Antarctica gets off to a good start even before it really begins, with chilly lighting and a well-executed preset that works gently in the background while theatre-types, adoring friends and bored Arts students filter into the BT. So far, so good. Indeed, much of this production is very good, with moments of incredible clarity and very solid, controlled direction jostling for space with an unremittingly strange script.
Strange doesn’t have to mean bad, though, and mostly it isn’t. The premise (a stranger makes an intrepid visit to a guesthouse that may or may not be made of whalebones and is set underground, in a snowy future) works well. It might work better if it were not so much like Harold Pinter’s Birthday Party. Unfortunately, anything that even appears to be trying to work as a pastiche of this piece will struggle not to look like a shoddy imitation. There are an awful lot of similarities. A sinister albeit charming visitor makes an unexpected visit to a deserted guesthouse; there is an alarming and violent scene in quasi-darkness; the conclusion is inconclusive; the dialogue is stilted – and the whole shebang begins with a desiccated breakfast scene. Writer Rob Williams deals, like Pinter, in striking oscillations of tone and register. Sometimes, these are carried with aplomb, and serve not only to increase dramatic tension, but also to encourage an appropriately dissonant tone of discomfit. Sometimes, they feel a little bit like showing off. Where the dissonance works, however, it is admittedly due to the fact that Williams is clearly an excellent writer. I do almost wonder whether I might prefer his poetry. The floridity of the prose is occasionally a bit distracting, especially with narrative development that is already cloudy.
This might be my biggest problem with the production: the narrative quickly grows very intense, without a proper foundation of character development or the stakes involved ever really being delivered. The three adult characters talk in almost exactly the same way, and the dialogue sometimes feels like a vehicle for William to air his (admittedly very good) ‘creative writing.’ Enough of the script, though: what of the execution? Giacomo Sain is to be applauded (though I recommend that he ask his tech crew to check their cues). A rather brutal scene between the visitor and the daughter is handled with extreme tact and precision, while props are judiciously used throughout to enhance already rich imagery. Ellie Geldard’s (Cath) scene with Simon Devenport (Johnny) was, for me, a real highlight of the show – taut and well-carried. Devenport is excellent, with his initial entrance through the house working well to establish a feeling of unpleasantness. In his words, in his speech and in his gait, he is chilling, and truly grotesque – often to very comedic effect. I cannot speak highly enough of Sain’s direction.
What I fear is not being communicated here is the extent to which this is an interesting, worthy and occasionally hilarious piece, where jokes about penises lie close to a surface that, at first glance, appears to consist only of flamboyant versification. At its best and most subtle points, Antarctica works rather like one of Williams’ more lovely images: raspberries under a blanket of snow.
Three and a half stars.
