Hoke’s Bluff

Here is a show from Bristol Old Vic which has to be one of the most original, intelligent, energetic, disciplined, funny-yet-horribly-sad shows I have seen.  Ostensibly, it is about ‘sports’, but more accurately about the culture of sports - a kind of meta-sport since the sports being played on stage merge and make no distinction between gridiron, baseball, basketball and ice hockey.  It is a show about the huge investment of emotion made in sport, about the ephemeral elation of winning and the self-loathing despair of losing. 

As we enter the theatre, surrounded by huge banners for the ‘Hoke’s Bluff Wildcats’, rousing music plays, there’s a ‘wild cat’ in costume (team mascot), a popcorn vendor and a Wildcats flag on every seat.  We clap, we cheer, we flap our flags, urged on by the grinning cartoon wild cat.  And then the Referee (Laura Dannequin), in the immediately recognisable black and white stripe shirt, blows her whistle and the show begins with a pep-talk from Coach directed at front row audience members, each given one of those American names, like ‘Corey’ or ‘Tyler’…   

Gemma Paintin, a small powerhouse, dressed in yellow and red cheerleader short skirt, and James Stenhouse, a tall string-bean fellow, in red and yellow shorts and top, then proceed, for the next 80 minutes to play Coach or coaches, team members – of that meta-sport – all the cheerleaders, the sports commentators and either one donning the wild cat mascot costume.  They are rarely still.  They run, they jump, they work-out, they harangue each other.  When things show the slightest possibility of getting out of hand, the Referee blows her stern whistle and quotes rules, penalties, and time out, emphasising all with precise signals and hand gestures (Ms Dannequin is a trained dancer and a wonder to behold) that are largely arcane and incomprehensible – but there is no appeal, rules is rules and must be obeyed.  (Is that actually one of the reasons folks love sport?) 

And all the dialogue is lines we’ve heard before in a kind of montage or pastiche: the determination, the hype, the self-doubt, the team spirit, the all-or-nothing pep talk, the over-emphasis, the gals reassuring the guys that they can do it, make it, win.  The one narrative thread is the troubled relationship between sports star and Hoke’s Bluff Great Hope, Tyler, and cheerleader Connie.  They drive up to the overhang and look at the valley and throw rocks into it and agonise.  Tyler’s problem is that, talented as he is, he just can’t release the ball – and the consequences may be dire.

Hoke’s Bluff – the name of a fictitious small town somewhere in the USA – makes constant reference to and comment on ‘sports movies’ and sports themselves.  The ubiquity of the culture of ‘sports’ and ‘sports movies’ is quickly demonstrated and confirmed by the obvious recognition and ironic laughter of the Arts House audience at every cliché, every sentimental trope and every emotional hyperbole offered by this milieu and this genre.  But the show isn’t satire – well, not exactly.  The performers play it straight, with a kind of blinkered sincerity, taking themselves and these games oh-so-seriously, but achieving distance by speaking American without American accents.

Lighting, by Jo Palmer, is up to the same high standard as the rest – from the moody midnight when Tyler and Connie are lookin’ out over the valley to the dazzling, nowhere-to-hide light of the court/field/ice.  There is no music or sound design credit, so I guess the creators worked it out.  Perfectly in keeping with the action, there’s bombastic Susa-type marches mixed with sentimental teen angst.

The program notes for most shows – that you may or may not flick through while waiting for the show to start – can sometimes make preposterous claims not borne out by the show itself – or they can be even unrecognisable.  That is not the case with Hoke’s Bluff.  The program notes here tell you what the creators’ aims and intentions are and then the show begins and that is exactly what they show us.  They wanted to ask ‘what it means to be so influenced and seduced by [American] cultural narratives’ principally about ‘sports’.  ‘Sport’, of course, is a subtext metaphor for the game of life, winning and what that takes.  So they did extensive research attending football games, ice hockey and basketball games in the US and Canada, and watched ‘hours and hours of straight-to-DVD underdog sports films and teen movies set in small town America.’  They wanted to ask, without irony, ‘what happens when we take hope seriously.’

Having been to a few college football matches in Texas, I can vouch for the authenticity of all this: the cute mascot animals, the marching bands, the cute-as-a-button cheerleaders, the noise, the hype, the bated breath, the hopes and dreams invested in ‘our team’.  Nowadays, ‘our team’ might be all a small town has.  The only thing missing is the flag and the fervid patriotism, but as my Companion pointed out, that would make things too specific.

Underneath the fun, the laughter, the energy and the delight we can take in these performers’ wonderful work, there is a yawning, sobering sadness, only emphasised by the phoney but completely obligatory ‘happy ending’.  Rules is rules.

Michael Brindley