harey stuff
Racing Demon
A lot changes in 16 years. Since the fi rst performances of David Hare’s Racing Demon in 1990, the Church of England has ordained the fi rst female clergy and made tentative steps to accepting the election of gay bishops. Hesitant as I am to act as a placard-wielder for the Godbrigade, any church bashing should acknowledge its thorny complexity. Hare’s play reels off all the stereotypical controversies about the church: a gay priest blackmailed by an opportunistic journalist. Check.
A weasely hypocrite who sees the church as a second-hand car dealership. Check. A group of white middle-class vicars far removed from their ethnically-diverse parish. Check. Hare doesn’t so much challenge our assumptions as regurgitate our most block-headed prejudices in a cliched and irritating way. Reverend Lionel Espy (Alex Worksnip) is the moral centre of the piece, taking a personal, unpreachy approach to his inner-city fl ock’s concerns.
Antithetically opposed is Tony Ferris (Neil Boyd), initiating an awkward dilemma within the group of poncy pontiffs.
Should the church use Saatchi-style PR or allow God’s chosen to discover their maker independently? The play raises other pressing concerns, such as, how should a public person’s private life affect their work? And, when will this sanctimonious bullshit end so I can watch something a little more intelligent and engaging - Ready, Steady, Cook perhaps? Deal or No Deal? Admittedly, the cast try their best to overcome these failings.
Worksnip impresses, his Lionel a subtle but commanding mixture of gravitas and pathos, while Amy Tatton-Brown’s Frances is playful, sexy, feline. Her insinuating banter with Boyd is let down by the latter’s ugly and unconvincing portrayal, his back hunched in a Quasimodoesque manner, his hands hanging limply and awkwardly by his side. Jack Farchy, as the token ditsy fuddyduddy Donald ‘Streaky’ Bacon is selfconciously quirky and mannered.
The cast obviously had a great time in rehearsals developing Farchy’s character; however, they obstinately refuse to let the audience in on the gag. The idea of this performance will only appeal to those who like to feel that they’re involved in an intelligent questioning of attitudes between stage and stalls; sadly they aren’t.
Racing Demon is so concerned with it’s own relevance and desire to evoke a response that it fails to stimulate, with director Sarah Markiewicz only occasionally managing to coax its head from its own arse. In truth, it did leave me with an extreme response, though perhaps not the one Hare intended: fi rstly confusion, then despair and eventually a need to drink a very great deal.
2nd Feb 2006