Delving into someone's private diary is, more often than not, a cause of great excitement and hilarity unless it's Anne Frank's. Yet there are some memoirs which are less exciting, less important and probably of little interest. Caberet Direct present us with one such work: The diary of Charles Pooter self confessed nobody.
In this stage adaptation of George and Weedon Grossmith's classic comic novel, you are invited to an afternoon of music and comedy in this candid portrayal of Victorian life. In a surburban household we are treated to a maze of the mundane (and the odd slightly exciting event), narrated and dramatised by Charles himself, accompanied by his long suffering wife.
While an interesting piece of social satire this is not something that transfers terribly well to the stage. Anecdotal ramblings regarding the inconsequential minutiae of a nobody can be droll on the page but having it played out can be tiresome and a touch on the dull side. The pace seemed laboured on more than one occasion, and the relentless character swapping while 'jolly good fun' became a little old a little quickly. However, the performances manage to hold audience attention and Clive Ward's performance as the bumbling fuddy duddy is neatly laced with fine comic timing and a worthy stage presence. The musical accompaniment adds a archaic authenticity, creating the feel of a music hall or an after dinner show and there were moments of fine singing that punctuated the show.
This is essentially subject matter that I would like to dip into over a breakfast coffee rather than watch for an hour. Maybe is they gave Samuel Pepy's one a go they may have better luck.