POSH is brilliant because of its proximity. The closeness of the subject matter – posh people pretending to be posh people performing for posh people. The boys were nervous – crossing their arms and gripping the chairs for comfort. It was probably just first performance nerves, but this uneasiness created an added dynamic of corruption – like stealing cookies from the cookie jar – the Riot Club members knew what they were doing and knew they shouldn’t have been doing it.
Entrances were key, the door functioning as a spotlight under which each of the ten members could take the stage for an introduction. The formula was simple and effective – open door with a bang and say something controversial within two minutes (expletives encouraged). The newbie wonders whose jizz it was all over his books and the anarchist opens with the epithet; ‘Cocksucking Shitbags’.
The President (Dugie Young) was excellently commanding without being a dick; he turned a rather long pause into a display of authority, which extended to the audience, as they too were made to wait while he processed the payment of the meal. Audience interaction should be encouraged for this gladiatorial spectacle of entertainment whose function is to shock. Indeed George Balfour (James Philips) successfully smashed through the fourth wall when he reminded an audience member that there were ‘no phones at dinner’.
Although all members are united by the club’s rules and traditions, the Riot Club is characterised by a hierarchical structure. There are the novices: a scared suck-up (Jack Peters) and a cocky cynic (Tim Schneider) and then there are the Elders. These Top Dogs are associated with grandeur in action – shitting in other people’s hotel rooms, and grandeur in appearance – 1952 Triumph Thunderbird motorcycles, barrister wigs and private jets. But perhaps the real grandeur lies with he who is gutsy enough to defend Kingsley Bear, who is not a bear, but a family heirloom or with the charisma of Harry Villiers (Freddie Bowerman) – the play’s piece de resistance. The permanent fixture of his cheeky smile screams the arrogance appropriate to a portrayal of an elite drinking society. His swagger matches his feats – pasting the captain and then receiving a blowjob off his girlfriend while he is being attended to by the physio.
The script is peppered with the club’s profane projects – ‘to boff someone in a burka’, ‘to get shat-oed’ or ‘to get fucked and fuck shitup’. The manager’s strict conformity makes him a foil to the rioters’ anarchism. Chris (Dominic Ballard) executes the outlining of the health and safety measures beautifully with an overstretched smile and excessive Ps and Qs. The tempo of the play goes into triple-time with his departure and the ten man team jumps into action as if reacting to the whistle at kickoff.
POSH is funny to a middle class audience, with close-to-home one liners about Eton mess and – even closer – the VIP section of Camera. Yet the comedy is more effective, here in Oxford, because it relies on truths dressed up in profanities which, at times, are too close for comfort.
The theatre-in-the-round staging of the Debate Chamber adds to the confrontational experience of the audience. The Riot Club members are the bad guys, but we, as the silent witnesses, are the guilty party.
4 STARS
