Sunday, December 14, 2014
'Sikes and Nancy' at Trafalgar Studios, 12th December 2014
Sunday, December 14, 2014 by londoncitynights
“Of all bad deeds that, under cover of the darkness, have been committed within wide London’s bounds since night hung over it, that was the worst. Of all the horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the morning air, that was the foulest and most cruel.” - Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
Singlehandedly
conjuring up Dickens' London with just six chairs, a black overcoat and
a bag of blood is a bold ambition. But then James Swanton is a bold
performer. This one man show, having toured the UK for the last two
years, has landed for a short run in the basement of Trafalgar
Studios. Outside the biting winter wind chills the bones of scurrying shoppers; the Norwegian Christmas tree
apparently having brought the Norse chill down with it. Even old Nelson
seems to be drawing his coat a little tighter tonight.
This
seasonal freeze makes the perfect background to Sikes and
Nancy, a retelling of Dicken's
most monstrously written murder; a spiral of betrayal, passion, lust,
insanity and ladles of sticky, sour blood. The four principals: thuggish Bill Sikes, desperate Nancy, twisted Fagin and
kindly Brownlow, all find themselves embodied in the tornado of jagged
limbs, guttural howls and facial metamorphoses that is James Swanton.
Swanton
is waiting for us as we enter the space, perched atop a chairs like a tattily dressed raven. He mutters incoherently,
shaking as if suffering through some dark nightmare. From minute one
he's got gravitas galore, the audience hushed in submission as we take
our seats. As the lights go down he uncurls, spiderish limbs
unfolding from within his long, pitch-black coat.
Dickens'
prose, tangled and wordy like ivy consuming a wrought-iron gate,
finds life as much in Swanton's body langyage as in his diction.
In silhouette his face resembles nothing more than Mr. Punch; a half
moon punctuated by a hooked nose and jutting chin. His arms and legs
move at jagged acute angles, one minute embodying the solidly
muscular sociopathy of Sikes, the next the wizened, crooked Fagin and
finally the cowed, beaten Nancy. Swanton shuffles these persona like
a cardshark with a fresh deck, effortlessly swooping about the stage
in leering rage to huddled terror without missing a beat.
As the
show goes on you're sucked further and further in, Swanton becoming increasingly magnetic. There's a subtle ascending rhythm to
his diction as we progress through the tale. Early scenes are
stuffed with menace, but it's slow burning and precise.
Swanton's acrobatic voice is being put through its paces, switching
from guttural gasps, saliva-drenched slobbering and squeaky
awkwardness. As the cogs of the plot turn and the furious Sikes draws ever
closer to Nancy the pace picks up, the delivery accelerating to a
dizzying pace.
The peak
is the murder itself, a disturbingly animalistic frenzy that leaves
Swanton blood-smeared and manic. In the most chilling moment in a
performance full of chilling moments, Sikes describes the burning of
the murder weapon: “there was hair upon the end, which
blazed and shrunk into a light cinder, and, caught by the air,
whirled up the chimney. Even
that frightened him, sturdy as he was.” These
heights of physical and vocal performance can be best summarised by
the genuinely disturbing gleam you see in Swanton's eye, as if he's become
unhinged, lost in the maze of Oliver Twist.
After
the murder comes swift justice as Sikes is pursued through the city.
Eventually, standing atop a rooftop he fashions a noose. It's
famously ambiguous whether Sikes planned to use the rope to escape or
commit guilt-driven suicide. This is preserved here, though it's
clear something has irreversibly broken inside Sikes' brain. He
gibbers and sweats, Nancy's blood oozing across his arms and shirt
and spittle r.aining on his lips. I watch in amusement as those sat directly
in front of Swanton receive a spackling of spit from his drooling
mouth. Then he places the noose around himself and leaps from the parapet. *CRACK!*
Sikes and Nancy
is a hell of an intensive hour of a theatre. It looks physically and
emotionally exhausting for Swanton, who leaves the stage gently
panting, bowing with a drained expression on his face. What reserves of superhuman strength he's drawing upon to
maintain this level of performative focus after two years of doing
this night after night?
Credit
must also go to the astonishingly effective lighting by Matt Leventhall. The
show wouldn't be half as effective without these brightly coloured
gels highlighting every one of Swanton's twisted expressions and long
swishes of his coat. It's this that creates the heightened sense of
reality that's needed to make this work, dragging us kicking and
screaming through Dickens' darkest literary moment.
That
said, if you're after a heart-warming, post-shopping Christmas show
this probably isn't the place to be. There's precious little festive
about this descent into madness, and the two children in the audience
left looking mildly shell-shocked. But if you want
to watch a masterclass in one man theatre there's no finer place to
be in London on these bonechilling winter nights.
Sikes and Nancy is at Trafalgar Studios until January 3rd. Tickets £15 available here.
Tags:
James Swanton ,
Sikes and Nancy ,
theatre ,
Trafalgar Studios
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