1927 never fails to delight.
Quirky, clever and so very unique, the trademark meld of live performance and naif black and white (with odd splashes of red or tropical colour) animation is, as ever, stunning and precise as the ‘almost true dysfunctional family show’ unfolds with, it claims, any resemblance to actual persons or institutions coincidental.
Relayed through a series of letters between Mr E (Stefan Davis) and his teenage daughter Kim (Chardaè Phillips) and son Davey (a screen animation voiced by Patrick Copley), dad’s sudden absence from home is explained: he is on a top secret mission to find the briefcase stolen on a crowded train by the Big Man.
His exploits take him from Crooked Billet Station to the Misty Void at The Circus at the End of the Line and onwards into a tropical paradise and the stomach of a whale eventually washed up on the banks of the stinking Thames.
It is a fantastical world populated by dancing lobsters, mysterious thieves, Disney Dad, silent clowns, drugged lions and psychopathic pirates—with plenty of song and dance (music by Laurence Owen).
Meanwhile, the grey reality of home life on a rundown estate with a downbeat but resolute mum (Jenny Wills)—whose new best friend Sally (Lara Cowin) seems to have a license to interfere— features a ferocious dog and nosy neighbour rule keeper Kenny and his bunion-ridden, opinionated gran as well as the wonderfully awful school bully Stacey and crack-shot fish finger-flinger bodyguard Bella camped out in the loos.
The four beautifully adept actors play some 20 roles as Kim’s coming of age and swift dabble in an alternative famiglia, hanging out at the bus stop with creepy quiche-baking John and obtaining a guinea pig questions whether it is ever too late for a bedtime story and how fiction can be a panacea for trauma.
Writer Suzanne Andrade speaks from her own experiences with wry commentary on society as extortionate payday loans are above board while dodgy deals and tax avoidance is OK for politicians but not for the ordinary populace for whom the Ministry of Joy will provide a jovial posh man in a silly wig to decide the future. And there are no excuses for the tiny tearaways as the sins of the father are likely to be visited on 65% of the sons, so inter-gestational crime must be nipped in the bud.
Paul Barritt’s joyous, nightmarish, fun and sinister imagery is projected onto a trio of screens where precision is all, as the smoke from an actor’s cigarette is drawn, cartoon dogs chase live actors and seamless interaction between the live and the animated is enchanting.
The transition to a larger stage worked well, but the longer run time necessitating an interval perhaps not so much. But I’d watch it again in a heartbeat and eagerly look forward to the next.