Written by Nay Dhanak

Directed by Ben Standish and Brian Logan

Review by Laurie Kemmett

Hear ye! Hear ye! Plays, pies, and pints abound in Glasgow at lunchtime, and the latest iteration is Nay Dhanak’s Cry/Laugh. A town crier and a court jester find themselves ousted from their jobs, and lacking any sense of purpose they once had. Separately they embark on different quests – the jester must locate a second sun to combat the looming eclipse, and the town crier must…walk? 

The mood is immediately set when entering Oran Mor as pop songs played on the lute are piped through the speakers, and a truly gorgeous medieval set piece hangs over the stage. It feels like walking into an illuminated manuscript. Another clever piece of immersion comes with the usual spiel about health and safety, as it is interrupted by the crier and the jester. Their double act is immediately apparent, and works well to ease audiences into what is marketed as an absurdist piece of theatre.

It feels as though the actors – and audience – take a minute to get to grips with what’s happening. Gags aren’t as slick as they could be, and the hamminess of the characters occasionally strays from intentional to overwrought. This lack of deftness is highlighted most during any moments of audience interaction. It was never fully clear when interaction was expected and when it wasn’t, resulting in a lot of confused booing and uncertain cheering which affected the pacing. The culprit appeared to be a lack of confidence in the direction and therefore the acting, as the actors seemed a little caught off guard whenever audiences reacted unexpectedly. 

Having said that, there is no denying the enthusiasm of the actors. James Peake is a fantastic crier, finding moments outside of the pantomime to reveal the more fleshed-out parts of his character. His physical humour paired well with Morven Blackadder as the jester, particularly during the most fizzy and energetic part of the show, their chance meeting in the woods. This was also when Dhanak’s ideas of metatheatricality are clearest and work the best. Blackadder does an admiral job of interacting with the audience, but her performance as the jester feels like it’s clenching most of the time, with overdramatic gestures and a frantic energy that doesn’t feel earned. She shows potential to be a great performer, but has maybe been placed on the stage a little too early.

As the journey continues, the play gets more and more absurd, which is when it begins to shine. The structure is fun and different, with an incredibly satisfying reveal of how all the threads so far come together, resulting in a meditation on the constant drip-feed of unmanaged information we deal with in the modern world. The wild and wonderful ending is fantastic – it’s just a shame it takes forty minutes to get there.

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