The Chatham House Rule is an agreement which allows those in power to share ideas with impunity: the discussion itself can be reported upon, but names are protected. Designed to facilitate wider discussion without impinging on reputation; it is a sober, thoughtful, Establishment principle… whose secrecy is just begging to be ripped apart.
Doubled over with pain and shot through with hilarity
And so it is, in this frantic, immediate, one-man show which sees ‘Host’ being inducted into the rarified atmosphere of a Chatham House Rules event. Where exquisitely pseudonymmed characters - ‘Diana’s Balding Son’, ‘Aggressively Organised’ – mingle at an elite conference. Where Host is employed to curate a cloakroom of Mulberry macs and Birkin bags. To point subserviently towards the loo. To smile at the hands which lit the fuse that burned the country to the ground. A conference which appears to have been convened purely to highlight the fact that we protect the Establishment not just for their own security, but so that we plebeians don’t ever realise how very myopic they actually are. Which probably amounts to the same thing.
This might even be the time to mention that one of the pseudonyms is a Fringe regular, and I know this because she stayed in adjacent digs to me for about six Augusts in a row. But I won’t go into further details, because that would might break the rule. I hope she sees the show. I have a sneaking feeling she’d adore it.
Louis Rembges is Host: a pink haired fire-cracker with a talent for memes and a tongue which can puncture pomposity at fifty paces. And much of the charm of the piece lies in the contradictions within both character and situation: for this is a piece at once highly surreal and yet utterly grounded in the stark reality of being stranded in a grotty Travelodge with a menacing carpet. It is niche and yet utterly global. It is doubled over with pain; and shot through with hilarity. In short, it is as complex as each of us is: replete with all of our fury, humour, damage, grief and optimism.
The script is quite beautifully written: alternating between vibrant linguistic gymnastics, pop media references, and always returning to the angry, poetic pulse which beats at is heart. It is rare to find a text so exquisitely crafted, allowing the character and his situation to breath with a frustrated intelligence which is wholly endearing.
Plot spoilers here would indeed spoil the experience for prospective punters; much of the delight of this theatrical pick ‘n’ mix emanating from the originality and unexpected nature of the piece. Suffice it to say that this is a glorious treat for anyone who has ever loved, lost, laughed, or indeed just needed that piquant buzz of social media affirmation.
