The idea of a show written around a teenager and their angsty hormonal experiences may, to some, sound like the theatrical equivalent of nails scraping down a chalkboard. The Olive Boy takes this polarising subject matter and presents it as a visual and auditory delight.
Ollie Maddigan manages to portray his younger self in a charming way that is incredibly easy to love and this autobiographical production written by, about, and starring the Olive Boy himself, uses Maddigan’s infectious humour to take the audience on a trip down memory lane that, while having the expected twists and turns from comedy into darkness, loss, and grief, is so unashamedly ‘warts and all’ honest that even a seasoned appreciator of the visual arts would be hard-pressed to find themselves drawn in.
The staging is minimalist, with some high-intensity backlights and a plastic chair that wouldn’t be out of place in a school dining room, but there’s nothing more needed as Maddigan prowls around the stage making use of every conceivable space and effortlessly placing himself in the mannerisms of every character he discusses. It could be argued that the emptiness of the stage correlates well with the subject matter, and I would be surprised if this were not part of the thinking behind the design.
The lighting design by Adam Jefferys is exceptional, enhancing mood, indicating scene changes and working (no doubt under Scott Le Crass’s excellent Direction) with Ollie’s placement and presented frame of mind as well as with the other elements of the production, including the perfectly used haze machine. There are some intense bright lights and flashes that could be a bit much for some, but they’re there for a reason and the overall effect is almost one you would see on the ‘Silver Screen’ rather than ‘The Boards’. There are some colour references within Maddigan’s delivery that could perhaps be more dominantly presented at times but given the space and available equipment, it’s a great job.
We are treated to a second off-stage character, known only as ‘The Voice’, played by Ronni Ancona, that is never fully explained but brings an almost outside perspective to certain events and feels almost therapeutic. The Voice is somewhat muffled, slightly distorted, and occasionally hard to comprehend, but that adds to the feeling of experiencing the production from inside Maddigan’s head and could just be my own sub-par hearing letting me down.
One of the greatest achievements of the production for me, is the way that Maddigan treats the audience. There is no fourth wall in The Olive Boy, because the delivery is such that we are not the audience, we are a collection of sub-conscious thoughts or passers-by given a rare opportunity to witness some internal monologue and treated as a natural part of the production rather than witnesses to it. Maddigan uses some direct address, asks audience members to very slightly participate and even asks for his jacket to be held in a manner that is an invitation into the piece. An arm around your shoulders, gently drawing you in. It’s a refreshing approach and works very well with the subject matter.
It's a tear-jerker and, where many productions make the claim that ‘it will make you laugh, make you cry’ etc. etc., the proof in this case is evident as loud laughter gently makes way to hands raised to eyes over the 75-minute duration.
The Olive Boy comes across as a labour of love. A truly personal piece dripping with emotion that quite obviously means an awful lot to Maddigan. Every member of the production team seems to have given it their all, and I would say that it pays off in spades.
The Olive Boy is running until the 31st of January at the Southwark Playhouse and tickets can be found here.
Review: Damien Russell Photo: John Blitcliffe