Created by Alexander Tait

Directed by Ivan Hamshaw Thomas

Review by Marina Funcasta

The space @ Symposium Hall : Tickets

A story about identity, friendship, guilt and the power of connection, ‘Kev Campbell was he’ is filled to the brim with emotion and vitality. Something you possibly wouldn’t expect from the title; acquiring an Epic resonance, Kev Campbell emerges as an everyman – that is if every man were a wee kid from working-class Glasgow whose knowledge of the world beyond his window was limited to a select few American novels and a couple of 70s bands.

More than anything, Tait’s story felt honest. Following the unexpected blossoming of friendship between Kev and Quinn, a posh, queer English boy, Tait demonstrates an almost alchemical malleability, embodying both quite different characters with buoyancy. His voice definitely aided in this, darting between RP and Glaswegian without hesitation; the physicality, however, provided the ultimate key. Although admittedly somewhat restless at times, the precision of Tait’s gestures, be it in constructing space or character, proved consistent.

This is where Hamshaw Thomas’ direction shines through. Beginning the play with a scene set in a narrow cubicle, the awkwardness of the setting is acutely communicated from Tait’s sheepish buttoning down of his trousers to his nervous looks around him when investigating his surroundings to the very fateful moment wherein he drops his pen.

Introducing other characters is always tricky in a one-man show, possibly even more so if the actors sat down; to be sure, it took a few back and forths between Quinn and Kev to familiarise the audience, but the subtlety of Tait’s mannerisms did most of the work. It is essential to emphasise the consistency of this; every character in this play has a quirk, be it Cami, Kev’s best mate from home and his jittery leg, or Moira, Kev’s boss and her slightly snappish upturned nose. The attention to detail is astounding and makes this story believable.

Tait and Hamshaw-Thomas have created an ornate, fifty-minute tapestry. An endearing character, Kev Campbell is not without flaws, and it is clear neither Tait nor his director shied away from spotlighting this. In a moment of intense guilt, the audience can sense time to slow down, and the weight of Tait’s anxiety falls from his chest to his feet. Sunken, he recovers, but the silent intimacy of that moment anchors the audience in his character’s vulnerability. But it is, alas, over in a moment, and Kev’s split decision dissolves into the theatrical past, leaving his character and the audience with fragmented regrets. It is at this point that Kev Campbell truly becomes a he, or a she, or a they – he becomes us all. United in our inability to change the past, Tait’s one-man show is an ode to the jolting fifty-minute Fringe-show spirit, packed with reminders of what our festival is all about.

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