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A Day in the Death of Joe Egg at Trafalgar Studios: Faaaaak.

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It’s Theatre Thursday! Today’s show is A Day in the Death of Joe Egg, which opened at Trafalgar Studios in London last night.

It’s a shame that Trafalgar Studios and the Old Vic haven’t teamed up and then joined with anti-population environmentalists to present a special double bill of Lungs and A Day in the Death of Joe Egg. The former, coming to the Old Vic this month, presents the story of a modern-day couple deliberating the ethical implication of having kids when the world is burning down. (So, me and all my friends. So much for theatre as escapism.) Joe Egg is the Part 2 of Terrible Things to Worry About: what happens if you decide to have kids and they aren’t born healthy, every parent’s worst fear. Joe Egg, the 1967 play by Peter Nichols – who died two weeks before previews of this production started, confirming the whole ‘this is the darkest timeline’ vibe (RIP (ok that makes me sound very cold but he was 92 so like really well done, Peter, amazing life)) – concerns a couple whose 15-year-old daughter Josephine was born, in the words of one of their many shitty doctors, a ‘wegetable’.

It’s touted as a dark comedy, Joe Egg is, by people who have sick sense of humor, I guess, or by people who haven’t yet seen this heavy, depressing production. The ‘depressing’ I think is unavoidable in a play about the strain a disabled child has on a couple’s marriage, but the ‘heavy’ is due to this production and director (Simon Evans) not yet nailing the pacing. While the first act is somewhat slow, it’s compelling due to the strength of the interplay between the couple. When more actors show up in Act II, actors who have less command of their purpose and the tone they should be going for, the play loses some of its power.

And that command the first act has is commendable, considering having characters explain things directly to the audience is my least favorite theatre format (but at least this one does it better than the overrated Lehman Trilogy). Claire Skinner and Toby Stephens, as the couple Sheila and Brian, completely made me forget that they were actors, I was so invested in their struggles, so upset by their situation, so angered at the doctors’ screw-ups they recounted. It was heartbreaking to watch Sheila struggle with remnants of unmerited guilt, thinking that any part of it could be her fault. (And a great reminder not to have a home birth unless you have incredibly strong people present who would advocate for you.) If the show remained a two-hander, I think it would have been better off. (Sorry to husbo, who hates the phrase two-hander and for dern good reason — it should be four-hander, if you think about it, unless both actors are missing limbs.)

But the best thing to come from this show is the casting of Storme Toolis (WHAT A NAME) as Josephine. Toolis has cerebral palsy, and – if you can believe it – is the first disabled (I’m sorry if I’m using terrible language; please tell me if there are terms I should be using instead but this is what I’ve seen in other pubs) actor to EVER play the title role on the West End. This means they’ve had able-bodied actors drool and have their heads hanging off the side of their wheelchair and mutter some gibberish, pretending to be disabled, which seems…gross. And this important casting is largely due to Toolis’s own work as an activist for disabled actors, as she has vocally campaigned for the somehow revolutionary idea that disabled parts should be played by disabled actors.

And likewise, the play feels important, but in a manner where it’s hard to grasp what it’s trying to say besides the last word in my headline. It’s just…so f-ing sad for everyone involved. (Well not for Pam and Freddie (the Act II interlopers); those jackwagons can go eat a bag o’ dicks.) Aside from a few funny lines, I’m not sure how it could be described as a comedy. It’s super depressing. There are several points where you fully believe Josephine has died. And when the biggest questions raised by the drama are whether her father could go through with causing her death, and what that kind of mindset could do to his marriage – and what this situation in general has done to it – I don’t know what’s supposed to be funny. It’s just really, really sad. Provocative and worth this dramatic treatment, but sad. 

INFORMATION

Honestly considering the age range (old to very old) it was a good audience.

The theatre needs a huge redo, though. Trafalgar Studios might be the worst theatre in London. Whoever designed the toilets should be tried at The Hague. You can’t get to the stalls if someone is washing their hands, there’s just no room. And in the classic London bathroom tradition, you can’t open the stall door to leave the stall unless you pretty much stand in the toilet. HOW DID SOMEONE GET PAID TO DESIGN THIS?
In the theatre itself it’s no picnic either. The seats don’t have armrests, so if you are sitting next to a stranger or two, you spend the entire show trying to shrink your shoulder width so that you aren’t pressing into each other. NOT VERY FUN.

This show also joins in on my least favorite trend of London theatre – having characters smoke. There’s a lot of herbal cigarette use, which is warned about yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s justified. I’ve seen at least two dozen shows in the past year with characters smoking onstage, and it has never once added anything to the production, except carcinogens for audience members and cast alike. STOP DOING THIS. I don’t understand how it’s still legal.

One thing that is not warned about – there is a toy gun that looks very real, and at one point an actor points and shoots it into the audience, so if that is the sort of thing that bothers you/if you are American, be warned.

The show is 2 hours 30 minutes, with the first act running 1 hour and the second act longer (which is usually a sign that the second act should have been trimmed).





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