spine as the play goes on.
Eleanor Rushton is the cleaning woman, wandering through every so often to break up the tense dynamic between them and to talk about her own stories. She's a writer in her own right, much more populist but arguably more entertaining. At first she revels in her ripping yarns – featuring cowboys, spaceships, fights, amusing coincidences, daring escapes, and more plot in five minutes than the Man and the Squirrel are likely to experience in their lifetimes – and delivers them with verve, seeming to get far more joy from storytelling than either of the others. But slowly the self-sabotaging introspection that paralyses the other two is infecting her too.
All three of the cast are excellent. The stage is spare – just a chair, a flip chart and a desk littered with stationery which Arthur hilariously presses into service as props to explain his latest take on the squirrel saga – but their personalities are more than big enough to fill the space. Worth seeing if you've ever tried to create a work of art – or just want to enjoy one.