This show is narrated by a cat. A cat called Turbo, portrayed with human-like facility by Wendy Pearce.
Too human-like, unfortunately. New Yorker Pearce misses the opportunity for much interesting physicality and character work and instead Turbo comes across as a selfish, grinning, irritating person (unless disbelief is suspended) abandoned several streets away and forgotten about.
That is not to condemn Pearce’s work entirely. We also meet Larry, a yobbish character from the Bronx who is to play an important role in Turbo’s tale and who Pearce plays with surprising aplomb. She begins the monologue as a God-fearing mother 40 years ago, a role she conveys with conviction, if resorting to stereotype on occasion. This scene is, however, merely a rather elaborate setting-up - and a vague foreshadowing - of the rest of the story, which sees Turbo separated from his ‘Dear One’ and slowly forget her. It is unclear how much sympathy Pearce expects us to have for her feline protagonist, but in fact it is virtually none.
Even Turbo has his merits, however. He is at times wittily verbose and his alert sense of hearing and smell are played up nicely. Too often, however, Peace falls into the clichés of anthropomorphising cats, such as the pet/owner role reversal, and her physicality is half-hearted or under-developed, which is a real shame. The periodic use of sound – the juxtaposition of river and traffic, for example – is also erratic and unconvincing.
It is certainly an unusual idea for a play. Pearce’s bold performance gives it credibility at times, but there is little here to be engaged by or excited about.
