In his 1978 RSC production of Anthony and Cleopatra, Peter Brook gave this note to Glenda Jackson: at a certain key moment in the play, to be silent and to hold the silence for as long as possible without losing the audience. About two thirds of the way through, the director of My Filthy Hunt appears to have given his cast a similar note.
I doubt if there are many other similarities between the two productions, however. This gutsy physical theatre show has captured the authentic voice of the comprehensive school, the housing estate, the life without present or future, in a way that few more traditional theatre works achieve. For that achievement alone, it deserves its star rating.
I am less convinced by the overplayed acting style, or by the dodgy jokes about “retards”. Nor am I convinced that the narrative develops in a coherent way. However, in this case these objections are a small price to pay for a show that enthralls and intrigues in equal measure.
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