I never managed to see Fleabag in the theatre. But the experience must have been something like watching Gabriel Blackwell’s first staged play, the astonishingly vivid, allusive and life-enhancing monologue, Cruelty.
It’s essentially a 70-minute poem, as captivating as a brilliant dancer caught in the flashing lights of a club: you may not be able to follow every turn they make, but somehow that makes the movement and the rhythm even more compelling. And in the tradition of Phoebe Waller-Bridge, Oli, the central character, addresses us directly throughout, sharing his winks, his moods, his lusts, and ultimately his trauma. As Oli, Luke Nixon accomplishes this not just with a great performance but with truly irresistible charisma. I swear, every member of that audience came out feeling that Nixon had been addressing them personally, eyes gazing into your own with a seductive combination of cheek and charm.
Way, way down at the narrative level, Cruelty is a young man sharing his pain from one life-changing tragedy. But the way Blackwell’s language throws images, characters, sights, smells and sounds on top of that confession is the true magic of this production. Impressions flash past – a baby going round and round on a fairground ride all alone, ‘a fat lump in a nappy’; ‘perfect wooden underwear’; an old woman’s fingers – and you feel that the eyes you’re seeing through for this brief hour upon the stage are perceiving the world in richer, darker colours than your own ever did.
Partnering Oli through his creative ordeal is a sound design by Jules Males that matches the stream of consciousness to perfection. Background sounds of a seaside town at night, thumping nightclubs, pensive waves – these all add to the mood music of Cruelty. But on top of that, the seamless timing of pre-recorded voices conversing with Oli (something many productions try and fail at) seemed effortless. In truth, every aspect of this production oozes class.
The whole thing had the feeling of a single-take movie, like Victoria (German film from 2015 with tagline One city. One night. One take. If you haven’t seen it, do), or a non-stop ride seen through the eyes of John Keats – always with that Waller-Bridgeian self-observation waiting to step in. At one point Oli shouts in anguish that his life is like one of those ‘one man baring all in a black box theatre’ shows – and the irony is both funny and heartbreaking. He even points out that the tickets only cost a fiver, and reviewers get in for free. All I can say is: bargain!