Review: Never Said I Was a Genius, Central Film School

“It’s theatre, Jim, but not as we know it…” Which is no surprise given Not Quite Theatre co. is a laboratory for experimental theatre and performance. For context, the company collectively devises experimental post dramatic work focusing on the creative process and discovery rather than polished results or commercial success. Its performances aim to explore what theatre could be instead of conforming to what audiences expect it to be. 

Showing as part of the Lambeth Fringe Festival, Never Said I Was a Genius is being performed at the Central Film School. The actors are on stage as the audience take their seats and remain so in silence for some time, although interacting with each other. Four are seated on the floor, sifting through pages of script, two sit at a desk at the rear of the stage with a microphone in between them. They are comfortable in their own skins, seemingly oblivious to the audience who observe intrigued.

Given its origin, it is no surprise that the show defies easy definition. The underlying concept is to explore, at times deliberately and uncomfortably, how genius and monstrousness can coexist. And how the harmful behaviour of celebrated artists gets excused by the systems that raise them up, including fans who keep putting them on ever-higher pedestals. In other words, very topical.

The show opens with a series of statements from the actors, one by one. Some are true, some funny, some interesting, some ridiculous. With a deliberate poke at the concept of artistic “genius”, the structure has the actors competing to make the play we’re watching, so lines and actions are repeated sequentially by different groups with varying emphasis. The result is a play somehow set both in the Central Film School a stone’s throw from Clapham North in 2026 and in a glamorous but decaying villa on the Italian Riviera circa 1963.

It’s cleverly crafted, with each sequence simultaneously following on and at times conflicting with the one before. The acting is extremely competent and nuanced, and for a play that is really not about a linear narrative the core messaging is loud and clear.

The piece gradually traces an artist’s genius as it develops, flagging early warning signs of troubling behaviour before shifting smoothly into the consequences and criticism of darker conduct. Telling the story through multiple voices gives it realism and nuance. The audience vacillates from genuine laughter to mesmerised silence and towards the end a few are invited on stage in a move that is simultaneously encouraging and awkward.

There is something quietly assured about this piece as it leans into the quiet and the opaque, to the extent it feels semi-immersive. It could be self-aggrandising but it isn’t as it pokes fun both at itself and the industry. And then with a change in emotion and energy Emily Foxton sits front stage and starts to sing ‘Make Your Own Kind of Music’ (Mann & Weil) before being joined by Lauren Lucy Cook. This is genuinely a moving moment: the lyrics celebrating individuality with a buoyant tune whilst acknowledging that being true to yourself can lead to being lonely or misunderstood. The pair’s voices are beautiful as they gently swell in volume. It’s a fitting final note for a show that asks whether genius excuses anything, leaving the audience to decide whether that sunny anthem to individuality is a celebration or a warning.

Performers: Lauren Lucy Cook, Emily Foxton, Harry French, Haydn Watts, Ross Wayne, Kim Whatmore

Created & Produced by Not Quite Theatre co.
Conceived & Directed by John Kurzynowski
Sound Design: Alex Ansdell & John Kurzynowski
Lighting Design: EJ Walker
Assistant Director: Ellie McCoy

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