Big Wow: The Art of Falling Apart

Big Wow: The Art of Falling Apart

Big Wow: The Art of Falling Apart

It’s a fact of life that we’re all getting older. Some of us might be getting older than others, but the facts are indisputable. And as we age, and as the life around us changes, sometimes we have to check in and ask ourselves how we’re doing. The question needs to be posed: ‘Is this the life I want to be living?’

In this magnificent exercise in theatre making, Big Wow present us with a character, Callum, who asks himself this exact question, and when confronted with a resounding no, has to negotiate his way towards finding a way out of his less than happy existence.

Although this question lies at the heart of the work, providing a thoughtful root from which the rest of the piece grows, the efforts of the two performers – Matt Rutter and Tim Lynskey – to transform Robert Farquhar’s writing into a fine rollercoastering example of what theatre can be must be emphasised. These are two actors who work hard.

The rest of the theatrics are simple and straightforward – two chairs, some lighting effects, a soundscape from Simon James that supports the action perfectly without superseding it. These all function efficiently and open up the space for the performances to really do the work in creating the world encountered by the audience.

I lost track in my counting, but over thirty characters are represented on the stage throughout the play, often five or six at a time, requiring some virtuosic changes in physicality and voice by the performers. A narrative that also shoots off in all directions further magnifies the rapid-fire changes that bombard those in the auditorium.

Nevertheless, we never stray so far that chaos descends entirely on the stage; a clear throughline remains throughout – Callum’s slow breakdown, a clearly defined progression of locations – but enough narrative offshoots are presented by the passing characters at the work party and in the train station that, as they fleetingly interact with Callum’s journey, a rounded and complete world is constructed.

A special mention must go to Brian, the annoying Irishman with an ability for the occasional astonishing insight that Callum bumps into along the way. In terms of the narrative, he acts as a guide to Callum, moving him along from location to location and offering him poignant advice (at one stage, beautifully enacting Callum’s recently dead father to do so), but his characterisation as a bumbling eccentric is so complete that he is transformed into something much greater than a storytelling device.

The humour is loud, non-stop and impeccably timed, perfectly paced with the occasional moment of sentiment; and all this is thoughtfully underwritten with an astute reflection on what it means to be alive.

Theatrical entertainment at its best.