Logan Brown and Matthew Benjamin’s smart black comedy came from New York to Edinburgh in August, where it won a Fringe First award, and now to one of the best London off-West End venues. As often happens, a big success in the hothouse atmosphere of Edinburgh seems a little diminished when seen elsewhere in a less frenzied environment. It’s not what you’d call disappointing or at all bad; just... well, less good.
The basic idea is simple: people feel guilty in front of a cop, even when they’re not (or not much). So they lie. It’s even worse when the actual truth sounds implausible: even when you try to come clean you’re not believed. The scenario here starts with a couple of guys in a car being pulled over. The little fibs blossom out of control, and a routine traffic booking ends up leaving several corpses behind it.
It’s cleverly put together, and on one level you can’t blame the cop for doubting what he’s told: I mean, who’d believe a driver claiming he can’t help you because he’s got epileptic amnesia? The cop is also shown to be a rookie, a little too ready to crack down hard because he’s edgy and insecure. The net result is that this triptych of dimly-lit scenes seems ridiculous, absurd, but never downright untrue.
It’s written in high-speed, Tarantino-meets-Mamet dialogue. When you look at a published playscript, a page of text usually takes about a minute and a half to act; here it’s the other way round. Jon Schumacher directs at the requisite pace, and even finds some moments when things can usefully be underplayed. The American cast of five pitch things well, keeping the near-darkness fizzing with electricity for 70 minutes.
So what is it about the production that leaves you feeling just a bit “ho-hum”? I think it’s just the central idea. As I said, it’s simple: cops spook people. This show is a clever illustration of that point, but it doesn’t make you see it afresh in a revelatory new light. You knew this thing as you went into the theatre; you know it coming out. The point is made entertainingly, but it doesn’t ultimately need made at all.
Written for Teletext.
Copyright © Ian Shuttleworth; all rights reserved.
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