An hour of lunacy about a quite unusual end of the world scenario, which starts off shakily but quickly becomes a delightfully silly caper.Summary
Rating
Excellent
Screeching in to the room wearing very little apart from a dustbin, John Binjuice (Jacob Aldcroft) sprints around the room as carnivalesque music plays, almost running through the audience before realising he doesn’t have the space and would harm people if he did. Manic and over-excited for reasons that aren’t initially apparent, John reveals that he’s bought not only tinned peach slices and tinned pineapple slices but also tinned spicy soup, which he’s euphoric about. Seconds later he’s handing out bottles of Fruit Shoot to the audience, and there’s a certain level of confusion as to what exactly is taking place.
Fortunately, it’s not long before a narrative is established, and a very strong one at that – which comes as a relief as the energetic oddness starts to become a little exhausting without any context. Soon we’re informed that John lives in a small provincial French town, and he’s the last human left standing; it’s cleverly delivered and never feels like an exposition dump, as he builds and builds to the reveal that rhinoceroses are to blame. And not only that, but rhinoceroses who used to be human beings.
Once this sci-fi set up is introduced, John allows himself to take a breath once in a while and the show transforms in to a charmingly weird but nearly always very funny production. As he calms down he becomes increasingly endearing, a warm, thoughtful, yet still impish character, and that’s essential for the show given that audience participation is a big part of it. Such a thing can sink a show if someone is reluctant to take part, but thankfully that wasn’t the case here. It soon becomes apparent that Aldcroft is clearly well versed in not only choosing the right people, but in guiding them in such a way as to make sure the joke is never on them.
It really is a superb performance from Aldcroft too. Despite those minor concerns about the beginning, he completely sells the madness which takes place, leaping from desperate optimism to crushing melancholy and abject fear with the kind of effortless skill you normally only see from experienced award winners. Perhaps the ending is slightly too drawn out: a brief moment of pathos is signposted early on and turns up just when you’d expect it to, but apart from maybe cutting a couple of minutes from this part of the show this is impressive work. The play takes a beautifully odd idea, stretches it to breaking point, but never past it, and Aldcroft’s glee at the absolute silliness he’s selling us is extremely infectious.
Directed by: Natalie Simone
Design by: Alice Sales
The Day I Got The Horn has finished it’s run at the Soho Theatre.
