Everything’s absurdist these days. The word is bandied around the Fringe with such alarming frequency that nobody quite knows what it means anymore. Fortuitously, in the case of Seamus Collins’ latest offering The Man Who, it means a fun, frenetic comedy that achieves the near impossible feat of being thought-provoking in between the zinging one-liners. Chronicling the escapades of ‘The Man,’ ‘The Woman’ and ‘The Younger Man,’ the show catapults us from squabble to squabble as its characters grapple with inventing the wheel and the peculiar love triangle it invokes.
Collins’s script is at its most impressive during these spousal sparring matches; the dialogue is utterly absurd yet completely familiar to anyone who’s ever had an argument. The language gags are also funny; you can almost smell the writer’s glee when the characters discover names for the first time. Amidst the rising hysteria, the writer is skilfully, subtly highlighting the inherent curiosity of words and questioning the nature of invention. It’s stirring stuff, acutely reflected in the work of artistic director Eilise McNicholas whose bright, clinical lighting and stark, bare staging serve to enhance the lunacy. Even teething problems with the projector seemed oddly fitting when in a lesser show they would merely highlight poor production values.
Also impressive are the cast, all of whom gave spirited performances with flawless comic timing. Admittedly, the script doesn’t really allow them to develop beyond one note caricatures, but whilst this is faintly disappointing, it is clearly intentional and consistent with the thematic flavour of the play. The Man, deftly played by Seamus O’Hara was the performance’s standout; his studied eccentricity and terse, strained delivery were effective, for the most part, and left the audience in no doubt about the character’s struggle against insanity.
It is perhaps the only significant flaw of The Man Who that the madness never really boils over; despite a carefully crafted build up, there isn’t much in the way of a climax. What we are presented with in the show’s final quarter feels like a rehash of earlier scenes; it’s comparatively tired and hollow when compared with the sublime forty five minutes which precede it.
Nevertheless, this is a cracking piece of new writing, comfortably straddling the line between outright absurdity, and shrewd observation. If the words ‘abstract theatre’ usually fill you with dread, make an exception with this, you won’t be disappointed.
