I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve forgiven Tom Sturridge for that appalling accent in Punk Rock. He was really pretty great in Wastwater. Everyone in Wastwater was pretty great to be honest, not least of all the techies who entirely transformed the set in about 45 seconds. Twice.
In fact, it’s a play that would almost have benefited from something crap. Some key factor of shite to give us something to talk about. As it stands it’s just a well written play performed by very good actors which entertained us all quite satisfactorily for an hour and a half. It was GOOD. Across the board success. No complaints from me, no sirree.
Problem was that it felt a little bit like one of those twattish over-achievers that we all knew at school, who had an older boyfriend and smoked weed at lunchtime and STILL got straight As. There is no desire or enthusiasm present. It’s a B- for effort at best. In fact, after my boyfriend queried the repeated references to the brightness of the sky, I have developed a theory that the whole thing is just leftover material from A Thousand Stars Explode In The Sky, which Stephens was involved in at the Lyric Hammersmith last year. (I am available as a private eye for all your arts-relating sleuthing needs.)
