Douglas

As with theatre, where delivering lines naturally doesn’t always bring out the best in them, recreating modes of everyday movement in physical theatre doesn’t always serve to illuminate its subject.

Douglas is a tricky piece to form an opinion of because you can feel the good intentions and innovative ideas beneath the surface. But ultimately the surface itself isn’t enough to hold the show. Scottish practitioner Robbie Synge has created as a character a lonely, ill-understood man who potters about, obsessing with and fussing over objects: chairs, lights, wires, a roll of linoleum. His relationship to these objects fluctuates. He sets up elaborate tricks with them that fire into anti-climax. He explores their weight in relation to his own body.

The trouble is there is little play, wit or grace here. Doubtless it’s possible that this is Synge’s point. But if you follow that thread to its logical conclusion, it’s possible to put anything on stage.

There is a wonderful moment, towards the end where Douglas unfurls his linoleum with a message for us, before curling up in it, lovingly surrounded by his chairs. It’s an ugly tender take-me-for-who-I-am gesture and you can feel the strange sensual indulgence in its clumsy angles. But it’s the only time we feel anything for this character, and it comes just a little too late.