*The Vaults, London*
This limp adaptation of Hunter S Thompson's 1971 novel suffers from clumsy design and a lack of theatrical imagination
More like fear and loathing in SE1. Only those longing to recreate the comedown from the hallucinogenic experiences of their very distant youth should head for the Vaults. Lou Stein's limp adaptation of Hunter S Thompson's 1971 novel, inspired by a drug-crazed trip to Las Vegas in search of the American Dream, sprawls aimlessly across an impossibly wide playing space that haemorrhages all energy. This is the stage equivalent of a road movie, only it is almost completely static and, for all its tetchy, preening, machismo swagger, it goes nowhere very slowly.
Thompson was an exponent of "gonzo" journalism, so never let the facts get in the way of a good story. His alter-ego, Raoul Duke (Ed Hughes), accepts a commission to write a piece for a magazine about a motorcycle race, and heads to Las Vegas in the company of his attorney, Dr Gonzo (Rob Crouch), and enough drugs to fell a herd of elephants. When he arrives at his hotel he thinks all the staff are giant reptiles.
That makes the evening sound infinitely more exciting than it is, because Stein's production is scuppered by the space, the clumsy design and its lack of theatrical imagination. It doesn't look retro, it merely looks like a fringe production from the 1980s. The actors work hard, but not always to good effect, although Crouch does seize some opportunities as the increasingly deranged Gonzo.
But you have to wonder at the judgment of the Heritage Arts Company in using this big, punishingly uncomfortable, pack-'em-in-and-pile-'em-high space in this way, and their artistic judgment in presenting this deadbeat piece as the headline show in a festival that claims to encourage the new, creative and exciting.
• Did you catch this show – or any other recently? Tell us about it using #gdnreview
Rating: 1/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 days ago.
This limp adaptation of Hunter S Thompson's 1971 novel suffers from clumsy design and a lack of theatrical imagination
More like fear and loathing in SE1. Only those longing to recreate the comedown from the hallucinogenic experiences of their very distant youth should head for the Vaults. Lou Stein's limp adaptation of Hunter S Thompson's 1971 novel, inspired by a drug-crazed trip to Las Vegas in search of the American Dream, sprawls aimlessly across an impossibly wide playing space that haemorrhages all energy. This is the stage equivalent of a road movie, only it is almost completely static and, for all its tetchy, preening, machismo swagger, it goes nowhere very slowly.
Thompson was an exponent of "gonzo" journalism, so never let the facts get in the way of a good story. His alter-ego, Raoul Duke (Ed Hughes), accepts a commission to write a piece for a magazine about a motorcycle race, and heads to Las Vegas in the company of his attorney, Dr Gonzo (Rob Crouch), and enough drugs to fell a herd of elephants. When he arrives at his hotel he thinks all the staff are giant reptiles.
That makes the evening sound infinitely more exciting than it is, because Stein's production is scuppered by the space, the clumsy design and its lack of theatrical imagination. It doesn't look retro, it merely looks like a fringe production from the 1980s. The actors work hard, but not always to good effect, although Crouch does seize some opportunities as the increasingly deranged Gonzo.
But you have to wonder at the judgment of the Heritage Arts Company in using this big, punishingly uncomfortable, pack-'em-in-and-pile-'em-high space in this way, and their artistic judgment in presenting this deadbeat piece as the headline show in a festival that claims to encourage the new, creative and exciting.
• Did you catch this show – or any other recently? Tell us about it using #gdnreview
Rating: 1/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 days ago.