The Record

An ordinary girl in a private school uniform takes the stage. A cellist sits off to the side, ready to play, but he waits in silence – as do we, for a long, long time – while the girl poses inscrutably – and very slowly…as the tension threatens to morph into irritation.

The lighting and sound are oh-so-subtle, and physical movements are ever-so-gradual…but before too long, the stage is populated with people of all varieties. They speak not a word, but they carry questions with them that we in the audience get to mull over: Who are these ordinary-looking individuals? What do they represent? What is the significance of their enigmatic movements? Why should we care?

Halfway through, some previously unseen performers enter the space, without explanation, while the old ones temporarily vacate the premises, and the musicians experiment with some different colours and tones – but the basic method of The Record remains basically the same. Tasty aural textures are not able to singlehandedly fill the gaping holes in a presentation that, by and large, fails to engage on a visual, physical, emotional, or intellectual level.

The musical contribution of Brandon Wolcott and Emil Abramyan is simply sterling stuff, generating a promise of elevation and transcendence that the show as a whole falls so sadly short of, while the bland lighting (supervised by Will Delorm) and spartan stage design (by Chris Morris and Eric Southern) have the unfortunate effect of making the experience feel like the visual equivalent of a drone, despite the generally colourful clothes worn by the multi-racial cast.

About a third of the way into The Record, everything we are seeing starts to feel simply too mundane, too minimalistic, too inanimate, and too simple to really be worth enduring, let alone contemplating. It is some kind of achievement on the part of the performers, and a testament of sorts to their concentration and poise – but to what end?

Nothing here is vulgar or offensive, but neither is there very much that registers as significant or even interesting. For a vast majority of its sixty-or-so minutes, this show simply never takes off. That it gives the impression, to this reviewer, of not actually wanting to ‘take off’ – that it may well have other, ‘nobler’ aims on its mind – is not an adequate excuse for the production’s basic failings.

And yet…and yet – after fifty-or-so minutes that felt pretty much like dead air, the performers and musicians actually manage to build up towards a congregational climax that is inescapably and undeniably touching: the sight of human beings who encompass all ages, races, sizes, genders…moving in mysterious formations…ennobled by the marvellous music that swirls around the theatre!

The fact that the performance continues for at least a further five unnecessary and unenlightening minutes, leading to an anti-climax rather than concluding on a satisfactory high note, underlines the lack of a detectable design or symmetry to this show. Is it simply intended to be received on the level of a multi-cultural melting pot? If so, it’s still surely as washed-out and ‘beige’ an experience of this type as one could imagine, especially given the seemingly rich potential inherent in such subject matter.

This reviewer sincerely hoped – and tried - to enjoy The Record, but struggled to even admire it. A mere few minutes of stage time that manage to break through and connect, movingly, with an audience are scant compensation for an hour of mostly blank tedium.

Anthony Vawser

Photographer: Maria Baranova