by Frankie Parham
One of the hardest things to achieve dramatically is a period-driven piece: it offers an audience the chance to criticise something that is either anachronistic or lacking in credibility. Jez Butterworth’s Mojo, a period drama, set in the dingy back alleys of 1950s Soho, immediately presents this challenge to those who attempt to stage it. However, this production, directed by Adam Grant and Kate Antrobus, manages to pull it off. From the moment the lights are up, the viewer is yanked into this grimy world, full of kitsch silver chairs and sleazy clothes. The juke box in the corner (cleverly made out of cardboard boxes and colourful foam floats to simulate the outer rims) is not just a cheap attempt to evoke the period, but rather a reflection of the base typicality of Ezra’s Atlantic Nightclub.
Despite all this satisfyingly understated grime, the play would have failed had it not been for the ceaselessly energetic performances given by a highly able cast. Potts (Nat Gordon) and Sweets (Will Giller) are hatching a plan to make money out of their hottest property, the rising star Silver Johnny (Dan Rolle). Gordon speaks with a fantastically intimidating backstreet London accent, constantly fuming in a drugged up stupor as he obsessively sniffs and chews gum. Giller is similarly effective in portraying a feeble night-club bouncer (sidekick to Potts’ assumed superiority) on way too many pills. His speech is so convoluted and rushed, he is barely understandable. These two are the solid foundations of the cast, unwavering in their performance, keeping up a staggering amount of vigour throughout. Meanwhile the son of Ezra (the owner of the bar) comes in the unstable form of Baby (Sam Kennedy), aptly named for all his childish antics. Even before finding out his dad has been chopped in half, and disposed of in separate dustbins, Baby has already gone out to buy everyone toffee apples, having just stripped Skinny (Jack Sanderson-Thwaites) almost completely naked (as if things could get any more disturbing). Kennedy and Sanderson-Thwaites make a great double act, the latter in a consistently agitated state, biting his nails, nervously muttering, tantalised by the deranged Baby.
Into this crazed mixture arrives their colleague Mickey, solidly brought to life by Gerard Miles. He appears at the beginning of the second scene, while Baby is frantically wielding a sword and Potts and Sweets are raving to ’50s rock tunes, and he provides the icy demeanour that cools the uncomfortable heat of the drama. Indeed, this scene is another example where Grant and Antrobus choose to drag their audience right into the midst of the repulsive action, however unwilling we are to be. Things become richer with Silver Johnny’s entrance and, climaxing to its bitter conclusion, the play only really suffers from rare moments of static blocking. It seemed at times that Gordon and Giller, emitting as much energy as they could, were constricted by various blocking directions, while other characters, like Baby, had it easier to breeze about the stage. Nevertheless, for hyperactive drama and limitless swearing (both necessary to induce such a besmirched setting) this is the play to see. Not for the faint of heart.
7:30pm, BT Studio: Run ends on Saturday 17th November
