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Trafalgar Studios and Tara Wilkinson on behalf of Whippet Productions in association with Primavera Productions present
Public Property
Written by Sam Peter Jackson
Directed by Hanna Berrigan
Trafalgar Studios
10 Nov - 5 Dec 2009
A review by Chad Armitstead for EXTRA! EXTRA!
Leona Lewis hates fame now, though she “crawled through broken glass” to get on TV in the first place. Tom Cruise’s baby Suri is wearing Burberry. Belle de Jour, the did-it-for-her-education call girl and anonymous author, reveals her identity. A quick glance at the headlines in the now-ubiquitous free Evening Standard is more than enough to recognise that Sam Peter Jackson’s gripping new dark comedy Public Property is timely. It has been for at least the past twenty years. With effortless style, Jackson’s taut new script puts on public display the millionaires and casualties concocted and consumed to sate our appetite for celebrity. Public Property follows the exploits of Geoffrey Hammond (Robert Daws), a TV newsreader, and his publicist Larry De Vries (Nigel Harman). The only thing bigger than Hammond’s career is his ego. So naturally he fires De Vries when the spin-doctor can’t satisfactorily manage the PR fallout of Hammond’s new, critically slated autobiography. A few weeks later, when Hammond is photographed giving money to sixteen year-old Jamie Sullivan (Steven Webb) for sex, he shows up at De Vries’ house in the wee hours of the morning, begging for help. De Vries agrees help him pick up the pieces for a healthy price. With the paparazzi outside the front door, the clock is ticking for Hammond’s career. Director Hanna Berrigan’s agile bare stage production moves with understated elegance in the imagination. Studio 2’s stylish digs and Helen Goddard’s spare brick-and-chrome design complete the show’s driving, almost clinical precision. Robert Daws renders terminally pompous Geoffrey Hammond with deer-in-the-headlights pathos. Though Hammond literally can’t recognise his hubris to save his life, Daws elicits the same sort of compassion you might feel if you were watching a live butterfly being pinned to corkboard. With the detached calm of a surgeon and the morbid focus of a circling shark, Nigel Harmon thinly conceals the heart of darkness that is Larry De Vries in a wickedly unsettling performance. Steven Webb’s spaniel-esque Jamie Sullivan is what makes the show catch in your throat a bit. His youthful eagerness is the foil to De Vries’ deep cynicism. Helena’s “the more you beat me, I will fawn on you” speech comes to mind, highlighting the true fallout of the celebrity machine—the actual victims. Jackson and Berrigan’s show is deeply satisfying to watch. Spare and precise, it drops its twists and turns in rapid succession. Jackson keeps his message palatable by keeping it out of the dialogue. Diabolical humour escapes between the lines that are exchanged by intensely focused, driven characters. This show was perhaps always bound to be a hit. It’s a cynical look at a deeply cynical topic—the nauseating spin of PR and its generous, eternal sponsors, capitalism and celebrity sin. But Public Property has that magic combination of comedy and social imperative. Get an audience laughing about dead serious issues and you’ll not only keep them after intermission, you’ll keep their attention for a few days after the show. The tube’s littered with papers full of the bits of celebrity scandal that nourish us through our evening commute. Jackson, Berrigan and company expose the chefs who feed our craving and the cost of their ingredients. Public Property thankfully serves up the nasty bits with a comic spoonful of sugar.
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ary Couzens