Life was so much simpler, back in 1980. It was USA versus the USSR, BBC versus ITV, Odeon cinemas versus ABC. While, in the white-short world of professional tennis, there were just two ways of being a man. You could aim to be Bjorn Borg: the embodiment of polite, Scandinavian cool, incredibly “fit”in all senses of the world. Or you could opt for being John McEnroe: an “over paid, over here” Yank brat always ready for a fight – who just also happened to be one of the greatest tennis players in the world.
If nothing else, Beating McEnroe pushes the envelope of what a one-man show can be, given the amount of audience interaction from the start, when Wood –an utterly engaging performer, albeit initially dressed and chanting like some hippy meditation centre host– starts throwing tennis balls to the crowd.
The then-six-year-old Jamie Wood worshiped Borg, so it came as a considerable shock when, at the US Open in 1980, McEnroe beat his Scandinavian rival for the first and –thanks to Borg’s unexpected retirement from the game – only time. That wasn’t how he felt heroic stories were supposed to go, and the underlying thread of the grown-up Wood’s meaningfully daft show is how that traumatic realisation would influence the rest of his life.
If nothing else, Beating McEnroe pushes the envelope of what a one-man show can be, given the amount of audience interaction from the start, when Wood –an utterly engaging performer, albeit initially dressed and chanting like some hippy meditation centre host– starts throwing tennis balls to the crowd.
Unpredictable, often hilarious, and at points unexpectedly life-affirming, Wood uses a mixture of monologue, cartoons, audio montages (of 1980s music and commentary), plus some frankly bizarre choreography to peel away the tennis-related aspects of his childhood and teenage years. At times searingly honest – his brother’s voice highlighting how Wood would always “crack on the verge of winning” their tennis matches –you’re not always sure if you should laugh or cry. And then Wood does something frankly fantastical – often with remarkably willing audience-member providing visuals and/or sound effects – which leaves you laughing loudly.
This isn’t Stand-Up, nor is it Drama. It does, however, borrow and mix aspects of both, creating an occasionally puzzling, incense-filled theatrical experience in which seeing Wood outline a tennis court with a trail of salt pouring from a container tied tightly to his head doesn’t seem that weird. If at times Wood’s theatrical concoction appears a bit random in its ingredients, the overall result certainly is not: this is a fascinating contemplation on masculinity and personal worth, and of the value in both individuality and teamwork.
And it’s funny with it.
