The title of My Village and Other Aliens is perhaps the best part of this rather awkward one man show. A clever word play on Gerald Durrell’s memoir My Family and Other Animals, the work of other writers is a running theme throughout the production as Terence Blacker struggles to overcome his own writer’s block. However the words of Salmon Rushdie and Ian McEwan can only take a person so far and Blacker ultimately realises that he need look no further than his own village for a wealth of inspiration and material. Except the audience never gets to witness the results of this epiphany because that’s where My Village and Other Aliens comes to a close. It’s like watching someone prepare a lovely meal, then throw it away.
What remains is a strange, self-indulgent production that whiffs of middle-class smugness even as it mocks it. Interspersed between tales of writer’s groups, weird neighbours and holidays in Boulogne are original songs written and performed by Blacker on the guitar and ukulele. These are actually quite good, with nice rhymes and witty lyrics that raised some knowing chuckles, but the subject matter is so tired I felt like I’d heard them all before. One song is called Harry Likes Porn and it covers the same ground Avenue Q’s The Internet Is For Porn did ten years ago.
Terence Blacker is likable enough as the master of ceremonies but has that slightly anxious air of a performer who suspects their show might not be quite good enough. He often stumbled over lines which took away some of the humour and distracted from the relaxed ‘casual chat’ atmosphere he was trying to portray. Blacker’s singing is superior to his storytelling and in my opinion the future of the production may well lie in a country pub with a good band behind him. But as it stands, My Village and Other Aliens is that awkward dinner party guest who insists on telling you their life story even as you try and edge conspicuously towards the door.
