Fabrication at The Print Room

Fabrication at The Print Room

18 November, 2010
by: Naima Khan

Heady philosophy, dated staging and the horn, not a great opening for The Print Room

In a city with a plethora of fringe venues, Fabrication is perhaps not the best choice for an inaugural show at new theatre The Print Room. The English version of Pier Paolo Pasolini's Affabulzione has been written by Jamie Kendrick and is, to his credit, rich and often captivating. At times though, it rambles and creates a distance between the audience and the characters.

Alhough, perhaps a little distance isn't so bad when the show is about a father's sexual obsession with his son. The shocking content does what it's supposed to. It makes viewers recoil but also draws them in as the father suffers a most unholy, inexplicable mental breakdown. In a great performance by Jasper Britton, his character uses religion and much philosophising to try and makes sense of what's happening to him and his son. Looking sleeker than Jackie O, the mother, a fantastic Geraldine Alexander, brings a genteelness to the production and some much needed sophistication that contrasts brilliantly with her confused husband.

“I don't know you from the waist down,” says the industrialist father, capturing the central issue of the play. His son (Max Bennett) has become a man and somehow he's missed it and is handling it horrifically inappropriately – it's solely down to Britton that this comes across so disturbingly well. Sophocles is on hand to shout and run and generally confuse Britton's character even more.

The structure of the play fails, as does the poor staging. At the start Sophocles warns us that this play won't make much sense until he turns up, and he's only half right. He doesn't make his appearance soon enough, which makes his presence seem a little shoehorned. But it doesn't take long to adjust to Kendrick's script. Inconsistent though it may be, there are some scenes that have the audience transfixed. Britton's face-off with his son's girlfriend, for instance, is full of frank talk, bold, compelling dialogue, and great acting.

The stage is an oblong, gravel pit surrounded by the audience on three sides and walls that are unnecessarily tall. Considering the existence of these walls, it's probably best not to have interesting things happening at floor level. This minimalist staging jars with the inflated script, but occasionally impressive skill is demonstrated with some fleetingly brilliant lighting. As Britton peers though a keyhole to watch his son and his girlfriend, the sliver of light on Britton's face,as he delivers another monologue in a room of darkness, ramps up the intensity and leaves the audience recoiling but absorbed. Irritatingly, moments like this are outweighed by what feels like dated ways of demonstrating the father's obsession. A pale figure walking slowly into a pool of light over and over again is nothing new.

For all its creepy, art house subject matter, The Print Room hasn't yet set itself apart from other fringe venues in London. The play doesn't quite capture Pasolini's unapologetic rawness, but then it does showcase some damn fine acting. 

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Naima Khan