Kenrex at Sheffield Theatres’ Tanya Moiseiwitsch Playhouse – review

This is, as it happens, an unusually apposite time to be considering how to tether the American bully, but Kenrex deals with events in 1981 in Skidmore, Missouri. We are told that some incidents, individuals and timelines have been changed or reimagined, but essentially this is what happened.

Despite the first performance being by one actor and one musician, the script lists a dozen characters and suggests it can be played by a cast of any size. I would expect this production featuring Jack Holden (co-writer/actor), Ed Stambollouian (co-writer/director) and John Patrick Elliott (musician/composer) to have legs beyond the Tanya Moiseiwitsch Playhouse, but it’s also interesting to speculate whether casts of various sizes and productions of greater pictorial appeal will surface over time.

The text is tautly written and the removal of surprise in the opening minutes does nothing to reduce the shock of later scenes: Trena, Ken Rex McElroy’s child bride, rings emergency in inarticulate panic with news of his shooting, anticipating future events. Later in the first half, McElroy picks her out at the town’s Punkin Show and marries her at age 12 or 13 because she is pregnant and because, under Missouri law, a wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband.

Kenrex is a spell-binding amalgam of Under Milk Wood, Bonnie and Clyde and a more democratic version of Gunfight at the OK Corral. To begin with, a tape is playing of federal agent Annette Parker (voiced by Kelly Burke) questioning prosecuting attorney David Baird (voiced by James Sobol Kelly), then Holden, the solitary actor, picks up Baird’s lines and launches into his narration.

The first half is not without light relief as Baird introduces us to some of the prominent citizens of Skidmore: Holden’s brief turn as lawyer McFadin – and his spurious defences for McElroy – is hilarious. But behind it all lurks the dangerous figure, with his fierce dogs and taste for gun law and arson. Holden’s twisted stance and husky whisper as McElroy are the epitome of menace.

Then matters escalate: in the store, Lois Bowenkamp attempts sympathy with the pregnant Trena (a scene dramatically realised by Holden with changes of stance and speech), clumsily strikes the wrong note and McElroy comes for her. Her husband protects her, is shot and we reach the interval with McElroy arrested after a high-speed chase.

After the interval, the focus shifts. Baird moves centre stage. He changes the charge from attempted murder to second degree assault: is it the result of his interview with McElroy (Holden even makes the line, “I never spent a night in jail” full of menace) or a cunning plan to let him terrorise the locals and reveal his true nature? Either way, McElroy, on bail, goes on a crazy course of terror until the citizens of Skidmore finally take action and decide to unite to execute him.

A loathsome individual is eradicated: cue for rejoicing surely. But, as the tempo slows to reactions, we are left with two opposed views: Parker closing the case with relief, Baird obsessed with justice, wanting to know who fired the fatal shot. And the last word rests with Trena: she loved the man, has she been fairly treated?

It’s a dynamic script, but the standing ovation was mainly for the execution. Holden switches between a dozen or so characters, giving each an individual stance and not overdoing the female parts. Given a pretty bare stage, he races between ladders, chairs and mikes, occasionally mounting to a gallery with a screen behind, mainly used for chapter headings. And then there is a table where Elliott holds sway, with his banjo and his guitars, his tape machines and his drum kit, channelling his hidden rock guitarist in dramatic incidental music, reverting to good old country songs to evoke Skidmore.

This production will surely have an afterlife. I hope that it’s in as intimate a venue as the Playhouse.