An amusing, lively, and delightfully characterised show, A Vacuum at the Centre is set in a bizarre world of show business. With prima donnas, cryogenically frozen heads, canary costumes; the play is steered by eccentric humour, while still asking sincere questions about consumption and creation.
Bill Crisp’s animation studio has gone downhill. Abel and Celia (cartoon rabbits and canaries) are corroded by commercial flanderisation. Incorporating a pitiful theme park, characters become family-friendly caricatures, while the show hobbles on: budget-cut, inane, empty. Crisp, now a cryogenically frozen head, signs a film deal. Marina Shipley, with lover Jean — whose respective mother and father voice-acted the original Abel and Celia — look to star, whilst costume-actors Alan and Jack suffer the high-maintenance pair backstage. Supervising the team is Dame Lisa Swedge, zealous corporate ‘She-E-O.’
It’s by no means straightforward, but certainly creative. Writer Elisabeth Hughes gives the audience a slightly overwhelming exposition, but together with co-director Ruby Coyte, and the cast’s excellent characterisation, they bring this intricacy to life.
Alan (Summer Marshall) and Jack (Daniel Baffoe) make a solid pairing. Marshall’s Alan is monotonous, gruff deadpan, reflecting years spent playing Abel, where fresh-faced Baffoe is eager to learn; they work interestingly as each other’s straight man. Several lines were lost to diction, which perhaps contributed to the play’s complicated set-up. The duo strike a convincing friendship however, animating cartoon costumes with amusing resignation.
Kate O’Connor’s Dame Lisa Swedge is a particular highlight. Loves: team spirit, portfolios, diversifying, regrouping, circling back. Hates: unionising. Totally soulless, and yet the fervent corporate energy propelling O’Connor is desperately human; we almost share her Level Four Empathy Qualification.
Marina Shipley (Fleur Jones) and Jean (Joe Noble) are equally nauseating. Parental issues, privilege, and their wild sex life combine for cringing chemistry. I especially enjoyed Noble’s faux working-class hero: mincing, endearingly delicate, like an unusually camp meerkat, requesting Screwfix catalogues in his stocking to win Father’s approval. The incest revelation might have been better signposted; it’s unclear on their parents’ recording who’s speaking, and conspicuous sibling jokes throughout might have been a nice audience in-joke.
For her delayed introduction, and the loss of 90% of Bill Crisp’s body, Kara Hughes is wonderfully expressive. Crisp’s distress at Princess Di’s death, his seemingly gender indiscriminate sexualisation of his colleagues, and his rich voice reminded me of Douglas Reynholm’s disturbingly virile, theatrical temperament.
The show fires lots of jokes; I wished the cast had soaked up the laughs a little more. It’s testament to a witty and original script though – originality being a tricky concept for some at UMDS this MIFTAs season.
Vacuum interrogates authenticity. Crisp’s mantra, ‘From Heart to Screen’, turns out hollow as Swedge’s aphorisms; Jean and Marina’s incestuous plotline exemplifies the muddling consequences of pretending to be something you’re not. The exaggerated style sometimes falls into telling, not showing, but still asks: can laying claim to an inherited background be true, even a genuine attempt at connection?
Vacuum hits Edinburgh Fringe 24th-30th August – I hope the show maintains its fun and detail (and designer Lara Rafot’s lovely pop-up programmes).
